17

With the sun’s rays warming his back, Robert had a great view from the top of the roof. Since he was already up here, he’d decided to check out the back part of the roof that wasn’t clearly visible from the ground and found many places wanting. He hoped a new roof was in Grace’s budget. Now he wished he hadn’t told her to go ahead and buy those new clothes. Better to get down and give her the bad news before she did anything.

He carefully climbed back over the rooftop toward the front of the house, and hearing voices below, he realized he was already too late with his advice. In her apparent eagerness, she was waiting for the children when they returned, and the animation in their voices told him she’d already given them the news.

He heard Tom say something about needing shoes more than he needed pants before pulling up his leg to expose the holes in the bottom of his shoe. Grace gasped and he heard her confirm that Tom was right, then they all followed her inside, where she most likely had some sort of cookie waiting for them.

Grace acted like they were her children, and that baffled him. Why in the world would she care about them? He didn’t get it. It was almost as if she’d decided they were her charges instead of his. Be grateful in all things, he heard from a voice in his head. I am, Lord, I am. He wasn’t used to such kindness and it felt nice. He also liked the way she’d looked at him earlier with her honey-brown eyes. Stop it and get back to work before you land in trouble, he told himself.

He reached for his hammer and nails from his leather work apron and started repairing the roof. Once he paused to enjoy the cooling wind against his face and watched an eagle soar. He’d much rather be the eagle—free, with no responsibilities, riding a tailwind that blew over the Gallatin Range.

There were times at night he asked God where his future was going. Since Ada’s death, he’d lost perspective. There was no one to build a life with. He admitted that even though she’d deceived him, he still missed Ada and reckoned he would always have a place in his heart for her.

Maybe he should consider moving on after the potato crop was in. No woman was going to want to marry a man with a ready-made family. Especially when the kids weren’t babies. Most young women wanted children of their own flesh and blood. Might as well face the facts, Robert, you’re not young yourself anymore.

It wasn’t long before Becky came out and called him in to supper. He needed to let go of his foolish notions of ever finding happiness. Besides, the smell of supper was at least something he could look forward to. He started down the ladder to go wash up.

The spring weather couldn’t have been more perfect the Saturday Grace took the children to town. Owen decided he’d go along too, and Tom offered to help him getting in and out of the wagon. She left the farm in the capable hands of Robert, who admitted he hated shopping and trusted Grace to do the buying.

While Eli fitted Tom with a good sturdy pair of boots, Grace and the girls wandered over to the ready-made frocks looking for something to fit them. Once, when she glanced back to Eli and Tom, their heads were down and they were speaking in whispers.

Sarah found a simple dress with tiny blue flowers. “What about this one, Miss Grace?”

Grace held the dress up to Sarah’s shoulders. “I think it will work nicely, especially because it will complement your pretty blue eyes,” she confirmed. Sarah’s sweet smile was thanks enough for Grace as she watched her staring at the dress.

“I think we should also look for some new underwear,” Grace suggested.

Becky looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Are you sure you can afford that? Robert, I mean our papa, said until the potato crop comes in you might be having a hard time making a go of it like us.”

“Did he now? Don’t you worry about that, Becky. I wouldn’t have brought you shopping if I couldn’t pay for it. I believe we’ll have a good crop this year because of your papa’s help.”

Becky paused from looking through the clothes and peered shyly at Grace. “You like him, don’t you?”

Grace felt her face go pink. “Of course I do. He’s a hard worker and has taken a huge load off me,” she answered, then went back to picking through the ready-made frocks. Whatever possessed that child to say that?

“I don’t mean like that.” Becky said nothing more, and Grace was glad that she let the subject drop.

———

Owen shuffled slowly around the large mercantile, checking out the saddles and tack. He had a hankering to go riding. Must be typical spring fever. He’d been avoiding the back of a horse because he was worried about his balance lately. Every so often, he would have sharp, stabbing pains in his hips, but he refrained from telling Grace. She had enough on her mind, especially having three children in the house. Maybe it was time for him to see the doctor again.

He made his way through the store out to the sidewalk, but he hadn’t gone far before he was shaky. Plopping down on a bench, he watched the town traffic. Directly across the street in his view was the bank, and he watched a woman walk out with a few other patrons. Was that Stella? Hard to say beneath the leather cowboy hat. It looked like her—she had no visible femininity in her manner of walking, which was a stride full of strong purpose. A book was tucked under her arm and spectacles framed her face. He wished she’d decide to come his way. Suddenly, she did, almost like an afterthought. She crossed the street, making her way in his direction. Had she seen him? Don’t be silly! Even if she had, she wouldn’t be crossing to talk to him.

Owen sat up straighter, just in case she walked by. She stepped over deep ruts in the street and came near. He pulled himself up and greeted her with a tip of his hat. “Excuse me. I saw you the last time I was in town.” Owen saw her stiffen and draw back, shoving her spectacles back up her thin nose to give him a strange look.

“Excuse me.” She started to move past.

