Faith Hope and Love (A Homespun Romance) (5 page)

Rachel's father had died when she was nineteen soon after the first anniversary of her arrival in Bangladesh.  A massive heart attack, Christina had written Rachel.  A neighbor had called the police alarmed by his dog's frantic barking at Les Carstairs' door.  The police had found him dead, contacted his sister whose name and address they had located by the telephone. 

Rachel had cried when she'd heard the news.  For a man who hadn't known how to be a father.  For what might have been.  She had waited for more news, clung to the hope that he would have left a letter for her, told her what he couldn't during his lifetime.  That he had indeed cared for her. 

But happy endings, Rachel had once again had to acknowledge, belonged only in fiction.  Aunt Mary had written that all his things had been disposed
of.  There had been no personal effects worth keeping.  The money her father had left her, she didn't even think of as hers.  It was no substitute for the love she had craved.

Chris had kept in touch.  Twice a year Rachel had received long gossipy letters about Chris' secretarial classes, the men in her life.  She had moved to California after her mother's death, and taken up a job in the University of California, Santa Barbara.  Time and again she'd asked Rachel to return.  They would share a flat.  Rachel could take some
classes; maybe even get a job in the University.  The letters always ended the same way.  Tons of love and kisses.  Intangible love.

Rachel hadn't been able to put her thoughts into words.  That she was where she belonged.  That she was afraid to risk failing in a one on one relationship again.  Her brief scrawled postcards kept communication open but the door to her real feelings closed.

Then Chris had met Rob Summers.  He had come to the university for some forms for the daughter of a friend.  It had been love at first sight.

After she was married, Chris' letters had become more insistent.  She wanted Rachel to come and spend a vacation at the ranch, get to know her new family.  They were wonderful people.  Rachel would love them.  Rachel had chosen not to try and find out.

Lost in her own thoughts she forgot Luke had asked her a question.

What had he said now to send her back into her shell?  Hannah and the doctor were both right.  She was a mass of nerves.

"Rachel?"  Propping himself on an elbow he wondered if she hadn't fallen asleep again.

"I'm sorry.  What did you say?"

"Don't you ever want to come home for good?"

"There's nothing for me here, now."

The stark statement was like a knife in his gut.  Questions bombarded his brain but he didn't let them out.  Getting to know Rachel Carstairs, coaxing her trust, couldn't be accomplished in one talk.  It would take more than a knight in shining armor to solve this particular riddle.  It was suddenly of paramount importance that he should do so as quickly as possible. 

Luke lay back, linking his fingers under his head.  Any successful campaign needed a plan.

Gordie sucked on his first bottle of the day with vigor.  Changed and fresh he smelt like rain washed flowers.  His skin was like crushed silk.  Dark eyes, exactly like Luke's were fixed on his uncle's face.  From time to time a hand came up and patted one cheek.  Sturdy legs flailed the air.  He was in a hurry to be done, to get on with the day.

"Easy champ, easy," Luke coaxed.  "You're going to get sick if you drink it down so fast."

Gordie didn't alter his pace and a few minutes later Luke put his nephew on his shoulder patting him till he burped.  Once, twice.

A sound in the kitchen doorway alerted him to her presence.  She was wearing the skirt of her pink suit with a sleeveless blouse.  She looked chilled. 

The sunshine feinted warmth, but the outdoor thermometer read forty-two.  December mornings could be very cold here. 

Her smile became strained as her eyes settled on Gordie.  For a moment there was a flash of intensity that blinded.  Then her mask slid back in place.

"Gordie," Luke turned the baby to face her, "meet your aunt."

He had decided Gordie would do his bit.  Rachel needed to belong.  A second cousin sounded like a distant relationship.  Calling her an aunt would make her feel more like part of the family.

Gordie looked at her for several seconds and then burrowed his head in Luke's neck.  He was beginning to recognize faces.

Rachel turned away, "He's so cute." 

She might have been discussing the weather.  Only the rasp in her voice betrayed her. 

