Читать книгу Hero Of The Flint Hills - Cassandra Austin - Страница 9

Kansas, 1876

Christian Prescott hurt all over. He longed to soak in a tub of hot water. Instead, he sat on the cold hearth where his dirty clothes wouldn’t ruin the furniture and listened to his younger brother extol the virtues of some young woman he had briefly met in Topeka and had evidently promised to marry.

“But you’ll both love her, too,” Arlen said, aiming the current argument at Christian more than their father, presumably because Hugh needed less convincing. “She’s educated and refined. Beautiful like…like a china doll, delicate and pale.”

Christian wanted to groan. When his brother’s buggy had driven up to the house a few minutes earlier, he had been more than happy to turn the ill-mannered mare over to Jake to rub down. Now he wished he was back at the corral having his joints systematically dislocated. It was damn hard listening to Arlen without saying something he would regret.

“She’s educated,” Arlen repeated, pacing across the braided rug like an actor on a stage while the kerosene lamp provided limelight. “Cultured. A lot like Mother, actually.”

“Your mother left us, Arlen. She hated the ranch.” Christian knew he should have bitten his tongue, but if neither Hugh nor Arlen had thought of that, it was time they did. He risked a glance at their father to assess the damage.

“Yes, well,” the older man said, straightening slightly in the big leather-covered chair. “She won’t be here much, will she? Once Arlen’s elected to the legislature, they’ll be in Topeka all winter. That’s the worst time, Felicia always said.”

“Perhaps she’ll like the ranch if we make her feel welcome,” Arlen said, avoiding eye contact with Christian. “She’ll be taking the train to Cottonwood Station next week. I’ve told her she could be our guest for the summer.”

This time Christian did groan. “What’s she going to do here all summer? You’ll be gone half the time, you know.”

“Mother’s sending Emily out with her.”

Christian tried to imagine Arlen’s cultured china doll enjoying the company of their thirteen-year-old sister. Even Emily was increasingly bored by the few social events of the neighborhood. Now they were to have two bored females with them for three months.

Arlen moved to what Christian had begun to think of as center stage. “Her name is Lynnette Sterling,” he soliloquized. “Lynnette.” His features took on a look of enchantment. “She floated into Mr. Ditmer’s office like a spring breeze.”

“And it was love at first sight.”

It seemed to take Arlen a minute to snap back to the living room. He cast an annoyed glace at Christian. “Mr. Ditmer was helping her settle her father’s estate. He introduced us then, and that night I discovered Mother had met her once or twice and knew her situation.”

“Which is?” Hugh asked.

“Ira Sterling was one of the early settlers in Topeka. From New York State, I believe. Strong abolitionists.”

That had to be worth a few points with Father, Christian thought, tempted to smile for the first time since Arlen had started relating his “wonderful news.”

“Her mother’s family goes back to the Revolution,” Arlen went on.

“That’s her pedigree, son, not her situation.”

Arlen hesitated. “She’s got no place to go.” Abruptly he changed from the fast-talking lawyer to the boy who had found another stray. “Her mother died when she was a child, and her father’s final illness cost her everything. She’s even had to sell her home to pay the debts.”

Christian nodded, coming stiffly to his feet. At least now he understood. He still didn’t like it, though. “Did you have to promise to marry her, Arlen? Couldn’t you simply have helped her find some kind of work?”

“But she’s beautiful, Christian. I can’t think of her working.”

Christian shook his head. No, of course not. Not a fragile china doll. With a sigh, he offered a hand to Arlen; he couldn’t quite bring himself to congratulate him. “It’s good to have you home, little brother,” he said. He wanted to pull Arlen into an embrace, but his brother wore a fancy suit while he was in dirty work clothes. It seemed to describe the distance that had opened between them a few years before and had been widening ever since.

