Abigale nearly fell.
Without so much as a goodbye or fare-thee-well, Seth climbed to the wagon seat and drove around the barn and out of sight.
Her breath returned on an afterthought, whispering up from deep inside. She drew a second one and told herself he was just lording it over her. Showing off. Having the last word, so to speak. She told herself there’d been no fire dancing in his eyes as they swept her mouth. No fire answering in her belly.
She’d never been a very good liar.
Hurrying to the corner of the barn, she watched him drive along the ranch road, cut across the range like he’d started to yesterday, and shrink until he was an ant in the distance, so far away she couldn’t see him moving at all. He blended into the sweeping drifts and bare patches, leaving nothing but a longing in her heart.
She touched her lips, searching for proof that he’d been close enough to kiss her—but didn’t. Proof that she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. But the only proof was her racing pulse that made the back of her head throb.
Chester yapped and pushed into her skirts with a whine.
She dropped down and rubbed behind his ears. “Did you see that, boy?” she whispered.
His pink tongue caught her chin.
“That man just drove away with half my good sense.” She brushed off her apron as she straightened. “And he left less than that for you. He eats as much as Pop did, if not more.”
Chester followed her in the house and plopped down by the hearth.
From the huge stack piled against the wall she added logs to the fire, then dropped into the big chair, reliving those minutes by the wagon and listening.
Seth did not return. He did not rein in at the house, barge through the door, and sweep her into his arms.
Such fantasy.
The fire snapped. Chester gave a long groan, indication of his old bones at rest.
Abigale was alone. Again.
So often she’d preferred it. Especially in Denver at the hall where she rarely found a moment to herself. But in Denver she had persevered with dreams of her high-country home. The peak. The high parks and the pines. This house.
Now here she was with it all around her, and it wasn’t quite what she’d expected.
Chester sighed again, and sparks dashed up the chimney. The smell of coffee and fried pork lingered, and the prospects of a long, lonely day stretched before her.
Lonely and alone, she’d discovered, were two completely different concepts.
She hadn’t felt bereft of friend and family when she’d first come back. Sad, yes. But energized for the work that faced her. Getting ready for winter after winter had already arrived was a daunting chore, but she’d welcomed the distraction. Now all she had was to sit and think and miss Pop even more.
And relive Seth’s embrace.
She hugged her waist, recalled the strength of his arm around her, like a promise that nothing would ever come between them.
He wasn’t the Seth Holt she’d grown up with, yet somehow he was.
What would she do when he returned? Fling herself into his arms or pretend that nothing had happened? No, she was as good at pretending as she was lying. Things would not be the same between them. An invisible barrier had been crossed, and she could no more go back than she could keep the sun from gilding the peak at dawn.
She went to the window, assuring herself the yard was empty, that he hadn’t come back for something. A silly thought for certain. But she feared the flinging option might override the remains of her good sense if he did return so soon.
What would Mams say?
Immediately the answer came. “Mams would tell me to get busy.”
Chester lifted his head at her commanding tone.
“I can’t stand around getting all muddle-headed over some cowboy I’ve known all my life.” A task definitely easier said than done.
“Come on, Chester. Want a dried biscuit with a little grease smeared on it?”
Chester evidently understood more than he let on and followed her to the kitchen, where she set a pan on the floor, broke biscuits into it, and poured grease over the top. He’d be spoiled for sure, eating inside the house. Mams had never allowed it, but Abigale appreciated his company.
She untied and re-tied her apron, tucked loose hair behind her ear, and looked out the kitchen window.
Nope, Seth still wasn’t coming this way. But he had to eventually. He’d left Coop here. That meant something, right? A man didn’t leave his horse and saddle behind if he wasn’t planning to come back for them.
Besides, Seth Holt kept his word. He’d bring those chickens.
A tingling sensation danced up her spine like sparks from the fire. Chickens was the last word on her lips. The last thing she’d said to him—or was about to say.
Looking around the kitchen, her gaze landed on the bread bowl. She’d make bread. That would busy her hands, which would busy her mind and help her think straight.