Hannah bustled in and Rachel returned her greeting with warmth.  Yes, she felt perfectly fine now, thank you.  No, she couldn't stay in bed any longer.  "May I help with breakfast?"

The older woman recognized the stamp of strain on Rachel's face, for what it was immediately.  Heard the plea behind the words.  Rearing two boys had given her emotional radar.  Across the baby's red-gold curls, her eyes met Luke's with a message.  Don't rush her.

"Of course," she said warmly.  "Set the table for me will you, Rachel?  The plates are in the cabinet by the dishwasher and the cutlery's in the drawer above it."

Breakfast seemed a feast at the Diamond Bar.  Steaming oatmeal, jugs of cream, a pile of pancakes, curls of yellow butter, maple syrup, a covered dish of sausage and eggs. 

Rachel sipped at her juice, making no move to eat.  She had thought she had fortified herself mentally to be detached about Chris' son.  The giant leap of love her heart had given at her first sight of him told her she hadn't got near enough to success.

"Hannah, thank you for everything," Rachel cleared her throat, felt Luke's dark eyes on her.  "I'm sorry I made so much work for you."

Hannah's answering look was a question.

"Rachel wants to get back to L.A. today," Luke explained noncommittally.

"Where's the fire?"  There was no mistaking Hannah's amazement.  For once her smile had vanished completely and the hazel eyes were flecked with question marks.  "You've just got here.  You don't look well enough to go back to all that smog."

"Rachel has to let someone at MRA headquarters know where she is.  She'll probably be leaving for Bangladesh tomorrow," Luke supplied smoothly.

A warning leaped out of his eyes, arced across the table and Hannah nodded in perfect understanding.  "Send us a postcard will you?"

His compliance shouldn't grate.  It was what she wanted.  Wasn't it?  Rachel knew the sooner she got back on the job the quicker she could revert to normal.  She didn't belong here.  It was silly to feel reluctant to leave.  To let herself think she was anything but a transient here was dangerous.

"Eat," ordered Luke.

"I'm not hungry."  Even the juice couldn't trickle down any more.  "In fact if I could catch an earlier bus back to L.A. I could see a doctor there, save you some time."

Luke thought of the stack of papers waiting for him.  Of the urgent message on his computer to contact the head office.  Of grey eyes wrapped in hurt.

"I have nothing to do today.  You're not leaving until Dr. Kenton sees you.  Now eat."  He ladled oatmeal into a bowl, placed it in front of her.

Rachel picked up her spoon.  The oatmeal was a surprise.  Fat juicy raisins and crunchy almonds were hidden in it.  The first spoonful hit a spot that clamored for more.

Luke was saying something about a fence to Hannah.  Rachel's eyes slid to Gordie.  He was busy with the things on the bar that straddled his exercise mat.  His victory cry as he managed to grasp one of the plastic rings was followed by a flood of baby talk.  Rachel's heart melted into an immense puddle of longing.  He was a darling.

"That wasn't so bad was it?"  Luke sounded gruff, like he had in court. 

She looked at her bowl.  It was empty. 

Luke worked his way through a stack of pancakes in silence.  He had fielded the look that had rested on Gordie.  Naked yearning.  Why was Rachel hiding what she felt for the child?

She wasn't leaving here till he found out what was behind her charade.

"Hannah, if you would show Rachel around outside, I have a phone call to make before we leave for Santa Barbara.  I'll get a jacket for her."

He was back in a minute with a blue windcheater.  "Angela, Hannah’s niece, always keeps a spare jacket here.  This will fit you better than any of mine.'

Ignoring her outstretched hand he held it for her.  When she had her arms in place, he turned her around and began to button it up.  Heat coursed through Rachel, showing in her face.

"I can do that."

If she stayed around any longer she would began to be the helpless creature this man thought her.

"I know."  The fierce look was back in his eyes.  Rachel wondered how she had offended him.  He reached the top button, looked at her, then brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, as if he couldn't help himself. 

