Linda Ford (8 page)

Chapter Five

T
he kettle steamed but no one moved. Red felt Ward’s relentless challenge. Let him prove they could trust him? How was she to do that without putting both herself and Belle in jeopardy? No. “A person has to earn trust before it is given.”

His gaze did not falter, forcing her to shift away to avoid his intense insistence. “True. On the other hand, it’s impossible to convince someone against their will. All I’m asking is you stop judging me as being like Thorton Winch.”

Belle nudged Red.

Red jerked her attention to her sister. “What?”

“He’s not like Thorton.”

Red squatted down to Belle’s eye level. “Honey, you can never be too cautious.”

Belle’s eyes brimmed with a combination of assurance and hope. “He prayed. And he has that.” She shrugged one shoulder in the direction of the sampler.

“If you’re so sure, why are you still afraid of him?”

Belle hung her head for a moment. She shuddered, then met Red’s eyes again. “There’s a lot of scary feelings inside me.”

Red hugged her sister and looked at Ward, surprised to see a reflection of her own dismay.

“No child should live in fear.” His words were solid, full of unspoken promises, as if he vowed Belle would never have a reason to be afraid of him. Their gazes melded. She understood he meant so much more than Belle’s situation. Likely his own little brothers. Something inside her wrenched as she felt a sense of connection at shared pain, uncertainty and regret over the past. She recognized in his blazing look a silent vow to make up for what he’d lost, his regret over his decision to leave his family. And more. A deep conviction about what was right and wrong and determination to stand up for the right.

In that moment she allowed herself to think of him as a man who could be trusted. She retracted the thought as quickly as it came. She’d trusted too readily and too often and knew the dangers of doing so. Her willingness to believe Thorton was an honest preacher man had brought disaster.

From now on she would guard her thoughts. And heart. She yanked away from his gaze. Flung about for something to do so she could ignore him. Saw the steaming kettle and snatched it from the stove. He’d set out three heavy china mugs alongside the cocoa tin and a container of sugar. “Why don’t you stay for cocoa?” Her words were not overly warm, but it was the best she could manage at this point.

“Thanks.” He opened the can of evaporated milk. “Left before I could enjoy Cookie’s cinnamon rolls. Intend to do so now.” His tone informed Red he wasn’t waiting for an invite from her.

“Well then, by all means.”

Belle rocked back and forth, her face wreathed in tension.

Red immediately regretted her reluctance. For Belle’s sake, she had to try to be civil when he was around. She pressed back annoyance. Wondered at the skitter of fear that tailed after it. Then smiled—it was forced and false, but it was all she could manage. “Here, I’ll measure the cocoa and sugar. You pour in the hot water.” She set the kettle on the table between them.

Ward looked at Belle and then back at Red. He smiled, too, though his seemed almost genuine, as if amused at the predicament his presence created for her.

She kept a smile on her lips while signaling a warning from her eyes, informing him she would do her best to ease Belle’s anxiety but it didn’t change anything inside her. From the way his eyebrows lifted and his smile deepened, she guessed he’d read her silent message. She did not care for the amusement flashing from his eyes.

She grabbed a spoon and dumped a measure of cocoa and sugar in each cup and gave the mixture a quick stir.

Ward moved to her side and tilted the kettle to partially fill each cup.

Belle edged closer. “That how Mama made cocoa?”

Red forced cheeriness into her voice. “That’s right. We used to have it every bedtime during the winter. Do you remember?”

Belle nodded.

“Mama did it for me as long as I can remember and then for you as soon as you were old enough. Remember how we would sit close to the stove and Mama or Papa read to us?” Red’s voice caught and she pretended to be preoccupied with stirring the hot mixture.

“Did Papa used to read poems?”

Ah. The ache of loss scalded her insides as if she’d downed the kettle of boiling water. How she’d loved listening to Papa’s slow, deep voice read poems, filling Red’s mind with word pictures and dreams.

“I ’member something about daffodils.”

Gentle, sweet memories of a different time and different place flooded Red’s thoughts. “William Wordsworth. ‘And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.’”

Belle clapped her hands. “I remember.”