He started out of the room but turned for another look at his brother. Arlen had knelt beside their father’s chair and launched into further descriptions of the girl’s many talents. Arlen had inherited his mother’s fine bone structure. Christian’s own rugged features more resembled their father’s. In fact, he had often thought of Arlen as his opposite, with big brown eyes to his narrow blue ones, curly brown hair to his straight blond thatch, stringy now from sweat and wind.

They were opposites in more than appearance. Christian supposed that was the secret to their close friendship; they had never wanted the same thing so they were never in competition. Or perhaps the seven-year difference in their age had worked to their advantage. When Felicia had taken the then-five-year-old Emily away, Christian had been a grown man already aware that ranching was what he wanted to do with his life. Arlen had been only seventeen. Christian had helped his younger brother through some difficult times while their father was too hurt and angry at his wife’s desertion to notice the boy’s need.

And for Christian, Felicia hadn’t been the first mother he had lost He had been three when his mother died of pneumonia. Neither woman had been strong enough for the solitude and hardships of ranch life. And Lynnette Sterling didn’t sound as though she was either.

Christian laughed at himself as he turned toward the washroom. Arlen’s wife wouldn’t be a ranch wife, as their father had pointed out. He needed a political wife, which was something else altogether. Still, what kind of woman became engaged to a complete stranger? Arlen was handsome and certainly as cultured as his china doll. In all probability, Miss Lynnette Sterling was at this moment singing the praises of her future husband.

“A handsome young attorney! I’m so happy for you, Lynn.”

Lynnette Sterling watched her friend do a gleeful little dance around the study. She had interrupted the sorting of her father’s books when Amanda Norberg arrived and had thought to continue as she told her friend her plans, but Amanda was in no mood to help.

“The house and all the furniture are sold,” Lynnette said, lifting another stack of books from the shelf and placing them on the floor beside the step stool. She sat down before she added, “I have to get my personal belongings out and leave next week. Mr. Prescott was nice enough to offer me a place to stay for the summer.”

“Oh, Lynn, I will miss you terribly.” Her serious expression didn’t last. “My Bill has known your Mr. Prescott forever, you know.”

Lynnette grinned at her friend. “Why didn’t you fix me up with him instead of Julian?”

Amanda cringed. “I’m sorry about Julian.” She took a book from the shelf and read the title before adding it to Lynnette’s stack. “And I would have gotten around to Mr. Prescott sooner, but he’s in and out of town a great deal.”

Instead of going for another book, Amanda sat on the floor in front of her. “I can hardly believe it, Lynn. And to think you told me a hundred times how useless husbands are!”

Lynnette had to laugh at the memory. “That was before I was about to be thrown out on the street. Suddenly one seems very useful.”

Amanda leaned away, obviously shocked by her words. “That’s cold, Lynn. You should love your husband.”

Lynnette watched her friend scowl at her. Relationships came easy to Amanda. Lynnette had always been less confident of her own appeal. When Amanda tossed a brown sausage curl over her shoulder, Lynnette smiled. Her own brown hair would never have held a curl like that and tended to turn red when it was exposed to the sun. Amanda had known since childhood that she would have her pick of men.

“I do love him,” Lynnette ventured. “Or I think I do. He’s really very sweet.”

She meant to be a good wife to Arlen, but she couldn’t help wishing something she wrote would sell. She would be bringing something to the marriage that way. It occurred to her that if she could sell her writing she wouldn’t need a husband.

She mentioned none of this to Amanda, who considered her ambition to be a writer foolishness. As far as Amanda knew, nothing Lynnette had ever written had earned her a penny. Praise, occasionally, but no money. Lynnette’s one success she hadn’t shared with anyone. The dime novel, Passion’s Secret, by Silver Nightingale had paid a great many bills and helped her keep her home nearly a year longer than she would have otherwise.

Lynnette lifted the rest of the stack of books onto her lap, but Amanda took them and moved them back to the floor. “Does his touch make your blood sing? Does his voice speak to your very soul? Do you look into his eyes and feel yourself floating up to heaven?”