She took down the bowl and set the kettle on for warm water.
“What if his folks don’t let him come back tonight?”
Chester finished the scraps and glanced her way.
“You’re right. That’s ridiculous. He’s a grown man. All of twenty-two, with years of thinking for himself.”
The dog plopped down beside the stove.
“But he might have to wait until tomorrow morning. It’s not all that easy to get a cow to move at a lively pace.” She waited for Chester’s agreement.
He licked his jowls.
“Fine conversationalist you are.”
She stopped talking to the dog and concentrated on what she was doing. Her favorite part of baking bread had always been the kneading, and she put all her pent-up energy into it until she had a smooth, satiny ball of dough turned into the bowl with a towel over the top.
“The day is young, Chester. The sky bright and clear, with very few clouds ringing the peak. Did you notice that earlier? There are no cloudbanks building yet. Not that they won’t be by midday. So that means we should get going.”
The dog sat up and cocked his head at her.
“I know what he said, but he can’t just order me around.”
She laid her apron over the back of a chair. “And I can’t just sit around either. Not when it’s such a beautiful day and there are horses outside and places to see. What do you say—you up for an outing?”
Chester made a throaty sound and turned his head away.
“Don’t you scold me too.”
Men! Impossible creatures.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused. “I’ll be down and ready to leave in two shakes of your feathery tale.”
~
Seth thought he was losing his mind, for he’d sure enough gone and tossed his heart.
When he was far enough away from the barn, he glanced back. He couldn’t see Abigale, which meant she couldn’t see him. Good.
If she hadn’t looked so dang pretty and perturbed, he might have gotten away without showing his hand.
But the memory of the moment made him want to go back and finish what he’d started. For all her fight and fire, Abigale Millerton was as sweet and soft as a new feather pillow.
The thought of her being alone prodded him on, and he flicked the reins. “Get on there, ol’ girl. We’re burnin’ daylight and it’s winter, so we’ve got none to spare.”
Late-morning, he pulled up on his ma and Emmy stepping out of their wagon, just home from church. Pa nodded and drove to the barn. The dogs yapped and barked around the rig until Seth jumped down, and they wiggled up to him, whining their apologies.
Emmy ran into his arms. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you. Course Ma wasn’t, you know. She said you were somewhere safe. But it’s been forever. Where were you?”
He gave his sister a quick kiss on the top of her head and reached for the pie.
“About time you showed you face.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry about that, but I got waylaid by the storm.” He looped an arm around his ma’s shoulder.
Her gaze darted from the basket in his hands to the wagon and mare, and back to him. “You lose your horse?”
“No, ma’am. Coop’s at the Millerton place where I sheltered.” He kissed her on the cheek and handed her the basket. “This pie’s from Abigale. To thank you for the chickens.”
Emmy tugged on the basket and peeked in. “What chickens? And what kind of pie? Is it pumpkin? I love pumpkin.”
His ma frowned as she lifted the napkin from Abigale’s peach pie that he believed was as good as hers, though he wouldn’t mention that part.
“Abigale Millerton is back at her grandfather’s ranch? This time of year?”
“She is. I didn’t know it when Coop and I headed for her barn. In fact, I didn’t know it until their old dog hounded me out into the snow and wind, where I found Abigale in a heap by the barn.”
“Sounds like we’ve got a story comin’ for dinner. I take it this is Abigale’s mare and buggy. Why didn’t she come with you?”
“Yeah, why didn’t she come?” Emmy tugged on his arm.
“Leave Seth be and take this inside, Emmy. Be careful you don’t drop it. We’ll have it with dinner.”
At his ma’s patient stalling, he tugged his hat off and scrubbed his head. “Because she’s the most stubborn, infuriating gal this side of Pikes Peak.”
His ma’s face lit like it did when she was hiding a private joke.
“She won’t leave the place. Got it in her head to stand off against some timber thief that’s cutting her lodgepole.”
His ma patted a hand over her heart. “I knew you were all right, but I sensed something was going on. Go ahead and turn the mare out with the horses, then clean up and you can tell us about it while we eat.”