“My pa liked poetry, too.” Ward’s voice sounded thick.

She was reluctantly pulled into another shared regret. Thankfully he was at her side and her attention on preparing cocoa, so she could avoid looking at him. She failed, however, to avoid a tug of sadness as his loss found an echo in her heart.

She poured a dash of milk into each cup. “I guess it’s ready.”

Belle hesitated a moment, then slipped to one chair.

Only one remained.

“I’ll get a stool.” Ward ducked out of the cabin so suddenly that Red and Belle looked at each other and giggled.

Belle leaned over her cup of cocoa. “Smells good. Can I start?”

“I suppose we should wait for him.”

Belle looked at the door. “What if he’s gone a long time?” Her voice thinned with worry.

A slow anger simmered through Red. Belle was only asking for more pain if she started thinking she could count on a man for anything. “Belle, we have each other. We’ll be fine even if he doesn’t come back.”

Belle’s eyes shadowed with doubt, but she nodded agreement just as Ward stepped back inside, carrying a thick log squared on both ends.

Red didn’t miss the way Belle visibly relaxed at his return and it served to increase her uneasiness.

He plunked the log by the table, sat on it and pointed toward the second chair. “It’s yours.”

Still full of caution, Red sat down and pulled a mug toward her.

Ward grabbed the other mug and grinned around the table. “I always pictured sitting around a little table like this with my mother and brothers.” His smile faltered a bit. “But it’s nice to share it with you.” He must have seen the protest on Red’s lips and corrected himself, saying, “Nice of you to share it with me.” He passed the cinnamon rolls.

Belle took a bite and closed her eyes, sighing with delight. “These are so good.”

Ward grinned. “That’s what I said.”

Red hesitated. She knew it was childish but she didn’t want to agree with him, and wished Belle hadn’t done so. But she couldn’t deny herself a bite of the delicious-smelling treat. As soon as she tasted it, all resistance fled. Pleasantly sweet with just the right amount of cinnamon, the syrup soft and the bread as light as cake dough. It would have been criminal to refuse such delight. But now there was no way she could pretend to disagree with Ward. She would simply keep her opinion to herself, but despite her intentions she sighed with pleasure.

Ward chuckled. “I’ve never known anyone to voice a contrary notion about Cookie’s rolls.”

There was nothing for it but to enjoy the roll and take a second one. And allow a certain amount of serenity to surround the trio at the table. It was hard, she discovered, to keep up any level of resistance and annoyance when lost in the pleasures of good food.

Belle must have felt something similar, for she seemed to relax and even took another roll when Ward offered it, and didn’t show a bit of fear. Red knew she should be glad, but she couldn’t help but worry Belle would only end up getting hurt again.

Finally Ward drained his cup, eyed the bottom as if wanting a refill of hot cocoa. Instead he planted his hands on his thighs. “Were you comfortable last night?”

“We were fine.”

“Is there anything you need?” He glanced at Red. She shook her head.

“We’re fine.”

He turned his gaze toward Belle. She studied him, measuring him. He let her. She ducked her head, but Red could tell there was something on her mind. Hopefully Ward would not be aware of it.

“What do you need, Belle?” he asked.

Ward’s voice was soft and inviting. Far too inviting. He shouldn’t be allowed to speak so alluringly.

Belle lifted her face to Ward, her eyes wide with hope and longing. It was enough to fill Red’s heart with pain that her little sister should have unsatisfied needs. She’d done her best to take care of Belle but knew she’d failed miserably.

“I’m listening,” Ward urged.

“A doll.” The words seemed to struggle from Belle’s throat, yet rang so full of childish dreams that Red closed her eyes to control a rush of hot tears. She sucked in air until she had her emotions under control.

She opened her eyes to see Ward watching her. Tried to hide any remnant of feeling. But it was impossible when his eyes reflected pain and a desire to help this child.

“Red, can I talk to you outside?” He rose and waited for her to follow, taking her compliance for granted.

Belle stiffened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Belle, honey, it’s okay.” Red squeezed Belle’s shoulder.