Lynnette couldn’t resist laughing. “You should be the writer.”

Amanda squeezed her hands. “I’m serious, Lynn. If that’s not what you feel, you shouldn’t marry him. I’m afraid you’re going to be miserable.”

“You’re afraid I’m going to argue with him until he’s miserable.” Amanda didn’t laugh. Lynnette rose to her feet pulling her friend up with her. “If that’s what you and Bill have, I’m thrilled for you, but I suspect that kind of joy only comes to a lucky few who believe the moon makes plans for young girls.”

“I quit believing that years ago,” Amanda said, pulling Lynnette into her arms. When she let her go, she continued. “But I still believe in love.”

Lynnette stepped away. “I believe in love as well, Amanda, but perhaps most of us have a different kind of love.”

Lynnette listened to Amanda’s deep sigh and knew her friend had given up. “Just remember, if there’s anything I can do…”

“You’re already helping me so much. I can’t thank you enough for letting me store some things at your house. Now, you’d better hurry home to Bill before he starts to think you’ve decided to run away with me.”

Lynnette saw her friend to the door, then returned to her father’s study. It seemed too soon to be going through his books, deciding what to save, sell or take to the country for the summer. Several volumes had made the rounds to all the piles. If she couldn’t decide what to do with a book, how could she decide what to do with her life?

With a sigh, Lynnette sat on the step stool, placing a stack of books in her lap. Her decision had already been made, and she would honor it. And the books had to be sorted. She vowed to be ready when Mrs. Prescott and her daughter came to take her to the train station.

Early Wednesday morning, Lynnette stood in her nearly empty front room beside the large trunk and two small valises that were to make the trip to the ranch. More of her belongings were stored away in Amanda’s attic. She tried not to look at the things she was leaving behind forever.

Amanda had come to see her off. “Write me every day like you did when you were in college,” she said, pulling the curtain aside to look out the front window.

“I won’t be able to post a letter every day,” Lynnette reminded her.

Amanda dropped the curtain and turned toward her. The sorrow on her face told Lynnette the carriage had arrived. Amanda gave her a quick hug before letting Mrs. Prescott’s servants in and directing them to the trunk.

Amanda sniffed into a white handkerchief as the two women followed the men out the door. Lynnette tried for a brave smile. “I’ll send you all my stories.”

Amanda’s laugh was a choked sob. Lynnette gave her friend a parting hug before climbing into the coach with Mrs. Prescott and her daughter, Emily. One last look at her home and a wave to Amanda, and Lynnette was on her way.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely summer, both of you,” Felicia Prescott said, reaching across to pat Lynnette’s hand. “I feel certain that you’re perfect for my son. I’m so happy for you, I almost wish I were going, too.”

Emily’s head snapped up. “Do come, Mama!”

“No, dear.”

The older woman’s attention turned to the buildings visible through the window. Emily watched her a moment and shrugged. Lynnette smiled sympathetically at the child. Of course she would want her parents together. It must be confusing to shuttle back and forth. From Arlen’s conversation she knew the breakup had come a long time before.

At the station, Felicia sent the driver to see to the trunks and turned to say goodbye to her daughter. Lynnette looked away to give them some privacy. In a moment, Emily stepped to Lynnette’s side, and they walked to the train together. Just before they boarded, Felicia called, “Give Christian an extra hug from me.”

“I will, Mama.” Emily climbed to the platform and turned to blow her mother a kiss.

Lynnette waved as the whistle blared. “We’d better find some seats,” she said.

The car wasn’t crowded. They were able to find an empty pair of seats, and Lynnette flipped the back of one so they were facing each other. It wasn’t until they were settled in and their valises stowed on the floor between the seats, that Lynnette gave any thought to Felicia’s last request. She knew that Christian was the older brother, who ran the ranch with their father. Was he so openly the favorite that Felicia didn’t care if her other children knew about it? Poor Arlen. It seemed strange, since Lynnette was sure this was the first she had heard Felicia mention him.

