The fine powder of snow blanketed the streets, although by midmorning it had mostly melted, leaving the roads a muddy slush. Hoesta jogged alongside the flat bed as the draft horse snorted frosty steam out his nose, Lucas noting the dog delighting in the small drifts of snow, bounding along in a joyful mood—the first real snow of the season. It was only the first week of November, but the temperature had been unseasonably cold—usually the harbinger of blizzards in winter. Lucas as well felt an encroaching storm building in his heart, wondering if it would bury him. What would he do if he couldn’t win Emma’s heart? How could he face yet another long, miserable, lonely winter in his small cabin? Perhaps he would have been better off if he’d never met her.
He hadn’t seen her in weeks—not since that day he’d dropped her at her house and her father yelled at him. Since then he’d buried himself in work, helping Eli and LeRoy finish stringing the last lines of barbed wire and replacing the barn siding and fixing latches to prepare for the eventuality of fifty-five head of horses needing shelter from the winter storms soon to beset the open range. He’d inoculated the horses and mules in town and on the outlying farms, and treated various infections and illnesses, and in all his meanderings around town had not seen the lovely Miss Emma Bradshaw. With the Edwards twins in school and the inclement weather keeping the boys from riding, Lucas had little excuse to glean from Violet any gossip about Emma, which he so desperately longed to hear.
Lately he’d been hearing packs of wolves and coyotes howling mournfully throughout the night, across the rivers. They echoed the sentiments in his soul, often keeping him up and robbing him of sleep. As a result, today, hauling the dozen bales of straw over to the Grange in preparation for the big harvest festival, he rode wearily, the chill only adding to his misery and the low-hanging dark clouds pregnant with snow adding to his gloomy mood.
Yet, he held out a glimmer of hope that he’d finally see Emma—as Mrs. Edwards had told him the Grange hall would be a flurry of activity today, with all the young ladies helping decorate for the annual affair. The last few years Lucas had helped with the fire pit outside, where a huge bonfire would be lit for those wanting to come outside and take a break from the dancing and festivities. His task this morning was to unload and position all the straw bales around the rock-lined circle, then go back to the ranch and load up the pile of firewood needed to last the night of the event.
When he pulled up in front of the Grange, he noticed two women dressed in heavy coats and hats trying to drag something large and unwieldy out the front doors. Bounding up the stairs with Hoesta yipping at his heels, he recognized Mrs. Wilkerson and one of the ladies that worked at the mercantile, Mrs. Prouel.
“Here, ladies, let me help you with that.” Lucas reached down to assist with their large bulky item, unsure just what they were hauling out of the Grange.
The two women looked up from their struggle with a start.
“Oh, Mr. Rawlings, God bless you. Thank you.” Mrs. Wilkerson patted what looked like a straw-stuffed man, righting the felt hat on its head. Lucas wondered why she was dressed in such fancy clothes for such an activity, but she always seemed to present a high-society appearance in every instance in which he’d seen her—as did her daughter, Lily. Perhaps in time, like so many other women who’d come out from the big cities to the Front Range, they’d come to see that more practical attire was in order.
Mrs. Prouel, a somewhat heavy-set lady lacking any airs, panted and wiped her hand across her brow. “We’re fixing to set this fine gentleman on the lawn right outside the doors.” She fiddled with the corncob pipe attached to his cloth mouth. The life-size straw man wore a farmer’s overalls and red checkered shirt. “He’s a dandy, doncha think?” she asked Lucas.
He nodded and hefted the manikin carefully, noting bits of straw falling out the sleeves. He tried to stuff them back in as the two women propped the double doors open.
“Oh, don’t mind that,” Mrs. Wilkerson said, waving her hand in dismissal. “We’ll finish stuffing him once he’s properly placed.”
Lucas grinned. “Just point me in the right direction.”
Once he had the straw man set up to welcome all at the entrance of the Grange, the ladies ushered him inside, eager to warm him up with hot cider and revitalize his waning energy with warm molasses cookies. He knew saying no would offend them, and accepting their invitation would give him the chance to come inside and see if Emma was there. So he stepped inside the spacious hall—which was still a bit cold although he saw a blazing fire in the stone hearth at the back of the room—and scanned across the faces of the dozen or so women busily working on crafts projects at the many long tables until his eyes lit upon Emma.
She had her back to him, and instead of her hair being coiled up in a bun and tucked under a bonnet, the long black locks spilled down over her shoulders. She wore a simple rose-colored skirt that flared out around her, the ruffles of her petticoats sweeping the tops of her shoes. An elegant white blouse hugged the curve of her waist. Lucas sucked in a breath, hardly able to move.
