Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (32 page)

Rand nodded in response to her comment. “Heroics, yes. But being so young, I didn't appreciate the real history.”

“Hey.” Laurie had mounted her horse and swung him around toward the buggy. “You think Mrs. Foster would like these fish?” She held out the dripping creel.

“How thoughtful.” Reaching out for the wicker container, Marybeth stifled the urge to dodge the river water flying about. She'd had much worse on her clothes working at the fishery. “I'm sure she'll enjoy them for supper.”

“Well, if you two lovebirds can keep out of trouble, I'm going to ride on home.” Laurie grinned at Marybeth and winked at Rand.

“Is that all right with you?” Rand asked Marybeth.

“Of course.” If her teachers at the academy hadn't said ladies never winked, she'd have copied Laurie's impudent gesture. Winking at Rand might give him the wrong idea about her character, something she had guarded all her life.

“Go on.” Rand waved his hand toward Laurie as if she were a pesky fly. “Git. And tell your pa I said hello.”

“That's not all I'll tell him.” The girl kicked her horse into a gallop, laughing as she rode away.

Marybeth wanted so badly to act shocked by the girl's cheeky behavior, to pretend that she herself was some fine lady who'd grown up with fine manners in a fine home. But she couldn't put the cat back in the bag, not after gutting fish and admitting she'd worked in the fishery. Yet neither did she have to revert back to the hoydenish behavior of her childhood in the slums, where both women and men had to be feisty and tough to survive.

The buggy rolled along in a syncopated pattern accompanied by the rhythmic squeak of the leather seats, the jangle of the harnesses and the clip-clop of the horse's hooves on the hard-packed ground. Reminded of an old Irish tune, Marybeth found herself humming along.

“Go ahead and sing.” Rand shot her one of his charming grins before turning his eyes back to the road ahead. “I may even join in.”

She eyed him, enjoying the cut of his strong jaw, high cheekbones and straight nose. If looks were all that counted, he'd be an easy man to love.

“Go on.” He nudged her arm with his elbow and gave her another grin.

At least a month had passed since her last solo in front of her Sunday school class, so she took a moment to clear her throat and get back into the rhythm of the horse's gait.

“‘While on the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo. While on the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo. While on the road to sweet Athy, a stick in me hand and a drop in me eye, a doleful damsel I heard cry, Johnny I hardly knew ye.'”

Caught up in the song and feeling a bit reckless, she infused her words with the Irish brogue she'd worked so hard to lose. To her delight, Rand whistled along in harmony. Before she realized what she was singing, she warbled, “‘Where are your legs with which ye run when first you learned to carry a gun? Indeed your dancing days are done. Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.'”

Rand quit whistling, and if she wasn't mistaken, released a quiet sigh. Regret filled her. Did the song about the Irish Rebellion remind him of his own gun battle, which clearly still bothered him, despite others considering him a hero? She stared out across a wheat field almost ripe for harvest. Why hadn't she chosen a different song? But once again, she couldn't put the cat back in the bag.

* * *

Rand wished he hadn't let the song get to him. After all, he'd insisted that she sing, and she did it very well. Yet when would he be able to put his gunfight behind him, to stop wishing he'd never “learned to carry a gun” and just enjoy life? In the back of his mind, he knew Dathan Hardison's appearance in Esperanza was part of the problem.

Lord, I need Your help. It's not fair to Marybeth for me to get all melancholy like this.
He straightened his shoulders and inhaled deeply of the fragrant wheat field on their left. Soon it would be harvest time, a time that promised survival through the coming winter. Before the geese flew south or the passes were blocked by snow, he needed to survive this winter of his soul.

“I've been trying to think what's wrong with that song.” He forced cheer into his voice.

“Oh?” She turned sad eyes in his direction.

“And I've figured it out. It's all about sorrow.” He enjoyed the way she blinked in confusion.

“Of course it is. Poor Johnny comes home from war maimed and unable to care for his wife and child.” She bit her lip as if sorry she'd said that.

“That's where you have it all wrong.” He smirked. “This is the version we sang when our Boston boys—
and
my father—returned from fighting in the South.” He launched into a spirited song with the same melody. “‘When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah. When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah. The men will cheer and the boys will shout; the ladies they will all turn out. And we'll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home.'”

By the time he reached the hurrahs, she'd joined in singing with a gusto that matched his own. As the buggy rolled across Main Street toward Mrs. Foster's Pike Street home, they were both laughing together like old friends.

