Читать книгу A Family Found - Laura Abbot - Страница 12
ОглавлениеWrapping a blanket around her shoulders the next morning, Sophie moved quickly to build up the fire and get water boiling. No friendly elves had appeared in the night to clean the place and dawn did nothing to improve the cabin, but a deep sleep and the satisfaction of arriving at her destination had restored her optimism. She thought of her father, whose life as a widower with three small children couldn’t have been easy. Start in a corner and work your way out, he always said when faced with a daunting situation. That was exactly what she would do. While she waited for the kettle to heat, she filled a pail with cold water from the pump, added some baking soda and began scrubbing the layers of dust from the crude cupboard shelves and scarred pine table. Later she would go over the surfaces with boiling water. Other chores could wait, but if she was to eat, the kitchen had to be attacked first.
When the sun crested the ridge, Sophie donned her coat, slipped a knife in her pocket and went to the barn. Ranger whinnied in recognition and nosed her shoulder. “Good morning, fella.” She caressed his neck. “Ready to eat?” She cut open the bag of oats, poured a generous amount into the feed bucket and pumped water into a trough, grateful that some previous owner had had the foresight to put a pump here as well as in the cabin. She surveyed the building and small fenced corral. It would do for now.
The morning passed swiftly, and by noon she felt reasonably satisfied about her progress. Bread dough was rising, and the food sacks and tins had all been stowed away. She eyed the sturdy broom in the corner. This afternoon she’d sweep and scrub the floor before beginning repairs on the dilapidated furniture. Somehow, she vowed, she’d make the place not only habitable, but homey.
She carried a mug of fresh coffee out onto the porch, taking a moment to soak in the glorious view. No matter the state of her cabin, she knew this panorama of meadow and mountain would nourish her soul. In the quiet she heard the trickle of the nearby stream that fed into the pond. She looked heavenward. “Charlie, do you see me? Even though this isn’t where we imagined being, for the first time since you left this earth, I sense you all around me.”
The sun warmed her as she reflected on the people who had brought her to this time and place. Her family, of course. The dear Hurlburts. Even Tate Lockwood. Beneath his all-business exterior, she sensed an innate kindness he seemed to prefer not to expose. His warnings to her suggested a protective nature, as did his act of supplying the buffalo robe. In some ways, he reminded her of her father—both of them men rearing young children alone.
Later, on hands and knees scrubbing the rough pine floor, she admitted it was going to take more than this one day to put the furniture to rights and refurbish the cabin. The windows needed cleaning, the dresser drawers had to be scoured and set out in the sun to eliminate the musty odor clinging to them and that didn’t begin to take into consideration whitewashing, filling chinks and inspecting the roof for leaks. She sat back on her heels, dried her hands on her apron and let out a deep sigh. “Work your way out,” she muttered to herself, unable in her weariness to begin to picture what “out” might look like.
Dusk came early, and with it, the drop in temperatures that had Sophie restoking the stove. After a supper of bread, sardines and applesauce, she huddled at the table and read from the book of Acts by lantern light. For the first time in her life, she could relate to the early disciples who set off for strange lands to spread the Gospel. She, too, was in a “foreign” land, dependent on herself and the kindness of strangers.
Bundled in several layers of clothing, she lay down on her pine-bough bed, reminding herself that she needed to take the thin mattress outdoors tomorrow, beat it and air it and then determine if it was usable. As she planned her chores, she heard horses neighing outside, followed by heavy footsteps on the porch. “Anybody here?” a gravelly voice roared, followed by a loud knock and the insistent barking of a dog. “Hush, Sarge.”
Everything Tate had told her about mountain travelers flashed through her mind as she vaulted to her feet and seized the rifle that in her busyness she had forgotten to load, despite his advice. She crept to the door, holding the gun in front of her. “Who’s there?” Her voice sounded small.
“Lady, lemme in. I could use a cup of coffee.” A man laughed uproariously. “I’m Grizzly, and I won’t hurt you.”
