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Late June 1881
~Fayetteville, NC~
Sarah stood outside the Fayetteville train depot with her valise at her feet. Her summer-weight, tan skirt and white blouse offered her some respite from the heat of the Carolina sun, as did the covered roof of the depot platform. She'd donned a small, simple hat and a pair of low-heeled slippers for ease of movement before she'd left home in Cheyenne. Now that her week-long train trip had finally ended, she was eager to get home to see her family. Due to the cost of the trip, and the scarcity of her vacation time from her work at the hotel, she hadn't visited home in almost a year.
Watching the flow of mid-day traffic moving down Franklin Street, Sarah scanned the faces of the drivers. When she saw the familiar face of her older sister, seated behind the reins of their mother's buggy, Sarah could feel the smile stretching across her face.
Mary matched her smile as she navigated the buggy to the road's edge. Parking the vehicle, she set the handbrake and hopped down, catching Sarah up in her arms. "It's good to see you, troublemaker."
Sarah grinned as she returned her sister's embrace. "I missed you as well, warden." As the oldest sibling, Mary had often taken on the role of a second mother to her younger sisters during their formative years. The memories of those days were still fresh in Sarah’s mind, and obviously still lingered for Mary as well.
Stepping back, Mary stooped down to pick up Sarah's valise. "Is this all your luggage?"
She shrugged. "I travel light."
With a shake of her perfectly-coiffed head, Mary slung the valise up into the back of the buggy. "Come along, Sarah. Mommy, Daddy, and Kate are eager to see you." She returned to the driver's side and climbed aboard.
Sarah hoisted her skirt and launched herself up onto the wooden seat. Once she and her sister were in place, Mary got hold of the reigns, and with a skillful snap, got them underway. The buggy merged into the flow of traffic, heading toward the northeastern edge of town and the Webster family home.
As the buggy rolled along the hard-packed earth of the road, Sarah watched the familiar scenery scroll by. "How are Hubert and Emily? Did they come down from Virginia with you?"
Mary smiled at the mention of her husband and young daughter. "They're well, thanks. Emily is at the house, but Hubert couldn't take time off the mill."
"I can understand that. It takes quite a bit of effort for me to get days off from the hotel." Sarah genuinely liked her brother-in-law, and while she was disappointed that she wouldn't get to see him this time, she was glad she'd get to see her young niece. "How old is Emily now?"
Mary navigated the buggy around a bend in the road, making a left turn. "She's two, almost three. Talks all the time, though most of its gibberish. Cutest darn thing you ever saw."
"Heavens. They do grow fast." Sarah could clearly recall Emily as a chubby infant who was attempting her first steps the last time she'd seen her.
"And how are things in the Territory? Still wild and untamed out there?" Mary accented her question with a chuckle.
"Cheyenne is a lot more civilized than you think, Mary. The air is fresh and sweet, folks are courteous. And even though I come home every day bone-tired, I love my work."
"I can relate. I feel the same way after I've been on my feet all day, taming heads. But I wouldn't trade it for any other job." As a teenager, Mary had discovered her innate talent for hairdressing. As she'd moved into adulthood, she'd made it her career.
By now, they were on Webster land. The two sisters lapsed into silence and Sarah could feel a lightness coming over her as she scanned the comforting familiarity of home. The rolling slopes of grass-covered land, four acres of it, surrounded the two-story farmhouse in which she'd been born. Seeing the house growing closer and closer as they drove made Sarah's heart do a somersault in her chest.
Mary parked the buggy and stabled the two horses, then she and Sarah climbed the four steps up to the wide front porch.
Kate, the youngest Webster child, swung open the screened door. "Sarah!" She hugged her sister tightly.
"How are you, Kitty Kat?" Sarah stepped back, tapping her index finger on the bridge of her baby sister's nose as she called her by the childhood endearment. She stepped into the cool interior of the house and placed her valise on the floor near the coat rack.
As Mary entered behind her, shutting the door, Sarah could hear her mother's voice coming from upstairs. "Katherine? Are your sisters here yet?"
"Yes, Mama," Kate called up, even as she rolled her eyes at being called by her proper first name. "They’ve just arrived."
Sarah's gaze swung to the top of the stairs, and Elizabeth Webster appeared there. A broad smile graced her bronze face. "Sarah Jane. It's so good to have you home, baby." She descended the steps as she spoke, and the moment she got close enough, pulled her daughter into her arms.