“If it's not too bold of me to say, we make beautiful music together, Miss O'Brien.” He salted his words with a bit of the Irish brogue he'd learned from his friend Seamus.

“Aye, that we do, Mr. O'Northam.” Her merry mood gave her face a pretty glow. “Do you play an instrument of any kind to accompany us?”

“No. I never had the time to learn.” And regretted it now. Was it too late to take up the guitar or accordion, the instruments that had always attracted his interest?

“I'll just have to teach you. Then you can leave ranching behind and go on the road as an entertainer.”

Now he let out a hearty guffaw. What a delightful young lady. He could spend the rest of his life getting to know her. If she would have him.

A glance down the street cut his joy short. Dathan Hardison leaned casually against a post in front of Winsted's General Store, his arms crossed and his hat tipped back from his face as he chatted with Mrs. Winsted. The widow's posture was nothing short of sociable, meaning Hardison was worming his way into her good graces. Maybe Rand and his brothers were wrong not to warn folks in the community about this man's reason for coming to town.

Forcing his attention to the road ahead, he also forced a smile he didn't feel. “I'll come by Mrs. Foster's at ten o'clock tomorrow to escort you to church.” He could hear the strained, almost authoritarian note in his voice, so quickly added, “That is, if you'd like.”

The flush of high-spiritedness faded from her face and she gazed off with a frown, as though the idea didn't particularly appeal to her. Once again, caution reined in his growing affection for her. If she balked at going to church, how could he commit his life, his love, to her?

* * *

Rand's mood had shifted so quickly that Marybeth stared down Main Street to see what had caused it. The pleasant scene betrayed nothing unusual, just an ordinary Saturday afternoon with people going about normal business. Perhaps he was just temperamental—not a good sign. Oh, she'd dispensed with the notion that he might be abusive like Da, but she wouldn't marry a man with a temper or even habitual cross moods. She refused to be like Mam, always hurrying to cheer Da when he came home in a bad humor just so it wouldn't get worse. How often she herself had tried to make things right in their home, to no avail.

Rand cleared his throat, recalling her from her musings. “You did plan to go to church tomorrow, didn't you?”

She detected a note of irritation in his voice and that habitual urge to make things right crept into her chest. She tamped it down and gave him a saucy grin. “I'll not be needing you to keep me on the straight and narrow, Mr. Northam. I'm well and good dedicated to it myself.” She tossed her head and sniffed. “In fact, Mrs. Foster tells me she goes over to the church early to make sure everything's in fine fettle for the services, so I'll be going along with her and setting out the hymn books.”

Her impertinent tone must have pleased him, for he gave her one of his attractive smirks. “And maybe I'll just be showing up to help you set them out. What would you think of that?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. “Hmm. I might just be able to stand your company, providing you don't get all bossy and try to tell me how to go about it.”

“Why, Miss O'Brien, I would na dream of it.”

Their merry mood restored, she enjoyed the rest of the ride down Pike Street to Mrs. Foster's house.

“Won't you come in?” she said as he handed her down from the buggy.

“I'd like that very much, but Nate didn't give me the whole day off. I still have chores and Tolley won't take kindly to my leaving them all to him.”

He held her hand a little longer than was proper, but for some reason she didn't mind. Gazing up into his green eyes, edged as they were with dark lashes, she thought once again how easy it would be to fall in love with this man, if looks were all that counted. If nothing else, today she'd learned he would keep her safe. That was worth a great deal.

“I should go in.” She tugged her hand free and retrieved the creel from the floor of the buggy, where grassy water formed a small puddle. “Oh, dear. I hope that doesn't leave a stain.”

“Aw, nothing to worry about. It won't take a minute to wash it out.” He took the creel from her and offered his arm. “Let's take these fish around to the back door so they won't drip water through the house.”

“As if I hadn't thought of that very thing.” Seeing he really wasn't so eager to get to those ranch chores, she found herself in no hurry to lose his company.

“O'course ya did.” His Irish brogue was entirely entertaining and she rewarded his remark with a laugh.

As they strolled along the flagstone walkway toward the backyard, Marybeth took in the scent of the roses planted in narrow beds against the two-story house. She hadn't had a chance to see the outside of the house and found it entirely charming. “How lovely to have roses growing right here. We never had—” She stopped short of saying “anything so grand at our house.” Despite her admission that she'd worked in the fishery, she still didn't want to admit to him how poor her family had been, so she finished with “A knack for growing flowers.” Or decent soil in which to grow them.

“Maybe Mrs. Foster can show you her gardening methods. If not, Susanna can. She's done a fine job of keeping up the flower garden at our house while Mother's back East.”

