Linda Ford (14 page)

He paused to study her, filled with curiosity. “Is that a fact?” Not that her approval or assessment mattered. Still, he couldn’t keep from asking, “What do you see?”

She went to the windows. “Remember you said the world needed art and artists to see the beauty of the world? I think the fact you set the house here so these windows provide a view of the mountains reveals that you have an artist’s soul.” She practically choked back the word. “I mean eye.”

He tucked a smile behind his heart. It felt rather nice to think he had an artist’s soul—or eye—but he wasn’t about to let his thoughts wander down a trail he didn’t want to take. “I laid it out this way so I could see the ranch operations.”

“If that’s all that mattered, why not over there, behind the cookhouse?” She pointed to the hill she meant then turned and caught his gaze, holding it in a demanding, challenging look.

He wouldn’t admit he’d looked at several building sites and chosen this one for the precise reason she’d given—the marvelous view of the mountains. Any more than he’d confess—even to himself—how it pleased him to have her recognize his motive.

She turned to study the room. “I know you’ll say you only followed plans drawn up in London when you built this place, but...” She went to a corner hidden behind a door and examined the baseboards. “Did you place these?”

He admitted he had.

“Perfect fit. I see you are careful even on things no one might see or notice. That tells me you are honorable and have integrity.”

He tried to laugh off her comments. “Or that I’m certain my father would notice any mistakes and point them out.”

She again drilled him with her demanding gaze. “Can you say that’s your reason?”

The word
yes
came automatically to his mind, then he reconsidered and discovered a truth he’d been unaware of. “Only partially. I would do the best job I could regardless of who saw it. After all, God sees and expects us to do our best.”

She grinned. “I knew it.” Suddenly she sobered. “Did you know it, too?” Not waiting for an answer, she pointed to the patch of sun pooling at the foot of the windows. “It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.” She looked about at what they’d accomplished. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Then she scurried away.

He watched out the window as she trotted down the hill. She paused at the doorway of the cabin to glance in his direction. She must have seen him still there, for she lifted her hand in a quick wave. He didn’t turn away until the cabin door closed behind her.

Then he slapped his forehead. She’d done it again. Intruded on his plans, his world.

How long before he heard back from Margaret?

Perhaps he’d get Ward to help with the carpentry, then if Linette insisted on coming up the hill, she could get to know Ward better.

Chapter Nine

L
inette hummed as she and Cassie cleaned up after lunch.

“You’re mighty pleased with yourself,” Cassie said, sounding curious as much as anything.

“I spent the morning helping Eddie in the big house. I think he is beginning to accept me.”

Cassie let out an impatient sigh. “Accept you or just your help?”

“Either way, it’s a start. He’ll soon see I’m suited for ranch living. If you stay with Grady for his nap, I’ll help him this afternoon, too.”

Cassie picked up her knitting. The afghan was steadily growing large.

“You never did tell me who you are knitting that for.”

“For myself. I have no one else, if you care to recall.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps you’ll find someone out here. Roper seemed rather interested. I think he’s half in love with you already.”

“I’ll marry again if I can.” She jabbed her needle through a stitch. “A woman needs protection of a man. But it won’t be for love. No value in that.”

Linette didn’t answer, but she couldn’t argue. Love had no place in the lives of those she knew. Certainly her mother and father seemed to tolerate rather than love each other. Mother ventured no farther than her sewing room and her lady friends. Father’s time and attention were devoted to enlarging his holdings and amassing more money. Her aunt was the only woman she knew who spoke freely of loving her husband and, as far as Linette could see, it made her aunt far too pliable and ready to jump at every little suggestion her uncle made. Linette had no desire for such a life.

“I’ll stay with Grady if you still have a mind to traipse up the hill, but it seems to me he’s a man who knows what he wants.”

“And it isn’t me? Is that what you’re saying?”

Cassie lowered her knitting and met Linette’s gaze. “The man was quite clear on the matter.”

Linette pulled on her coat before she faced Cassie again. “I have until spring to change his mind and I intend to make the most of my time. I’ll be back later.”

“No rush. I can manage Grady. Maybe we’ll go over and see Cookie.”

Linette took her time climbing the hill. She’d seen the flash of surprise darkening Eddie’s eyes when she’d said he had integrity. He’d surely looked at her with more interest than he’d previously revealed. She’d shown herself capable of working at his side. Surely he was learning her value...an asset to help him build a new life here. She would not think of the letters even now starting their journey to Margaret. She could imagine what Eddie had said, likely they were words of love urging her to join him.

But if Margaret changed her mind... Her heart dipped toward her toes. She had until spring. She prayed it would be long enough.

* * *

“Boys, turn the tailenders into the pen then head for the cookhouse.” Only the weak and young cattle were brought to the ranch. The rest were in nearby pastures where he could keep an eye on them. “Cookie is sure to have some hot coffee and fresh bread.” Eddie’s gaze went unbidden to the little log cabin across from the cookhouse as Slim and Roper urged the animals toward their winter home. He’d left only three days ago, before the weather had taken a turn for the worse, but it seemed months since he’d last stepped into the comforting warmth of the little house and he looked forward to it with unusual eagerness. “I think we’ve all earned a warm bed and hot meal.”

