At the moment, she was squinting as she tried to thread a needle. Begrudgingly, he admitted that, while she might be ambitious when it came to choosing a husband, she wasn’t averse to hard work. It was a strange mixture. And she was so beautiful too. At the moment, the firelight had turned her wheat-colored hair to a dark gold. A fringe of bangs kissed her forehead, and loose tendrils curled near her ears. She’d left her hair down today, held back from her face by tiny combs just behind her temples. He liked it that way, falling down her back in gentle waves, simple and unadorned. He felt the beginnings of desire stirring and knew he should look away, should turn his attentions elsewhere. But he didn’t do so. He wanted to look. He wanted to know the lady. He wanted to understand what it was about her that held him so spellbound. What made her different from other women? Why wasn’t he able to keep his feelings for her in perspective the way he’d always done in the past? He frowned. Perhaps it was because he thought her different. He remembered the way she’d looked into his eyes, the way she’d fallen into his arms, the way she’d returned his kisses with a passion to match his own. He’d thought her an innocent young woman, but—. Gavin’s eyes narrowed. Would an innocent respond as she had? Would a naive young lady accept the kisses of a married man? Would a virtuous woman melt in his arms while she was engaged to another man? Maybe Rachel Harris wasn’t what she appeared. Why had she come looking for a job at a “remote mountain ranch”? She couldn’t have been looking for a husband. So what was the reason? Could she be hiding from discovery of some scandalous behavior? Like a dog worrying a bone, Gavin mentally chewed on all the unsavory possibilities. And then she glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, and he knew what he was doing. He was trying to justify his own lust. He was trying to find an excuse that would allow him to cross to her chair, lift her into his arms, and carry her into his bedroom—some way to make himself blameless for his actions. She smiled. It was a sweet smile, completely unsuspecting of the carnal storm raging in Gavin. He rose quickly from his chair.
“Think I’ll go talk with Stubs. Night, Rachel.” She felt the blast of cold air through the open door as he left the house. The sewing lay idle in her lap for a long while afterward. She continued to stare at the closed door, trying to understand the strange mood that had permeated the room just before he left. A truce he had called it, but what did that mean? Were they friends or merely respected adversaries? It had felt so good, so right, having him in the house today, helping with Petula, talking with Sabrina. He hadn’t snapped at Rachel once or looked as if he despised her. He’d even complimented her on the stew and taken a second helping. She’d thought they might truly become, if not friends, then at least friendly. But she’d felt something else pass between them moments ago. There’d been something in his eyes, something dangerous, something exciting. She might be inexperienced, but she recognized the sensual brooding of his glance, knew what would happen if she allowed it to. She could deny it as much as she wanted, but it wouldn’t change things. She was in love with Gavin Blake. She was engaged to Patrick but in love with Gavin. Gavin wanted her in his bed.
Patrick wanted her for his wife. She knew what was the right thing for her to want, the right thing for her to do. But she didn’t know if she was strong enough to make the proper choice. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to walk away from her heart’s desire. Gavin tipped his chair back until it leaned against the bunkhouse wall. He sipped at the whiskey in the tin cup, his thoughts still back in the main house. Stubs finished pouring his own whiskey and sat in a chair opposite Gavin.
“Jess oughta be in tomorrow. Hope he made it to the line shack ‘fore the storm hit.”
“No reason he shouldn’t have. He knows how to read the sky as good as any cowboy I’ve ever seen.”
“I reckon you’re right.” Stubs took a quick swallow of the golden liquid.
“How’s Pet?”
“She’s going to hurt for a while, but she’s okay.”
“How ‘bout Brina? She was pretty shook up over the little one’s fall.” Gavin finished off the whiskey.
“Fine. She’s fine.”
“Good.” Stubs cocked an eyebrow, as if waiting for Gavin to say more. Instead, Gavin leaned forward, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and poured himself another drink. Stubs rubbed his grizzled chin, his expression pensive.
“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I been doin’ me a lot of thinkin’. Helps pass the time when the winters get long.” He stared at a spot on the floor and sipped his whiskey.
“Been thinkin’ that a man don’t often meet just the right girl for him. Most settle for something’ less. Sorta like you and Dru. Don’t get me wrong, Gav. Nicer woman I ain’t never known, but if she hadn’t been ailin’ and needin’ a pa for them young’ns, you two wouldn’t never tied the knot the way you did.” Gavin stared hard at his foreman and friend, not sure he cared for where Stubs’ thoughts were taking them.
