House On Windridge (7 page)

Jessica too felt a slight gnawing of hunger. “What are we having tonight?”

“Roast,” Kate replied. “Left over from last night, but tonight I'll fix it up in a stew with biscuits.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

With that, Jessica made her way upstairs. She had nearly reached the nursery door when Ryan's cries abated, and she could hear the sound of a male voice from within. She paused outside the door, wondering if Buck had gone to check the fire and had accidentally awakened the boy.

“There now, Partner,” came Devon's voice. “No sense in get
ting yourself all worked up. Ain't much good can come of it.”

Jessica could hear Ryan's animated babble, as well as Devon moving around the room.

“Let's get you out of those wet clothes and into something more comfortable.”

At this, Jessica could no longer stand idle. She burst through the door as though the house were on fire and stared daggers at Devon Carter. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of Essie Kappin trying to steal her son's loyalty by always insisting Jessica allow her to deal with the child whenever they were at the Kappins' for a visit.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” she protested. She came forward, grabbed Ryan out of Devon's arms, and maneuvered past him to the changing table. “Whatever possessed you to just allow yourself entry into my son's room?”

Ryan began to cry again, reaching around Jessica's tight hold toward where Devon stood rather stunned. Jessica hated that he was making such a scene. It was almost as if she were the monster having ripped him from the security of his parent, rather than the other way around.

“He was crying,” Devon replied. “I figured he needed attention, and I was free for the moment.”

Jessica plopped Ryan down on the changing table and set her mind on the job at hand rather than arguing with Devon. As soon as Ryan was changed and happily occupied on the rag rug with a toy, Jessica turned her full fury on Devon.

“I've told you before that I don't like having you interfere with my son.”

Devon put his hands on his hips. His thick mustache twitched a bit as he frowned. “Jessica, this is a pretty isolated place. Don't you think we could agree to a truce of some sort?”

“No, I don't. I'm tired of telling you how I feel, only to have you ignore me.” She hadn't noticed Ryan getting to his feet or the fact that he was walking, until he padded across the floor to Devon and took hold of his leg.

“Say, you did a right good job of that, little fellow,” Devon said, clapping his hands.

Ryan laughed and let go to clap his own hands, only to smack down on his bottom. For a moment he looked startled, then he laughed again and got on his hands and knees as if to try the whole thing again.

Jessica, stunned that her son was walking, refused to allow him to make Devon the center of his attention. Devon was stealing her son away from her, and she could never allow that.

“If you don't mind,” she said, snatching Ryan up protectively, “I'm needed downstairs to help with supper.”

“I could watch him for you,” Devon suggested.

Jessica could hardly believe he'd made the offer. He wasn't listening to her protests at all. Battling Ryan's squirming body, Jessica answered him as coolly as she dared. “You were hired to work the ranch, Mr. Carter, not the nursery.” With that she left, refusing to give him a chance to reply.
Oh, but the man could be infuriating.

Ryan began to cry, only furthering her frustration. One way or another, she would put an end to Devon's interference before he'd totally turned her
son away from her. She would not have another situation on her hands where
someone suggested her son was better off without her.

Chapter 4

J
essica spent the next two weeks feeling deeply convicted about her attitude and behavior toward Devon. Not only had he refused to share supper the night of their disagreement, but he had refused to share all subsequent meals from that night forward. Jessica knew the fault lay with her. She knew too that in order to deal with the matter and put things aright, she would have to be the one to do the apologizing.

She realized that Devon had meant only to be helpful, but her own insecurities regarding Ryan had caused her to act unforgivably bad. Sitting with her Bible in hand, Jessica felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks.

“I just don't want to lose Ryan's love, Lord,” she whispered in the silence of her room. In the nursery Ryan already slept contentedly, but there would be no sleep for Jessica until she dealt with the matter at hand. Already she'd spent some fourteen restless nights, and her misery was rapidly catching up with her.

“I came here with such great expectations, Father,” she began to pray again. “I thought there would be financial security and a place to belong. I have thought of the house on Windridge as my own special utopia since I was a small child. You know how I felt about it. You know I loved this place and always desired to be here. I just wanted everything to be perfect. I want to be perfect. The perfect mother. The perfect mistress of Windridge. But I fail and continue to fail no matter how hard I try.”

She opened the Bible and found herself in the book of Colossians. “ ‘Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long-suffering,' ” she read aloud. Glancing past the desk where her Bible lay, Jessica peered out into the darkness of the night. Only the shadowy glow of lamplight from the cottage where Devon stayed could be seen on this moonless night.

“I certainly haven't been merciful or kind where he is concerned. Neither have I been meek or long-suffering, and I come nowhere near to being humble of mind. But, Father, I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of failing once again. I failed Harriet when I pleaded to come west. I failed when I married Newman. I failed even when I was born—taking the life of my mother and the joy of my father. If I fail here, then what is left to me?

