The Cowboy's City Girl (10 page)

The potatoes browned nicely. The eggs were a little too hard but they weren't burnt.

She would not meet Levi's eyes as she concentrated on serving the food.

Maisie took Dolly's hand after she'd seated herself. “Levi, would you please ask the blessing?”

Beatrice reached across the table for Charlie's hand. As she bowed her head, she stole a glance at Levi from under the protection of her eyelashes.

He looked directly at her. She shut her eyes in a hurry.

“Dear God,” he prayed. “Bless this food, bless the cook and bless all those we love. Amen.”

Bless the cook? Did he mean it personally or was it simply a rote prayer? She again stole a look at him and was trapped by his dark-eyed intensity. She couldn't swallow. Couldn't tear away her gaze.

“Levi, pass the eggs to Charlie.” Maisie's words enabled Beatrice to pull her attention to the food before her.

She would not let herself look at him the rest of the meal, though it took a great deal of effort, especially when he spoke.

“I wonder if I should check on Big Sam and the others.”

“There's a crew up there. They'd let us know if they needed anything,” Maisie said, but she sounded worried.

“I suppose you're right.”

Maisie sighed softly. “Though I had hoped your pa would be back by Sunday.”

“The job must have been tougher than they expected.”

“Maybe they'll make it home yet today.”

They finished the meal and Levi was about to push away when Maisie spoke again. “I'd like to have a little Sunday service.”

“I thought you might want to,” Levi said. “Charlie and I will come back after the kitchen is clean.” The two of them left.

Beatrice drew in a deep breath for the first time since the meal began. Why did she let Levi's presence bother her so much? It didn't make sense to her. She'd been the subject of many a young man's attention back in the city, but none of them had made her cheeks burn, her lungs close off and her mouth say inappropriate things. Even though it was true that Levi looked good all cleaned up.

Heat rushed up her neck and pooled in her cheeks.

As she cleaned up the kitchen she struggled to keep her thoughts from continually harkening back to Levi. Levi and how his black shirt made him look so strong. And bold. Not like Henry St. James, who didn't make her heartbeat quicken. Nor her cheeks burn. She had never watched out the window, looking for him to appear.

Realizing her hands had grown idle and she was staring out the kitchen window, she jerked about and forced herself to think no further than the dishes that needed washing.

The job done, she carried the water out and poured it on the rosebush. She inhaled the lovely scent, closed her eyes and leaned over the nearest blossom. Every few days Levi brought in a fresh rose and put it in the bowl by Maisie's table and the scent wafted to Beatrice as she went about her work.

The Doyle house back in Chicago often had huge bouquets of flowers in the rooms but never had she noticed such a powerful aroma from any of them. Why was that? Did flowers growing in the wilds of Montana develop more perfume? The thought went deeper. Did men and women on the ranches of Montana develop more character? Henry St. James certainly seemed weak and colorless in comparison to Levi.

Levi? Why was she even thinking of him? Let alone comparing him to Henry?

She straightened and stared into the dark eyes of the very man she tried so hard to forget. He wasn't more than ten feet away. “I didn't hear you approach.”

“Just coming for the church service Maisie wants.”

“Of course. I'm just finishing up the kitchen.” She waved the dishpan as if he wouldn't have noticed it.

“Here comes Charlie.” The other man trotted from the barn. “Let's go inside.”

She realized she stood rooted to the spot and made her feet move. What was wrong with her? Or was there something about him—his dark looks, his powerful presence—that was responsible for the fact that every time he was near, she forgot how to think, how to act?

She rushed into the kitchen, wiped the dishpan dry and hung it behind the stove. She carefully draped the towels over the drying bar, then wiped her hands on the apron she wore. She stared at the white fabric. Shouldn't she remove it if they were having church? She untied the strings and hung the apron beside the stove.

“I'd like to go outdoors,” Maisie said, and held up her hand before Levi could voice his protest. “However, we'll go to the living room instead.” Levi helped her upright and held her arm firmly as they hobbled into the other room.

