Daisies In The Wind (17 page)

He scowled. Even with the scowl he looked
extremely handsome in his dark blue shirt, which hugged his finely
molded shoulders and forearms. He wore a silk neckerchief knotted
loosely around his neck, and snug-fitting, well-pressed black
trousers that emphasized the solid, muscular thickness of his long
legs. His boots gleamed as if they’d been freshly polished. In the
amber glow of the lantern behind her, Rebeccah saw that his hat
only partially concealed the springy locks of his chestnut hair and
narrowly shadowed his eyes. But from what she could see below the
brim, there was no glint of warmth or even civil friendliness in
those eyes. Only a tight coolness.

“Came to drive you over for dinner. I was
just about to knock when you yanked the door open. What’s the
matter with you, anyway, Miss Rawlings? Why are you so jumpy?”

Miss Rawlings. So they were back to that
again. Well, fine. “Nothing.” Rebeccah shrugged, matching his cool
nonchalance. “I was in a hurry, that’s all. Do I look like
something’s the matter with me?”

He stared hard at her as if determined to
give her a brutally honest answer to her question. Rebeccah gritted
her teeth under his piercing inspection.

“Are you finished?” she bit off at last,
disappointed when she detected not the slightest softening in his
eyes, not the least hint of admiration or—
admit it,
Rebeccah!—
desire as his gaze raked her from head to toe and
every place in between.

“You’ll do, I reckon.” He shrugged
indifferently and turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”

She found herself taking two quick strides
for every one of his long, loping ones, and by the time she reached
the wagon, she would have bet her buttons he would not even help
her in.

But here she was wrong. He turned, so
suddenly she nearly ran into him, put two strong hands around her
waist, and hoisted her up with no apparent effort and no excessive
gentleness. Rebeccah found herself plopped unceremoniously onto the
hard seat.

“I think I’d rather have driven myself,” she
muttered under her breath as he came around and climbed up beside
her, releasing the brake lever in a deft motion.

“Caitlin wouldn’t hear of it,” he said,
staring straight ahead as he set the horses trotting forward.
“Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“How charming.” Rebeccah’s anger boiled
within her, but at the same time her heart was heavy. He hated her
now. That much was clear. He hated her even more than he had that
first day in town when he’d learned who she was. He despised her.
Well, good. Then he would never try to kiss her again or press his
unwanted attentions on her just because he felt he could get away
with it. She was safe.

Chill air whistled around them as the wagon
crossed the sloping land, passed beneath the shadowy spruce, and
encountered blowing tumbleweed and numerous ruts and boulders. A
low moon sailed the satin sky, a sky studded with a thousand
diamond stars. Stealing a quick glance at the man beside her,
Rebeccah could make out the unflinching set of his features. She
decided that he was the most infuriating and unpleasant man she’d
ever encountered. How had she ever, even as a child, thought him
kind? He said nothing to her during the entire drive, didn’t glance
at her once, and made her feel about as welcome as a queen ant at a
picnic.

She made up her mind that she hated him too.
And that was a welcome relief. The burden of all those idiotic
daydreams was gone. Lifted forever. She had been a foolish
simpleton, a dreamer, but now she was over him, so very much over
him, it was as if she’d been set free from some terrible bondage,
from prison, and so light were her spirits at this newfound freedom
that she jumped down from the wagon the moment it pulled up at the
Double B ranch house, without waiting for Wolf to help her.

The door opened, light poured forth across
the spotlessly painted porch and from the windows of the neat,
white-frame house, and Caitlin appeared in the glowing doorway,
wiping her hands on her apron and smiling with cheery pleasure.

“Come in, Rebeccah! Don’t you look pretty!
My, I didn’t realize it had grown so cold. You must make yourself
comfortable by the fire.”

Rebeccah ran lightly up the steps and across
the porch, without so much as a backward glance at Wolf Bodine.

The ranch house was charmingly appointed, its
furnishings at once simple, comfortable, and hardy. A pleasant
chintz-covered sofa was flanked by matching wing chairs in the same
swirly blue-and-rose pattern. A roaring hearth fire stretched out
its warmth to every corner of the high-beamed parlor, illuminating
the oak tea table, the glass-enclosed curio cabinets against the
wall beneath the stairs, the braided rug on the highly polished
floor. Rose muslin draperies were tied back with blue tassels at
the windows, and set before the large front window was a
claw-footed writing desk with a small brass lamp atop it. Numerous
wall sconces glowed with fluttering candles. A narrow varnished
staircase led up to a second story, which no doubt was as homey and
delightful as this parlor.