“And when do you suppose I'll be introduced to this Susanna?” In truth, Marybeth wasn't certain she wanted to meet the young lady or at least not form a friendship with her. She'd had very few intimate friends in her life, and if she got too close to Rand's sister-in-law, she feared it would make it all the harder not to become a part of his family.

“She may come to church tomorrow if Lizzy feels better.”

“Poor baby. I'll be praying for her.” Marybeth adored children. In spite of her determination not to get close to his family, if she didn't have her appointment with Mr. Means on Monday morning, she might ask Rand to fetch her out to the ranch so she could help Susanna take care of the wee colleen.

Oh, dear!
With Rand's teasing her in an Irish brogue, hers was returning like a rekindled fire, one she must stamp out right away. In Boston, the Irish garnered little respect, and she refused to invite such treatment out here. Not that anyone in the Northam family had disparaged her background. Brogue or not, with a name like O'Brien she could hardly fool Rand's parents, and they'd been more than kind to her. A twinge of guilt stirred within her. More than kind, indeed, if they wanted her for their son. It was nothing short of an honor to be regarded in that light. But was Rand as honorable as his parents?

Once at the back stoop, Rand handed her the creel and gazed at her, a half smile on his lips. He tipped his hat back, bent forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Until tomorrow.”

He strode away, whistling, and disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving her standing there, fish in hand and a longing in her heart for Sunday morning to arrive very soon.

Chapter Five

“T
hank you, Marybeth.” Mrs. Foster ran a damp rag over the oilcloth that covered the kitchen table. “You've helped me so much. Bringing home those delicious trout for last night's supper and cooking them, and now washing breakfast dishes.”

“You're very welcome.” Marybeth put the last dish away and draped the damp tea towel over the rack at the end of the kitchen cabinet. “I believe everyone should help out, no matter what the work is.” Just because Rand might be at the church didn't mean she was in a hurry to get there. Truly, it didn't. Never mind how much she'd enjoyed his company yesterday. Nineteen hours and a restless night of sleep had restored her senses.

Last night she'd dreamed about Jimmy, dreamed Rand had found him and brought him to her right here at Mrs. Foster's. Only, when she'd dashed out the door to greet him, he looked more like Da than her jolly brother. Older, bent with care, tortured eyes, darker hair shot through with gray. Surely that couldn't have happened to Jimmy. He was only twenty-three.

So she shook off the nightmare, mainly because she didn't put too much stock in dreams. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what changes she would find in her brother.

“We'd best hurry over to the church.” Mrs. Foster shoved a clean dust rag into the satchel containing her music and bustled out of the kitchen toward the front door, with Marybeth close behind her. “I always like to dust the pews and windowsills and sweep a bit before people begin to arrive. Our pastor is a single young man, and without a wife to help him, he has to do everything himself. So until he finds a suitable bride, we older ladies try to keep the dear man well fed and his clothes mended.”

From her landlady's maternal tone, Marybeth imagined a pudgy, sweet-faced little man whose sermons kept his flock comfortable in their pews. On the other hand, if he was the bossy type, perhaps he would urge her to marry Rand right away. As she and Mrs. Foster walked up Pike Street toward the church on Main Street, her anxiety grew. The last thing she needed was a pushy preacher telling her how to live her life.

Contrary to the impression Mrs. Foster had given her, Reverend Thomas was a tall, rather handsome and well-built young man with kind eyes devoid of any high-handedness. If she didn't know better and he weren't wearing a fine black suit, she would have assumed he was a cowboy.

“Welcome, Miss O'Brien.” The minister shook her gloved hand and gave her a slight bow. “I understand you and Rand will be setting a date soon. I hope you'll permit me the honor of joining you two in marriage.” His warm smile, Southern inflections and the jolly glint in his eyes caused her to like him right away, even as his words made her heart sink.

“Oh. Hmm.” She glanced at Mrs. Foster, who was already dusting the pews. “I understand you're building an addition to the church, so we'll probably wait until it's finished so we can have our reception there.” Now she sounded as gabby as her landlady.

“Ah, very good.” Reverend Thomas retrieved a broom from the cloakroom and began to sweep dust and leaves across the floor toward the front door. “I've always advised couples to get to know each other fairly well before marriage.”

Relief filled Marybeth as she reached for the broom. “Please let me do that.”

He released it without argument. “Thank you. I do want to go over my sermon notes one more time before the service.” Without another word he strode up the center aisle and disappeared through a side door.