Sophie’s heart beat like a trip-hammer while she considered her options. The man could break down the door with one stroke of his arm. What was the code of the mountains? Was this Grizzly person just a passing traveler or was he one of the few who would prey upon a woman living alone?
“You waitin’ fer kingdom come?”
“Just a minute,” Sophie yelled, before edging her way to the cubbyhole where she’d left her ammunition. Quickly chambering a shell, she uttered a silent prayer and opened the door. If a man’s appearance could be designed to intimidate, his had been. Well over six feet tall and clad in a fur hat and long coat, the stranger, with matted hair and a gray beard that frizzed in all directions, studied her. Beside him, a huge wolflike dog sat, eyeing her with interest. With a gulp, she noted that the animal’s tail was not wagging. “Once again, sir, who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Bein’ neighborly. You’re new to the valley.” He doffed his fur cap. “I’m Terence P. Griswold at your service, but everybody hereabouts calls me Grizzly. And this here—” he nodded at the dog “—is my pardner, Sarge. Say hello, fella.”
To her amazement the dog lifted his paw for her to shake. Still cradling the rifle, she bent over. “Sarge, nice to meet you.”
When she stood back up, she noted a glint of humor in the man’s bright blue eyes. “You that gal of Lockwood’s?”
She bristled. “I would hardly put it that way. Mr. Lockwood was kind enough to escort me here from Denver.”
“Wouldn’t have minded that chore myself.” He peered over her shoulder. “You gonna invite us in or what?” He edged closer. “Oh, and, honey, you don’t need that there gun. I’m about as harmless as they come.”
It was the moment of truth—to trust or not to trust. She lowered the rifle. “Let me get you some coffee.”
He signaled the dog to wait on the porch and followed her inside.
She put more wood on the fire and set the water to boil. “Would you care for some bread and applesauce? I’m afraid that’s all I can offer as I am newly arrived here.”
“Wouldn’t object to those vittles.” He set his hat aside and unbuttoned his coat. Sophie preferred to focus on the aroma of the coffee. The man was ripe. “You prob’ly was scared when I knocked.”
“I’m frightened of very little, but your arrival was a bit alarming.”
“Know how to handle that gun?”
“Yes, and I’m relieved I didn’t have to prove it to you.”
He laughed again, and she found the sound pleasant and relaxing. “You’re a smart gal to be cautious. I always say, ‘Shoot first and ask questions later.’”
Sophie handed him a plate of food, poured two mugs of coffee and offered him sugar. “No cream, yet.” She sat down across from him.
“Do you need a cow up here? I know where you might could get one. Or if you’re planning to gallivant at all, I reckon you could buy milk and such from a neighbor.”
“I’m obliged for that information.”
“You probably need a lotta hints I can give you. Don’t reckon Lockwood was a fount of information. He doesn’t take too kindly to women.”
“I welcome any help. I’m not naive enough to think I don’t have a lot to learn or that I won’t make mistakes.”
“What’s yer name, by the way? Can’t be real friends till I know that.”
“I’m Sophie Montgomery.”
“Sophie?” He closed his eyes as if deep in thought. “Wisdom, right?” He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “In Greek. Good for you. You’re gonna need it.”
Sophie grinned. A mountain man who knew Greek? That would teach her to judge solely by appearance. “At least I’m not Pandora.”
He threw back his head and roared. “We don’t need no one opening a bag of ills up here.” After wiping his eyes and taking a big gulp of coffee, he leaned across the table. “Here’s the bargain. You let ole Sarge and me sleep in your barn, and over breakfast, I’ll tell you how it is in these parts.”
Sophie grasped the man’s hand. “You may be the best thing that’s happened to me lately. You, sir, have a deal!”
After Grizzly finished eating, she handed him a pan of bread scraps for Sarge. From the porch she watched as the two made their way to the barn. She couldn’t help smiling. Her adventure had begun in earnest.