Charlie hung back. “Ladies first,” he said.

Beatrice took Dolly by the hand and followed the pair. Maisie patted the chair next to hers and she sat there. The five of them sat in a circle, Dolly wide-eyed and uncertain. Beatrice understood her confusion. How could this possibly be considered church? Where was the choir? The pews? The congregation? Things truly were different in Montana.

Maisie spoke. “Beatrice and I practiced a song yesterday. We're going to sing it for you.”

Beatrice tried to collect her thoughts. Yes, Maisie had suggested they might sing in church. She'd never envisioned this was what she meant. Straight across from her sat Levi, his dark eyes seeing too much, probing too deep, turning her carefully constructed world into a tangle.

“Are you ready?” Maisie asked.

Beatrice nodded, clasped her hands together in her lap and looked past Levi to the scene outside the window. Maisie hummed. Beatrice turned toward her so they would stay together.

“Fairest Lord Jesus, Ruler of all nature—”

As they practiced yesterday, Beatrice realized she'd never before been so aware of God as ruler of all nature.

“Beautiful Savior! Lord of all the nations!”

This God was hers. He had brought her to this place in answer to her prayer. She would not waste this opportunity.

“Glory and honor, praise, adoration. Now and forever more be Thine.”

Silence filled the room. She allowed her gaze to seek Levi. He sat motionless, revealing nothing in his expression. Had she done poorly? She tipped her chin. It didn't matter. She had enjoyed singing with Maisie and the words were deeply felt.

The song was to God's honor and glory.

Levi smiled and nodded. “Very nice.”

Her insides mellowed. It didn't hurt to feel man's approval, either.

“Levi, could you read a favorite passage of yours?” Maisie's voice jerked her back to her surroundings as Maisie handed Levi her Bible.

He opened the pages tenderly, as if afraid to tear the well-worn paper. “Isaiah chapter forty-three, verse two. ‘When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee. And through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee. When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.'”

He closed the Bible.

Maisie thanked him, took the book and opened it again. “I'll read the previous verse for without it, the second verse is a lot of doom and gloom. ‘But now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, fear not, for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name—thou art mine.' You see, we are made by God and held in His hand, sheltered by His love.”

Maisie closed in prayer. “Levi, why don't you take Beatrice for a walk so she can see some of the meadows robed in beautiful garb?”

Beatrice's heart leaped at the thought and then she forced sense into her thoughts.

It was only a walk. It meant nothing. He was only agreeing to please Maisie.

Just as she would go only to please her.

* * *

Levi glanced at Beatrice and saw the way she seemed to withdraw, the look of joy on her face shifting to guarded and distant. She ducked her head to study her fingers. He'd watched her bend over the roses. Had seen her fascination with the ducks. Had listened to her colorful description of the ordinary things around her. So he knew it wasn't that she had no interest in the beauties of nature.

But Helen's words of rejection came back to him, telling him she wouldn't want to share the rest of the morning with him.

Her head came up. Her eyes blazed. With longing to share time with him?

With a mighty struggle he brought his thoughts into line with reason. She only wanted to see more of the outdoors. He was simply an escort. He wanted nothing more. It mattered not in the least what she thought of him.

Except it did. Wounded male pride, he assured himself. Nothing more.

“Would you care to take a walk?” He kept his voice cool, to prove to himself he cared not whether she said yes or no.

“I'd love to. Would you mind waiting while I get my bonnet?”

Yes, he minded. A bonnet would hide her hair so he couldn't see the sun shining off it. “Of course not.” He turned to Charlie. “Do you want to come, as well?”
Please say no.

“He can keep me company,” Maisie said. “You, too, Dolly. I'd like to hold your kitten, if you don't mind.”

Charlie grinned widely. “You know what they say. Two's company, three's a crowd.”