Ward stopped, turned to face Belle. “You have no reason to regret asking. I only want to talk to Red about how we might get you a doll.”

Red followed Ward outside into the warm autumn sun. “She didn’t expect you to do anything. She was only voicing her longing. After all, she’s just a little girl.”

“Exactly. And she’s been through more than a child should have to endure. So asking for a doll seems to me to indicate she still knows how to be a child. I think we should do all we can to encourage that.”

“We?” She tried to sound as if he’d overstepped a line, but to know he felt some call to help a hurting child did something funny to her insides, as if warm, melted butter had been dripped to parched areas.

He narrowed his eyes, maybe expecting her to refuse. She wanted to, but honestly could not think of how she could without making Belle pay for her decision.

Taking her silence for agreement, he said, “I’m pretty good at carving. I think I could carve a simple little doll for her. Nothing fancy. If I ask Linette for some scraps of material, you might be able to make some clothes. What do you think?”

A man who would carve a doll for a little girl? She tried not to think what kind of person would do that—a kind, generous one who cared about the feelings of a child—but the thought burrowed past her barriers and landed behind her heart in a spot full of memories of a different life. She held her breath and forced the truth of who she was to the forefront, blocking out every other possibility.

She was Red. A woman ruined by her life in a saloon. Ruined for a decent man.

Ward watched her. No doubt thought she struggled to deal with his suggestion. Let him think so. It was a much nicer quandary than the real one.

“I won’t do it if you have an objection,” he said.

Oh, she had objections, but not to getting Belle a doll. In fact, she couldn’t even say what they were. Only that they had a Ward-shape to them. Something about him proved a threat to her need to stand on her own. Alone against the world. Her sister’s sole protector. A lonely job but a welcome one.

“Go ahead. Carve a doll and I’ll make clothes for it. Belle deserves a little pleasure in life.”

Ward stepped closer, forcing her to raise her eyes and challenge him or back away. She would not show weakness, and met his gaze with fierce directness.

“I think we all deserve to enjoy life.”

“Yeah? I noticed how some people intend to enjoy themselves no matter what the cost to another.” She knew he understood her meaning as his eyes narrowed and turned as icy as a winter river.

“I don’t mean that kind of thing, and I’m almost certain you know that.”

She wouldn’t let so much as a flicker of her eyelids indicate he was right. “Really? So what kind of thing do you mean?”

He held her gaze for a heartbeat and another until she feared she would have to blink first. Then he smiled.

The sudden change made her dizzy. The bang on her head still hurt. No doubt the cause of her slight loss of focus.

“I mean the kind of things God gives us freely to enjoy—the sun.” He raised his face skyward and closed his eyes.

She tried not to stare at the look of bliss on his face. Concentrated on studying his rugged jawline, noting his clean-shaven cheeks, his bronzed skin from hours outdoors. But taking stock of that sort of thing proved as unsettling as the longing his words drew from her heart.

“Then there’s the mountains.” He pointed to the west. “Tell me you can look at that view and not feel blessed.”

Thankfully he didn’t seem to require a reply because she would have found it impossible to say she wasn’t moved. Though perhaps as much by his freedom in expressing his feelings as in the view.

“And need I point out the wildflowers? Have you seen the abundance in the spring?”

“Didn’t see much from the inside of a saloon.” She hoped her hard words would make him stop. Remind him of who she was.

“You are no longer a prisoner inside a saloon. So stop thinking like one.” He studied her, waiting for her reaction.

She vowed she would not give him the pleasure of seeing how his words knifed through her arguments and attacked her resistance. It was true she must now learn to live like she was free. Yet some aspects of her past must never be forgotten. And if she ever thought they could be, then she knew full well someone would remind her.

Ward nodded. “I see you understand my meaning. Are you going to tell Belle we’re going to make her a doll, or do you want to keep it a secret?”

Red pulled her thoughts back to what mattered—her sister. “Belle is used to not getting what she wants. So I think knowing she’s going to get a doll will give her about as much joy as getting it.”

“’Spect you have a point. So let’s go tell her.”

Red had half a mind to tell him she could give Belle the news without his help, but realized it would be churlish. So she led the way back inside.