“You gave that woman all the carin’ she could’ve asked for. She was lucky to have you. Yes, sir. Lucky, she was. And Dru knew it too, don’t think she didn’t.” Gavin remained silent. Stubs shook his head thoughtfully.
“All kinds of love in this world. You ever thought about it? All kinds. Kind you got for them girls in there. Kind you had for Dru. Shoot. Guess there’s even the kind you might have for an old coot of a friend like me. Yes, sir. All kinds.” Stubs got up from his chair and walked over to the window. He pushed aside the curtains Dru had made in an effort to make the bunkhouse more homey and stared outside for a long time before speaking again.
“No man oughta feel guilty for lovin’ people in different ways. Dru
knew that. She never quit lovin’ Charlie. Loved him right to the last.” He turned and this time his gaze met Gavin’s.
“She loved you too, an, she never expected or wanted nothin’ from you that you didn’t give to her. Except one thing, Gav.” He was reluctant to ask.
“What was that?”
“She wanted you to find what she and Charlie had. She wanted that real bad like.” Gavin let out a long sigh.
“I know.” He thought of Rachel, sitting near the fire back at the house.
“But sometimes the things a person wants don’t happen.”
“Sometimes,” Stubs agreed softly, then added, “and sometimes they do.” Rachel was listening for his return. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t, that it was merely the sound of the storm that claimed her attention, but she knew better. Was Gavin going to spend the night in the bunkhouse with Stubs? Perhaps some warm milk would help her fall asleep, she thought as she rose silently from her bed. She slipped into her robe and tightened the belt around her waist. A flicker of light from the sitting room fireplace faintly illuminated her path to the bedroom door. She paused long enough beside Petula’s bed to see that the child was sleeping peacefully. Satisfied, she left the room, closing the door behind her. She didn’t bother to light a lamp. The firelight was ample to find her way to the icebox. She filled a small kettle with the white liquid, then carried it to the fireplace where she hung the kettle on the chimney crane and swung it over the low-burning flames. She grabbed some wood from the wood box and added it to the fire before sitting in the nearest chair and staring into the flames, her thoughts drifting and disjointed. For some reason, she thought of Tucker. She was six years old when she first saw him. Six and very shy. She wasn’t used to being around people. Her early life with Uncle Seth had been a nightmare of shadows and shouting in that old Philadelphia house. But it had at least been familiar. Suddenly she’d been thrust out into a frightening and very unfamiliar world full of strangers. But it wasn’t so frightening when she was with Tucker. She remembered the way he had made her feel, almost from the very beginning. He’d made her laugh. She remembered the night, there on the Oregon Trail, when he’d brought back that rabbit for supper and she’d cried because she’d had a pet rabbit once. He’d told her a story about his old hound dog back in Georgia while he helped her peel the potatoes for the stew, and soon the rabbit was forgotten. If Maggie had been as much mother as sister to Rachel, then Tucker had been the father she’d never known. From the moment they met the Branigans outside Independence, Missouri, Rachel had been surrounded by love. She’d been a witness to what a grand passion meant in a marriage, for no two people had ever loved more than Maggie and Tucker. And she’d been the recipient, along with her nieces and nephews, of parental love. What would her life have been like without Tucker and the rest of the Branigans? She couldn’t imagine. Didn’t want to imagine. Rachel felt a sting of homesickness. She wished she was with Tucker and Maggie right now. She wished she could crawl up into Tucker’s lap and nestle against his chest and have him stroke her hair and tell her stories about that old hound. She wished she was a child, with no more worries than what kind of grades she would get from Miss Creswell on her schoolwork. She heard the moaning of the wind through the chimney and felt the isolation of this place more than she’d ever felt it before. She was a city girl, used to having lots of people around. Now she couldn’t even get to a small town like Challis to buy a hair ribbon or go to church. She was trapped by the winter weather, held captive by the snow. She was alone, with only Gavin and the children for company. Gavin. If she truly had Gavin, she wouldn’t even notice the seclusion. Gavin. What twist of fate had brought him into her life? If she hadn’t been feeling restless… if she hadn’t read that ad in the newspaper… if she hadn’t been so certain that life held something special for her if she’d only go out looking for it. Gavin. Was he even what he seemed? Was he the wonderful husband and father she’d thought him? After all, he’d come to her cabin and… and kissed her while his wife lay dying in the house. She should hate and despise him for it not long for him to do it again. And she did long for him to do it again. Her hands clenched in her lap. Was she so different from him? She’d accepted Patrick’s proposal, yet burned for Gavin’s touch. Should he hate and despise her any less?