What drew Rebeccah’s attention almost at once
was the piano. It was in the corner near the hearth, a lovely,
delicate little spinet with gleaming keys and a glossy rosewood
finish.

“It’s beautiful,” Rebeccah murmured, moving
at once to stroke the polished wood. The bench was rosewood, too,
with an embroidered seatcover. She stretched out a hand to touch
the keyboard with a gentle finger.

“Will you play something for us, Miss
Rawlings?” Billy asked out of nowhere, and, startled, Rebeccah
glanced up to see him at the bottom of the staircase, his dark hair
damply slicked back, his face scrubbed and shiny in the bright
light from the fire, the candles, and the lamp. It was obvious from
the eager expression on his face that he did not hate her, and
Rebeccah felt a surge of relief. Unlike his father, this bright
little eagle of a boy did not hold a grudge because of the sadness
her careless words had dredged up. He looked pleased to see her,
friendly and open and excited to have company for supper. Rebeccah
was surprised by how nice that made her feel.

“Not now,” she demurred with a little wave of
her hand. “We’re going to have supper soon. I’m sure your
grandmother can use my help.”

“Of course I can, but first play us a little
tune,” Caitlin invited earnestly, “That piano has been in my family
for as long as I can remember. It was my mother’s. My sister,
Julia, learned to play, but I never had the patience for it.
Needlepoint is what I was good at. But Julia died of cholera years
back, and the piano came to me after my mother was gone. Once in a
while Mary Adams picks out a little tune on it, and now and again
Billy pounds on those keys, but if you know any real songs,
Rebeccah, please go ahead. We’d all love to hear some music in this
old house, wouldn’t we, Wolf?”

Wolf made a sound halfway between a grunt and
a cough.

“Pa, wouldn’t we like to hear music?” Billy
prodded. He tugged Rebeccah toward the bench. “Play something
lively,” he urged, his eyes dancing. “I’ll clap along.”

She was self-conscious, what with Wolf
glaring at her like that, looking as if he’d just swallowed a whole
lemon, including the skin; but there was nothing else for her to do
except oblige Caitlin and Billy. She seated herself at the piano
and stared down at the keys, her slender fingers poised hesitantly
above them. What should she play?

Something lively.

“ ‘Turkey in the Straw’?” she asked, biting
her lip, and Billy nodded emphatically.

“Oh, yes! And then ‘Home on the Range’!”

She began to play, and as her fingers danced
over the keys, she felt herself becoming engrossed as always in the
music. Whether playing Chopin or a country reel, the music never
failed to capture her, body and soul. Her fingers raced and
pranced, her heart lifted, and she smiled into Billy’s rapt face as
the boy sang along enthusiastically. When she had finished both
songs, Caitlin and Billy burst into applause.

“That was wonderful. You’re quite
accomplished,” Caitlin exclaimed, and a beaming expression suddenly
lit her seamed little face. “Perhaps in addition to your regular
teaching duties you might want to give the youngsters of Powder
Creek—those who want it, that is—music lessons.”

“But I’m afraid I don’t have a piano.”
Rebeccah rose, her cheeks faintly flushed as she moved away from
the bench.

“You could give the lessons here, couldn’t
she, Wolf? This old piano might as well be put to good use. And if
Billy’d like, he could be her first pupil.”

“Sure.” The boy glanced hopefully up at her
and tilted his head to one side like an inquisitive bird. “Would
you teach me, Miss Rawlings?”

Rebeccah hesitated, unsure whether to laugh
or to groan in frustration. She had come to Montana in search of
peace and quiet—isolation, really—and here she was caught up in
schoolteaching, music lessons, and suppers with friends.

It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, however,
especially since she’d never before had a friend, except Bear—but
it was different from what she’d planned. And things just seemed to
keep happening, rolling her life right out of her control.

“Well, yes, I’ll teach you to play if you’d
like,” she heard herself promising Billy as she followed Caitlin to
the kitchen.

