Cassandra Austin (10 page)

When she opened her eyes a moment later she was relieved to find he was out of sight. How could she not have told him? No one else had ever shown as much interest in her writing, not even Amanda. She was starved for an opportunity to talk about it.

Well, she would have Arlen to talk to about it. Somehow she would make him see how much this “nonsense” meant to her. He truly wanted the best for her, he would understand. She just hadn’t given him a chance. And she would explain about the book. She found herself imagining asking his forgiveness and was irritated that that should be the way of things.

She picked up her notebook. She wouldn’t think about Arlen now. She reread the last two pages and, with Christian’s dimpled smile fresh in her mind, returned to her story.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard Emily call, “Here you are.” The girl sprinted toward her.

“Hi, Emily. You’re looking fresh this morning.”

Emily flounced the ruffles on her pale yellow gown. “How long have you been out here?”

Lynnette riffled the pages of her notebook, noting how many more were filled than before. “Quite a while, I guess.”

“It’s almost time for lunch.”

Lynnette put the stopper in the ink bottle. “I should go in and freshen up.”

As Lynnette gathered up the pens, Emily picked up the notebook to carry it for her. “Is this a story?” At Lynnette’s nod, she asked, “Can I read it?”

“When it’s done, I’d love for you to read it.”

They walked toward the house together, Lynnette mentally assessing the content of the book from a young girl’s point of view. There wasn’t anything objectionable in it, yet. And there wouldn’t be, she resolved. She wanted Arlen’s approval. And he needed the approval of the voters.

In the house, Emily followed her upstairs and into her room. She set the notebook on the desk and looked around. “Jeez, Arlen doesn’t like pictures much, does he?”

“The room seemed a little bare to me, as well. I thought perhaps he hadn’t wanted to force his tastes on me.” Emily shrugged and walked toward the framed photograph. “Do you know who those people are?” Lynnette asked her.

“Mother’s family. It was taken shortly after she married Father. Arlen always liked it because he looks so much like most of them.” The girl turned and smiled. “So do I, I guess.”

Lynnette came closer and studied the photograph.
An older couple were seated in the center, the woman holding a small boy who had moved and blurred his face. They were flanked by four younger adults. Emily was right, they did look like Arlen, except for one man who was the image of Christian. She couldn’t help herself. “And this man?” she asked, pointing.

“Father.” Emily laughed. “Surrounded by his inlaws. I better let you get ready for lunch.”

Lynnette forced her eyes away from the photograph and bade her goodbye. Twenty minutes later she descended the stairs, her face washed, her hair freshly pinned up, and her skirt brushed.

Christian stood on the center balcony, looking off across the valley. Lynnette stopped just short of the bottom step and studied him. What was he thinking? Was he contemplating his domain, reliving the past, longing for the woman who would complete his life? Oh God! This was
Christian
, her future brother-in-law,
not
the hero of her book. And she would prove she knew the difference. She stepped onto the balcony with him. “Does one ever get over how beautiful this is?”

He turned toward her. She didn’t seem to have startled him; perhaps he had heard her on the stairs. A full minute passed before he answered softly, “No.”

At least it seemed like a minute. Her heart had beaten the appropriate number of times, but perhaps that wasn’t a good test. She wanted to tell herself it was the view or the distance to the ground that made her heart race, but she was afraid it was Christian. She forced herself to swallow. “I’ll see if Martha needs any help.”

She turned quickly and left him. How could this have happened? She had been so sure her interest had been for the sake of her character. But why had she chosen Christian for her hero? That had been a mistake, she decided. She should burn the story and rewrite it with Arlen as the hero.

She paused just outside the kitchen door. In spite of her boast to Christian, changing her story wasn’t so easily done. The characters had taken on lives of their own, and it was difficult to abandon them. But she would, she resolved.

She pasted a smile on her face and pushed through the door.

Christian waited for the sound of the kitchen door. It seemed to take forever. When he finally heard it, he still didn’t turn around.