* * *
The second day after he arrived home, Tate sat at his desk, poring over his account books. Granted, the start-up costs for the silver mining operation he was helping to back near Leadville were significant, but based on engineering reports, he was satisfied the ultimate profits would justify his investment. Although he missed the rough-and-tumble adventure of being on site, Estes Park was a far better place to raise his boys. He glanced around, satisfied with the craftsmanship of his new two-story home overlooking the valley and ranges beyond. A fire burned in the fireplace mounted on a hearth of native stone, and the rich oak paneling imported from the East made this a room any Eastern financier would fancy. From the mounted elk heads to the cowhide rug on the pegged floor, his office was a man’s room—and his escape. Aside from the debacle with Ramona, he had never regretted leaving the ease of life in Philadelphia to carve out a position for himself in Colorado by dint of hard work. To become his own man. His surroundings bore testimony to his success.
Bertie Wilson, his housekeeper, and his sons knew not to interrupt him when he retired to this sanctuary. Only here could he immerse himself in business and lay aside the guilt and remorse that so often hounded him, along with the relentless questions. Could he be parent enough for his sons? What kind of men would they become? How could he have so drastically misjudged Ramona? Worst of all, how much of his sons’ motherless condition was his own fault? He’d racked his brain to seize on what he could have done differently. Was he incapable of reading the feminine mind? He had thought he was doing the right thing by leaving her and the boys in Philadelphia when he came west to make his fortune. All along, he’d thought his descriptive letters would adequately prepare his wife for Central City. He’d assumed building her a dream house there would serve as a reward for their long separation and prove to her that he could provide all the amenities to which she was accustomed.
He slammed the ledger book closed and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. It hadn’t taken long for love to die, if, in fact, he’d ever truly known that state. Maybe Ramona’s ardor had cooled during their time apart, or maybe they’d both changed from the besotted youngsters they’d been when they’d married. She hated Colorado and, by extension, him. Her resentment and self-indulgent tirades left her little energy for mothering, and the boys had suffered. No matter what he did, he’d been unable to satisfy his wife or make her happy. As much as he’d been blindsided by her departure, he had also experienced overwhelming relief. Fine for him, but poor Marcus and Toby. They were the innocent victims of her fragile mental state and his blindness.
No doubt about it. He had little understanding of women. Take Sophie Montgomery, for instance. She was attractive enough, with her fiery curls, trim body and hazel-green eyes. In that blue gown she had fooled him into believing she was more at home at balls and salons than astride a horse. She was obviously an intelligent woman with a gift for repartee, but illusions about her true nature vanished when he saw her in her riding clothes, bloomers visible beneath her skirt. Independent and saucy, she seemed to care not a whit about defying convention. Women like his ex-wife and other women of her station would most assuredly disapprove of Sophie’s behavior. What foolishness for this lone female to come up to Estes Park on her own, thinking...thinking what? Why, he reckoned she wouldn’t last a month in the valley. Disgusted with himself for allowing such disturbing questions to unsettle him, he stood and went into the great room, where eleven-year-old Marcus and eight-year-old Toby sat on the floor in front of the massive river rock fireplace, playing with tin soldiers. Toby jumped to his feet and flung himself at his father. “Papa! You were busy so long.”
Tate ruffled his son’s brown curls. “I had lots of work to catch up on.”
Carefully studying the make-believe battlefield, Marcus moved one soldier into place before finally looking up, his expression guarded. “Bertie told us not to bother you. So we didn’t.”
Tate cringed at the censure in the boy’s voice. More than Toby did, Marcus seemed to mind his absences. Even the games and books he’d brought from Denver hadn’t impressed his older son. Maybe after a week away, he should’ve postponed his office work, but too much was at stake to delay. “I’m finished for today. How about a hike up to the ridge to watch the sunset?”
“Hooray!” Toby shouted, running for his coat hanging from a peg by the door.
Marcus rose slowly. “It’s too cold.”
“Bundle up, then,” Tate answered quickly in the attempt to overcome his older son’s reluctance. “We can hunt for animal tracks.” Marcus’s interest in nature was sophisticated for one so young. He already had an extensive scrapbook collection of plants and leaves.
