Читать книгу A Family Found - Laura Abbot - Страница 11
ОглавлениеDressed in riding bloomers concealed under a full overskirt, Sophie waited with Effie in the early-morning light while the major led her recently purchased gray gelding from the barn. “You know your horseflesh,” he said, stroking the animal’s neck. “Ranger here should have the stamina and agility for mountain trails.”
“I agree. Besides—” she grinned “—he’s handsome, as well.” Turning to Effie, she let herself sink into the older woman’s warm embrace. “Thank you for everything, most of all for your encouragement. It’s been a difficult few years, but now I feel ready for whatever comes.”
“Keep in touch, my dear. We’ll be eager to hear of your adventures.” Effie held her at arm’s length. “But don’t be foolhardy.”
“I’ll try to behave myself.”
Robert handed her the reins and stood by while she mounted. “If you have half the good sense your brother Caleb showed with the cavalry, you’ll be fine. Godspeed, dear girl.”
Tate Lockwood rode over from the stock tank where he’d been watering his horse. “All set?”
Sophie blinked twice. This mountain man—dressed in worn breeches, scuffed boots, a chamois shirt and a leather, sheepskin-lined coat—bore no resemblance to the gentrified man of the evening before. In fact, last night, she’d questioned whether such a sophisticated gentleman was capable of handling the rigors of the high country. “I’m ready.”
His look begged the question “Are you really?” “Adequate clothing, full canteen?”
How irritating to be treated like the greenest of greenhorns. “Yes, sir,” she said, barely controlling her indignation.
“Robert, Effie, I’ll see that she arrives safely.”
“We have no doubt of that,” Effie said with a smile. “Now, off with you.”
Lockwood wheeled his horse and trotted toward the road. Sophie followed, her heart beating wildly. It had been many months since she had been this excited about life. What lay ahead, she did not know, but anything was better than the paralysis that had enveloped her since Charlie’s death. She faced the mountains, their purple-gray shadows slowly dissolving into a brilliant orange as the sun crested the horizon and bathed them in light. A new dawn. Appropriately symbolic, she mused.
Tate Lockwood said not one word until they arrived at the livery stable. Three men were piling sacks of flour and sugar on top of boxes in the two wagons and strapping them down. Tate dismounted and gestured to them. “Miss Montgomery, meet my hands Curly, Sam and Pancho. They’ll be our traveling companions.”
Was there a hint of mockery in his tone? Well, never mind. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Dismounting, she walked to the first wagon to satisfy herself that her belongings and provisions had been loaded and secured.
“Everything meeting your specifications?” Lockwood loomed over her, the brim of his hat pulled low.
“Quite.”
“Tonight we’ll stay at a hotel in Longmont, but once we start on the trail, there’s no turning back.”
“I certainly hope not.”
With a grudging “Good,” he conferred with the men, who climbed into the wagon seats. “Saddle up, miss,” the one named Sam called to her. She noticed that all four men were armed with both rifles and pistols.
They had covered a few miles, Lockwood in the lead and her trailing along behind him ahead of the wagons when, without looking at her, he said, “It’s a rocky and demanding climb to the park.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I doubt anything you’ve read or been told will have prepared you adequately. Robert tells me you have rented a cabin in Estes Valley sight unseen. I assure you it will lack the amenities to which you’re accustomed.”
While she fumed under his patronizing attitude, they rode for a time in silence until he spoke again. “The mountains are no place for a lone woman such as yourself.”
There was no holding back. “I beg to differ. As I hope you will come to recognize, I am not just any woman. Nor am I bothered by being solitary or lacking creature comforts.”
By way of acknowledgment, Tate merely grunted. Except for pointing out landmarks, he said little until they arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon. “I’ll see to the horses and wagons,” he said after she dismounted. “Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”
When Sophie inspected her lodging, she quickly realized amenities were, indeed, being left behind. Saddle sore, she ate a bowl of bland stew, noting that there was only one other woman in the company gathered in the public room. Too weary to be sociable, she retired early and, despite her excitement over what the morrow would bring, fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
Tate Lockwood greeted her in the dawn with curt advice. “Bundle up.”
