Song of Her Heart (2 page)

Nodding, Mason answered, “I'm sometimes impulsive, too. For instance, I bought a dude ranch, the Bar 8, which adjoins my property, about four years ago. I operated it as a dude ranch for two summers, which was nothing but an aggravation to me. I couldn't find good help, and I was spending time entertaining city people when I should have been taking care of my cattle.”

One of the logs crumbled and sparks wafted up the chimney. A puff of smoke fanned out into the room, and Mason rearranged the firewood with a poker.

“I'd already listed the property for sale,” Mason
continued, “when Horses and Healing, a Christian group of therapists in Omaha, contacted me, asking to use the ranch for a pilot project in equine therapy for children with special needs. They offered a good rent for the summer months, and when I learned my only obligation was to provide horses and a cook for the riders and volunteers, I temporarily took the property off the market. When you answered my ad and said that you'd taken care of your handicapped brother, I figured you'd relate to the children and not find it difficult to work with them.”

“Because of my experience with Billy, I'm very interested in any program designed to make life better for children with special needs. I was at loose ends after my father and brother both died this past winter. When I saw your ad, I felt it was the place for me. I needed a job, and since I'd managed our home after my mother died twenty-five years ago, I felt I was qualified.”

“I'm sure you are, and it'll be a pleasure to have you here,” Mason said. “If we can make a difference in the lives of a few children, it'll be worth the work. And we'll also be serving Jesus, for He said, ‘Whatever you've done for one of these little ones, you've done to me.”'

“I believe that, too. I've been thinking of the summer's work as a ministry rather than a job.”

If it was too late to realize her goal of serving as
an overseas missionary, would this short-term position, helping children with handicaps, compensate for her lost dream? Surely a few months away from familiar surroundings would be an opportunity to assess her future options and decide how to achieve reconciliation with her family.

A
lthough he'd had a long, hard day, Mason mused before the fire for more than an hour after Norah went to bed. The pleasant murmur of her velvet voice revolved over and over in his mind, a comforting sound that had wiggled its way into the loneliness of his heart. This was the first time a woman had spent the night in his home since his wife had died years ago, a few hours after she'd delivered their stillborn child.

Mason had longed for children, and the possibility of remarriage had often crossed his mind. He'd stopped mourning his young wife long ago, and he would have married if only he'd found a woman to spark his interest. For a few years, he'd considered getting married just so he could have a family, and
he'd dated, but he couldn't bring himself to propose to a woman he didn't love.

Mason had believed it was important for him to marry because he was an only child and had no children. He often worried about what would happen to the Flying K after his death. He and his father had spent their lives building up this property, and he didn't want the ranch to pass to someone he didn't know.

But when he reached forty, Mason had decided that he'd passed the age when he could satisfactorily rear a child, and he'd put the idea of marriage on the back burner. But now Norah had come!

Was her arrival providential? He'd received six answers to his Internet ad, but none of the messages had seemed right until Norah had written. He took her message from his desk and read it again.

She'd given the pastor's name and e-mail address, but Mason hadn't contacted the man. He and Norah
had corresponded several times by e-mail, and he'd anticipated her arrival with pleasure. Mason had envisioned Norah as a woman in her sixties, who would provide a grandmotherly model for the children in the therapeutic program.

Norah didn't impress him as the grandmotherly type. He could hardly believe she was forty-two years old. Her straight, silvery-gray hair—no doubt prematurely gray—was neatly arranged over her forehead in a wispy mist, then flowed neatly in soft layers to the base of her neck. Her bright, clear-blue eyes were highlighted by long, black lashes that created a startling contrast as they caressed her wellmodeled ivory face. She was of medium height with a winsome body.

Being a large man, Mason had never been attracted to petite, delicate women who looked like a strong prairie wind would blow them away. Norah Williamson filled the physical qualities he admired in a woman—although not obese, she carried enough flesh that a man could have an armful when he hugged her.

While they'd sat at the table visiting, and later relaxing by the fire, Mason realized that, for the first time, this house seemed like a home. His mother had died when Mason was a child, and he didn't even remember her. During the year he'd been married,
he and his wife had lived in a small house a few miles away. After her death, he'd moved in with his father. Mason had been lonely since his father's death, but he hadn't understood how lonely until Norah had entered his home. Yearnings that Mason thought he'd stifled forever suddenly seemed important again, and he stayed in his easy chair long after the embers of the fire had faded away.