“If I fail to be a good mother to Ryan, then someone will come along and take him from me. And if I fail to bring this ranch back into prosperity, then I might well lose the roof over my head. I want to make things perfect, but I feel so inadequate. My life has been so far removed from perfection, and now that I finally have some say over it, nothing seems to be going right.” She sighed and added with an upward glance, “What do I do?”

She felt the turmoil intensify and continued to read from Colossians.“ ‘Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye. And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.' ”

Jessica returned her gaze to the cottage.
I've not been forbearing or forgiving, and I certainly haven't put on charity. I've shown Devon Carter nothing but anger and resentment
. She thought of the close, affectionate manner in which Devon handled Ryan, and her heart ached. The situation tested every emotion within her. On one hand she feared Devon's involvement because of the Kappins. And on the other hand she feared Ryan's reaction to Devon's attention.

She couldn't provide Ryan with a father. Certainly not a father like Devon. Was it fair or right to allow the boy to grow close to Devon, when the man could pick up and go at any given moment? Kate said Devon would never do such a thing, but what if he grew tired of the failing ranch? What if he left them like so many of the other ranch hands had already done?

“Oh, Father, what am I to do? How do I show this man charity instead of fear?” Then a thought came to mind, causing Jessica to feel even more at a loss. Devon seemed perfectly willing to answer her questions, to take time out of his schedule to work with her on matters—at least those times when she had allowed herself to ask and seek his help. But the relaxed nature of Devon—his considerate and generous spirit—made Jessica uncomfortable. Devon clearly represented the kind of man she would have chosen for herself had others not interfered with her life.

“If Harriet hadn't thrust me into her social circles, demanding I choose a husband from the men of leisure who haunted her doorstep, I might have known true happiness. I might even have come here and met Devon Carter long before joining my life to Newman; then Ryan would be his son, and I would be his wife.”

The thought so startled Jessica that she slammed the Bible shut.
I can't allow myself to think that way
, she scolded.
There is nothing to be gained by it. I can't take back the past. I can't bring my dead mother and father to life and start over under their care instead of Aunt Harriet's. I can't remake my life.

The light went out in the cottage, leaving Jessica to feel even more deserted. Somehow, knowing that Devon was awake made her feel less alone. As if taking this as her own cue to go to bed, Jessica made one more check on Ryan, then turned down the lamp and crawled into the massive bed. Scooting into the very middle, Jessica could extend both arms and never touch the sides of the bed. How empty it seemed. How empty her entire life seemed.

I'll try to do better, Lord,
she prayed the promise.
I will humble myself and go to Devon and apologize for my attitude and actions. I will even be honest with him about the reasons. But please, just go before me and help me to say the right thing. Don't let me make a fool out of myself—again.

❧

The next morning dawned with a promise of spring. The air felt warm on Jessica's face as she made her way out to what Kate called the garden house. The ground gave off a rich, earthy smell that made Jessica want to plant something. Maybe she'd talk to Kate about restoring the flower garden that used to grow along this walk. Kate had spoken of the prairie flowers and the delicate splotches of color that graced the hills when springtime was upon them in full. Kate said it had been Naomi's favorite time of year.

Standing just outside the cottage, Jessica gave a brief prayer for courage. She wanted to speak to Devon before breakfast in hopes that he might join them and ease the tension that had engulfed the house since Jessica's last outburst. She also intended to follow through with her promise to God and humble herself before this handsome stranger.

Knocking lightly, Jessica tried to plan what she'd say. She had continued to wrestle with her conscience long into the night, but somewhere around two in the morning, she'd finally let go of her fears and given them over to God. It wouldn't be easy to face her mismatched emotions, but somehow she knew God would give her the grace to handle things day by day.

Devon opened the door, stared at her blankly for a moment, then smiled. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the boss lady?”

Jessica swallowed hard and tried to think of each word before speaking. “I've come here to apologize.”

Devon crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Apologize?”

Jessica nodded. “That's right. My behavior toward you has been uncalled for. I've known it all along, but I'm hoping you will give me a chance to explain.”

Devon's expression softened. “Why don't you come in and tell me all about it.”

Jessica nodded. “All right.”

She entered the cottage for the first time, amazed at the hominess of the front room. A native stone fireplace took up most of one wall, while a big picture window that looked out onto a small porch graced yet another. A narrow pine staircase took up the south side, while an open archway made up most of the remaining west wall. A large rag rug, no doubt put together by Kate, lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, and a couch, upholstered in a sort of brown tweed, stood awaiting them behind this.

“Might as well sit over here,” Devon said, leading the way to the couch. “It's really the only warm spot in the house. Buck and I are trying to find materials to make repairs, but it's rather slow going.”