Sophie buttoned her heavy coat, wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck and clapped her weathered felt hat on her head. Before long, they left the flat land and began climbing. She reveled in the piney smell and fresh air. As the canyon narrowed and the trail bordered the river, she watched in wonder as the cascading water from the high peaks, laden with ice and snow runoff, splashed across rocks, creating a thrilling music. At each turn of the trail, a new pleasure awaited—the raucous cry of a mountain jay or the sight of a graceful doe bounding across their path.
When the sun was high overhead, they reached a spot where huge boulders bordered the river. Lockwood signaled a halt. Sophie was glad to dismount, remove her coat and stretch her limbs. The hands lounged on the ground to eat lunch. She settled on a flat rock beneath a spruce tree and pulled out the bit of roast and potato from the dinner at the Hurlburts’. Lockwood hunkered a few feet away, his dark brown eyes intent on her. “Bearing up?”
“I assure you, Mr. Lockwood, that I am managing quite well and that if I require assistance from you or the others, I will not hesitate to ask.”
“Hmm.” He stood and unfolded the oilskin holding his food. “From this point, the ascent is demanding, treacherous in places, especially this early in the season.”
Was he trying to scare her? “I shall follow your expert lead.”
He bit into a piece of meat, chewing thoughtfully, but saying nothing. Sophie found him intriguing—a man comfortable in different worlds, yet guarded, as if he avoided intimacy and rarely exposed his inner thoughts. He was handsome in a chiseled sort of way, and she could see how some women might find him attractive. She wondered about his wife and sons. Perhaps his wife would provide her with some female companionship during her stay in the mountains. From her reading, she understood that there were few women there and that she, as a single woman on her own, would be an oddity. She looked forward to meeting the woman who had overcome Tate Lockwood’s reserve.
“Usually we can make this trip in one day, but ice will slow us from this point on. Best get going if we’re to make the valley by nightfall.” He refolded the oilskin and put it in his pocket, then took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “’Course, if we encounter delays, the ground will be your bed.”
“That will be a comfort after the long ride.”
She thought she heard him snort as he walked away. As if she hadn’t slept under the stars on every cattle drive she’d ever been on. The prudent course of action under the circumstances was to keep her mouth shut, difficult as it was to do, and show the man she was equal to any hardship. One thing was certain: she was not a conventional woman, whatever that might be.
* * *
Much as he’d hoped to make it home from Longmont in one day, Tate wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. At several points they had been forced to push the wagons over icy spots, and once, they’d even had to hitch two teams together to haul each wagon around points where avalanche debris had blocked the trail. It had been a grueling day, but to his surprise and relief, Sophie Montgomery had been more help than burden.
Easing his aching muscles, Tate lounged by the fire idly watching sparks ascend into the night air and fade into the darkness. Curly, Sam and Pancho were rolled up in their blankets beneath one of the wagons. Miss Montgomery had carefully prepared a bed of pine boughs under an overhanging rock ledge and had lain down and covered herself with her bedroll blanket. Despite the campfire, the evening was cold. Earlier, he’d noticed her pulling her coat tighter and often reaching her gloved hands toward the warmth of the flames. If she thought it was cold now, wait until she reached her cabin at 7,500 feet above sea level. She probably had no idea they would be lucky to reach Estes Park before another spring snow blanketed the mountains. He hoped to deliver and store the provisions before that happened. Over the winter and early spring, snows had kept him and his men from getting to Denver, although he had been able to work in one quick trip down the canyon to Lyons.