She had known Felicia socially since she, at sixteen, had begun attending functions at her father’s side, her mother having died when she was a baby. She had, in fact, met Arlen a time or two in the past, though she was sure he didn’t remember.

Emily’s voice brought her out of her speculation. “Do you like to ride horses, Miss Sterling?”

“I’ve never ridden.” She smiled at the girl. “Please, call me Lynnette.”

“Lynnette.” Emily seemed pleased. “Riding used to be my favorite thing, but I’d rather go to dances now. They hardly ever have any in the country, though. Do you like games—checkers and cards, I mean?”

“I haven’t played much. I suppose because I had no brothers or sisters growing up.”

Emily seemed disappointed. “Do you like books?”

“I love books.”

The girl’s face didn’t brighten. “Then you’ll love Papa’s library. I bet he’ll let you read anything you want.”

“Are you afraid I won’t find enough to keep me busy?”

Emily screwed up her face. “Arlen says I’m supposed to keep you company, but I’m bored often enough myself. I was hoping we could do some things together.”

Lynnette laughed. “You can teach me all your favorite games, and we can take turns reading while the other sews.”

Emily cringed. “Sews? Like embroidery and needlepoint? You like that?”

“Only if there’s a good story to listen to.” Lynnette reached across to pat the young girl’s knee. “Don’t worry, Emily. I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful summer.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to make it sound so dreary. I always have fun, especially with Christian.”

This was the second time he had been announced as the favorite. Emily didn’t seem to notice anything unusual about her statement. Perhaps this was common among siblings.

Emily blithely removed her hat and placed it on the pile of valises, claiming one of her bags to serve as a pillow, and curled up to sleep.

Lynnette closed her eyes and tried to follow Emily’s example, but two young girls across the aisle burst into giggles. Drawn by their merriment, Lynnette turned to watch them. They were about Emily’s age and looked very much alike. One clasped her hand over her mouth to quiet herself while the other craned her neck to look over the back of her seat. Their parents, Lynnette guessed, sat behind them with two younger children. The adults gave the girl reproving frowns.

Lynnette smiled to herself. How early the spontaneous pleasures of youth were stifled by. convention. She had very few memories of that kind of gaiety from her own youth. She felt a vague sense of loss but dismissed it as grief over her father’s death.

The girl who had turned to gauge their parents’ reactions settled back into her seat. Her sister leaned toward her and drew a small book from beneath her skirts. They put their heads together and returned to their reading, but not before Lynnette got a glimpse of the cover.

Lynnette started in surprise. She glanced toward Emily to see if she had seen it too. The girl slept peacefully and Lynnette sighed in relief, then wanted to laugh at herself. There was nothing on that dark red cover that anyone would connect with her.

She leaned her head against the seat and tried again to rest. Passion’s Secret had been so much fun to write and such delicious revenge on an editor who had ignored all her other stories. She wasn’t ashamed of the story; it was just that no one would understand. She wasn’t prepared for the public censure that would result if her authorship of the story became common knowledge. And so far no one knew, not even Julian Taggart.

Thinking of Julian made her skin crawl. He had seemed nice enough when she first met him. When she had caught him reading through some story notes in her parlor, she had told herself she should be glad he took an interest in her writing, but it bothered her that he hadn’t felt he needed permission. When she decided she no longer wanted to see him, she discovered how possessive he could be. Little things that were hard to describe made her wonder if the man was unstable. She was certainly happy to be away from him.

Lynnette forced herself to relax. She should put Julian out of her mind and rest. She had a long day of travel ahead of her. She closed her eyes, but the train stopped every twenty minutes or so and the conductor’s calls made sleep impossible. After an hour, she found the book she had packed in her valise and lost herself in it.

Emily alternated between sleep and chatter. At noon she found the lunches her housekeeper had packed for them. Lynnette wasn’t particularly hungry, but Emily managed to eat her meal and talk at the same time.