“I’ll be leaving right away. I don’t want Abigale on that spread all by herself. Not until we figure out who’s cutting her trees.”
His ma walked up the front porch steps and untied her bonnet. “Well, that’s no surprise, son. You’ve dogged after that young woman for quite some time.”
Ma meant well, but she sure had a way of taking him down a notch.
While he washed up in the kitchen, he filled his family in on Abigale’s ladder-building plan. His pa chuckled into his coffee cup. “She may not carry Millerton blood in her veins, but she’s sure enough got it in her head and heart.”
As usual, his ma spread a fine table, and her beef stew, cornbread, and the peach pie hit the spot every time she served another helping.
“We have any mail?” she asked between peach slices.
“No, ma’am. But I posted your letters the day I left, though the storm may have held up the stage.”
Pa picked up his coffee. “Tell me about this timber you think someone’s cutting on Millerton land.”
“That’s the biggest problem—we just suspect it. Hoot Spicer does too. He wouldn’t name names, but he said lodgepoles are still coming through the Windsor Mill when every other mill is shut down for winter.”
Pa pushed his plate back with a nod at his wife.
She stood and rested a hand on his shoulder as she took his plate.
Seth’s folks were always touching each other. Just seemed natural, to his way of thinking, and it made it hard for him to keep his hands to himself around Abigale. He’d sure enough failed in that regard today.
“I’d like to take that bucket of barn paint back with me so we can mark her trees. See if they come through the mill.”
Emmy screwed up her face. “You’re gonna paint trees brown? Aren’t they already brown?”
Seth tweaked her nose and she giggled.
“I figure we might have a week or two left before winter settles in for good. If someone’s greedy enough, they could ride into that timber for one last felling, especially if they think no one’s living in the house.”
“Don’t you suppose they’ve seen the chimney smoke?”
Seth nodded. “Suppose so. I drove Abigale into Divide yesterday for supplies, so I’m sure word got out then too. That’s when I talked to Hoot.” He looked his pa square in the eye. “But I want to know as badly as she does. If I leave her over there by herself, she’ll confront whoever’s trespassing and get herself in a jackpot.”
His pa took a swig of coffee.
“She should come here,” Emmy said.
“Scrape soap in the dishpan for me, Emmy.” Ma refilled his father’s coffee cup and tried to fill Seth’s.
He covered it with his hand. “No, thanks.”
“So you want chickens,” she said. “Moving them in this weather might upset them, you know. Keep them from laying. But I’ve got a half dozen you can take. Once they settle, you should get eggs. If not, you’ll get chicken stew.”
Her eyes sparkled as she rejoined her husband at the table and took his hand.
Seth wanted that kind of companionship, and he wanted it with Abigale. His ma was right about that too. He’d been loving Abigale for a long time. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself because he was afraid she’d marry some banker or lawyer in Denver rather than come back home.
“Can you spare one of your milk cows? Ernestine’s gone dry, but we can breed her come spring.”
“Oh, yes, please,” Emmy cut in. “That’d be one less to milk every morning.”
“Who do you think is helping himself to Millertons’ lodgepole pine?” Pa shot Seth a look.
“Blackwell. His place borders to the southwest. But he doesn’t have as much timber, or as good a stand as Millerton.”
His ma’s expression sobered. “You be careful, son. He’s not a gracious man.”
~
Not only did Seth’s folks give him a small crate of hens and return Abigale’s basket and pie pan full of eggs, his ma tied a young milker to the back of the wagon and his pa laid in a hunk of salted beef.
“Appreciate it, Pa. I know I’m leaving you short-handed, but I have to make sure Abigale is safe and has everything she needs before I come back.”
His father gripped him on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Seth. But be wise. Don’t go lookin’ for a fight that isn’t yours. Bring her here if you can, let things smooth over till spring.”
“And bring her before Christmas.” His ma came off the porch and looped her arm through her husband’s. “She shouldn’t spend the holiday all by herself with no family. Tell her we’d love to have her.”
If only it were that easy.