Crossing his legs, he picked up his tin cup and took a welcome sip of hot coffee. He hoped Marcus and Toby would like the books he’d picked out for them in Denver. Very soon he should hear from the Ohio tutor he’d engaged for his sons. There was no school in Estes Park. His boys loved the place, but he himself was no great shakes as a teacher. He didn’t want them to grow up without an education, yet it wouldn’t do to send them off, even if he knew of a suitable place for them. They’d had enough of change and loss in their young lives. Leaving their home was not an option. This prospective tutor, a recent graduate of Oberlin College, had solid academic credentials and claimed to crave a mountain adventure. However, thumbing through the mail he’d picked up in Denver, Tate had seen no correspondence from the young man, despite the fact he was scheduled to arrive at the end of May.
Throwing the remainder of his coffee into the fire, he got to his feet, knowing from the position of the moon that he needed to get to sleep. The haul from here to the park would demand grit. He turned to study the small form huddled beneath the blanket, shaking his head. She might be dressed in drab, utilitarian clothes, but there was no hiding her femininity. He wondered what had prompted this young woman to undertake not only this trek, but a prolonged solo stay in the mountains. Did she, too, have demons chasing her? Well, it was none of his business.
Before he settled under the second wagon, he wrestled with himself. Miss Montgomery, being so small, might be cold, despite her blanket. By morning the temperatures would be below freezing. It wouldn’t do for her strength to be compromised. He eyed the buffalo robe enclosing his bedroll. He untied the leather thongs and spread out the robe. He had a blanket and his coat was plenty warm. He scooped up the robe and started toward the woman’s resting place. Then he stopped, arguing with himself. She wanted to be independent, didn’t she? Why should he concern himself with her comfort? Yet he knew the toll such frigid nights could take on a person. Before other arguments occurred to him, he carried the buffalo robe to where she lay nestled on the pine boughs. Kneeling beside her, he gently spread it over her, struck once again by how small and vulnerable she seemed, especially for one so fiercely determined to make her way in inhospitable country.
Back under the wagon, wrapped in his own bedding, he chastised himself. He could not assume responsibility for Miss Montgomery after this trip ended. He had enough to worry about managing his ranching and mining affairs and, of course, caring for his boys. That having been decided, he rolled over on his side, freed from concern. Until just before he drifted off. Until he was honest with himself. Tate Lockwood would never turn his back on a woman in need.
* * *
Sophie awoke with a jolt, trying to work out in her mind why she was so cozy, covered in a heavy layer of warmth. Then, smelling coffee, her mind focused. The trail. She was on the trail. Sitting up, she noted it was still dark, but flames illuminated the immediate vicinity. Tate Lockwood and the others sat around the fire. Carefully she stood up, leaning back to unkink her spine.
“Breakfast,” Tate said, pointing to the cast-iron skillet. The others looked up, studying her.
“I’m starving,” she said, advancing toward them. Sam handed her a cup of coffee, and Pancho folded a piece of ham in a flapjack and brought it to her. Finding a stone, she sat down, aware only now of a faint lightening in the eastern sky. Yet here in the canyon darkness lingered. The chill morning air, though invigorating, made her long once again to be cocooned under the blankets. No one spoke while they ate, and she certainly wasn’t going to intrude upon their silence to ask how much farther they had to travel or what time they might arrive at the valley. She trembled with excitement—at last the day had come! The prospect of locating her cabin and exploring new possibilities elated her.
“Can’t delay,” Lockwood said, rising to his feet. “Let’s pack up and move out.”
Sophie gobbled the last bite of her flapjack, washed it down with a swig of hot coffee and moved to her sleeping place to gather her things. Once there, she stopped in her tracks. No wonder she’d been so warm. Atop her makeshift bed lay a thick buffalo robe, certainly not hers. She turned around to see who might have provided her with such comfort. Holding up the robe, she caught Mr. Lockwood’s eye. He shrugged, then turned away. She didn’t know whether to be irked by his presumption that she didn’t have adequate blankets or pleased that he had a protective side. She smiled to herself. Maybe his bark was worse than his bite. No matter, she had slept well. Then she remembered. A man had come to her, covered her with warmth and then lingered by her side. At the time she’d thought she was dreaming of Charlie.
