Robin Lee Hatcher (24 page)

“My good man,” Beatrice shouted, “you must slow those horses at once. I’m sure there are other men willing to drive my carriage should you prove too reckless to ensure the safety of your passengers.”

“Sure, lady.” He motioned at the countryside — not a town, not a sign of civilization anywhere. “And where you gonna find ’em?”

Beatrice impaled him with a cold glare. “I shall drive it myself if I must, and you can walk back to Miles City.”

“All right. All right. I’ll slow ’em down. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“I beg your pardon.” Beatrice looked at Bethany, her face flushed. “Did he say what I think he did? Why, I never . . .”

Bethany stifled a grin. “At least it’s a comfortable ride, cousin. If we’d come by stagecoach, you would know what I mean.”

“I won’t put up with impudence. Not when I’m paying him a good wage.”

Bethany had enjoyed her cousin’s company since leaving Philadelphia, much to her surprise. And the journey had certainly been made more comfortable than the last time.

Take the matter of the Worthington carriage, for instance. Beatrice had insisted on shipping it — along with a matched pair of chestnut horses — by rail from Philadelphia. When the carriage was unloaded and reassembled in Miles City, it had been the talk of the town. Bethany had thought it an unnecessary extravagance, but she was glad for it now. She remembered the uncomfortable — if much faster — passage by stage. This well-sprung vehicle, with its softly padded seats and backs, was by far a more pleasant way to travel, and their frequent stops to stretch their legs was a welcome relief.

“I don’t know what you find so appealing about this country,” her cousin muttered as she smoothed her dust-covered skirt.

“Don’t you, indeed!” Bethany laughed. “You’re a dreadful liar. You’ve enjoyed every moment of this trip.”

Beatrice harrumphed. “Perhaps it has been interesting at times.”

Still smiling, Bethany turned her gaze to the passing range. How different the scenery was from the street outside the Worthington home. Instead of tall brick and stone mansions and the spreading tree limbs that obscured the sky from view, she could see for miles in every direction, the gently rolling range a mixture of gold and green and brown.

“We might be able to see Hawk’s mountains when we make camp tonight.”

“We’re that close?”

“We’ll reach Sweetwater tomorrow.”

“Thank heaven. One more night under the stars is as much as I can bear. It will be wonderful to sleep in a real bed again. Harvey tried to warn me, you know. I should have insisted that he join us. He would have loved it. I remember the time he . . .”

Bethany listened with only half an ear as her cousin spun story after story. It didn’t matter if she replied. Beatrice was capable of carrying on an entire conversation by herself.

She leaned toward the carriage window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mountain range. Home. She would be home tomorrow.

Hawk sat astride his horse and gazed down at the pool, remembering the day he and Bethany had gone there to bathe, remembering the moment he’d held her and kissed her, water lapping around them.

He never should have left her at her parents’ home after Ingrid and Rand were married. If he hadn’t . . .

He considered leaving the Circle Blue again, only this time going farther away. Rand and the men could handle the place fine without him. Since his encounter with the gunman, there hadn’t been any more trouble on the ranch. No more missing or injured cattle. And if trouble came up again, Rand could handle it.

Yes, leaving was a tempting idea. He could head for Texas. Or maybe California. He could stay away until an entire day passed, maybe even a week at a time, without him thinking of Bethany.

Again he saw her in his mind. Laughing. Crying. Angry. Sad. Cooking breakfast. Racing her horse. Falling into the river. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to crush her to him and keep her there forever.

But Bethany was gone, and there was no way he knew of that he could bring her back again. While the Bible said the Lord would turn everything to good in the life of a believer, it didn’t say God would change the past. Hawk would have to live with the mistakes he’d made and the consequences that had followed. He’d just have to keep on praying that the Lord would heal that ache in his heart.

Make it hurt just a little less, Lord. Just a little less than it hurt
yesterday.

He pulled the gelding’s head around and started him down the side of the mountain toward the ranch house.

The August sky clouded over as the Worthington carriage approached Sweetwater the next afternoon. The rain followed soon after, just as they rolled to a stop in front of the Silverton home.

Bethany didn’t wait for the hired driver to get down and open the carriage door for her. She stepped to the ground, ignoring the rain, her eyes fixed on the white two-story house. Home. She was home again. Or at least as close to home as any place could be that didn’t include Hawk.

She hurried up the walk to the front porch, pausing there a moment before reaching forward and opening the door. Silence greeted her as she stepped into the entry. She felt the absence of her parents as a sharp sting in her chest.

“Bethany, the house is charming. No wonder you missed it.”

As she turned, she noticed the gentle rain had become a cloudburst.

Beatrice said, “I sent the driver to find the livery. He’ll deliver our things after the storm passes.”

Bethany loosened her bonnet and pulled it from her head. “Welcome to Sweetwater, Cousin Beatrice. Welcome to Reverend Silverton’s home.” Tears threatened as she spoke those words, but she blinked them back.

Her cousin moved into the parlor. “Let’s get these dust covers off the furniture so we can sit down in comfort. Just think. A seat that isn’t moving. How heavenly.”