 

The room was totally dark when Norah awakened, and she was terrified. Realization came quickly that she wasn't in her bed at home, but on an isolated ranch in northern Nebraska. The awareness did nothing to calm her nerves. She hastily turned on the light that was hooked over the wooden headboard of the bed, and her racing heartbeat eased when the light chased the darkness away.

She lifted her watch from the bedside table. Four o'clock! After spending a restless night, Norah longed for daylight and the start of a new day. She'd still been awake when Mason had entered his bedroom across the hallway, and although she'd dozed several times, thoughts of Mason had been present in her mind all night.

Occupied as she'd been with caring for her family, Norah hadn't made many male friends, so she was unprepared for her physical reaction to Mason's rugged personality. His wide shoulders were slightly
stooped, but his rangy body towered several inches over six feet. Obviously a powerful man, Mason was a product of the rangeland where he and his ancestors had battled the elements to make a home. His black whiskers and hair were tinged with gray, and his generous mouth and dark brown eyes were touched with humor. But in spite of his vigorous masculinity, she detected a hint of wistfulness in Mason's gentle expression, as if he was searching for something that evaded him. He obviously was a successful rancher, but was he happy?

Disgusted that she'd allowed thoughts of Mason to keep her awake, Norah flopped over on her side and hoped for sleep, but concern about the uncertainty of her future wouldn't let her rest.

She was committed to working for Mason during the summer, but what then? Knowing that she didn't have enough education to become a missionary kept Norah wide-awake. She'd hoped to use the money from the sale of the family home to prepare for her lifelong dream of becoming a missionary. But was she too old to work on the overseas mission field? It would take several years to receive the education she needed for mission appointment, and by that time she'd be almost fifty years old. What could a woman in midlife do to make her life count?

 

Hearing a soft knock on the door, Norah roused from her catnap.

“Yes,” she answered sleepily.

“I'm going to the barn,” Mason said. “I'll be back in an hour, and we can have breakfast. But if you're tired, go back to sleep.”

“No, I'm ready to get up.”

The room was cold, and after she heard Mason's deliberate tread outside the window, Norah put on her robe and hustled into the bathroom across the hall. After a shower, she put on the extra change of clothes she'd packed in the small bag. A pair of jeans and a plaid, long-sleeved shirt seemed suitable attire for a ranch cook, she thought humorously as she walked toward the kitchen.

From the many boxes of dry cereal on the table, she concluded Mason didn't often have a hot breakfast. The refrigerator contained what she needed to prepare an omelette and mix a batch of bread. She put the biscuits in the oven, thinking she could warm them in the microwave if they baked before Mason finished his work. She found honey and oleo in the fridge and put them on the table, made a pot of coffee and prepared a pan for the omelette. Ready to finish breakfast when Mason came, Norah sat on a wide window seat to watch for him.

Low rolling hills surrounded the Flying K ranch that was located in the Niobrara River Valley. A large red barn with a tall silo attached and several smaller buildings were near the house. A wide shel
ter belt of evergreens was positioned to protect the ranch headquarters from northwest winter winds. Sunlight was just beginning to illuminate the meadowy fields where a herd of cattle grazed, and Norah wondered if Buster was among them. In the light of day, her fear of the bull seemed a little foolish, but the sudden sight of him in the middle of the road had overwhelmed her.

When Mason emerged from the barn, he was accompanied by two black Labrador dogs that frolicked at his heels all the way to the house. When Norah opened the door and said, “Good morning,” the dogs froze in place. Mason stooped to lay calming hands on their heads.

“It's okay,” he assured the animals. Smiling at Norah, he continued. “Around here, the dogs get their breakfast before I do.” He dipped some dry dog food from a container and filled a couple of bowls. He turned on a faucet and replenished the dogs' water pans. Patting their heads again, he stepped inside and came to a standstill, almost as quickly as the dogs had done.

“You've made breakfast!”

“Why not? You need a sample of my cooking to see if I'm suited for the job. If not, you can hire someone else before the kids come to the ranch.”

Smiling, he said, “If the food tastes as good as it smells, I won't want to hire anyone else.”

“Everything's finished except the omelette. I'll have it on the table by the time you've washed up.”

“Even biscuits!” Mason marveled as he returned from the bathroom and pulled up to the table. “I make biscuits once in a while, but they don't look like these.”