She had no idea. She was polite and friendly, and he was falling in love with her. He cursed himself, but it did no good. He couldn’t undo what had happened. He braced his hands against the railing and hung his head. Ten years from now, when Arlen and Lynnette brought their children to visit, would he still be in love with her? Would he marry some woman he didn’t love so he could have a family too?

Could he go to Arlen and beg him to break the engagement? He hated himself for even thinking it.
I’m sorry, Arlen. I never meant to betray you.

He heard the kitchen door again and heard Emily’s skipping step on the stairs. Cheerful voices reached him, but they only made him more miserable. Listening
to her laugh, seeing her smile, knowing he could never have her, tore at his heart.

He would certainly avoid situations like this morning. The temptation to declare his love might become too great. He could ruin her life and Arlen’s, as well as his own.

It would be difficult with her here all summer. Then Arlen would marry her and take her away. The tiny sense of relief he felt lasted barely long enough for him to identify it Would time and distance make any difference? Would his heart heal?

He heard his father’s voice mixing with the others and knew he had to go in. He felt a closer kinship to Hugh now, though he could never tell him. Hugh had loved Felicia, that much he had understood even as a boy. But she had left him. And he had gone on to live a life, and raise his sons.

Had time dulled the pain? Was it worse for him because he had believed she loved him too? Or did the anger at her betrayal make it easier to forget the love he lost? Not exactly things he could ask his father.

He straightened, running his fingers through his wind-tossed hair. He couldn’t stall any longer. He had to join the family and pretend.

Emily was coming to get him when he turned. “Nothing out there can be that interesting,” she said, catching his arm and dragging him toward the table. “We’re starving.”

He helped Emily into her usual seat and took his place beside her. Lynnette was already seated. He tried not to look at her, but she was the only person seated
on the other side of the table. He thanked God she wasn’t directly across from him.

Hugh said the blessing and light conversation accompanied the platters around the table. “Lynnette’s writing a book,” Emily announced as the last platter made the rounds. “She promised to let me read it.”

Christian looked at Lynnette. He couldn’t help it. She had glanced at him as well. There was uncertainty in her eyes as if she expected him to object. Or was she afraid he would give away her secret?

“It’s a long way from finished,” she told Emily. He pulled his eyes from her face.

“Is there anything we can do to make the writing easier?” Hugh asked. “I’m sure Arlen’s things are still in the desk upstairs. We could find you something else.”

“No, no. Don’t go to any trouble. I’ll just take the notebook and wander around.”

Christian didn’t look up to see if she shook her head, if the tiny wisps of hair that escaped her careful styling danced around her ears. He swallowed a bite of something that might as well have been sand.

“I think this is wonderful,” Hugh said. “A writer here under our roof. Can you tell us about it, or will that break some deal you’ve made with the muse?”

She laughed. God, why did she have to laugh? Of course, it was time he looked up or his behavior would appear rude. He ventured into the conversation. “She’s setting it on a ranch.” Emily and Hugh turned toward him and he added. “She told me this morning.”

Was it his imagination, or had his comment been a
little out of place? He didn’t even know how to talk with his family anymore. He let the others carry on without him. He ate as much as he could force down and excused himself, uncertain by then just what he interrupted.

Lynnette tried not to watch him go. He was uncomfortable. Or unhappy. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with her, she told herself firmly. And with him gone it should be easier to concentrate on Emily’s questions. It was the oddest thing, being surrounded by people who weren’t put off by the fact that she wanted to be a writer. They were encouraging her, in fact.

“Let’s raid the library,” Emily suggested. “We can take turns reading to each other.”

“Perhaps Lynnette wants to continue her writing this afternoon,” Hugh said gently.

Instead of looking disappointed, Emily looked contrite.

“I’d love to read,” Lynnette said quickly. “After all, that’s how I learned to write, by reading everything I could get my hands on. I have books in my trunk we might choose from.”

Emily pushed her chair away from the table. “I’m embroidering roses on a nightgown and Mother says I simply must finish it this summer. I’ll go get it.” She stood and kissed her father’s cheek before scurrying to the stairs.