“Yeah, boss. And now you can stop worrying about your cows.” No doubt Slim spoke for all the cowboys.

“Now we can watch them and feed them,” he corrected. “I’m not prepared to let them fend for themselves if the snow keeps coming.” It had started snowing soon after they left and continued intermittently while they were gone. He’d worried about the occupants of the little cabin but assured himself they’d be safe and sound. Still, he couldn’t wait to see for himself. “I’m grateful we got them down before it got any nastier.”

The men rode after the cows and Eddie reined toward the barn, glancing at the cabin again.

A movement on the hill beyond caught his attention. A handful of Indians slid past, only the sound of muted horses’ hooves and the whisper of a travois broke the silence. No doubt they were headed to join other Indians in their wintering grounds to the south. He hoped they’d have sufficient supplies.

He watched until they slipped out of sight. Seeing the Indians had given him an idea on how to teach Grady to trust him.

He continued toward the barn where he took his time taking care of Banjo, brushing him thoroughly, feeding him a scoop of oats, cleaning his saddle.

The cold bit into his lungs as he stepped out into the bright sun. Sparkling crystals filled the air. He turned toward the cabin. Something dark disappeared around the corner of the cabin. He crept toward the spot and edged along the wall until he could peek around the corner. Linette. His breath whooshed out. Not an intruder or wolf.

But what was she doing? It looked as if she planned to bury something in the snowbank.

“Linette?”

She dropped whatever it was she held and spun around, her eyes wide. “You didn’t take long enough.”

“You think I should stay out in the cold?”

She darted a glance to the brown blob at her feet.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t look like nothin’ to me.” He squinted at it. “Looks like—”

She stepped forward and tried to hide the lump. “It’s nothing.”

He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “Uh-huh.” He waited.

She shifted back and forth. Couldn’t meet his gaze. “Oh, very well. You might as well know the truth.” She stepped aside and stared at the lump. “It’s supposed to be bread, but it won’t rise.” Her voice quivered. “It’s the second time this has happened.” She dropped to her knees and scooped a hollow in the snow. “You weren’t supposed to see it.” She dug the hole deeper and shoved the lump into it.

“Bread, huh?” He purposely kept his voice flat though amusement trickled through him.

“Cookie said it was simple.” She pushed snow over the hole and pounded it. Hard. Every slap made Eddie blink. “Simple for her. Not for me.”

Did her voice catch?

She planted her hands on the packed snow and leaned forward. What was she doing? Praying? He couldn’t think how praying would salvage the dough. Her shoulders twitched. She sniffed.

“Linette?” He took one hesitant step forward. “Are you crying?”

“No.” But the word ended on a sob.

He fell to his knees at her side. “It’s only flour and water.” Or whatever went into the mysteries of making bread. “Nothing to be upset about.”

Her sobs ended. She faced him, stubborn determination hardening the bones in her face. A tear clung to her lashes. “You don’t understand.”

He patted her shoulder. “It’s only bread,” he soothed.

“My father was right.” Her words choked with pain and defeat. “I’m only good for sitting and painting.”

Her father had certainly bruised her heart. The agony in her voice drove arrows through his heart. He wanted to reach inside and yank them free, end the pain. Both his and hers. “I like your paintings.”

A tear made a silvery trail down her cheek.

He’d said the wrong thing. But what was the right thing? “Linette, you can learn to bake bread.”

She looked beyond him.

“Look how far you’ve come. And I don’t mean simply crossing the ocean and most of Canada, though that’s admirable in itself. I mean from a young society woman to a pioneer.” She flicked a glance at him. Did he imagine she showed interest? “You can build a fire in the stove. You have learned how to make corn bread and how to fry bacon. Remember your first reaction to a slab of pork?” He chuckled, earning him a surprised look. “You’ve come a long way.” He meant much more than her culinary abilities. He quieted, took a deep breath and released the words he deemed safe, though they were but a sliver of all he felt. “I admire your spunk and courage. I admire your spirit.” She’d make a good pioneer wife.

Too bad that wasn’t what he wanted or needed.

She grew still then she wiped tears from her face. Determination darkened her eyes. “I refuse to give up.”

He sat back on his heels to study her.

A riot of emotions raced across her face. Her determination seemed to weaken, grow fragile, and then she scrambled to her feet. “I did succeed in making cookies. Care to try some with tea?”

He bolted to his feet and followed her to the cabin, grateful the moment ended before he’d tossed all his good intentions to the wind and decided a pioneer wife would suit him just fine.

Grady glanced up as Eddie entered. His eyes widened and he stiffened but then sank back to playing with his growing collection of rocks and bits of wood plus a handful of carved animals several of the men had crafted for the boy.