Wrapped in her mother's tight hug, Sarah chuckled. "It's good to be home, Mommy."
When her mother released her, and she stepped back, Sarah was again reminded of the strong maternal resemblance she and her sisters had to their mother. Elizabeth, or Liza as most folks called her, had a petite frame, bronze skin, and light-brown eyes. Her hair was dark, nearly jet black, and bore the deep waves of her mixed Occoneechee and African ancestry. Kate and Mary were like copies of their mother, except Kate wore her hair in a short cut while Mary was rarely ever seen without a fancy up-do.
Sarah, the middle child and the odd one out in so many ways, stood a few inches taller than her mother and sister. The demands of her job left her with little time for coiffing, so she wore her long hair in a single plait trailing down her back.
She moved further into her mother’s parlor, taking in the familiar sights. A beige settee occupied the center of the room, and short legged oak table sat in front of it. Two small, round tables, each with a gas lamp atop it, flanked the settee. Two dark green wingback armchairs, as well as two matching armless upholstered chairs, were arranged in a semi-circle around the settee.
"Where's Daddy?" Sarah posed the question as she looked around the lower level of the house, seeking any sound that might indicate his presence.
"He's out in the backyard," Kate volunteered as she dropped her skirt-clad bottom onto the settee.
"Overseeing my gift, I'm sure." Liza gestured toward the kitchen, where the back door stood propped open. "Go on out there and speak to him. I know he'll be glad to see you."
Sarah walked through the front parlor, then the kitchen, and stepped out onto the back porch. From there, she could see her father, George, in profile. She smiled at the familiar salt and pepper of his close-trimmed hair. He stood by what looked like the beginnings of a small structure being built in the center of the yard, and carried on a conversation with the builder.
Her eyes swung to the other man. Tall, shirtless, and well-built, the man held a hammer in one hand. The stranger's skin was dark, the color of fine mahogany. His hair was in short, thin dreadlocks that barely grazed the hard line of his jaw. He wore a pair of snug-fitting denims that sat low on his hips, and his bare chest glistened with perspiration.
He swung his deep brown eyes in her direction then, and as their gazes connected, she could feel the heat stinging her cheeks. From her spot on the porch, she saw his full lips open as he spoke to her father, who then turned her way.
"Sarah! Come on over here, sweetheart, and meet Owen." George waved her over with his hand.
Swallowing, Sarah willed her feet to move, careful not to trip as she stepped off the lip of the porch. If she fell over her own feet in front of this gorgeous man, she swore she'd die of embarrassment.
Once she was safely on the ground, she pasted on a soft smile. Looking at the handsome stranger made her feel strange and out of sorts, so she looked at her father instead.
With measured steps, she moved across the yard toward the man who'd raised her and the tall, striking fellow standing beside him.
***
Owen dropped his hammer to the ground as he watched George's middle daughter glide toward him. Having only live about eighteen months in Fayetteville, Owen had never had the occasion to meet Miss Sarah. Taking in the sight of her now, he regretted that misfortune.
Sarah was taller than her mother was but just as strikingly beautiful. She was a vision of amber-hued skin, full, pink lips that looked as soft as petals, and a slender figure that was still full in all the right places. She moved with grace, and when she paused near her father, she assumed the typical stance of a young woman in mixed company. Clasping her hands in front of her, she angled her head up, looking to George.
Owen watched her, entranced. Her demure posturing only served to enhance her femininity in his eyes.
At first, her attention was on her father, but after she hugged and greeted George, she turned her intense, copper eyes on him.
When their eyes met, something moved through him. A tremor shot through his body, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The sensation was unlike any he’d ever felt before.
Reaching for her hand, but never dropping his gaze from her face, he smiled. "I'm Owen Markham. Nice to meet you, Miss Webster."
"Please, call me Sarah." She allowed him to grasp her hand.
He lifted her delicate hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Whatever you wish."
George cleared his throat, momentarily breaking the spell. “I’ve got things to attend to inside the house, so I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Sarah, I want to hear all about the happenings in the Territory when you come in."
Reluctantly, Owen let her delicate, soft-skinned hand slip from his grasp. She moved nearer to her father. "Yes, Daddy." Sarah gave her father another peck on the cheek, and then the older man disappeared into the house, letting the back door swing shut behind him.