“We’re still a couple of hours from Cottonwood Station,” she told Lynnette as she packed away the remains of her lunch. She settled back for another nap.

Lynnette tried again to rest, but never gave in to more than a light sleep, fearful of missing their stop. She needn’t have worried. Emily roused herself, stretched and began collecting her bags a moment before the conductor called for Cottonwood Station.

“You’re quite an alarm clock,” Lynnette said, gathering her own things.

“I’ve done this so often I think I know every curve in the tracks.”

Lynnette led the way into the aisle with Emily right behind. They were nearly to the end of the car when Emily turned back. “I’m missing my hat!”

“Shall I help you find it?” Lynnette tried to turn too, but a man had entered the aisle behind her and seemed reluctant to let her pass.

“No, I’ll just be a minute,” the girl called.

Lynnette stepped into the sunlight and got her first look at Cottonwood Station. She knew the town of Cottonwood Falls was across the river, but perhaps there would be a chance to explore it later.

The porter gave her only a second to study her surroundings before he reached to help her with her bags, tossing them unceremoniously on the platform below. Lynnette thanked him as he helped her down the narrow steps.

Out of the way of other passengers, Lynnette took a better look around. Surely this was a place full of stories. A couple with three small, quiet children and a pile of luggage waited for their turn to climb aboard. A young woman in provocative finery watched the passengers disembark. Was she waiting for someone in particular or for a potential customer? An elderly man in a top hat leaned on a cane, ignoring a woman’s chatter. His wife?

As Lynnette’s eyes roved the area, they lit on the most interesting person of all. A young man with blond hair to his shoulders lounged against an open wagon. His long slender legs and hips were encased in dusty denim. His blue shirt was open at the throat, its sleeves rolled nearly to his elbows. He thrust his hands into his pockets, pulling the black suspenders taut. His chest and shoulders looked far more muscular than the men’s she saw in the city. Were theirs simply hidden by their dress jackets?

She felt the curl of excitement in her stomach that meant she smelled a story. My, but he was interesting, she thought, then realized he was watching her just as intently. She turned away, but not before she noticed that his expression was more than slightly unpleasant. She glanced at the train and considered going back after Emily, but realized it had only been a couple of minutes since she had disembarked and there was still a steady stream of travelers exiting the car.

What could she represent that would make the young man scowl at her? Sure, her dress was slightly out of style and well-worn, but it was tasteful and clean, or had been this morning. It must have been her imagination. She looked back at him to see. No, he was scowling. Well, frowning at least. His hat was pulled down too far to see his brows so she couldn’t say be was actually scowling.

But I’m definitely staring. She turned away but movement brought her eyes back again. He straightened, pulled his hands from his pockets, and broke into a dimpled smile. Lynnette was astounded. It was several seconds before she could turn to see what had caught his attention.

Emily, overloaded with bags, had emerged from the car, her hat held precariously between two fingers. Lynnette hurried to help the porter lighten her load. Emily suddenly seemed like a vulnerable child. That strange man looked at her as if he wanted to devour her. Lynnette considered asking the porter to stay with them until Arlen arrived.

When Emily jumped to the platform, Lynnette drew her close, keeping herself between Emily and the stranger. “That man,” she started, giving the barest nod in his direction.

Emily leaned around Lynnette, then squealed. “Christian!”

Emily flew across the platform, down the steps and into Christian’s open arms. He lifted her off the ground as if she were a small child and spun her around. The wind finished what the nap had started, and Emily’s hair fell down her back. Christian’s hat hit the ground and for a moment their faces were blurred by straight blond hair and dark brown curls.

Lynnette was too stunned to follow. She stood beside their collection of bags watching the brother and sister. It had never occurred to her that family would actually greet each other this way. She had expected a warm smile, a handshake, perhaps a kiss on the cheek. She was envious.

Christian finally let the girl go, and they walked together toward her. They still had their arms around each other, and Lynnette wondered how his long legs kept from becoming entangled in Emily’s flowing skirts.