She folded the robe and walked over to return it. “Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. I slept very well.”
“Courtesy of the West, miss.” He took the robe and nodded. “Didn’t figure you’d counted on quite how cold it can be up here.”
She bit back the retort on her lips. Despite all her planning, he was right—she’d underestimated the temperatures. “I trust my other preparations will be more effective.”
“You’d best hope so. It’s a long ways between houses in the valley. You’ll be fending for yourself.”
She understood both the rebuke and warning in his words. “I will, of course, do everything I can not to be bothersome to others. That having been said, may I count on your friendship and goodwill?”
He looked at her, as if assessing her mettle. “Friendship and goodwill? No gentleman would turn his back on a woman in distress.”
Hardly the heartiest of endorsements. She voiced what he had left unsaid. “Nevertheless, I’m sure it is your hope I will not pose such inconveniences for you.”
“I have my own concerns, Miss Montgomery. They must come first.”
“Understood.”
Once on the trail, the rugged terrain again took a toll on the horses. Often she had to dismount and lead Ranger around barriers. The higher they went, the more she gloried in the various trees along the way, especially the beautiful spruce. And she thought no Parisian perfume could surpass the fragrance of the pines. It was as if inch by inch, foot by foot, mile by mile, she was being exposed to a wonderland of sights and sensations. Even though her lungs ached and her muscles protested, she pushed on, eager to arrive at her destination.
At one point when the trail leveled out a bit, Lockwood rode alongside her. “Has anyone told you about the travelers and tourists?”
“I know that in summertime the population of the valley grows. Hikers, fishermen, mountain climbers, those who seek the altitude for health reasons.”
“Yes, and although there is a hotel or two, they don’t all stay there. Care to venture a guess about where else they find lodging?”
“In private homes?”
“Exactly. Most travelers are harmless, but some might enjoy, er, finding shelter with a lone woman.”
“Are you trying to frighten me, Mr. Lockwood?”
He looked over at her, eyebrows raised in question. “Am I succeeding?”
She stared forward, resolute. “I’m by no means defenseless, sir. I have brought along weapons, primarily for hunting, but if necessary, I can hold my own against someone threatening my life.” She glanced over at him, reading skepticism in his expression. “I am an accomplished and accurate markswoman.” Then with gleeful malice, she added, “Would you care to test that boast?”
“No, ma’am. But then, I’m not the type of man to be in such a position.” An edge came into his voice. “I’m simply trying to educate you.”
“Protect me, more like,” she snapped before he shook his head sadly and trotted off. Great! She’d done it again—assaulted his pride in the effort to prove her independence. Yet deep down, if she was honest with herself, she knew she would undoubtedly need Tate Lockwood in some future capacity. Where else would she have to turn? It was ticklish business when he so clearly wanted nothing more than to deposit her at her cabin and be rid of her.
* * *
If he lived to be a hundred, Tate knew he would never forget the look on Sophie Montgomery’s face when they came up out of the canyon and reached the point where the entire Estes Valley spread out in front of them, rimmed by the timeless snowcapped peaks. Her gasp was audible, and her cheeks flushed with excitement. He turned in his saddle to study her more carefully as she took in the spectacle before her. It was as if he were in communion with her, experiencing the splendor of the mountains for the first time. For long moments she didn’t speak, and the silence of the space below them seemed almost sacred. That is, if he believed anything at all could be sacred.
Finally, with eyes awash with emotion, she looked at him. “I had no idea,” she whispered breathlessly. “The beauty and scope are beyond description. Books and illustrations can’t begin to do this scenery justice.”
He took off his hat and scanned the horizon. “It’s impressive, all right. No place on earth is quite like it.”
“Which is Longs Peak?”
He pointed toward the southwest. “There.”
“The front of it looks as if some giant hand took a meat cleaver and sliced the mountain in two.”
“That’s the famous east face. The drop from the top of it into the lake below is hundreds of feet.”
