“You think I will rescue you whenever you need it, is that it?” He settled on the seat beside her, taking care to double the blanket over so that she had all of it. The thermometer in the tailor’s store window said it was fifteen degrees below. “You know me too well, for I will always be here when you need me.”
“I know.” Deeper meaning layered her words and chased away every shadow. What she didn’t say—perhaps what she couldn’t—remained between them, a sweetness he felt soul deep.
“I care for you, too, lass.” He tried to keep all the affection he felt from his voice, but he failed. It was too great to hide, too powerful to hold back. Like an avalanche it crashed through him.
Never in his life had there been a love like this. He laid an arm across the back of the seat and drew Fiona close against him. She did not shy away. She bowed her head, studying the reins for a moment as if she could find some answer there.
Flannigan broke the moment and darted into the street before Ian could know Fiona’s reaction. Would she say the same, or would she turn away from him? The horse had impeccable timing, that was for sure.
“Tighten the reins more,” he advised. “A little heavier bit will give you more control.”
“I like going fast.” She didn’t draw up the reins but she didn’t move away, either. The town’s last block flew by in a blur and they raced toward the dazzling white prairie together, blessed by a winter-blue sky.
Storm clouds gathered at the horizon, but for this perfect moment it was a clear day.
Fiona loved driving. She loved the feel of Flannigan’s strength telegraphing down the thick leather reins and into her hands. She liked being the one to direct the horse, to give him his head so he could run as fast as he wanted and she would feel the wind whipping through her hair.
“You are as bad as the gelding.” Ian’s hands closed over hers. “You will have to slow him down or we will never make the turn.”
“You’re afraid I am going to crash your sled.” She rather liked that his arms were around her, and she leaned into the curve of his chest. Never had she felt so safe and comforted. Nothing in her life had ever been like this. She was utterly secure and gently cherished.
This cannot be love, she told herself firmly. Sure, it was a great deal more than friendship, but she wasn’t the kind of girl who lost her heart.
“I’m afraid you are going to tumble us into the ditch.” He was laughing. “While you probably think that is nothing less than I deserve, that’s how I broke my leg in the first place.”
“In a sleigh accident?”
“No, going too fast. In a race.” He tensed, every muscle, every tendon. Tightness snapped in his jaw. “You haven’t been so wrong about me. I was once a desperate man.”
It was hard to believe he would do something wrong. “What happened?”
“After selling off parcels of our land, I couldn’t stand to do the same with our last quarter-section. Raising and training horses is an expensive endeavor, especially when a false rumor made my last customers panic. Owners pulled their thoroughbreds from my training stable, and I was left with bills I couldn’t pay. That had been my hope to restore the family name—training winners for other men so I could bankroll the training of our champions.”
“It was a gamble.” She saw the cost. The wince of pain, and the weight of his failure. “You lost because of someone’s cruel words about you?”
“Worse than that, afterward I took a bet. I know the Lord frowns on such things, but I didn’t want to have to explain to my grandmother she would have to leave her home. The house Grandfather had built for her was filled with all the memories of their life together. So I bet the rest of my land, and all but a dozen horses, that I could win a cross-country race. Not a legal race, mind you, on the track. But a private one through the low country, dangerous to man and beast. It was funded by wealthy men. The chance to win so much money was something I could not turn down.”
“You would have lost your family home anyway.”
“That was my reasoning. My justification to do what I knew was wrong. But the lure of winning a fine amount of money was enough to make me saddle my best stallion and ride.”
“And you fell?”
“The horse landed wrong on a jump over a fallen tree. He broke two legs and had to be put down. The cost of my foolishness.” He pulled away, withdrawing his arm from her shoulders. Maybe it was because the sled had come to a stop. He studied the horizon, where the first blaze of sunset stained the encroaching clouds. “I splinted my leg, carved a pair of crutches and pressured men I knew for a job. I cleaned stalls day and night.”
“On an injured leg?”
“I could not lie abed. Nana was ill, there were enough doctor bills without my adding to them. So I did what I had to do. I kept a roof over my grandmother’s head and her needs met.” He cleared his throat, battling something she could not see.
Flannigan nickered, tossing his head for attention, reminding her she held the reins still. They had reached the barn, she realized, but she could not move. Ian felt distant, as if he were miles away instead of beside her. She wanted to reach out to him, but she stayed motionless on the seat. “A lot of men would not have stayed in the first place. They would have fled their responsibilities.”