Marybeth had just finished sweeping the last of the dust down the front steps of the church when Rand arrived on horseback. His gaze landed on her and he reached up to touch the brim of his hat. “Howdy, Marybeth.” There was a sweet, shy note in his voice that sent her heart into a spin. In fact, she was feeling a bit shy herself, as though they hadn't seen each other just yesterday. Oh, bother. Where was her resolve not to become attached to him?

“Hello, Rand.”

Gracious, he looked handsome and capable as he dismounted and secured his horse to a railing under a nearby tree. His black suit, white shirt and black string tie added to his attractive appearance. When he turned and gave her that crooked smile of his, it was all she could manage to scurry back into the church before she gave her heart away on the spot.

No, no, no.
She would not fall in love with his good looks. Hadn't the minister just said a couple should get acquainted before marriage? She'd been here only two days. Despite knowing Rand's parents for a brief time in Boston, she simply had too much to learn about their son before letting herself fall in love. Most important was whether or not he would keep his word about helping her find Jimmy. No matter how long it took, he must do that before she would even consider loving him enough to change her lifelong determination not to marry.

Entering the building, he removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair to get rid of the hat line. She'd already come to love and expect the gesture. “Howdy, Mrs. Foster. I'm here to help. Don't tell me you ladies have all the work done.”

“You can help Marybeth set out the hymnals.” Mrs. Foster nodded toward the cloakroom.

“Yes, ma'am.” He turned to Marybeth, his grin still in place. “You first.”

She scooted past him and into the narrow room where churchgoers could hang their hats and coats. Rand settled his wide-brimmed black felt hat on one of the four-inch pegs. It was a fine new chapeau, probably kept just for Sunday and special events. His light woolen suit also appeared to be of the finest quality. How many men could afford such a wardrobe? Rand's wife would probably never want for anything, except maybe the freedom of a single life. Mam had been imprisoned by her marriage, by Da's moodiness and temper.

At the end of the small cloakroom sat a three-shelf bookcase covered with an old sheet to protect the hymnals from dust. She removed and folded the material while Rand scooped up a handful of the books. As his arm brushed hers, a pleasant feeling shot up her neck. From his quick intake of breath she guessed he hadn't minded the contact, either.

“Sorry to bump you that way. It's a little tight in here.” He gave her an apologetic smile before making his way out to the sanctuary.

“It's all right,” she whispered to his back, not trusting herself to speak out loud. What were these feelings he caused? Why did she wish he'd kiss her on the cheek again, as he had yesterday afternoon? She'd never felt this way toward any man.

* * *

Rand took several deep breaths as he headed toward the front pew. It might be Sunday, and he might be in church, but he'd had an almost overwhelming urge to plant a kiss on Marybeth's ivory cheek right there in the cloakroom.

The moment he'd ridden up to the church and seen her busy at work with that broom on the front steps, his chest had swelled with pride and appreciation not only for her beauty, but for her willingness to help, whether the work was sweeping a church or cleaning a fish. It was a bit too soon to say he was in love, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he handed his heart to the lovely Miss O'Brien on a silver platter. It took some doing to remind himself that he still needed to discern her character and find out whether she'd lied to Mother and Dad.

She cut short his concerns when she brought a stack of hymnals to the front and set them down. “How many should we put in each pew?”

He surveyed the wooden benches he'd helped to build nine years ago, ten on the right and ten on the left, each of which held six or more adults or an assortment of children. “Three ought to do it. Folks don't mind sharing, and we need to be sure everyone can see one. Reverend Thomas has a habit of choosing at least one song nobody knows just so we can learn more of them.”

Chuckling in her feminine way, she disbursed the books down one side while he took care of the other. “Are all of the pews filled on a Sunday morning?”

“Pretty much.” A mild sense of pride in his community brought a grin to his lips. Before he'd gotten right with the Lord, how often had he slept through Reverend Thomas's excellent sermons? Some cowboys still nodded off from exhaustion, but at least none from drunkenness. Dad had forbidden alcohol in the town he was building, and everyone who'd settled here agreed. There were plenty of saloons in the nearby towns to attract men who wanted to waste their money after the sun went down on payday.

Marybeth seemed right at home in the church. After she finished with the hymnals, she went down front to stand by Mrs. Foster and hold one of the books open as the older lady practiced at the pump organ. Sometimes Rand wondered how old Mrs. Foster could manage to pump with her feet and play at the same time, but she seemed to do it with ease. He recalled the husbandly pride beaming from Captain Foster's face on Sunday mornings over his wife's skillful playing. Rand couldn't wait to hear Marybeth take to the keyboard. No matter how well she played, he'd praise her efforts.