“Lynnette,” Emily said when they reached her. “This is my brother, Christian. Christian, meet Miss Lynnette Sterling.”

“Hey! Good job, Muffin,” Christian said, unwrapping his arm from his sister’s shoulder to stretch it out toward Lynnette. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lynnette Sterling.”

Lynnette took the hand, hoping her face no longer registered her surprise. “How do you do,” she murmured. She couldn’t quite forget that this same man had been scowling at her only moments before. Frowning at least. It seemed a little hard to believe now, he was so obviously happy.

She realized they had both looked at each other a little too long, measuring, she decided. She pulled her hand free and reached for one of the bags.

“Mama said to give you an extra hug for her.”

A hesitant quality in the girl’s voice made Lynnette straighten to see his reaction. For a moment he was completely still. She thought she saw pain in his eyes, then it was gone and the dimpled smile was back. “Well, let’s have it,” he said.

Emily giggled and jumped into his arms. He swung her around again. Up close, Lynnette could see how tightly they held each other, how their cheeks pressed together. The envy she had felt before was replaced with a longing not quite so sisterly. She was staring again. Even as she turned to reach for the bags she had a feeling he had noticed her interest.

A moment later, Emily was on her feet and all three were gathering up the bags, with Christian taking the largest share.

“You ladies ever hear of traveling light?” he asked, leading the way to the wagon.

“Not me,” said Emily. “We each have a trunk besides.”

Christian let out an exaggerated groan as he set the bags down beside the wagon and retrieved his hat. “Come show them to me, Em.” He tugged on one of Emily’s curls. As they walked away, Lynnette heard his teasing. “I better braid your hair before we head home. Wouldn’t you like that? Two nice little pigtails like you used to wear?” Emily squealed and tried to pull her hair out of his reach.

Lynnette watched them as they found the trunks in front of the luggage car. She tried to think of a word to describe the way he moved. Lithe, she decided, and wondered if he knew how to dance. When Christian hoisted Emily’s trunk to his shoulder and started across the platform, Lynnette turned away, pretending to study her surroundings. She didn’t want him to look at her and guess she had been imagining herself dancing in his arms.

He dropped the trunk to the wagon bed and pushed it forward, then turned to lean against the wagon while he caught his breath. “Real tight pigtails,” he said to Emily, as if carrying the trunk had only been a momentary interruption in his teasing. “So you always look surprised.” He raised his eyebrows to demonstrate, and Emily hit him in the stomach.

He merely grinned and headed back for Lynnette’s trunk. Lynnette hadn’t been certain what she would need on the ranch and, along with every imaginable type of clothing, she had packed several books and lots of writing supplies. It hadn’t occurred to her until she watched Christian try to lift the trunk just how big and heavy it was.

He didn’t waste time struggling with it but got the porter to help. When the two men had shoved the trunk into the back of the wagon, Christian gave the man a coin. “Thanks for the help,” he said. “You know how it is. You go away for the summer, you just have to take your favorite anvil.”

Lynnette tried to swallow her embarrassment. She felt a need to apologize, but before she could, Emily applied another blow to Christian’s stomach. “Quit teasing!” The girl walked demurely to the front of the wagon and waited, one hand out limply, for Christian to help her in. Christian tossed Lynnette a persecuted look before following obediently. He reached for the hand as if to assist the girl, but grabbed her waist and lifted her instead. Emily giggled.

He held a hand toward Lynnette, indicating she was \\ next. She was almost afraid to approach him. He grinned a challenge. She stepped forward with no small amount of trepidation, but he merely steadied her as she climbed aboard.

The seat seemed rather narrow, and Lynnette was uncertain how to make room for Christian. The wagon rocked as he sprang into the bed behind them. She retreated to the side, pulling her skirts out of the way, as he climbed over the seat to sit between her and Emily.

Emily seemed less concerned about her skirts. “Why didn’t you bring the buggy?”

