“So, you’re wonderin’ why I would do such a thing for the worthless likes of you.
“Tis not because you’re my friend, though you are. If I thought keepin’ you away would win her for myself, I would do it. But it wouldn’t. She would have you or no one.”
“She told you that?” Gavin leaned forward, forearms resting on the table.
“Faith and begorra! Do you think she would tell me such a thing? I’ve got eyes, man. I could see it for myself.” A faint glimmer of hope began to shine in Gavin’s heart.
“Do you think there’s a chance she’ll forgive me?”
“Not if she’s got any sense in that pretty head o’ hers.” Gavin feared Patrick was right. Patrick grunted in disgust.
“Would you give up with such little discouragement? You’ll have to go through more than that, I fear. When she’s over the hurt, there’s going to be fury to replace it.” Gavin nodded. He might not know much about women, but he knew Patrick was right about that. And he deserved her anger. He deserved everything he could imagine she might think about him or say to him. But if there was any hope she might still love him after what he did, he would gladly face the furnaces of hell to win her back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The large parlor windows gave Rachel a clear view of the tall cottonwoods and poplars that lined the river. Sunlight streamed through the bare winter branches, revealing deserted bird nests and the tree house Tucker and Kevin had built one long ago summer. Rachel smiled as she remembered the way father and son had scrambled up the boards they had pounded into the tree at intervals, and the way Maggie had stood down below, telling them she would tan the hide of the first one who fell and broke something. She twisted on the sofa and lowered her legs to the floor, allowing her gaze to move slowly about the room. It felt good to be downstairs again, good to be surrounded by so many familiar things. She’d been wrong to ever want to leave. She’d been wrong to think she should go out and make her own future. She belonged here. Not with. She cut that thought short, as she always did. She refused to think of him. Refused to let him enter her mind for even a second. He’d been a mistake and nothing more. Nothing more. What had ever made her think she could love such a man? He’d been rude to her from the very start. It meant nothing to her that he’d been tender with Dru, that he was so wonderful with the children. She didn’t even remember those hours with him in the barn, while he held her and shared his warmth as the blizzard raged outside. She couldn’t recall that afternoon up on the ridge when they ran and played with the children, laughter ringing through the trees. She’d already forgotten the blue-black of his hair, the steel-gray of his eyes, the broadness of his chest and the strength of his arms. She had no memory of the night
she’d spent in his bed, feeling his hands run over her skin, tasting his lips upon hers, reveling in the power of his body as he swept her away on tides of passion. No. She wouldn’t allow his name to even cross her mind. She’d forgotten the man existed. Rachel returned her gaze to the window. There wasn’t a trace of snow on the ground. Only if she looked to the top of the mountains could she see any of the white stuff. It seemed strange when she’d been surrounded by so much of it up at… Luckily, a diversion arrived at that moment, stopping that train of thought. A carriage came rolling down the drive and stopped directly in front of the window.
“Fiona!” She rose from the sofa and walked to the window. She raised a hand to wave at her friend even as the auburn-haired beauty stepped down from the vehicle. Fiona returned the wave, then reached back into the carriage, straightening a moment later with what appeared to be a bundle of blankets in her arms. Sarah appeared in the parlor doorway.
“What’s the ruckus?” Then, with knuckles resting on her ample hips and her mouth pursed, she added, “And what are you doing off that couch? You sit down before I have to send you back to your room. You know what the doctor said about getting your rest so you wouldn’t have a relapse.”
“It’s Fiona. She’s come calling, and she’s got the baby with her. Open the door, Sarah, and let them in.” Moments later, she was embracing Fiona while Sarah stood beside them, unwrapping the infant.
“I wanted to come sooner,” Fiona said as they released each other, “but Dr. Weick forbade it.”
“Of course you couldn’t come. You had little Myrna to think of. Oh, let me see her.” Sarah stayed stubbornly in place.
“Not until you sit down, miss.” Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes in Fiona’s direction, but she did as she was told. Fiona unbuttoned her coat while Sarah handed the smiling child to Rachel.
“Oh, Fiona, she’s beautiful. She’s got your hair and eyes, too.”
“She wouldn’t dare not have them,” Fiona replied with a laugh.
“Her father demanded that any girls we had should have my coloring.”
“How is James?”
“He’s as wonderful as always.” Rachel smiled across at her friend.
“And he makes you happy. I can tell just by looking at you.” Fiona fairly beamed in response. Rachel didn’t need her friend’s glowing confirmation. They had known each other too long not to be able to sense each other’s moods. Perhaps that was why Fiona knew hers so quickly. The young mother’s green eyes narrowed as she perused Rachel.
“What happened to bring you back so soon?” She shrugged.
“I was homesick. I missed Maggie and Tucker and the children. And you and James, too.” She kissed the baby’s forehead.
“And look what I missed while I was away. Myrna is half-grown already.”
“Hardly,” Fiona replied.
“But she’s not the little baby she was when you left. She’ll be six months old tomorrow.”
“Six months already?” Fiona was silent for a while before saying gently, “Rachel .. . you can tell me whatever it is. I’ll understand.” Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat.
“How could you, Fiona? Even I don’t understand.” She drew a deep breath.
“Things just didn’t work out the way I thought they would. That’s all.” It was a long, cold journey from the central mountain country to the capital of the territory. It gave Gavin many hours to relive in his mind the events of the past few months. His mood became more and more grim. There were times he was tempted to turn around and go back to the Lucky Strike. Surely nothing he could say or do would ever convince Rachel Harris to forgive him, let alone to agree to marry and spend her life with him. He hadn’t done one single solitary thing to deserve her love. But he didn’t turn back. He couldn’t. Maggie had waited long enough for Rachel to come to her. It was time she took matters into her own hands.
“If she’s too stubborn to admit she loves him,” Tucker had told Maggie during the night, “she comes by it naturally. Seems to me her sister was much the same way.” Maggie couldn’t argue with him. She’d been only seventeen when she fell in love with Tucker—and he with her—and she’d nearly thrown their love away because of her stubborn pride. Seventeen years later, she was as much in love with her husband as ever, and she thanked the good Lord every day for bringing her to her senses in time. She couldn’t imagine what life would have been like without Tucker and the children. She didn’t want to imagine it. Maggie knocked on Rachel’s bedroom door, then opened it.
“Is it too late for a visitor?” Rachel put down the book she was reading.
“Of course not.”
“We’ve had hardly a moment to ourselves since you’ve been feeling better, between Tucker and the children and all your friends calling to see how you’re doing.”
“It is rather nice to have a moment of quiet.” Maggie sat down on the chair beside Rachel’s bed and took hold of her sister’s hand.