Where he got the nerve, he couldn’t say, but he heard himself speaking again. “Eli told me your name was Stella. I’m Owen Miller. I thought I’d just introduce myself to you.”

She stood perfectly straight and prim, gazing at him from behind her spectacles with keen eyes. “I hardly know why, but Eli’s a good man and I know he wouldn’t have told you about me unless he trusted you. Well, nice to meet you. Good day.”

“Stella,” he said, “how about a cup of coffee before you finish your errands?” He was close enough to consider her green eyes behind her spectacles. For all her standoffish attitude, he found warmth there.

“Well, I’m not sure. I don’t know you—”

“You said you trusted Eli’s judgment. That must mean something—and I’m harmless enough over a cup of coffee.” He flashed her a broad smile, hoping to soften her. He even surprised himself. Maybe he was lonelier than he thought.

She stared openly at him. “My, but you are persistent, aren’t you? I suppose one cup would be harmless.” She looked down at his hand holding on to the chair’s arm. “Is the Timberline Café too far for you to walk?”

He quickly pulled his hand off the chair. She didn’t miss much. “It’s only a couple doors down, so I believe I can make it.”

To his surprise, she offered her arm after moving her book to her other side, and he took it. They quietly moved between the Saturday shoppers to make their way to the café.

Fortunately, there was one table for two left close to the window, which Owen preferred in case his daughter came looking for him. He pulled out a chair for Stella and noticed as she took her seat that she laid her book on the table and placed her spectacles on top, which he thought was odd. Perhaps she didn’t need them all the time but only for reading—but that made no sense, because she wore them while walking. He sat down carefully and smiled across the table at her.

“We are here for a quick cup of coffee and perhaps a slice of pie,” Owen told the waitress. It was too early for lunch, and he intended to save that time for Grace and the children. “That okay with you, Stella?”

She turned to the waitress. “Please bring me a cup of your best hot tea.”

The waitress giggled. “Ma’am, we’ve only got one kind and it is the best!”

Owen nearly laughed until he caught the abashed look on Stella’s face. He suddenly felt sorry for her.

“That will do,” Stella answered. “And a bit of lemon.”

Owen gave her a level stare. “I thought everyone drank coffee. My mistake.”

“I like coffee okay, but I prefer hot tea. I guess the habit came as a result of my father and mother. She always made delicious hot tea served in pretty china cups.”

“How nice for you.”

Stella leaned forward a bit to ask, “I know you didn’t ask me for a cup of coffee only. So what was your reason?”

Owen chuckled. “Reason? I merely want to get to know you after seeing you in the mercantile. I’ve never seen you here before. To be truthful, I’m a widower living with my daughter at Bidwell Farms. What about you?”

She fingered the gold watch fob on her blouse. “I . . . The truth is, running the boardinghouse keeps me so busy seeing to the needs of others that I rarely have a lot of free time. When I do, I enjoy my books, my cats, and long walks.”

“I see. So do you enjoy being around people who come and go at the boardinghouse?”

“Yes. But I have to admit that my pets and books are far superior to some of the folks who rent a room from me,” she said, laughing. “Oh, don’t look so serious. I was only joking.”

He laughed then. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to think you were from royalty.” He decided he liked her green eyes with lines around them when she smiled. Her skin told him that she hadn’t protected her face from the elements like most women, so it was hard to judge her age. He thought it might be close to his own.

She squirmed in her chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Not a lot to tell. My wife, Margaret, died a long time ago, so I came to live with my daughter, Grace. She was married to a potato farmer who died three years ago. Then my health became an issue, and the doctor thinks I may have had a stroke. It’s affected my legs somewhat.”

“I’m sorry. Health is more valuable than wealth in my opinion, especially now that I’m older.”

The tea and coffee were served, and Owen watched as she added a squeeze of lemon and a teaspoon of sugar. There was no mark on her otherwise tan hands where a wedding band would have been.

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you a widow?”

She gave a small laugh. “No. I’ve never married. Never felt the need to.”

“What about having a friendship? I’m in need of company other than my daughter occasionally.”

Stella tilted her head, openly sizing him up. “What makes you think I need any companionship?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

He felt his shoulder muscles relax. “Maybe a lucky guess, but seeing as you and I are close in age. I thought maybe . . .”

Their eyes locked above the rims of their cups, and they burst out laughing together.

The two of them continued talking about their interests, the weather, and things going on in town. Then Stella sipped her tea and Owen enjoyed his strong cup of coffee in amicable silence while they watched passersby going to and fro on the Saturday afternoon.

Finally, she looked at her watch fob. “I must be going now. It was quite the morning getting to know you. Perhaps we could do this again, and if there’s no pie, I make tasty donuts,” she said, retrieving her book and glasses.

Owen pushed his chair back. She’d said perhaps as though there would be another time, and he suddenly felt joyful—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “I would look forward to that, Stella. I need to get back before Grace sends the sheriff after me.”

Without mentioning it, she placed her arm to offer him support as they strolled outside. Owen felt almost giddy.