He said nothing more, although his throat worked, as if he had more to say. He swept off his hat, knocking snow from the brim, but he could not hide his trembling. From cold, from the failure dogging him, perhaps from something more she could not see.
“Come on.” He climbed out of the sled. “Flannigan isn’t happy standing. It’s too cold, and he’s worked up a lather.”
Fiona wasn’t fooled. Whatever Ian’s faults and the mistakes he had made, he had done them for the greatest reason of all—love. Respect filled her, slow and sweet and endlessly deep.
He lifted the blanket away from her and folded it so that she would not trip on its cumbersome length. When he gave her his hand, as he always did, as she knew he always would, a force swept through her. She loved him. She wished she could stop it, hold back her tenderness like a dam in high water, but she could not.
Chapter Sixteen
“F
iona! You daft girl! You are spilling water all over the floor.”
Ma’s shrill tone, full of fury, penetrated Fiona’s thoughts. She realized she was kneeling on the kitchen floor, her hands wrist deep in suds. The edge of the washboard dug into her ribs.
“Staring off into nothing when you should be finishing the wash. You’re lazier than ever, girl.” Footsteps pounded from the table to the stove, and sizzling erupted when the cut potatoes hit the hot fry pan. “I do not approve of that man.”
“I rather like him.” She gripped a pair of her father’s trousers in both hands and scoured them on the washboard.
“You say that now.” Ma turned, spatula in hand. “Do not think you are so smart, missy. That is the way men are, pretending to be kind and good to you when they want something. Aye, they can sweet-talk you into believing they would do anything for you. All that matters is your happiness. Sound familiar?”
How did her mother know? Her strength faltered, the garment caught midstroke, and she skinned her knuckles on the corrugated washboard. A streak of blood stained her raw skin. “You and Da have been listening in—”
“Uh! As if I need to.” Ma’s laugh rang high and cruel. “I have walked in your shoes before. How else do you think I married your da?”
“I—” The garment in the tub was blurry, probably due to the effects of the soapy water.
“I was sixteen, and the man who came courting, the man my parents picked for me, was charming. Bringing me flowers and notions for my sewing. I was making a wedding ring quilt for my hope chest.” Ma left the pan sizzling, pounding closer. “Oh, I fell heart and soul for the man who treated me like such a lady, who held doors for me and pledged his undying affection. Who wanted me to have all of my dreams.”
Fiona wished the barbed words did not find their target, but they did. She kept wringing, and over the splash of the rinse water she heard the echo of Ian’s promises.
I followed my heart back to you. The only dreams I have are for you. I care for you, lass.
He had told her the truth. She would have known if he had been false. She plopped the trousers into the clothes basket and reached for a nearby towel. She would not listen to her mother: it was simply years of unhappiness that made her say terrible things.
“Don’t believe me.” Ma returned to the stove, stirring the potatoes harder than necessary. Several flew out of the pan and she left them to smoke. “You think your charming Mr. McPherson is a shining knight now, but mark my words. He is out for himself, as all men are.”
Don’t listen to her, Fee. She mopped up the last of the splashed water and scooped the clothes basket off the floor. Her parents were unhappy with the way Ian was changing things. Da was unhappy that he was no longer in complete control. That was all this was. Her mother’s hurtful words could not be true. She unhooked her coat from the peg and slipped into it.
“Don’t have anything to say, girl? I know what you are thinking. You think your man is nothing like your da. That’s what I thought about
your
father, that he was not like mine.” Ma shook her head, grown too hard with her disappointments in life to care about the hurt she was causing. “You might as well smarten up, girl. We are wasting time waiting for the wedding. Marry the boy. I am on pins and needles not knowing for sure if he will keep his word.”
“I have never said I would marry Ian, and besides, he has paid the bank.” All the proof she needed that her mother was not right. She grabbed the latch and tugged. The door squeaked open.
“No, he has not. He has only promised to. He went and got some fancy lawyer involved.”
“Whatever Ian is doing, he is a fair man.” She did not need to list all that he had done for her to prove it. It was one of the things she admired about him. Besides, he had said he didn’t want the farm because of the high mortgage, the very reason Da could not easily sell it. “You shouldn’t worry so, Ma.”