He took off his hat and slid off his sheepskin-lined coat, then draped it over his arm. The two ladies he had helped led him over to a table against the wall, to make sure he got his deserved refreshments. Mrs. Prouel continued talking at him, explaining all the projects they were constructing and where everything would go. He heard almost nothing she said; only smiled and nodded as he caught glances of Emma.
“Look,” Violet said, spotting him, “there’s Lucas. Lucas! Come see what we’re making,” she called out to him, waving him over.
Emma spun around, as did Lily Wilkerson, who stood at Emma’s side. Even from where he stood, twenty feet away, he saw color rush to Emma’s cheeks. He politely thanked Mrs. Prouel, who stuffed a hot mug of cider into one hand and three cookies in the other, then made his way over the young ladies at their table.
He kept a polite distance, although he wanted nothing more than to gather Emma up in his arms and kiss her. Bide your time; the dance is only hours away. This surely wasn’t the place to let his emotions show, so he worked hard to keep a polite smile on his face, avoiding falling into those two deep blue pools belonging to the woman he loved.
He looked at Violet and asked, “So what are you busy ladies up to here?”
Although Violet eagerly answered in a long explanation, he didn’t hear a word she said. He nodded at what he deemed were the right times, then, feeling about ready to jump out of his boots, tried to excuse himself. It was torture to stand so close to Emma without being able to touch her.
A glance across the room showed Emma’s mother glaring at him with narrowed eyes. He could only imagine how she felt about him, with both her husband and her son taking such a dislike to him. But when she caught him looking at her, she hastily turned her head and began talking to Mrs. Edwards, who was busily attaching large cutout paper pumpkins to the walls. He then noticed Emma’s sister-in-law sitting in a nearby chair, knitting. He was glad to see her looking so well, and she was now quite far along in her pregnancy.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Lily Wilkerson said, drawing Lucas’s attention. “I need to get some supplies out of the back closet, and they’re up quite high.”
Lucas didn’t know Miss Wilkerson all that well. He’d spoken to her on occasion at her house and at the stables, when treating her horse—a fine Selle Francais jumper—but from just those few encounters, he felt uneasy around her. He’d met women like her before but none so forward in their flirtations. Granted, it was hard to take his eyes off her; she was stunning. But he sensed much of her beauty was superficial, only skin deep. And he found her brazen advances uncomfortable; he didn’t want to hurt the young woman’s feelings, but hoped not to encourage them either. Was she hunting for a husband? If so, why hadn’t she married yet? Someone as beautiful and cultured as she was could surely land a husband of fine breeding with little effort.
So, after setting down his hat and coat, he followed her into the back room with trepidation, not wanting to leave Emma’s side. But he was the only man around, and he wouldn’t want to appear unwilling to help any lady requiring his assistance. Yet, all he could think about was Emma and the many words he needed to say to her.
Lily stopped at the entrance to the long, dark closet at the back of the room. A wide, high shelf ran the length of the closet on both sides, and boxes were piled up to the ceiling. She pointed to a ladder resting against the back wall.
“I hope it won’t be any bother, Lucas,” she said, her voice silky and inviting. “I need all these down.” She pointed at a stack of boxes directly above her. “These six.”
“All right,” Lucas said, feeling a bit claustrophobic and uncomfortable in the small space with her. She was wearing an intoxicating perfume, which wafted around him as he moved the ladder into position and climbed up the rungs to reach the boxes.
“You can hand them down to me, one at a time,” she said sweetly.
Lucas felt her eyes keenly on him as he maneuvered the towering stack carefully to take down the top one without toppling the rest. As he gave her the first box, her hand brushed against his. The rickety ladder wiggled unsteadily, and as he sought to regain his balance, Lily hurried to set the box down, then wrapped her hands around his calves.
“Steady there, Lucas.” She stood there with her hands on him for a long time, and Lucas felt the sweat trickle down the back of his neck.
“I’m fine, Miss Wilkerson—”
She let go and huffed. “Please, call me Lily. I can’t bear to hear you speak so formally to me.”
All Lucas could do was nod. He hurried to retrieve the rest of the boxes, anxious to get out of this confining space and back to Emma’s side. The minutes dragged as he handed one box after another to Lily. Finally, he climbed down and set the ladder back where he’d found it.
“You are coming to the dance tomorrow, Lucas? I’d be so disappointed if you weren’t there.”
Lucas swallowed and weighed his words. “I plan to be there . . .” He was about to say “Miss Wilkerson” but expected he’d get another scolding.
Lily took two of the boxes in her arms and started back to the hall. “Oh, you have heard the news, haven’t you?”
Lucas followed behind her carrying two of the heaviest boxes. As they came close to the table where Emma worked alongside Violet, arranging dried flowers into some sort of bouquets, Lily announced in a particularly loud voice, “Emma is engaged to be married. To Randall Turnbull.” She spun around to catch his reaction. “Isn’t that just wonderful?” She tipped her head to Emma and said to her, “Although, you two haven’t set a date, right?”