“That’s very kind of you,” Hugh said.

Lynnette smiled. “I’m happy to do it. I wrote all
morning, and I think I need a break. Besides, I enjoy Emily’s company.”

“If you can get a word in.”

Lynnette tried not to laugh aloud—it wouldn’t do if Emily heard—but she nodded her agreement. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to talk to Martha. I have no sewing project, so perhaps I can borrow some socks to darn.”

She rose from the table at Hugh’s nod and went to the kitchen. The family was around the plank table. Perry reached for his crutch as Jake came to his feet She motioned them back down.

“What can I get for you?” Martha asked, slight irritation evident in her voice.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Lynnette said. “Emily and I are going to take turns reading and sewing this afternoon, and I wondered if you might have some mending I can do.”

Martha seemed stunned by the request. She stared at Lynnette as if she expected to hear the rest of the joke.

“We’ll send Jake in with it,” Perry said.

“After he’s finished eating,” Lynnette said. “I’ll take the first turn with the book.” She apologized again and hurried out of the kitchen. She had made another mistake with Martha. It seemed every time she tried to do something for her, it went wrong. Of course a careful seamstress wouldn’t want to trust her family’s seams to just anyone. Lynnette went up the stairs vowing to take the tiniest, most careful stitches of her life.

Emily waited outside her door, holding a pretty woven
sewing basket. “What kind of books do you have?” she asked as she followed Lynnette into the room.

“All kinds,” she said. She opened the trunk and took them out one by one, handing them to Emily.

Emily stopped her with a squeal. “You have Jane Austen!”

“I have several.” She found the rest and set them before the girl.

Emily went through them hastily. “Oh, this one, this one! It’s my favorite. Don’t you just love the way she writes!” She clutched the book to her breast.

They both laughed. “I love the way she uses the characters’ points of view to make you feel like you’re in the story.”

Emily eyed her a moment and shrugged. “I like how there’s no stupid war and politics stuff to skim through to get to what’s really interesting.”

“Let’s read it,” Lynnette said. “I can straighten the mess up later.”

Emily ran ahead of her, still clutching the book. Lynnette picked up the forgotten sewing basket and followed her down the stairs. In the living room, Emily moved a huge stuffed chair closer to another and curled up in one. “Can I read first?”

“My sewing hasn’t arrived.” At Emily’s raised brows she added, “Jake is to bring some mending for me to do. Why don’t I read until he comes?”

Emily relinquished the book with good grace and took up her sewing basket.

Lynnette made herself comfortable in the other chair and turned to the first page. She read, remembering
how much she had loved these words the first time she had read them. Emily’s only interruptions were an occasional sigh. She had read two of the short chapters when footsteps made her look up. Jake carried a laundry basket to her.

“Thank you, Jake.” She turned over the open book and rested it on her knee.

“It looks like a lot,” he said, “but most things are little tears or buttons gone and the like.” He set it down beside the chair and turned to Emily.

The girl pretended to ignore him, but the needle wasn’t making any progress in the tiny pink rose. “You can go now, Jake.”

Jake grinned at her. “Miss Lynnette,” he said. “Don’t let Emily put any of her crooked little stitches on my clothes.”

“Don’t worry, Jake.” Emily looked up and flashed the poor boy a devastating smile. Jake’s grin faltered a little, and he turned and hurried from the room.

“Now it’s my turn to read,” Emily said, wadding the gown back into her basket. She grabbed up the book, scooted deeper into the chair and quickly found where Lynnette had left off.

A couple of hours into the afternoon, Martha brought them lemonade, and after the drink, Emily declared herself ready to continue reading. Lynnette only read once more and then for only half an hour before Emily tired of sewing.

The afternoon passed more quickly than Lynnette would have expected. Emily was a third of the way through a book that Lynnette had barely heard when Arlen came home.

L
ynnette watched the buggy come up the road then disappear as it got closer to the house. She had been gazing out the window as she flexed her fingers, stiff from hours of sewing.