Sarah, looking a bit nervous, bestowed him with a gentle smile. "I see you're working, I don't want to disturb you."
He shook his head. "It's no trouble at all. Did I just hear your father say you came from the Territory? Whereabouts?"
"Wyoming. I work at a hotel in Cheyenne."
He scratched his chin. "Sounds interesting. How long have you lived out there?”
“Since the summer of ’73.”
He nodded. She’d left only a few months before he first arrived in Fayetteville. “Your father tells me you're an unmatched chef when it comes to sweets. Is that true?"
She giggled, covering her mouth with her fingertips as if to stifle it. "I don't know if I'd say all that, but I'm not surprised. Daddy is always boasting on his daughters."
"And, why shouldn't he? You're obviously very capable, and beautiful on top of that." He hadn’t intended to be quite so forward, but the words had tumbled from his mouth. Now that he’d said them, he couldn’t take them back.
Her cheeks reddened again, and this time she directed her gaze away from him. "You flatter me, sir."
"Please, call me Owen." He winked at her. She was just as beautiful as her father had professed, and even more so. All the Webster women were lovely, but for whatever reason, this plucky middle child seemed to suit his fancy most of all.
He watched her, letting his eyes rake over her beauty for a few silent moments. The bright sun shining overhead illuminated her delicate features, allowing him full view of her smooth-skinned loveliness. The coy way she diverted her eyes from him fired his blood.
She seemed to sense his scrutiny. The slightest of smiles touched the corners of her mouth as she took a small step back from him. Pointing at the unfinished structure, she asked, "Is this going to be a garden shed?"
Doing his best to shake himself free of her spell, he shook his head. "No, ma'am. It's just a foundation right now, but when I finished, your mother's gonna have a top-quality gazebo."
Her eyes widened, the smile deepening. "Oh, that's lovely. Mommy's always wanted one. What a thoughtful gift for Daddy to get her."
"He picked a real nice design, too. Brought my sketchbook." He gestured to the small ironwork table a few feet from where they stood that he'd set the book on. "Fancy taking a look at it?"
She clapped her hands. "Oh, I'd love to."
He retrieved the book, opening it to the proper page. By her side again, he pointed out the chosen design and let her see it. "Good seating inside it for nice days. Lattice walls there, come in handy if your mother decides to plant roses or ivy or any other creeping vine."
She beamed as she perused the design. "It's lovely. I can't wait to see it when it's finished."
Owen rubbed his hands together, noting how genuinely pleased she seemed with his work. "Thank you, Miss Sarah. It'll be done in time for your mother's birthday party." Closing the book, he tucked it beneath his arm.
“I know she’s going to love it. I can just picture her, sitting out here reading in the mornings.” Her smile softened, becoming wistful. “She works so hard around the house. She deserves it.”
Touched by Sarah’s admiration for her mother, he nodded. “I’ll do my very best work for Mrs. Webster.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” She gave him a sidelong glance, her eyes sparkling beneath a fringe of dark lashes. “Thank you in advance.”
He blinked. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Sarah was flirting with him.
She exhaled through parted lips, long and slow. Slipping her hand into her skirt pocket, she pulled out a fan. Snapping it open, she began working her wrist to stir up a breeze. "Heavens, it's hot out today."
Watching her, he could feel the heat rising within him. Instinctively, he knew the fire in his blood was fueled by this woman, not the weather. Did she feel the same way? He could see the small beads of perspiration beginning to form around her hairline. "I don't want to keep you out in this heat, Miss Sarah. Why don't you go on in where it's cooler?" Even as the words left his lips, he knew he'd be bereft after her departure.
She nodded, tucking the fan away. "I should let you get back to your work. It was nice to meet you, Mister—"
He looked at her pointedly.
"I mean, nice meeting you, Owen."
"Likewise."
With a wave, she turned and made her way back to the house.
When the door closed behind her, Owen looked on for a few moments more. Could any woman really be that appealing? Surely, she had some disagreeable quality, though none were obvious to him now. Their first meeting had left him with nothing but positive impressions of Miss Sarah Webster.
Smiling, he retrieved him hammer and set back to work. Between now and Mrs. Webster's party, he planned to exercise every opportunity at his disposal to learn more about her daughter.