Lucas nearly dropped the boxes. An icy coldness washed over him, and he was sure the stricken look on his face was as plain as day. His heart seemed to stop beating, and his hands grew sweaty. Engaged? Then I’m too late.
He chanced looking at Emma’s face. She gave him an odd look—perhaps she was puzzled by his shocked reaction.
Oblivious to the sickly feeling washing over him, Violet spoke up cheerily. “I’m sure it will be so grand! And, Emma, Randall is so wonderful.” She turned to Lucas and said, “Have you met Emma’s fiancé? Surely you know his father, Mr. Turnbull?”
Lucas shook his head. He forced the words out of his mouth past the huge rock lodged in his throat. “No, I . . . haven’t had the pleasure . . .”
It took all his resolve not to run. But he knew he had to congratulate Emma on her news, although to him the engagement was as dour a tiding as a funeral announcement. And a part of him did die in that moment, along with all hope of ever holding her in his arms again. A pain streaked through his heart as if he’d been stabbed.
“Are you unwell?” Lily asked him, leaning close and taking his arm.
He fought the urge to shake her off. Instead, he pulled back and willed his heart to stop pounding so hard. After blowing out a shaky breath he hoped no one detected, he turned to Emma and with as kind a voice as he could muster, said, “Well, Miss Bradshaw, my congratulations. I . . . wish you all the happiness in the world.” No truer words could he speak, although he’d hoped that happiness would have been with him, not with that East Coast dandy. He kept his head tipped respectfully, not wanting her to see his face.
Get out, before you make a fool of yourself and say something you’ll regret. You had your chance and you lost it.
“Thank you, Lucas,” Emma said.
Although Lucas didn’t want to meet her eyes, something in her voice snagged him. He took a chance and looked at her. Instead of the happiness over such a joyous prospect as marriage, a heavy sadness marred her face. It was as if he could see through her eyes to the bottom of those blue pools and deep into her heart. It was clear—at least to him—that underneath the smile she wore was a world of hurt and pain. Why and how he knew this, he was uncertain. But her heart spoke to his without words, in a speech all its own.
Her unhappiness shook him. Just what was going on in Emma Bradshaw’s life? Why would she marry this man if she didn’t love him? He couldn’t imagine anyone—not even her hard-handed father—forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want. But this was hardly the time or place to ask her questions.
His head swam in confusion, and his heart hurt almost more than he could bear. He excused himself in a mumble and collected his coat and hat. Then, with a polite nod to the three young ladies at the table, he hurried outside and down the steps to his wagon.
A cold blast of wind cut through his clothes and chilled him to his core. He put on his coat and buttoned it up, knowing it would do little to chase the chill now settling in his bones. Sarah had remarked on the ice that encased his heart, after she had seen the blue pools in her vision. Emma was to be the one to melt that ice. Lucas chortled bitterly. There was no chance it would melt now.
She’s fleeing one cage only to be locked up in another. She’ll never be free to bloom and grow, married to a man like that. She’ll be trapped in a small house in Greeley, confined to the expectations of society and her stuffy husband. A woman like Emma needed the wide open spaces of the West in order to breathe. In order to be truly happy. She needed a man who could set her free from her cage.
But he’d had his chance to declare his love. And now that chance was lost to him. And so was she.
Numb and defeated, Lucas climbed up onto the bench seat of the buckboard and swung the horse around to the fire pit. He stepped down and began unloading the straw bales with the grappling hook, throwing them to the ground. He worked efficiently to move the bales into place, finishing quickly in order to leave the Grange as soon as he could. He couldn’t foster the thought of being there another moment—on the off chance that Emma might come outside to speak with him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone come down the front steps. His pulse quickened and his body froze up, until he saw that it wasn’t Emma. It was her sister-in-law, taking careful steps down to the ground. He looked around but didn’t see anyone else outside. Where was she going?
To his surprise, she came over to him.
“Ah, I’m glad to find you still here, Mr. Rawlings,” she said in a friendly tone. She was dressed in a warm long woolen coat and hat, and rested one hand on her abdomen.
Lucas blew out a breath, trying to chase away the tumultuous emotions that held him sway. He set down the hook and tipped his hat at her.
“Miz Bradshaw, it’s good to see you well. You look rested and hale.”
She gave him a genuine smile. “I am. Thank you.” She rested a gloved hand on his wrist as if steadying herself.
“Here, please sit down.” He led her over to one of the straw bales and she sat, a bit out of breath. “Do you need my help—?”
“Oh no; I came out to speak with you.”
