Chapter Thirty-Eight

After supper Sarah avoided Walker, going instead to the front porch. The encounter with Caleb had left her numb.

Gazing at the stars, she wondered why she’d opened herself to more of Walker’s disgust. He didn’t believe a thing she said. Her eyes traveled to the darkened bunkhouse. The ranch was remarkably quiet tonight. During supper, Flo had mentioned a grange dance that she and S.H. planned to attend, if they could stay awake. Apparently the ranch hands had taken advantage of the monthly social as well and left the bunkhouse early.

Drawing her wrap closer, she leaned against the railing, imagining herself in Walker’s arms, dancing to the music of banjos and fiddles.

Sighing, she opened her eyes, aware that her dreams were as hopeless as their relationship. She would give everything she had to start anew, but she couldn’t. Tonight she had only heightened his anger by accusing his best friend of being a thief. Maybe the time had come for her to go home. There, Papa and Wadsy and Abe would love her. After the baby came, Abe could deliver the child to Walker and…

Her hand slipped to her stomach, where part of Walker McKay grew. She’d seen the doctor, and he confirmed that her pregnancy was going well. The baby kicked, a strong flutter, reminding her that if anyone had been wronged, it was this innocent child who was created in love—if one-sided.

Stepping off the porch, she meandered to the side of the house and entered the rose garden. Sitting down on a bench, she stared at the neglected bushes—painful reminders for both her and Walker. Did he keep them to bolster his belief that all women were schemers? Her gaze swept the light that burned in Walker’s study and then returned to the roses. Fall was here, and the flowers were almost gone, the vines withered and drawn. What must Walker think when he looked at the shriveled tokens of his and Trudy’s love?

Hopeless tears swelled to her eyes. One moment she was reasonably optimistic that Walker would forgive her; the next, she wallowed in a pit of despair. Both Doc and Flo had assured her that mood swings were normal, but tonight they didn’t feel normal. They felt hateful and strange, as if someone else occupied her body.

Tears ran down her cheeks. Her breasts were sore to the touch, her ankles puffy and swollen. She must weigh ten pounds more than she did last week, even though she’d passed on Flo’s chocolate cream pie tonight.

Her eyes roamed the garden and then switched back to the light that streamed from the study window.

Walker had no right to treat her this way. Shoving off the bench, she gathered her wrap and marched around the corner of the house.

He couldn’t treat her like this—barely speaking to her, ignoring her when she walked into a room, locking himself away in that hateful study every night, refusing to go to town socials. He made them live like hermits.

Walker dropped the journal he was reading when Sarah pushed through the study doorway. “You can’t treat me this way.”

Retrieving the magazine, he grunted. “Ever hear of knocking?”

Striding across the floor, she cleared the top of his desk with a defiant sweep of her hand. Papers, journals, and blotters fell to the floor in a heap.

Shoving back from the desk, Walker stared at the carnage. “Are you in another one of those moods?”

“I’m not in a ‘mood’ and you listen to me, Walker McKay. Trudy might have betrayed you, and you might think I’m just like her, but I’m not! Do you hear me?”

He tried to straighten the papers. “The whole ranch can hear you, Sarah.”

She leveled a finger at him. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not patronizing you. I’m telling you that everyone in a ten-mile radius can hear you.”

“Good. Then maybe they’ll listen to my side of the story.”

Getting up, he fetched a ledger, but she stepped in front of him before he could open the book. They faced off, neither giving an inch.

“You’re in my way.”

“You are not going to fix this by ignoring me. You’re going to talk about us whether you want to or not.”

Grasping her by the shoulders, he set her aside. She dogged his attempts to reach his chair.

“Trudy ran off with another man. I didn’t.”

“At least I knew who Trudy was.”

“Just because I’m not the bride you sent for—and you should be down on your knees thanking the good Lord that I’m not!—doesn’t mean I’m bad. What I did was foolish, and for the hundredth time I’m sorry. But if you’re so pigheaded that you can’t see that you and I belong together, then I give up.”

“I understand what you’re saying.” He opened the ledger. “And it still stinks.”

Tears surfaced to her eyes. “You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

“It’s late, Sarah. Go to bed.” He stared at the garden, eyes fixed, jaw set.

“Oh, Walker.” Her voice caught. “There comes a time when you have to forgive or be eaten alive by bitterness. You stare at those roses and you won’t allow yourself to forget. Did you love her that deeply?”

The accusation in her voice surprised him. Love Trudy? He almost laughed. No. In time he might have grown to love her. His bitterness hadn’t been built on losing her love, he realized, but on the humiliation of being made a fool. He wasn’t about to let Sarah do it a second time.

“Did you love her, Walker?”

Sarah’s voice drew him back, and he turned to face her. “I fail to see how that should concern you.”

She picked the ledger up and hurled it at him. He ducked, barely avoiding being struck. “Sarah, if you throw one more—”

She reached for the humidor.

“Sarah McKay!”

He lunged for her as she threw the humidor at him and then darted away. Bolting into the foyer, she picked up a vase and threw it. He sidestepped it, chasing her. She was going to hurt herself—or worse, hurt the baby. “Sarah!”

She dashed outside and down the front steps. Racing around the corner of the house, she fled with surprising swiftness. He watched her skirt fade into the darkness.

Turning, he went back into the house, slamming the door behind him.