She saw Wolf Bodine’s expression as she said
the words, and an aching chill pierced her. She stopped in her
tracks and turned. “Unless your father has an objection.”

“No objection.” But his cold gray eyes were
the color of a storm-tossed ocean, and they sparked with anger. He
turned suddenly on the heel of his boot and stalked toward the
door. “I forgot something I have to do in town,” he curtly threw
over his shoulder. “Sorry, Ma, but it can’t be helped. Reckon you’d
best go ahead and start supper without me.”

And he was gone, tugging the door shut behind
him with a soft but definite thud.

Rebeccah’s heart sank like a sack of potatoes
tossed down a dark well. He had left—because of her. He couldn’t
even bear being in the same room with her—even though she was his
mother’s guest.

The insult stung as if a great wasp had
punctured her lungs with its venom. Rebeccah felt her chest
constricting as anger lanced through her. And hurt. A deep, slicing
hurt that seemed to cut her heart to bloody pieces.

Caitlin plopped her hands on her tiny rounded
hips. Her mouth worked in consternation. “I’m going to scalp that
boy,” she declared.

“What’s eating Pa?” Billy demanded, looking
from one to the other in bafflement. “He never goes to town at
suppertime!”

“Hush.” Caitlin threw him a vexed glance.
“You go upstairs now and comb your hair. I’ll call you when
supper’s ready.”

“I already combed it, Gramma.”

“Comb it again,” she ordered.

In silence Rebeccah followed Caitlin into the
kitchen. It was every bit as homey and tidy as the parlor, and it
smelled deliciously of cooked beef with brown gravy, white beans
simmering in a skillet alongside sliced potatoes, and fresh
buttermilk biscuits.

“Rebeccah, dear, why don’t you set the table
while I stir these beans. That’ll take your mind off of my son’s
rudeness.”

“Will it?” Rebeccah gave a short, bitter
laugh. “I shouldn’t have come tonight, Caitlin. I suppose I knew
all along that it was a mistake. Your son doesn’t want me
here.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Caitlin pursed her lips
as she stirred the beans. She studied the dark-haired girl in the
cherry-and-white calico, who was grimly setting plates about the
table with its blue-and-white-checkered cloth. “I think my son
doesn’t know what he wants. And that’s why he’s acting like a man
with a burr under his saddle.”

“What ever would make you think that?”
Rebeccah paused, one of the pretty blue china plates clenched in
her hand.

“A mother knows. Don’t ask me how, but it’s
true. Wolf is all torn up inside about something. Can’t make up his
mind. I haven’t seen him this way in a long time. But you should
know that he stood up for you at that town meeting a few days back.
He put his job on the line to settle folks down and force them to
give you a chance.”

“He did that for me?”

“He sure did.”

Rebeccah could scarcely believe it. And yet
something had influenced the people of Powder Creek who had such
strong reasons to resent her. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had an
opportunity at the teaching position, and she’d probably have been
accosted by angry townsfolk by now.

She finished setting the table in silence.
Finally she gathered her courage to ask the question that had been
gnawing at her for days. “His wife.” She forced her voice to sound
cool, matter-of-fact. “How did she die? When?”

Caitlin froze. Very deliberately she set down
the wooden fork with which she’d been stirring the beans. “Clarissa
was caught in a cross-fire,” she answered slowly. She cleared her
throat. There was absolutely no expression on her firm, nut-brown
face. “She died of a gunshot wound. It happened nine years ago.
Billy had just turned one.”

“How terrible,” Rebeccah whispered. She
stared down at the dishes arranged around the table. There was a
tiny triangular chip in one.

“Wolf has raised Billy alone—with my
help—ever since.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Caitlin sighed, and removed the
skillet with the beans and potatoes from the fire, pouring them
into a scalloped china serving bowl.

“It’s not quite as simple as it sounds,
Rebeccah. Nothing ever is. Remember that, dear. If I’ve learned one
thing in all my years, it’s that.”

Rebeccah concentrated on arranging knives,
forks, and spoons at each place setting. “He must miss her
terribly,” she said in a low tone. “He is mourning her still, isn’t
he? Wolf, I mean. When I mentioned his wife one time, an expression
of awful pain entered his eyes. And then, a moment later, it was
gone—he had covered it up. I didn’t understand at the time.”