“No man is fair. Can’t you get that through your thick head? Forget this foolishness. Let us get on to the business of saving our home. I am not going to live out of the back of our wagon.”
This was what twenty years of unhappiness and unkindness could do to a person, eroding away the tender places. She could not listen to any more; she wrestled down anger as she drew the door closed.
Ma’s final words drifted out to her. “The moment he gets his name on the deed, he will change, and not for the better. All he wants is the land. So stop being difficult and marry him now—”
The door clicked shut and Fiona walked away with a heavy heart. Glad she was that Ian wanted her to spend the evenings with him in the barn. She might not be able to work on his coat, but she could make a pattern for it. Perhaps get measurements from his clothes, if she offered to wash them. Her step quickened as she hurried down the steps and plunged into the snowy path.
The glow from the faded sunset blessed the silent prairie with a rare light. She walked on lavender-hued snow toward the clothesline, breathing in the wonder of the prairie. The hush felt reverent, almost sacred, almost as if God was peering down from heaven through the ragged clouds. One star twinkled at the horizon’s edge, a reminder that night was coming.
What was Ian doing? She caught sight of the sled, drawn up to the corral’s gate. Perhaps he was inside taking care of Flannigan. She let the basket drop to the ground and dug a half-dozen wooden pins from the hanging bag. She clipped them to the top of her apron before shaking the wrinkles from the first garment she grabbed. Thinking of him made her worries lighter. She did not fret over Ma’s words, because she trusted Ian. The safety and comfort she’d felt in his arms remained like a gift, one she had never guessed could be so wonderful.
She clipped up one pair of Da’s trousers, and reached for another pair. The wind stirred around her in little swirls, and snowflakes lifted from the ground in a slow, circling waltz. It did feel as if heaven were nearer, she thought, as she reached for another garment to hang.
A rumbling disrupted the prairie’s peace, angry tones skimming the darkening snow as if riding the wind. They came too softly at first to hear more than the rise and fall of baritone and tenor, but as she reached for another clothespin, the wind shifted to bring the words straight to her.
“—that is one point I won’t budge on, O’Rourke. Fiona is—”
“—my daughter, and she stays and takes care of us. We are not as young as we used to be. That’s the deal.”
“No, that’s not the deal I shook on.”
“It is if you want the deed signed over to you. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t the land the reason you are here?”
“Aye.”
The clothespins slipped from her fingers and plinked to the ground. Night fell like a blanket over the land and over her shock.
She could not be hearing them right. There had to be a rational explanation.
“Good. I’ve spoken with the sheriff. He will be performing the ceremony at noon the day after Christmas. Agreed?”
The wind gusted, stealing Ian’s answer. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to hear him agree. She hadn’t misunderstood. She had heard him loud and clear.
Isn’t the land the reason you are here?
Aye.
He’d answered with resignation, but he had answered with the truth. His first priority was the land—not her. It always had been. She had been too blind to see it. He had lied to her, and she had believed it.
She had loved him for it.
The first crack of pain struck like a blow. She grasped at the fallen pins, her fingers fumbling, her whole heart shattering one tiny piece at a time. The snow swirled whimsically at her feet, as if all were right with the world. Stars popped out like hope renewed, as she turned her back on the barn and the men there.
Maybe if she held herself very still inside the pain would stop. She managed to gather the last fallen clothespin and stood, feeling dizzy. The terrible truth would twirl away like a thousand crystal snowflakes and would be lost on the lonesome prairie. She could go back to believing in the cocoon of Ian’s safe comfort and the hopeful love she felt for him.
A love he did not harbor for her. By rote, she grabbed another piece of laundry from the basket. The second crack of pain hit her like the strap cutting deep. For Ian, she was a means to an end, that was all. Just like her mother had said.
“Fiona! What are you doing, standing around like a loon? Get finished up there.” Ma marched into sight. “I need help with supper.”
“Yes, Ma.” She clipped the last garment—Ma’s Sunday dress—to the line. The cold did not touch her as she grabbed the empty basket and tromped toward the house. The darkness trailed her through the deep drifts, past the strap on the lean-to wall and into the house where more work waited.
I don’t like the way you are doin’things.
O’Rourke’s words taunted him as he beat the ground with the ax. Chunks of frozen soil and sod spewed into the night. Sweat rolled down his face as he swung again. The leverage he had on the man was gone; the tables had turned. Nana had somehow found the money to pay the man his asking price.