“Never crossed my mind.” At least not in those exact words. Thankfully, Beatrice had gone to her room and didn't hear Charlie's comment.

She stepped from the room, a pretty blue bonnet tied under her chin and kidskin gloves upon her hands. “Shall we?” Her gaze went to the door.

He hurried to throw open the door and stepped back so she could go ahead of him.

“Where are we going?” she asked, looking about.

“I thought you might like to see a different part of the ranch.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

They kept a leisurely pace as they passed the bunkhouse, the cookhouse, the barn and the corrals. The whiff of the pigpen reached them.

He glanced at her. She wrinkled her nose. Her eyes met his and the skin around them crinkled. “Sorry. I don't mean to be rude but the smell is really quite obnoxious.”

The tension he felt in her presence melted away. A chuckle rumbled from deep inside. “Never before heard anyone apologize for the smell of pigs.”

“Sure seems someone should have long ago.”

He laughed. She had a way of putting things that drove amusement deep into his heart.

They reached the end of the ranch yard and before them stretched a narrow trail, rolling hills with bluffs of trees and scattered flowers. They continued down the dusty tracks of the trail that Johnny and Willow used.

“What lays ahead of us?”

“More of the same. But Johnny and Willow live three miles down this trail.”

Another few steps. She seemed deep in thought about something. Would she share it with him? He wouldn't mind if she did. He'd like to learn more about her.

“Can I ask about the Bible passage you read?” she asked after a bit.

“Ask away.” No harm in discussing the Bible.

“It talks about going through the water and the fire. I take that to mean personal pain and trials. I know you lost your mother when you were young and that certainly had to have been painful, but may I be so bold as to ask if you have personally experienced other instances?”

They had stopped walking and faced each other.

His insides clenched with remembered pain. “Not fire as such, but water, yes.”

She waited as if understanding he needed time to sort out what he wanted to tell her.

“The cabin where Johnny and Willow live was built by a man named Sy Hamilton. He had a daughter about my age. Helen.” Once the flow of words started he seemed unable to stop it. “Two years ago we developed quite an interest in each other.” The flow stopped as suddenly as it began.

Beatrice touched his arm. “Something happened, didn't it?”

“She drowned.”

Beatrice gasped. “How dreadful.” Her fingers remained on his arm and the gentle pressure calmed his heart.

He stared past her, though he saw nothing of the landscape, only the dark regrets of his thoughts. “I should have known better.”

A tiny gasp came from her. “You had something to do with it?”

It was almost laughable that she thought the worst. “No. I wasn't even there when it happened.”

“Then I don't understand your meaning.”

“I should have known better than to let myself care.” His gaze jerked to hers.
I won't let myself care again,
he silently warned.

“Why? Are you afraid of being hurt? Aren't some things worth the risk of pain?” Her words were as soft as butterfly wings, and just like butterfly wings made their way into forbidden places. They landed softly in his heart, making it difficult to guard his feelings.

He shook himself. He needed to deny he was afraid. “After a few hurts, a person learns to guard their heart.”

“A few? I don't understand.”

“We almost lost Maisie years ago.” Why did her gentle questions race straight for his heart without giving his brain a chance to censure what he would say? “Forget it. It wasn't important.”

“Obviously it was or you wouldn't still be naming it. What happened to Maisie?”

Rather than answer, he strode along the trail again. She scurried to keep up. He slowed to accommodate her. “Us boys didn't know what was wrong with her. We understood afterward that she had lost another baby she hoped to have. But she stayed in bed. Never got up to look after us. Pa said she had a broken heart. I asked if a person could die from a broken heart and he said it was possible. Even though I was only ten at the time I thought if that happened I would die of a broken heart, too.”

“She obviously did not die. What happened?”

Tension eased away as he thought of what he'd done. “I decided I wouldn't let her go without doing everything I could to bring her back. So every day I took her a gift. A flower, a feather, a cookie baked by the girl who came to help, anything to make her interested in life again.”