At least he hadn’t withdrawn under the table and didn’t cling to Linette’s skirts. A notebook lay open on the table. Linette closed it and set it aside as she put out tea and cookies.

A little later, he noticed her notebook on the shelf. He’d seen enough to guess she wasn’t writing. “Were you drawing something?”

She grew still and seemed to consider her answer. “I’m afraid I feel the need to capture life in my sketchbook.”

He wondered why she seemed so apologetic. He certainly didn’t object to the activity, but perhaps she wondered if he might. “What did you capture today?”

She picked up the book and opened it to reveal a simple pencil drawing of the interior of the cabin. It should have been crude, even barren, but the few lines portrayed warmth and charm.

“You make it look appealing.”

Her eyes lit with humor. “Isn’t it?”

He chuckled, beguiled by her smile. “Not many would see it as so.”

“I guess it’s all in the eyes...and heart...of the beholder.”

He considered her statement, uncertain how to respond. Did she see everything this way? He answered his question. She did. Except the man her father meant for her to marry. “Perhaps you see things through an artist’s eyes.” He realized he’d used the same words she used to describe his choice of where to build the house and wondered if she’d notice.

Her smile deepened, her eyes darkened and he guessed she did notice. For a moment, he allowed himself to share a tenuous feeling of connection.

Behind him Cassie sighed and stopped his useless thoughts from wandering further. “Linette sees through rose-tinted glasses. She’s always saying everything will turn out fine.”

Linette chuckled. “Those aren’t my words. They’re God’s. He says, ‘All things work together for good to those who love God.’”

Suddenly Eddie was filled with curiosity as to how she viewed everything. “Did you do drawings of your trip?”

“Certainly.”

“Would you mind showing them to me?”

“So long as you don’t mock my immature efforts.”

“I’d never mock.” He sat at the table, across the corner from her, and she opened the first page. “This is our ship.” He saw steaming smokestacks and a captain with a steaming cigar.

He laughed. “I think you’re mocking the man.”

“Only a little.” She bent her head over the sketchbook and turned the pages.

There were drawings of the ship’s dining room, caricatures of many of the passengers that made him chuckle. A young woman who might have been pretty except for her thinness and the strain in her eyes.

“Who is that?”

Linette sucked in a sigh. “I’d forgotten this. Grady, come here.”

The boy played near Cassie—about as far away from Eddie as he could get in the small room. He got to his feet, shot a fearful look at Eddie and remained motionless.

Eddie prepared to move away but Linette shook her head.

“Give him a chance.” She spoke to Grady again. “Come and see the picture I drew of your mother.”

Grady sidled up to Linette’s far side. When he saw the picture a sob choked from him. “Mama.” He touched the picture gently. “Mama’s gone?”

“Yes, honey.” Linette pulled him to her side and pressed a kiss to his blond head. “Mama’s gone but you’re safe with us.”

“I have her picture?”

“Tell you what. I’ll make a copy for your very own and keep this one safe. Okay?”

He nodded, touched the picture again and moved away.

Eddie felt the boy’s pain like a spear to his heart and wished Grady would allow him to hug him. Instead, he sat motionless as Grady again settled on the floor with his playthings and carefully kept his back to them.

Cassie, bless her heart, patted his head and squeezed his shoulder.

Linette turned a page in her book and Eddie brought his attention back to the sketches. He looked at her pictures of the train, the stagecoach, then the mountains. He stared at the different ways she portrayed them—distant and pale, close and majestic, sometimes harsh, sometimes gentle.

“I never stopped to think the mountains have so many moods and yet, as I look at your drawing, I see they do.”

“I can’t wait to see them in their spring finery.”

He couldn’t, either.

And then there were two side-by-side sketches of the big house. One seemed to breathe warmth and welcome; the other looked cold and imperious. He stared at the pictures. “Why the difference?”

* * *

“A house has moods, too.” Linette closed the book. “That’s all.” She took the pencils and sketch pad to the bedroom. She’d stay hidden there except there wasn’t any point in hiding. She could only hope Eddie hadn’t seen what the pictures of the big house meant. Bad enough he’d discovered her trying to hide the evidence of failed bread making. She smiled. It had provoked him into saying he admired her.
Thank You, God.
He might not have been so approving if he’d understood the drawings of the house. The formal one revealed the house as a manor house ruled by an aristocratic woman. The other showed the house as a home and sanctuary—a place of welcome to all.

It would not benefit her plan for him to guess she saw the second with her at the window. Thankfully she hadn’t drawn herself there nor drawn Margaret in the window of the first.

She pressed her palms to her chest. He was learning to appreciate her. Surely that was a step toward her goal. Buoyed by the thought, she returned to the main room, paused to study each of her paintings as if she’d never seen them before, then moved to the window. Unable to look at the big house without being reminded of her foolish drawings, she moved to the pantry shelf and needlessly tidied the contents. Then she shifted to the bookcase.