Watching her cousin bustle about the small parlor, pulling covers off the furniture and opening the drapes, did much to lighten Bethany’s spirits. Beatrice had often surprised her during their journey. Here was a woman who rarely poured her own cup of tea, and yet she’d slept under the stars and endured the carriage ride from Miles City to Sweetwater without serious complaint.

“I’ll check the kitchen and see if there’s anything in the pantry, but I suspect we’ll need to dine at Mrs. Jenkins’s Restaurant tonight. We can pick up supplies at Eberlie’s Mercantile tomorrow.”

She felt the sting of loss again. “I wonder who’s running the mercantile. Mr. Eberlie and his daughter died in the epidemic.” Her gaze moved toward the stairs and the dark second story.

Beatrice’s arm went around her shoulders. “You needn’t be strong all the time, my dear.”

Bethany felt her throat thicken with suppressed emotions. “I’d like to go over to the church, Cousin Beatrice. Will you go with me?”

“Shouldn’t we wait until the rain stops?”

“No. I’d like to go now. I need to go. Will you come?”

Beatrice patted her shoulder. “Of course I’ll come. Let’s find some wraps.”

Ten minutes later, Bethany stood at the rear of her father’s church, running her fingers over the smooth wooden back of a pew. Someone had crafted it with loving care. Someone who had helped her father build this church earlier in the summer.

She lifted her eyes toward the altar area. Above it, muted light filtered through a stained glass window. That glass had come with them from Philadelphia. Her father had taken great care over hundreds of miles so it could one day grace a church in the West.

She swallowed hard and started down the narrow aisle.

A white altar cloth, lovingly stitched and embroidered by her mother, fell in gentle waves almost to the floor. At the back of the altar was a tall gold cross, and at its base lay an open Bible.

She stepped onto the riser, pausing to let her hand rest on the pulpit. It seemed so unfair, after all he’d been through, that her father had only preached two Sundays here. All that waiting, all that work, all those dreams, and he only got to be in this building, in this pulpit, for two Sundays.

If only she could hear his voice again. If only she could ask him for advice. If only she could see her mother’s smile. She missed them both so much.

She turned away, awash with sorrow. A ray of sunlight broke free of the clouds and fell through the window to caress the open pages of the Bible. Bethany stepped closer to the altar and touched the open book.

“Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever
liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?”

Peace covered her aching heart like a soothing balm. “Yes,” she whispered. “I believeth this.”

Her father’s dying words replayed in her mind. “Jesus will never leave you or forsake you. You won’t be alone.”

She smiled sadly at the memory. Even in death, her father had pointed others toward Jesus.

Please, God. Help me be the kind of daughter who would make
Papa proud
.

She wiped the moisture from her cheeks with her knuckles and then turned toward Beatrice, who waited for her at the back of the church. “I’m finished here. Let’s go home. There’s work to be done.”

TWENTY-NINE

The forge was white hot, and sweat ran down Hawk’s back and chest as he worked nearby. He set the iron shoe, red and glowing, onto the anvil and tapped it a few more times, then lifted it with tongs and dropped it into the waiting bucket. A protesting hiss rose with the steam as the metal cooled.

With a hand in the small of his back, he straightened slowly. Of all the chores that made up a rancher’s life, he liked this one the least. Even on a cool, cloudy day like today, working beside the forge was like working in Hades. The heat never let up.

He pulled the shoe from the bucket and moved to the waiting horse. With a slight tug, he lifted the animal’s foreleg and placed the shoe against the hoof. A perfect fit.

“Hey, Hawk.” Westy entered through the front of the barn. “Somebody here to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“Some woman. Never seen her before. I showed her into the house.”

Hawk lowered the horse’s hoof. A man he would have asked to come to the barn so he could keep working. A woman was another matter. He reached for his shirt and put it on as he headed for the door.

As he walked out of the barn, he saw the carriage, intricate scrolling on its sides. A pair of chestnut geldings was tethered to a nearby post. His caller wasn’t from Sweetwater. Nothing like that carriage around these parts. Long strides carried him across the yard, his curiosity piqued. When he entered the house moments later, he found a plump, gray-haired woman seated on Bethany’s sofa.

The woman looked at him, her eyes rounding as they trailed from face to boots and back again. “My goodness.”

“I’m Hawk Chandler. Westy said you wanted to see me. Have we met, Mrs. . . .”

“No, Mr. Chandler. We have not met.” She smiled. “But I feel as if we have.” She paused, then added, “Though you are not at all what I expected.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, ma’am.”

“Oh, my. You have no idea who I am. No reason why you should. We only arrived from Philadelphia a few days ago.”

Philadelphia? His heart quickened.

“Bethany has been quite busy or I’m sure she would have called upon you already. It’s been difficult for her, dealing with the memories in that house. But she’s told me so much about you that I wanted to see you for myself.”

Hawk sat in the nearest chair.

“And I still haven’t introduced myself, have I? Harvey, my husband, says I’m a chatterbox. I say that’s nonsense. I’m merely making conversation.” She laughed. “But there I go again. I’m Beatrice Worthington, Bethany’s first cousin, once removed.”

“Bethany’s in Sweetwater?” He wasn’t sure what he felt — hope, dread, both.

“She couldn’t very well stay in Philadelphia when she wanted to be here, and when I learned she meant to return, I insisted that I come too. I didn’t want her making that long journey alone a second time.”