Fiona is mine, and until you put a ring on her finger, you will not be letting her drive a horse or go running off with those snooty friends of hers.
Oh, but he was in a temper. He drove the ax downward a final time. Flannigan’s nicker reminded him he was not alone in the corral. He leaned on the ax handle, pulled a handkerchief out of his back denims pocket and swiped the sweat off his face. His breath rose like smoke in the dark. Overhead all but a few stars kept watch; a storm was moving in.
“Sorry, boy. Let me chain up one last post and after we get it moved, I will treat you to a nice long—” A shadow moved at the edge of his vision, a slim, willowy form in a familiar gray coat. “Fiona. It is too cold for you to be out.”
“Oh, and it’s not for you?” Her chin went up, the faint starlight finding her.
“Point taken.” He leaned the ax handle against the pile of rotting posts he’d extracted. “Is that supper I smell?”
“Yes. When you didn’t come in to eat, I set a plate aside for you.” She stopped to pat Flannigan, and probably to feed him a treat, as the horse lapped her palm and crunched away. Sounded like a carrot.
“You are an industrious man. Some would wait until morning to start refencing.” She held out a cloth-covered plate. “Smarter men might wait for spring.”
“I never claimed to be a smart man.” He took it, aware that while she was only a few steps from him, she felt a mile away. The plate’s heat penetrated his leather gloves, proof she had taken care to heat the food well for the trip outside. Thoughtful she was; his chest felt wrenched apart.
If you want the land in your name, you will marry her.
O’Rourke’s demands rocked through him. He set the plate on the flat-topped fence post before he dropped it.
I’m back in charge now. I have your grandmother’s money, and I am through waiting. That girl is a burden, and you will take over the cost of supporting her or find another ranch.
With his financial position, no bank would give him a mortgage. Ian’s stomach soured, hating his choices. “I start my job in the morning, so if I want to get this repaired, then I have to work in the evenings.”
“Repairing? No, that’s replacing a board or two. You are putting in a whole new fence.” She crossed her arms over her midsection, and with the wind whipping at her skirts, she looked oddly alone and lost. “Are you bringing your horses out here from Kentucky, then?”
“Aye. I can sell one of them to pay for the rail costs. But I would rather wait to see how much of my wages I can save and pay for it that way.” His hand trembled as he tried to hold the plate steady and lifted the cloth. The buttery scent of hot biscuits and the meaty fried salt pork made his stomach growl, although he did not feel hungry. He was speaking of his dreams, when he had promised to protect hers. “In truth, I don’t know how it is going to work out.”
“That is the problem with the future. You cannot see it ahead of time.” There was no greater beauty than Fiona in the stardust. Wherever she moved, the light hurried as if to illuminate her path. She climbed onto the remaining part of the fence and swung over to sit on the top rail, and the starlight lovingly pearled her hair and kissed her dear face.
Love for her filled every crack and hollow in him. He wished that an answering love would show on her face. Impossible, he knew, but maybe with time she would do more than care for him. Looked like now that time had run out, it was not to be.
He hardly tasted the biscuit or the butter melting on his tongue. How did he tell her what his grandmother had done? He took another bite, memorizing the way she balanced like a lost princess on the barnyard fence. She perched, straight-backed and regal, a spirit of dignity and composure in gingham and braids.
“Will you be bringing out your grandmother, too? You must worry about her.” Her question came gently, laced with understanding.
“Aye. I’m guilty for leaving her. If I bring her here, I fear she will be disappointed in the prospects.” He cut into the slice of salt pork with his fork. “She was expecting a grand place.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She is absolute kindness. I cannot remember her ever speaking a harsh word.” He missed Nana, but all things changed. He was no longer a boy riding home from school at a racing gallop to tell her of his perfect marks for the day and to share cookies and milk on the front veranda. “She managed all my childhood mistakes with patience. She comforted my grandfather when my father’s gambling ways had shamed them and later when his investments went bust. When I lost what was left, she did not once think of herself. Her only concern was for me. Misplaced, aye, and what I did not deserve.”
“You must love her beyond measure.”
“She is in large part to blame for the man I am.”
“So I see.” Flannigan wandered over, nosing for more treats. She pulled a carrot from her coat pocket and broke it in half. The crack resounded in the forlorn yard, as if emphasizing the broken-down poverty of the place.