Since he usually ate alone, Mason didn't talk much while he ate three-fourths of the omelette, several biscuits and downed two cups of coffee. By the time only one biscuit was left on the plate, Norah didn't need any more evidence that her cooking passed muster.

When Mason leaned back from the table, with a satisfied smile on his face, Norah filled his coffee cup for the third time.

“I've never eaten a better meal in my life,” Mason said. “Thanks, Norah. If the therapy program doesn't improve the kids' health, eating your meals is bound to be good for them. Thanks for coming to help.”

A song rose in Norah's heart at his praise. In spite of her efforts to please her family, she'd seldom had any thanks for what she'd done for them. Her father had paid her for taking care of the household, but it always rankled that her family had taken her work for granted.

Unbidden, an old adage popped into Norah's mind.
The way to a man's heart is through his stom
ach.
But why would she want to find her way into Mason's heart? The goal she'd set for her life when she was a teenager couldn't be realized on a Sand Hills ranch. And although she'd known Mason only a few hours, she couldn't envision him in any other place except this setting.

Mason interrupted her thoughts when he said, “I'll take you to the Bar 8 ranch today so you can see where you'll be spending the summer. The program doesn't start for two weeks. You may not want to stay there all that time.”

“How far away is the Bar 8 ranch?”

“About ten miles.”

“Anyone live closer than that?”

“One of my employees and his wife live on the property as caretakers, three-quarters of a mile from the main house. I graze cattle and horses on the ranch, and we occasionally have rustlers, so I can't leave the property unprotected.”

Norah had always lived in a city and didn't look forward to staying at the isolated Bar 8. But where else could she stay? There weren't any motels close by, and she certainly couldn't spend two weeks at the Flying K. This was one hurdle she hadn't considered in her hasty decision to accept the job.

“I'll look around the Bar 8 before I decide where to stay. I'll need to check out the kitchen facilities and start planning meals. The only time I've cooked
for a large group has been on holidays. I'll need to plan well in advance, so I'll know what groceries to buy.”

“Then you should drive your car to the Bar 8, in case you do want to move in today, and I'll follow in the truck. Otherwise, we could have gone on horseback. There's a nice trail between the two ranches, and I'd rather ride a horse than drive, but trucks are a lot faster.”

Norah slanted her eyes toward him. She'd never ridden a horse, but she figured that was something she'd learn to do before the summer was over. Would she regret her hasty decision to take this job?

Pulling his chair up to the table again, Mason reached for the last biscuit. “I might as well eat this. It looks lonesome on that plate all by itself.”

 

The two-story frame white house at the Bar 8 ranch gleamed in the morning sun. As they stood in the yard, Mason explained, “This place was a horse ranch for years, and the house was built sometime before World War I when ranching was profitable. But after the original owners died, a man from Colorado bought the property and developed it into a vacation ranch for city people.”

Norah followed Mason's pointing hand as he said, “He turned the barn loft into dormitories and kept the ground floor as a meeting room and dance hall.”

“Will these children be able to use second-floor facilities?”

“No, but that motel-like building beside the barn has several rooms. The staff will use the barn loft for offices, the first floor as an inside riding arena, and the one-story building will be used to lodge the children and volunteers. Those other buildings are the stables and equipment sheds.”

He turned his attention to the house. “Let's go inside so you can see where you'll be working.”

A newly installed ramp made the house handicapped accessible. When the house was renovated for use as a dude ranch, partitions had been taken out of the original structure and the first floor contained a kitchen, a large dining area and rest rooms to the left of the dining room.

“The kitchen equipment is modern,” Norah commented as she looked around the large room.

“Yes, it's in good shape. The upstairs rooms haven't changed much since the house was built.”

“Hey, Mason,” a voice called from outside.

“That's Doug. I'll see what he wants.”

Mason opened the door. A young blond man, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, stood on the porch. “Doug, meet Norah Williamson. She's the one I hired to take care of the cooking.” He turned to Norah and explained, “Doug Johnson and his
wife, Sheila, are the caretakers here. Sheila will be helping you in the kitchen.”

“Glad to meet you, Norah,” Doug said, taking off his wide-brimmed hat. “Sheila's been looking forward to your arrival.” Looking at Mason, he said, “Before you leave, I'd like for you to come to the stable. I brought in an injured calf—thought you'd better take a look at it.”

“I can check the rest of the house by myself, if you want to go now,” Norah said to Mason.

“All right. I'll stop back soon and see what you've decided.”