The boy shrugged indifferently, then ambled to fetch his coat. Tate sighed. On top of everything else, his sons were very different. What pleased or excited one failed to move the other. Marcus was introspective and didn’t settle for easy answers, whereas Toby was an enthusiastic, open little fellow for whom the world was his playground.
Outside, Toby ran ahead on the trail while Marcus stuck his hands in his pockets and followed slowly, his eyes scanning the ground. Tate brought up the rear, wondering what his boys were thinking, especially Marcus, who had been old enough for his mother’s departure to disappoint and damage him. Ever since, he’d kept more to himself, within himself, and seemed less trusting. Tate felt helpless to improve the situation, especially when he sensed the boy harbored some resentment of him, as well.
“Look, Papa!” Toby skipped toward him, holding a gigantic pinecone. “See? Is this the biggest so far?”
Tate examined the treasure. “Could be. Let’s take it home to add to our collection.”
“You carry it,” Toby said, thrusting the cone into Tate’s hands before racing off again in pursuit of a new adventure.
“Pinaecae,” Marcus mumbled as he continued up the trail.
Watching his sons’ backs, Tate paused to shake his head. The tutor couldn’t come soon enough. Marcus needed direction for his inquiring, thoughtful mind, and Toby needed academic discipline. It was all Tate could do to get him to settle down long enough to encourage his reading and map skills. No matter how hard Tate tried to steer their studies, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.
From the top of the ridge, Toby stood silhouetted by the setting sun. “It’s time, Papa. Hurry or you’ll miss it!”
A sunset wasn’t all he was missing, Tate thought to himself as he trudged along. He was proud of his sons and thankful for his financial success, but the life he’d envisioned for himself as a young man had included a loving intact family. He wasn’t sure now if such a life would ever be his.
* * *
Each evening in the week following Grizzly’s overnight visit, Sophie had fallen into bed exhausted. With the tools she had brought, supplemented by the few she found in the barn, she had repaired furniture, installed locks, straightened the barn door and reinforced the corral fencing. Her next project was preparing the ground for her garden. There was no end of work to be done, but that wasn’t what was bothering her. To her surprise, she had not counted on how the lack of company would affect her. After Charlie’s death, she had longed for solitude and peace, but after living on the ranch amid the two bustling Montgomery families, she missed the listening ears and pleasant conversations. Now she found that she was talking to herself or Ranger and wondered if she sounded daft. Friday night she consulted a map of the valley, determined to make her first exploration of the territory and in the process locate the store Grizzly had mentioned as a source of milk and other limited supplies. Satisfied with her plan, she went to bed early, determined to set out shortly after daybreak.
She rose with the sun, but after answering the early knock on the door, became aware her plans had undergone a change. “Mornin’, miss,” a short, plump man with a fringed jacket and Western hat greeted her when she opened the door. “I’m Jackson Tyler, and me and the missus, along with our son and his wife, are here to help.” He turned toward the yard, where Sophie saw the others waiting in a wagon. “Soon the Harper clan’ll be along, too. I imagine you have walls to chink, a roof to mend and a garden to dig. My wife, Martha, thinks maybe she could help with some fixin’ up inside to make the place homier.”
Sophie reached out to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Sophie Montgomery, and I don’t want to inconvenience you, but I’d be much obliged for your assistance.” She marveled once again at the neighborliness good people exhibited, both in the Kansas Flint Hills and now here. “I imagine Mr. Lockwood must’ve told you about me.”
Looking puzzled, Tyler stroked his bearded chin. “No, ma’am. Don’t know nothing about Lockwood. It was Grizzly. He stopped by our place after meeting you and allowed as how you might need a hand. Said you were a determined little woman, but he thought things might go smoother if some of us pitched in.”
“Please invite the womenfolk in. Maybe you men could start on the chinking. The wind whistles right through this place. I’ll put on a big pot of salt pork and beans for a midday meal.”