“Arlen’s back,” she said when Emily paused for breath.

Emily uncurled her legs and stretched them out in front of her, looking more like a little girl than the young woman she was becoming. “Maybe there’s a letter from Mother,” she said after a demure yawn.

“Ah, letters,” Lynnette said with exaggerated anticipation. “I haven’t written to my friend Amanda, and I promised to write every day.”

Emily leaned forward in the chair. “Put the date you left on the first page and a new date on each page afterward, and she’ll think you did. I do it to Mom all the time.”

“Good idea,” Lynnette whispered as they heard the back door close.

Emily went on in a hushed tone, “Of course, sometimes it’s hard to think of that much to say, so I write
kind of big and let on that I miss her more than I really do.”

Arlen came into the room smelling of wind and sunshine and dust. He had left his hat on the way in and run his fingers through his curly dark hair. Strange that she never quite remembered how handsome he was. Perhaps he looked more handsome every time she saw him.

“My two favorite girls, and I’ve caught them whispering,” he said, coming to kneel beside Lynnette’s chair. “Did you have a good day?” He laid one hand on top of hers, and she wondered if he tried to hide the ink stains.

“We’ve been reading and sewing,” Emily said. “I got two whole rosebuds done.”

“Two?” Arlen seemed unimpressed.

“She did most of the reading,” Lynnette added quickly. “She’s quite good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Arlen gazed adoringly into her eyes. She wanted to feel some deep response to it but only felt mildly uncomfortable. She tried gazing back.

“Mail.” Emily’s voice penetrated Lynnette’s brain easily, but since it was spoken to Arlen and he didn’t look away, she didn’t either.

“Hey, lovebirds, give me the mail, and I’ll leave you two alone.”

Lynnette couldn’t hide her amusement Arlen scowled at his sister, but he took a small stack of letters from an inside pocket He sorted them quickly and handed one to Emily then placed the rest on the floor beside him. He returned his attention to Lynnette.

Lynnette used the excuse of Emily’s leaving to avoid facing Arlen for a moment She took the book from Emily, promising to find something to mark the page, and watched the girl drop the letter in her basket and head for the stairs.

“Now I can give you my present,” Arlen whispered.

“You don’t need to buy me presents,” she said.

“Yes, I do. Besides, this one’s an apology.” He pulled a paper-wrapped parcel from another pocket and handed it to her.

“Apology for what? Arlen, I truly didn’t mind staying here today.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so honest It sounded as though she hadn’t missed him. She gave him her sweetest smile as she took the present.

“I shouldn’t have discouraged you from writing,” he said, drawing her attention back to his face. “All day I thought about what I said. If it amuses you and gives you something to do when I’m gone, than I want you to write all you wish.”

Lynnette pulled the string loose and unrolled the paper. White cloth gloves dropped to her lap, three pairs of them.

“They’ll save your fingers a little,” he said. “Can you forgive me for objecting?”

Lynnette couldn’t mistake the hopeful note in his voice. It comforted her to know he regretted what he had said, and she knew he meant well with the gift “Of course, I forgive you,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “It’s sweet of you to think of gloves.”

Christian took a backward step out of the living room. He had seen Arlen drive in and, since it was nearly time for dinner, had decided to come inside. Now he wished he hadn’t.

They were kissing. He shouldn’t have been surprised. And it wasn’t likely to be the last time; he would have to get used to it. It seemed like an impossible task.

Quietly, he walked down the back hall to the kitchen. Inside, Martha turned from the stove to see who had entered. “What do you need?” she asked with a smile.

“Food.” He crossed the room, pretending more interest in what she was cooking than he actually felt.

“Am I to hurry dinner?” She scowled at him, and he had to laugh.

“No. I don’t care about them. I just want my food. Can you have Jake bring it to the barn?”

“Something is bothering you tonight.”

It wasn’t a question; she knew him too well, probably better than anyone. “No, it’s just part of my continuing penance for this morning.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He tried to look stern. “Martha, fix my dinner and send it out to the barn.”