“And do what with the trunks?” He reached across Lynnette to untie the reins from the hand brake and release it. Lynnette tried to shrink out of his way and wasn’t entirely successful. It somehow embarrassed her to be this close to a man she had just met. Doubly so when he seemed capable of ignoring the contact.

“You could have taken our trunks in the wagon, and Arlen could have driven us in the buggy.” Emily emphasized Arlen, making it sound like a preferable arrangement.

“Arlen’s off shaking hands and kissing babies.”

Lynnette felt a twinge of guilt. It hadn’t occurred to her to question why Arlen hadn’t met the train. In fact at that moment she could barely call up an image of Arlen’s face. She wished she could see Emily; she and Arlen looked so much alike. When she tried, she ended up studying Christian’s profile.

He looked nothing like either of them. One sandybrown eyebrow arched above an incredibly blue eye. Well, she knew there was a matched set, but she could only see one. She knew also that the tanned cheek could crease into a charming dimple. His strong, lean jaw contrasted with his full lips. Exactly what color were those lips? Carnation? No, not quite so bright. Rose, then? Perhaps. A pink rose at dusk.

The lips curved up into a grin that revealed white even teeth. Lynnette jumped, her attention quickly shifting to his eyes—both of them. When had he caught her staring? She couldn’t have been more mortified if he had winked. The humor in his eyes made her think he would do it. She pretended to look beyond him toward Emily, but he had to know she couldn’t see her. Emily was talking, she realized, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to make any intelligent response. After a moment, she turned away.

Lynnette thanked God she wasn’t prone to blushing. He could be debating between scarlet and crimson. She resolutely turned her attention to the countryside. Their route wandered a little through rocky hills, climbing ever higher, and Christian’s leg pressed against her own. She was sure she felt its heat soak through her heavy skirt. She tried to scoot farther away, noticing how the trees seemed greener and fresher here than in the city.

She took in a deep breath of the summer-ripe air. She identified the scent of wind-tossed dust, growing vegetation, a faint hint of horse, soap and sun-dried clothes. She wanted to groan. She had never been so preoccupied with a man before.

She only noticed everything about him because she was a writer, she told herself. She looked for details. She liked to try to describe what she saw and touched. Possible descriptions of the man sitting next to her made her fingers tremble.

She would block him out. It was much more useful to describe the countryside. The…hills…grass…

Christian cleared his throat.

Lynnette closed her eyes for a moment. She had to get her imagination under control. It was fatigue, of course, that made it so difficult.

“Arlen should be back sometime tomorrow,” he said.

Lynnette turned toward him; she really had no choice without being rude. My, but he was attractive.

After she’d gazed for a moment into sky-blue eyes, his words found their way to her brain. Arlen. Tomorrow. He expected a response. She wasn’t sure what she should say. That she was dying to see Arlen again? When she couldn’t remember what he looked like except he didn’t have full lips or dimples or blue-blue eyes? Besides it didn’t sound quite proper.

“I’m grateful to your family for letting me visit this summer,” she ventured.

He eyed her oddly for a moment then turned his attention back to the team. Lynnette supposed it hadn’t sounded particularly romantic.

“How’s Papa?” Emily asked. “Catch me up on everything.”

“Well,” Christian began, “Papa’s fine. Nothing much slows him down. Perry broke his leg last winter, but he’s healing.” He turned to Lynette. “Perry’s our hired man.”

Lynnette nodded, too rattled by their earlier exchange to think clearly. He must have taken her lack of response as lack of interest. He made no further effort to include her as he described the health and activities of several people whom she did not know. She hung on every word, trying to associate each name with each situation. She wasn’t merely captivated by his voice.

When Christian mentioned Elayne was due to foal in a few weeks, Emily leaned forward to inform Lynnette, “I named her. Elayne was Sir Lancelot’s mother.”

Christian turned to Lynnette. “You know what she was reading the summer we got the mare.”