Mr. Tyler ushered in his wife and a young woman. “This here’s my sweetheart Martha and Dolly, my purty daughter-in-law. My son John and I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Dolly was tall and slight, but Martha was as plump as her husband. With her dark hair coiled in a bun and her brown eyes snapping, the older woman looked the picture of health. “Sophie, our friend Grizzly couldn’t stop talking about you. He doesn’t know whether to think you’re brave or foolish comin’ here on your own.” She grinned at her daughter-in-law, then turned again to Sophie. “But Dolly and I know. We think you’re mighty brave and are gonna prove any naysayer wrong. One thing about the frontier—it may be rough and tough, but it won’t put a good woman down.”
Dolly’s flushed face glowed. “What you’re doing is something special.” She glanced around the room. “Now, then, set us to some chores.”
Martha put an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Before we start, we brought you somethin’ we think you need. Grizzly said you didn’t have one. C’mon. It’s out in the wagon.”
Sophie threw a shawl around her shoulders and followed the women. Dolly went to the wagon bed, leaned over and freed a wriggling mass of black-and-white fur. “Woman on her own needs company,” she said. The dog leaped from the wagon and ran in excited circles before coming to stand beside Sophie, as if the animal had known the identity of its mistress all along.
“She’s not much of a watchdog yet, but her shepherding instincts will protect you some,” Martha said. “We reckon she’s about a year old.”
Sophie was dumbstruck, not only with her lack of foresight in procuring a watchdog, but at the generosity and kindness of this family. She knelt on the ground beside the dog, scratching her behind the ears. “You are a beauty,” she whispered. “I’m sure we will be great friends.”
In answer, the dog’s tail beat a tattoo on the firm ground.
“Beauty.” Dolly looked speculative. “That has a nice ring to it.”
Sophie laughed. “It’s perfect. No ugly beasts for me, only this Beauty.”
The dog nuzzled her hand as if in agreement.
“I brought along some scraps for you to feed her,” Martha said.
Did these people think of everything? “Come in and give me suggestions for the cabin, and then I’ll set the beans on the stove.” Sophie was glad that she’d set beans to soak last night. After circling the interior of the cabin several times, Beauty plopped down in front of the fire and dozed. To Sophie, she looked as if she had always belonged there. The dog would serve as a welcome companion.
The women worked all morning altering, mending and washing curtains and bedding. Dolly had brought along some bright blue paint. She suggested painting the frames on the windows and the door to liven up the place. After the men had thoroughly chinked one wall, Martha and Sophie were able to hang a Montgomery family photograph, a sampler Caleb’s wife, Lily, had stitched for her and a small, colorful quilt made by her sister-in-law Rose. “Thank you,” Sophie breathed. “Having these things from home around me is a blessing.”
“We hope you will soon regard Estes Park as your home,” Dolly said quietly, looking at Sophie with affection.
Just before lunch, Beauty leaped up, ran to the door and began barking. Dolly grinned. “See? She’s useful already.”
“It’s the Harpers,” Martha said, turning to Sophie. “Harriet and Joe are a wonderful young couple, and I know you’ll enjoy Joe’s sister Belle. They operate the community store.”
Before Sophie knew it, all the chinks and the roof had been attended to, and everyone pitched in to prepare the soil for her garden. Later after the two families had disappeared into the twilight, Sophie reflected that rarely had she encountered such genuine helpfulness or met such enjoyable people. Particularly Belle. The moment she’d clapped eyes on the young woman, Sophie felt as if they’d always been friends. Belle was tall, with a ruddy, raw-boned face, a magnificent crop of black curls and dark eyes that sparked delight. Her first words to Sophie had been, “You’re my kind of gal, Sophie. All guts and nerve.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Sophie had said with a smile.
“You just wait. We’re going to have so much fun.” She turned to face the mountains. “See that one there?” She pointed to Longs Peak.
“Yes, you and I are going to climb it,” Sophie said before Belle could complete her speech.