At the end of the hymn Marybeth gently closed the book. “Would you like me to help you during the service?”

“Thank you, my dear, but I've promised Laurie she could do it. She treasures the responsibility.”

Promise
. Rand had forgotten all about telling Marybeth how he'd kept his promise. As soon as she joined him in the center aisle, he offered his most charming grin.

“By the by, I almost forgot to tell you that I wrote letters about your brother to the sheriffs of Del Norte and Wagon Wheel Gap. Took them over to the general store and slipped them through the mail slot. Mrs. Winsted will see that they get out tomorrow afternoon.”

Marybeth gripped his forearm with surprising strength and gazed up at him with the prettiest smile he'd ever seen. “Oh, Rand, thank you so much.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. The strength of her emotions nearly undid him. “This means the world to me. You just can't imagine how much.”

No, he couldn't. His family had always surrounded him, even at his worst. What must it be like to be alone in the world and searching for a long-lost brother? He placed a hand over hers and gently squeezed. “If Jimmy O'Brien is anywhere in the San Luis Valley, we'll find him.”

She nodded but pursed her lips and didn't say anything more. He could tell she was having trouble reining in her emotions, and he had a little difficulty holding on to his own. But having a sister had taught him how to deal with women's tears. Sort of. Right now he longed to pull Marybeth into his arms to comfort her, just as he would Rosamond if she was all weepy.

Unfortunately the Archers and several other families were entering the church and beginning to fill the pews. For the past three years Rand had done all he could to maintain a spotless reputation, and he sure didn't want to damage Marybeth's before folks even met her, so he just patted her shoulder.

“Where would you like to sit?” He was glad to see her bright smile return.

“Where does your family sit?”

“Just about any place. We don't have special pews. The preacher put an end to that when a cranky older member chased a poorly dressed young couple out of a pew he'd claimed as his own. They were new to the community, and we never saw them here again. Later the preacher said they'd joined a church down in Waverly. These days we all try to welcome anybody who comes through those doors, no matter how they're dressed or what they look like.”

“Oh, my.” Marybeth's eyes had widened as he told the story and now she nodded thoughtfully. “That's what the second chapter of James teaches, isn't it? We're not to be a respecter of persons.”

Rand eyed her with a new appreciation. If she knew the scriptures that well, it sure did say something good about her character.

They slid into the third row on the left just as Tolley and Nate entered the church. Rand waved them over, pride surging through his chest at the idea of introducing Marybeth to his older brother.

* * *

Marybeth's pulse began to race at the prospect of meeting more of Rand's family. There was no mistaking the resemblance between Rand, Tolley and the tall man with him. She could find no fault in any of their similar features, yet somehow Rand's face appealed to her, whereas his brothers' did not. Maybe it was that crooked boyish grin.

“Marybeth, you've met Tolley. Here's our older brother—”

“And warden,” Tolley quipped.

Rand shot a scolding look at him. “Our older brother, Nate,” he finished.

“Hello, Tolley. How do you do, Nate?” Marybeth reached out to shake his hand. “I'm so happy to meet you. Did Susanna have to stay home with baby Lizzy?”

Her simple question seemed to please Nate. Behind his regretful smile, pride in his wife and baby girl glinted in his eyes as he shook her hand. “I'm mighty glad to meet you, too, Marybeth. And thanks for asking about my girls. Yes, they'll have to stay home for just a few more days. Lizzy's getting better, and Susanna's eager to meet you, so they'll be coming to town by Wednesday or Thursday, I'm sure.”

The friendly warmth in his gaze made Marybeth regret her earlier doubts about meeting Susanna. What a dear, good family they all were. What would it be like to be accepted as a part of it? Would she even know how to act? Or how to feel accepted?

Mrs. Foster started to play quietly on the organ and people began to settle into their places. Rand moved down to the end of the pew, and she followed him, while the brothers filed in after her. Seated between Rand and Nate, Marybeth felt the power of their well-built physiques. Though a bit intimidated, she also had never felt so safe and protected.

Reverend Thomas welcomed everyone to the service and then announced the hymn. Rand held out the hymnal for her as they joined in a rousing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Standing between the two brothers, Marybeth could hardly suppress a laugh. While Rand's pleasant baritone provided an admirable bass harmony just as it had yesterday, Nate's enthusiastic efforts weren't even in the same key. Or any key, for that matter. If she did decide to marry into this family, she was glad her husband would be the one who could carry a tune.