“Right, boss.” She returned to her work. “Whatever you say, boss. Right away, boss.”

Christian let her mumble awhile, then walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You make me feel guilty.”

“That’s the idea. It’s the houseguest, isn’t it?”

Christian gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax.
“I’d tell you if I could,” he whispered. He kissed her temple and left her.

Martha told the family that Christian had asked that his dinner be brought to him. She didn’t say why.

Emily was cross about it all through dinner. “What’s so important that he can’t eat with us?” she asked. Her father’s reminder that he had also been in a hurry at noon didn’t placate her.

Arlen was happy to talk to his father about the people he had met during his outing, and Hugh listened intently, adding what he knew about certain influential men.

Lynnette had Arlen beside her and tried not to notice the empty chair. She was sure she would have been successful if Emily hadn’t continued to call it to everyone’s attention.

By the time the meal was finished, Arlen was visibly perturbed at his pouting sister. “Why don’t you go out to the barn and ask him why he missed dinner?” he suggested.

His tone was just sarcastic enough to indicate his doubt that she would do it.

“Excuse me, then,” Emily said, rising from her chair. She fairly flounced across the room toward the kitchen door, the shortest way out of the house toward the barn.

“I wouldn’t want to be Christian about now,” Arlen said, his eyes twinkling. “And I feel somewhat responsible for having suggested it.”

Hugh just laughed. “Christian handles her flights of
temper as well as anyone. Shall we retire to the living room?”

They all rose, and Arlen tucked Lynnette’s hand into the crook of his arm. He walked her slowly, trailing behind Hugh. As they passed the stairs, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek that Hugh didn’t witness and turned her loose.

“A game of chess?” Hugh asked the room in general.

Arlen answered first. “I picked up today’s copy of the
Courant
while I was in Cottonwood Falls. If you don’t mind, I’ll go through it tonight It’s a weekly,” he explained to Lynnette. “But it’s the only paper in the county and most events are announced in it.”

“Then Lynnette will play,” Hugh said, setting out the board. “It’s going to be deathly boring otherwise, with just me to talk to.”

“I doubt that,” she said, coming forward, “but I’ll play just the same.”

Arlen read his paper with only an occasional rustle. Hugh played a quiet game, making few comments beyond the game itself, and Lynnette was left to wonder what Christian and Emily were talking about She tried to remember Christian’s advice of two nights before, but thinking of him sitting nearby made her less able to concentrate on the game. Hugh beat her handily.

“You want revenge, I imagine,” he said, setting up for another game.

“No, I know when I’m doomed. I think I’d rather use your washroom for a real bath, if that wouldn’t interrupt anyone else’s plans.”

“Be my guest,” he said, rising as she did. “I’ll send Martha in to help with the water.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly. “I’m sure I can manage.”

If Arlen noticed her departure, he showed no sign. In her room, she gathered up clean undergarments and a bar of scented soap. She added a hairbrush and wrapped them all in a towel. She considered going back through the dining room and kitchen so she wouldn’t have to walk past the men but realized she would likely meet Martha if she did. She chose the living room. Hugh had a letter in his lap and one in his hand and told her to take as long as she liked. Arlen’s newspaper rustled slightly.

She found the washroom door open and Martha inside adding wood to a small stove. “I told Hugh not to bother you,” she said, wondering if the woman would believe her.

“I always start a fire this time of day,” Martha said, pumping water into a large kettle. “Christian will want a bath when he comes in.”

“How soon will that be?” She wanted to be out long before he wanted the room.

Martha set the kettle on the stove and shrugged. “There’s a hook on the door, so you don’t need to worry.”

“I didn’t want him to have to wait,” Lynnette mumbled. Talking about Christian and baths at the same time made her feel a little giddy. “I can take it from here.”

Martha considered Lynnette a moment, then shrugged. She picked up an odd-shaped rubber stopper
and placed it in the tub. “Pull that out when you’re finished,” she said and left, closing the door behind her.