She fixed her gaze on the famous peak. “I’m going to climb it one day.”
Was there no stopping this woman? For all her slight size, she made up for it in sheer nerve. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“You wouldn’t, Mr. Lockwood, but I do count on it. It’s merely a matter of time.”
“Hardly any women have been successful.”
“May I remind you once again that I am not ‘any woman’? Ask my brothers if you don’t believe me.”
Once more, he took in the majesty of the peaks, the miles and miles of high meadow, with streams etching silver ribbons across the surface, and felt the tug of home. “Begging your pardon, but I can’t dawdle here gawking all day.”
“Just one more moment, please. It will never again be the first time I take in this scene.”
He had to give her that—at least she recognized the power and uniqueness in the place. He wondered if Estes Park would grip her the same way it had him. As they rode on, no words passed between them, yet he had the disturbing sense that Sophie Montgomery had gotten under his skin as no woman had in a great long time. Against his better judgment, he found himself admiring her determination while at the same time finding her maddeningly independent, even reckless. The contrast to Ramona couldn’t have been more startling.
Finally she broke the silence. “I shall look forward to meeting your wife and children, Mr. Lockwood.”
“I have no wife. Only my two boys.”
She turned to him, eyes wide with pity, and her face reddened with embarrassment. “I’m sorry...I...uh, had no idea. Effie didn’t mention... Oh dear, please accept my condolences.”
“The Hurlburts, always discreet, probably didn’t regard it as their place to convey my personal information.” In that moment, he had an irrational urge to shock her. Bitterness churned in the back of his throat as he said, “My wife, excuse me, my former wife, saw fit not only to abandon me but our two children, as well.”
He had succeeded. Bald shock registered on her face. “Dear me, I fear I have stumbled into your private concerns.”
“You would find out sooner or later. She returned to the East. We are divorced.”
“But...the boys?”
“She prefers to have nothing to do with them. Frankly, that makes it easier for all three of us.” Easier emotionally, he thought to himself, but difficult in the day-to-day reality.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know quite what to say.”
“That must be a first for you.” He watched her face crumple and swore at himself for his insensitivity. “Now I’m the one to offer an apology. That was uncalled for. I would take the remark back if I could, Miss Montgomery.”
“Words have a life of their own, don’t they? Sometimes they just slip out when they should stay put. And you aren’t the first to accuse me of garrulousness.” She smiled ruefully, and he could breathe again.
“Nor will I be the last, I suspect,” he said with a forced chuckle.
Then she laughed gaily and relief flooded through him. “Do you know what I think? I have had quite enough of this Miss Montgomery and Mr. Lockwood business. You are my only friend in all of Estes Valley, and I would like you to call me Sophie.” She paused. “And might I call you Tate?”
His first thought was that this informality moved them into an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was willing to undertake, but his second thought trumped the first. “I would welcome that,” he said.
“All right, then, Tate. Take me home.”
He knew she meant her cabin, of course. Yet, for an instant, her words shook every nerve in his body. “Home...yes.” He raised an arm and pointed along the northern fringe of the valley. “Your cabin is over there, not too far from my ranch. We’ll stop at your place first.”
He wished he could cover the intervening miles in a flash. He needed to put distance between himself and this woman...this Sophie.
* * *
Sophie couldn’t let Tate see her disappointment. Furnished cabin? In the real estate flyer she’d been sent, that must have been a euphemism for one-room shack. Never in all her days had she seen such a structure, standing upright only through some act of God, shingles missing, chinks in the walls and dirt and animal droppings in abundance. She stood on the front porch taking in the mountain view. “At least this vista is lovely,” she said, shading her eyes against the sun dropping slowly behind the peaks.
“You can’t spend your life on the porch,” Tate muttered. “Would you like me to send one of my ranch hands over in the morning to help you muck out?”
She gathered her courage. “In the provisions they just unloaded, I have the necessary equipment. I would be much obliged if you could help me gather wood and get a fire started. Beyond that I have some tinned food that will keep me until I can get to baking, so you will be able to take your leave soon and get home to your sons.”