“It’s a great name,” Emily said, scowling at her brother.

“I suppose if the foal’s male we’ll have to name it Lancelot.”

Lynnette thought he spoke to Emily, but his eyes were still on her. It was easy to gaze into those blue pools and forget to speak. She thought of a mouse hypnotized by a snake. Emily rescued her by mentioning Tyrant, pulling Christian’s attention away from Lynnette. Tyrant turned out to be a cat who had the run of the house.

They had been steadily climbing into the rocky hills and at the top of one, Christian stopped the wagon. “I thought you might like to stretch your legs.” He reached across Lynnette to set the brake and tie the reins. He stood and, placing one foot on the dashboard in front of Lynnette, leaped to the ground.

Emily didn’t seem particularly surprised by this rather athletic feat. “You’re the one with the stretched legs. Lynnette and I are fine.”

Christian grinned and offered his hand to Lynnette. She knew she hesitated a moment before taking it and hoped he thought it was because of his sister’s words. He held her hand no longer than necessary and stepped away. Still in that one moment she had felt his strength and warmth. And his calluses, she reminded herself, as if that would make a difference.

The wind played with Lynnette’s heavy skirts as she turned and stared. “You can see forever up here.”

The green hills tiered below them to the valley and the cottonwood trees that hid the river. Hazy hills were visible beyond, complementing the pale blue sky.

“This is the worst part of coming to the ranch,” Emily said.

Lynnette turned toward her, laughing in surprise, then realized what Emily was talking about. The girl had pulled her hair together and held it at her shoulder in one fist while tendrils whirled around her face. Lynnette could feel her own small hat being tugged loose from its numerous pins. “We have wind in the city, too,” she offered.

“Not if you don’t go outside.”

Lynnette turned to Christian and caught his playful grin. “She should have let me braid her hair.”

Christian’s conspiratorial tone disconcerted her. “Perhaps we should go,” she suggested. Christian pulled a basket out from under the seat and handed it to Emily who balanced it on her lap. After one last look across the valley Lynnette let Christian help her aboard and waited as he resumed his former place.

As soon as the wagon was moving again, Emily opened the basket It contained three pint jars packed in straw. “Tea,” Christian said, handing one to Lynnette. “It isn’t hot, but it’s wet.”

“Why didn’t she send lemonade?” Emily was clearly disappointed.

“Martha seemed to think tea would be more proper.”

Emily snorted her disagreement but soon began plying Christian with questions about the summer activities planned for the neighborhood. Lynnette opened the jar, grateful it wasn’t full. She was afraid she would spill it on her dress and look a fright when she met Arlen’s father.

Perhaps Emily was used to drinking from a jar in a moving wagon. Her conversation never faltered. Lynnette was only half-listening when a tall rock house became visible. It dropped from sight as the wagon dipped into a valley then reappeared, looming over the countryside.

“Thank goodness.” Emily sighed. “We’re almost home. I’m so-o-o tired of traveling.”

“Poor little Em,” soothed Christian. “Didn’t you get to nap on the train?”

Emily’s elbow landed firmly in Christian’s ribs, causing him to jolt into Lynnette. He gave her an apologetic smile, but he didn’t exactly look repentant.

“I slept some,” Emily said, “but there were two little girls giggling the whole way.”

Lynnette felt a twinge of apprehension. She hoped Emily didn’t relate the source of the girls’ giggles. Even if Emily had seen the book, even if she remembered the title and author, no one would guess it was hers.

She stole a glance at Christian and found his eyes on her. Had he sensed her unease? She concentrated on breathing slowly, willing her hands to remain still in her lap. She didn’t want her reaction to make him curious enough to ask Emily why the girls had been giggling.

Another glance told her he still watched her. Perhaps he was vain enough to take credit for her nervousness, to believe his leg pressing against hers made her heart beat loudly enough for him to hear, to believe his arm against her shoulder made her fingers tremble.

And of course, that wasn’t it at all.