Lucas’s eyebrows raised, and he felt a rush of discomfort. He felt awkward talking to this woman who he’d never properly met—and whose husband loathed him.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should apologize for my behavior that day, at the park—”
“Nonsense. It is I, Mr. Rawlings, who should be apologizing to you. I am entirely grateful to you for what you did. I have no doubt you saved my life that day, and I’ve been remiss about thanking you properly.”
“Ma’am, you don’t need to thank me. I’m just glad I’d been there to help. Your husband . . . he didn’t . . . he wasn’t aware that the horse had been stung—”
“It was a brave thing you did, and you put yourself in harm’s way for me. And for my baby.” She smiled and once more laid her hand over the child in her womb.
Just then the doors to the Grange swung open. Emma’s mother stepped out, and upon spotting her daughter-in-law, waved her hand in a frantic motion. She called out, “Lynette, you’ll catch your death of cold out there. Come back inside.”
Lynette merely waved and nodded, then turned her attention back to Lucas. The older woman hesitated, then headed back inside, the doors closing behind her.
“Are you cold, Miz Bradshaw? Perhaps I should help you—” He stood before her, offering his arm.
But she shook her head and smiled once more, her cheeks rosy from the biting wind. “I feel better than I have in years. I actually enjoy this refreshing cold. The summer heat was nearly my undoing. And then I was confined to bed rest for nearly two months. But the doctor assures me I’m out of danger.” She added, her tone joyful, “And the baby is healthy and strong, praise God.”
Lucas nodded, truly happy for her, although every time he saw a woman so pregnant, his mind flitted back to Alice and how happy she was before she gave birth. And how she’d had no indication that anything would go wrong when she went into labor.
Lucas shoved those painful memories down forcefully. Lord, he prayed with his eyes closed, don’t let this be the fate of this gentle woman. Bless her with an easy delivery and full recovery.
He opened his eyes, feeling a welcoming sense of calm blanket him. “When are you due?” he asked her.
“The end of the year. A Christmas baby,” she said, excitement in her eyes.
“I’m happy for you.” He added, “That was right nice of you to come out here to speak with me, Miz Bradshaw. And what about your husband? Is he happy about the baby?”
He asked this in curiosity, knowing he was probably overstepping. But after having witnessed her husband’s rude, inconsiderate behavior—not to mention his associating with those detestable ranchers—he wondered if the man was treating his wife properly.
Lynette’s eyes flashed with apprehension. “He is.” She drew in a shaky breath and looked across the open expanse of snow covering the yard. “But I’m concerned.”
It wasn’t his place to pry, or to warn her about her husband’s risky activities, but maybe she had no one to talk to. He sat down at the end of the straw bale and faced her, waiting to see if she would say more.
She finally turned and looked at him, worry in her face. “He drinks—as I’m sure you’ve seen. Which is of great concern and a source of distress to both myself and his parents. You can imagine . . . since the Bradshaws chose to move to Greeley mostly due to the temperance philosophy. I sometimes wonder if my father-in-law pushed to move here in an attempt to get Walter to stop drinking.”
“So, his drinking isn’t anything new?”
She let out a sad sigh. “No, not by any means, Mr. Rawlings. He started drinking heavily after I lost the first baby . . .” She turned to him once more. “I lost three, and after each loss, he drank more. I’m hoping . . . well, you can see why I’m so glad I’m finally going to have a baby. Walter wants so badly to have children, as do I . . .”
Lucas’s heart went out to her. He of all people knew what it felt like to lose a baby. His gut wrenched as memories of holding his dead infant son in his arms flooded into his mind. He shook his head and stood.
“Then, I’m sure once the baby is born, things will . . . get better.” He reached for her arm, wishing he could warn her somehow about the unscrupulous ranchers her husband had been seen with. But he couldn’t burden her with this. He could only hope that her husband would realize what danger he was in, before it was too late. And that once their baby was born, he’d stay home more and stop drinking.
But Lucas suspected it would take more than the arrival of a baby to get a man like Walter Bradshaw to shape up for his wife and child. That man had a mean side, and if Lucas had ever seen a more arrogant, self-absorbed man this side of the Mississippi, he couldn’t think of one. In a way, he felt sorry for Lynette. She deserved a better man.
So does Emma, he thought, the pain of his loss once again emptying him, leaving him with an unquenchable, unbearable thirst deep in his soul.
He walked in silence, lost in his thoughts, leading Lynette to the entrance and up the stairs to the doors.
“Thank you for listening to me,” she told him. “I . . . don’t really have anyone to talk to, and I know so few people here in town.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Lucas said, tipping his hat to her and retreating down the stairs. He turned back and said, “You take care, now, Miz Bradshaw. I look forward to saying hello to that baby of yours soon.”
She gave him another warm smile and went inside.
Lucas then strode over to the wagon, hopped up to the seat, and headed out of town, knowing the way home but feeling utterly lost.