She could never admit to him how overwhelming the tasks before her seemed. The place was almost uninhabitable. She had never imagined she would have to start from scratch to turn this place into a home. Somehow she had pictured a snug cabin with perhaps a smattering of dust, but already equipped with a good bed and a sturdy stove, needing only a few touches and some elbow grease to make it hers. Now, with the sun disappearing behind the peaks, the sudden drop in temperature made a fire an even more immediate necessity.
Tate stood beside her on the porch, dwarfing her. “I’ll send the boys on home with the wagons while I help you with the fire.”
He left her, gave orders to his men and disappeared behind the lean-to that made do for a barn, where she had stabled Ranger.
She gathered some kindling, then went inside and busied herself swiping at cobwebs and sweeping ashes out of the woodstove. She vowed she would not cry, especially not in front of the man who called into question her every move. This task was similar to moving to Kansas and establishing their ranch. Her father had often reminded her and her brothers, Patience. One step at a time, one day at a time. She sniffled once, briefly indulging her self-pity. Then she returned to her labors, figuring that for this day, one stove and one bed would be reasonable steps. She could do this. She tried not to look at the bed, sagging nearly to the floor, the filthy mattress having served as home to who knew what.
She heard Tate’s heavy footsteps, followed by a loud thump. She opened the door. “Hidden treasure,” he said ironically, pointing at the logs he’d gathered. “A wood pile behind the barn. I’ll fetch some more.”
“I’ll come with you.” She hurried along behind him, grinning wryly at his use of the word barn to describe the ramshackle outbuilding.
Together they made four trips and stacked up a considerable amount of wood. “At least I won’t worry about you freezing to death,” Tate said when they were finished.
“I don’t want you worrying about me at all.”
“All right. I won’t.”
Why did that easy promise disappoint her? After all, she’d asked for it. “Fine.”
“There’s also a privy over by that grove of aspen.”
She was unable to make eye contact. “Useful information.”
“One last thing. Let me prime the pump that carries the water from the pond over yonder.”
She slumped. She’d been so busy bemoaning the state of her dwelling that she hadn’t even thought about water. So much for her foresight and self-sufficiency. Was her bravado merely a disguise for incompetence?
Satisfied that the pump worked, Tate stood in the door, preparing to leave. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.” She looked into his eyes, reading concern. “I will be fine. I am grateful for the help.” She chuckled sardonically. “Perhaps I don’t know quite as much as I thought I did.”
“Or were sold a bill of goods by some unscrupulous agent.”
“No use crying over spilled milk. I’ll just make the best of what is, I confess, a disillusioning end to such a beautiful day.”
“Where is your rifle?”
She nodded to a corner. “Over there.”
“Load it and keep it with you.”
“That’s comforting,” she said.
“That’s reality.” He put on his hat and they moved onto the porch. “So now, while it may not be quite what you pictured, you’re home, Sophie. Do be wary.”
“Good evening, Tate. Once again, thank you for bringing me here.”
He glanced around. “That’s either irony or supreme gratitude.”
“Gratitude,” she murmured. “Now get along with you.”
Then he was off. She stood on the porch hugging herself for warmth, waiting until the last hoofbeats died away. She was alone in a way she had never been alone. The valley was still and the mountains loomed like sentinels. Tate’s absence swept over her, leaving her breathless. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Solitude? Peace? God had given her this place to heal, and no matter what, she would honor His gift. Here she would, at last, begin a new life. Not one in which she ever forgot her beloved Charlie, but one of which she hoped he would approve...and one he would bless.
Turning to go inside, she looked up at the sky and gasped in wonder. Never had she seen such a canopy of stars. In that moment, a peace came over her as if God was delivering her from her personal wilderness.
Inside, as she threw the mattress aside and made herself a bed of pine needles and straw, she knew she would sleep like a baby. Tate was right. She was home.