“Girl, you took the words right out of my mouth.” She gave Sophie an assessing look. “You’re little, but full of grit. We’ll show those men what determined women can achieve. I’ve been waiting for a hiking partner. I’m glad God sent you to me.”
Sophie laughed. “I told Mr. Lockwood when I first clapped eyes on that peak that I would climb it. I don’t think he thought I was serious. But I am. I’ll enjoy doing it with you.”
Before the group finished their chores, Martha invited Sophie to ride over the next morning to their home for services. “We don’t have a real church or permanent pastor, but we all gather at our place when there’s a circuit rider. Tomorrow a reverend is coming from Lyons to preach.”
Figuring that would be a good start to familiarizing herself with the territory, Sophie got directions and agreed to come. She didn’t know quite how she felt about church. Ever since Charlie’s death, she’d had a tenuous relationship with God, but perhaps He had sent these kind people to her. Regardless of where they came from or why, they were a gift. As was Beauty, who lay beside her providing warmth and companionship.
* * *
It was a cool spring Sunday as she rode to church, and Sophie reveled in the scenery. Back in Kansas, she had continued attending services with her family in the hope that one day she would understand God’s purpose in taking Charlie from her. She continued to go through the motions of worship and daily Bible reading, but with no real expectation of receiving answers. So far, none had come, nor were they likely to come here. Yet her deeply ingrained faith made it impossible to turn her back on God.
It had been a joy to awaken this morning in a home with a solid roof and walls and with personalized touches all around her. Her eyes had been immediately drawn to Lily’s sampler, embroidered with flowers encircling the message from Proverbs.
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct thy paths.
Sophie appreciated the advice, yet it was difficult to follow, given the loss of Charlie and her own rebellious, questioning streak.
As much as she missed her brothers, she missed Lily and Rose more. Her sisters-in-law related to the pain of her loss in ways neither Caleb nor Seth could. Sophie suspected Lily had intended the sampler message as a daily reminder to her.
Riding beside the water that flowed along the valley floor, she noticed an impressive home set halfway up a hill across the river and enclosed by at least a mile of rail fence. Small spruce trees lined the road leading to the house. The few other dwellings she passed on her way to the Tylers’ were less impressive and often seemed to be the result of add-ons to an original cabin. A few appeared to serve as primitive lodging for summer visitors. The Tyler and Harper homes were situated along the river and, with their outbuildings, composed the nearest thing to a settlement in the area. A crude wooden sign at the Harpers’ read General Store and Post Office. About a quarter of a mile beyond was a large two-story home with a porch on three sides. From the horses and wagons gathered in the yard, she assumed she’d arrived at the site of the service.
Inside, she was effusively greeted by Martha, who ushered her to a bench. “Reverend Justus is about ready to begin.”
Sophie settled back, studying the congregation. In addition to the Tylers and Harpers, there seemed to be three or four other families. Small children sat on the floor or on their parents’ laps, and the room was warm with crowded bodies. Several eyed her curiously, but the minister began speaking before she could introduce herself. Rather more didactic and long-winded than she would’ve liked, the rangy preacher had a weathered face and deep voice. He declaimed for nearly an hour on Moses and the Ten Commandments. Sandwiched between two amply built women, Sophie was pinned in her spot. Finally the crowd stood and sang lustily, no doubt as relieved as she with being delivered from the sermon. A meal followed where she was introduced to other area residents.
Belle took her aside and, despite the cool temperature, the two settled on the front porch with their plates. “Isn’t this better than being jammed into that stuffy place?”
“We can always go in if we get cold.” Sophie took a bite of the cabbage and ham someone had provided. “This is a nice reward,” she said, licking her fingers.
“You mean for listening to Reverend Justus drone on?” Belle studied her, as if assessing whether her remark had shocked Sophie.
Sophie giggled. “He was rather full of himself, wasn’t he?”
Belle grinned in response. “Whoever heard of A-ron? I nearly laughed aloud every time he came to the name Aaron.”
“It’s a relief to know that with you, I can occasionally be irreverent—in the nicest sense, of course.”