Lynnette turned to hook the door and realized she was still clutching her bundle. She fumbled one-handed with the hook, making sure it was securely in place. The last thing she needed was Christian accidentally interrupting her bath. The thought made her nearly drop her clothes.

She put her things on a bench and unbuttoned her dress, stepping closer to the tub as she did so. It was quite large and rigged to drain out of the house. She hadn’t expected such luxury on a ranch. She hadn’t expected Arlen to have so large a house, either.
Or a fascinating brother.

She tried to shrug off the thought as inconsequential. The whole family had been a surprise. She quickly hung up her dress and sat on the bench to remove her shoes and stockings.

By the time she had pumped water into the tub and added a few kettles of hot water, she decided she preferred a smaller tub and less work though it was nice not to have to empty it when she was finished.

When she slid underwater to wet her hair she understood the appeal of the huge tub. With all the long-legged men in the family it was probably appreciated. She sat up, squeezing the excess water from her hair. She was picturing Christian again. She tried to picture Arlen taking a bath in the huge tub, but he seemed to keep his clothes on. She tried to imagine him taking them off, but that only made her feel guilty. The hazy
image of Christian came back unbidden, full of provocative mystery.

She washed as quickly as possible, running through the alphabet, remembering the Roman numerals, reciting the names of the states in order of entry into the union, then she tried to alphabetize them. Anything to keep control of her thoughts.

In a few minutes, she was clean and dressed. She wanted to put the towel around her shoulders to keep her dress dry but she couldn’t walk through the living room with her undergarments in plain sight. She ran the brush through her wet hair one more time and wrapped everything but the soap and brush in the towel. She felt immodest for leaving her hair down, but it was too heavy to pin up until it dried.

She took one last look at the washroom, determining that she was leaving it in good condition, turned down the lamp and lifted the hook. She squared her shoulders, prepared to walk as quickly as possible past the men and up to her room.

She swung the door inward, stepped into the dimly lit hall and collided with Christian. He had been merely walking past the door when she stepped out and hit him broadside. He turned to catch her and knocked the bundle out of her arms. The brush and the soap hit the floor first, followed by all her unmentionables, which seemed to flutter down like leaves on a lazy breeze.

She watched them in a detached sort of way. She stood inches away from Christian, his hands warming her arms. They were both completely still but for the
steady rise and fall of their chests. His breathing appeared to be as labored as hers.

She studiously kept her head lowered; to raise it would be to come face-to-face, quite literally, with a man whom she had just imagined naked.

“Are you all right?” he asked just above a whisper.

She nodded, not taking her eyes off the mess on the floor.

He let go of her arms slowly, as if testing her balance, and stepped back. She thought he would go on his way and allow her to gather her things and hide them once again in the towel. Instead he crouched as if to help her.

She knelt quickly, bumping her knee against his, and nearly lost her balance. He reached out and steadied her again. “I can take care of this.” She had meant to whisper, but it came out a hiss. “Please,” she added, looking into his face for the first time.

What she saw made her catch her breath. He watched her with open admiration. Not the way Arlen did, but more sizzling and hungry. The look frightened her even as it excited her.

But in a second, it was gone. He looked down and started to pick up a lacy petticoat. She practically snatched it out of his hands. “I can manage,” she said firmly. “Thank you.”

He raised his hands in surrender and grinned at her. It went a long way toward dispelling the tension. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said softly.

She noticed then that the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He feels it too
, she thought.
Dear Lord, he feels
the same attraction!
An instant later he was on his feet moving toward the living room.

“What kept you?” Emily’s voice reached her as she gathered her clothes. “I thought you were coming right in.”

“Oh, I ran into a little something I had to take care of,” was Christian’s reply.

She heard more voices, including Arlen’s, but didn’t know what was said. By the time she was ready to join the others she was convinced she had imagined everything. Everything except the solid body and the gentleman’s offer to help. The hall was practically dark, after all. What could she have seen?