“If there's anything I can do to help. . . ,” Jessica offered, letting her voice trail off.

“That's all right. I think Buck and I can handle it,” Devon countered. “So you were going to do some explaining.”

Jessica nodded. She gazed into Devon's dark eyes and felt a wave of alarm wash over her. Maybe coming here wasn't a good idea, after all. She looked away and clasped her fingers tightly together. “I know I've treated you rather harshly.”

“Rather harshly?” he questioned.

Jessica took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. I've treated you badly, and I'm sorry. There's a great deal in my life that makes it hard for me to trust people. Especially strangers. From the minute I stepped foot on Windridge, you seemed to be everywhere, and frankly, it made me uncomfortable.”

“I can certainly understand,” Devon replied. “That's kind of why I've been trying to keep my distance.”

“Then there's Ryan,” she continued uneasily. Devon was a man. What would he understand of her motherly insecurities? She looked up and found his expression fixed with a compassionate stare. Maybe he would understand. “Do you know my story, Mr. Carter? How I came to live back East rather than on Windridge?” He nodded. “Well, it's left me with a very real void in my life. I never knew my parents—never saw my father until I was twelve. Even when I came here to spend a few weeks that summer, I still didn't see him much. He probably felt as uncomfortable as I did. Neither one of us knew what to do with the other one.”

She paused as if trying to sort out her words. She wanted Devon to understand why she resented his interference with Ryan, but it seemed important to set up the conflicts from her early days in order to make her present days more clear.

“I never felt love for my father,” she admitted. “I think I was afraid to love him. I certainly didn't want to give him another chance to send me away or to reject that love. My aunt Harriet encouraged neither shows of emotion nor words of endearment, and so I never felt loved in her home. I've been taught most of my life to bury my emotions, or at best, to shut them off. I tell you this because I would like for you to understand my difficulty in being open with my feelings.”

Devon chuckled. “I thought you made your feelings quite apparent. You don't like me or my interfering with Ryan.”

“No, that's not it,” Jessica replied, looking at the dying embers in the fireplace. “I love Windridge. It's the only thing that couldn't reject my love.” Her voice trembled slightly under the emotion of the moment. “I don't want my pride to keep this ranch from becoming a success once again. I don't want my feelings from the past creeping into the future of this place, and I won't allow myself to cause the demise of Buck and Kate's happiness, nor of yours.”

“You don't have the power to put an end to Buck and Kate's happiness. Nor can you destroy mine for that matter,” Devon replied, seeming most emphatic. “As for the success of this ranch, well, maybe the time has come to put an end to Windridge. There are folks out there willing to buy. Maybe you'd be happier back East or even in town.”

“No!” Jessica said, looking back to see Devon watching her reaction with apparent interest. “I don't want to sell. If I gave you that idea, then I know I've failed to say the right words. Look, I mentioned the idea of a resort ranch only because it seemed to be profitable. We're only an hour away from the train. We already have a perfectly suited stagecoach, though why my father ever purchased such an elaborate means of transportation, I'll never know.”

Devon laughed. “Gus got it in trade, to tell you the truth. One of the locals ran a stage line for about two months. He went broke in a hurry and then took sick. When he saw he couldn't keep it up, he asked Gus to trade him for some good beef stock so his son could start a small ranch. Gus agreed, and there you have it.”

“Well, that does explain it rather neatly,” Jessica agreed. “But don't you see? I envision the healing power of this ranch will draw others to its door-step, just as it has me.”

“But honestly, Jessica,” he said, his voice lowering and his expression growing intense, “part of Windridge's healing is the isolation. You bring in a bunch of city folks and suddenly it's not so very isolated anymore. Folks will come with their strange notions and ways of doing things, and soon you'll find that Windridge is nothing like it once was. I'd hate to see that happen.”

Jessica felt a bit defeated. She honestly tried to see Devon's point. Maybe he knew what he was talking about. Maybe she was the real fool in the matter. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out several folded pieces of paper. “These are the articles I mentioned to you awhile back. All I ask is that you take a look at them.”

Devon reached out to take them, his fingers closing over hers for a brief moment. The current of emotions seemed to leap from Jessica to Devon, and for a time he looked at her as if he could read every detail of her soul. The longing, the loneliness, the fearfulness, and the insecurity—Jessica worried that if she didn't look away quickly, she'd soon reveal more about herself than she'd ever intended. She dropped her hold on the papers and pulled her hand back against her breast as though the touch had burned her fingers.

Devon seemed to understand her discomfort, but to what extent, Jessica couldn't tell. “I'll look these over,” he promised, tucking them between the cushions of the couch.

“I appreciate that. I also have another favor to ask you.”