“I was certain I’d like you the minute I set eyes on you.” Belle pointed at Sophie with her fork. “Here’s my question. I know we still have the chance of a late snow or two, but how soon will you be ready to go hiking?”
Sophie shivered, not from the cold, but from delight. “Whenever you say.”
“If we begin with easy treks, the weather shouldn’t be a problem. We can’t start too soon to get ourselves ready for the big one.”
“Longs Peak,” Sophie said, awed by the mere idea of standing on the summit.
“Longs Peak,” Belle echoed, holding out her hand to seal the deal.
After making her farewells, Sophie set out for home under a sunny sky. As Ranger trotted along, she counted her blessings. Joe Harper had assured her his store could provide her with milk and eggs, as well as other food and goods.
Lost in plans for the coming days, Sophie failed to see the two boys until she was right beside them. They stood on a wooden bridge throwing rocks into the icy, rushing river. One was thin and dark-haired, while the younger one was rosy-cheeked and chubbier. She deliberated whether she should stop. What if either of them slipped? She drew to a halt and dismounted. Yelling over the noise of the water, she approached them. “Are you two all right?”
The older one shrugged with indifference and threw another rock. The younger one turned toward her eagerly. “We’re seeing which of us can throw the farthest. Who are you?”
“I’m Sophie Montgomery. I just moved here from Kansas.”
“Where’s Kansas?” the talkative one asked.
“The next state east, dummy,” his brother said.
“Perhaps you’ll study Kansas in your geography lesson,” Sophie suggested.
“Lessons? We don’t have lessons, except when Papa helps us,” the older one said with a frown. “And that’s not often enough for me.”
“Who is your papa?”
The little one gestured toward the handsome house on the hill. “Tate Lockwood,” he said. “I’m Toby.”
Sophie extended her hand. “Glad to meet you, sir.” She faced the other boy. “And you?”
“Marcus,” he said, turning away to study the distant mountains.
“I know your father. He escorted me here from Denver.”
Toby looked at her with interest. “Where do you live?”
“A mile or so beyond here in an old cabin.”
“Can I come visit?” Toby asked. His brother rolled his eyes.
“Certainly. In fact, I’d enjoy it if you both came. I have a new dog I’d like for you to meet.”
“I’ll ask Papa.” Toby wriggled with delight.
“He won’t let us,” Marcus said.
“Why ever not?” Did Tate keep these boys under lock and key?
“He’s too busy to bring us.”
Sophie pondered her next move. Her invitation had been rashly extended. On second thought, she had no business insinuating herself into the lives of Tate Lockwood’s sons. Yet each in his own way seemed starved for attention. Tate might be more amenable if she visited the boys’ home. “Tell you what. If it’s nice weather on Wednesday, why don’t I bring Beauty and come see you. Be sure to tell your father. If it’s inconvenient, maybe he could get word to me.”
“He won’t care,” Marcus said in a tone that broke Sophie’s heart. “He’ll probably be glad to get us out of the way so he can work.”
So that’s the way it is. Sophie laid a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Busy fathers don’t have much time to play. But I do. I’ll plan to come just after lunch.”
“Whenever.”
“Yippee!”
After suggesting the boys continue their game on dry land and satisfying herself that they would do so, Sophie headed toward her cabin. Maybe it was missing her nieces and nephews, or the sadness in Tate Lockwood’s eyes he tried so desperately to conceal when he spoke of his motherless sons, or her own need for company, but she found herself looking forward to Wednesday. At the very least, these boys were hungry for approval and affection, something it was perhaps in her power to provide.
Her thoughts turned to their father. What would it do to a man to be spurned by his wife? To have full responsibility for two children? It was little wonder he had been reluctant to make any promises concerning their new friendship. One woman had wrecked his family and crushed his heart. Why should he welcome another in any capacity? She groaned. She’d promised those needy children a visit without considering Tate’s possible reaction. Would he regard her visit as kindness or interference? Only time would tell.