A verandah and three wide steps separated the ranch house from a green lawn that meandered out of sight.  On every side rolling hills undulated.  Rachel could see a few cattle on a distant slope. 

"I'm sure Chris told you we are tucked into the Santa Ynez mountain range.  Behind that hill," Hannah pointed to the low hills beyond the row of Italian Cypress that screened the house on one side, "is the farm.  Near it are the ranch hands' quarters and a couple of cottages.  The other staff quarters, we call them help houses here, are spread out throughout the ranch.  The one closest to us is the farm manager's.  Juan Rodriguez, the manager, is my brother-in-law.  Theresa whom you met yesterday is his wife and Angela's their daughter.  Marie who helps in the house is a cousin's daughter.  I married Juan's older brother, Carlos, when I was eighteen.  Carlos died five years ago when a horse threw him.  Since then I’ve lived in one of the smaller cottages, semi-retired, till the accident last July. 

Rachel didn't need to be told, Hannah's giving up of her retirement had been voluntary.  She wouldn't delegate the task of caring for Rob's son to anybody else.

"You've been here a long time."

"Yes.  I came out from Denmark when I was fifteen to live with my married sister in Solvang.  Two years later I saw the advertisement for a cook at the Diamond Bar in the local paper and applied for the job.  I didn't know a thing about American cooking, but I learned.  I met Carlos soon after I came here.  Our only regret in the fifty two years we were married was that we had no children of our own.  Rob and Luke made up for it though."

Moisture seeped into Hannah's eyes as she stared into the distance. 

"Luke's father lives in Arizona, now," Hannah continued after a while, "He's been here four times since the accident, even offered to move back if it would help, but Luke won't let him.  His arthritis almost cripples him when he's here.  Luke's convinced him we have it all under control.  He hired Angela and Marie to help in the house, so I can have all my time free for Gordie.  I still like to do the cooking though."

Rachel stared out at the hills wreathed in lazy mists.  What strange law made one man such a wonderful father, another a total failure?  She had watched the way Luke picked up the baby, held him, tended to his needs.  There was no awkwardness there.  His hugs and kisses were an open declaration about how he felt about his nephew.  Of one thing there could be no doubt.  Gordie wouldn't ever lack for love here.  The fact that she would never see Chris' son again shouldn't matter. 

"Ready?"  Luke's gaze skimmed Rachel's face, took in the corralled tears.  He had come up so quietly behind them she hadn't even heard him.

She was as ready as she would ever be.  Luke was carrying her handbag and her rucksack.  She hadn't even remembered them.  What was the sign she had seen in railway carriages in India?  Less luggage, more comfort.  Make travel a pleasure.  She certainly qualified as their official mascot.  No excess baggage.  Material or emotional. 

"I need to..." it was the only excuse she could think of to go in once again.

Luke nodded, "I'll wait right here."

Gordie was in his play pen.  On her way back from the bathroom, she paused a microsecond by him.  Hannah was in the walk-in pantry with her back to her.  Rachel leaned down and kissed the baby on the cheek.  She was entitled to one memory.

"Gaga," said Gordie agreeably.

"Love you," whispered Rachel.

To Rachel's relief, Luke didn't seem to notice her tension as they drove away from the ranch in a blue
pickup truck.  He talked about the ranch, how his great grandfather had come west in a wagon train during the gold rush.

"He didn't find any gold, but the land and the climate kept him here.  He staked out five hundred acres.  Refused to grow grapes though.  Ran cattle and horses."

Rachel had been staring out of her window since they left the ranch.  Her usual stony shuttered look was back in place.  So, thought Luke with satisfaction, leaving Gordie is costing her.  He needed to be sure.

"Great Grandpa Jasper had only one son, Robert," he continued smoothly, "Grandpa Rob had three children, two daughters and one son, my father, Gordon.  Both my aunts went to colleges back east.  One is married to a farmer in Virginia, the other is in Australia.  Mom was a neighboring rancher's daughter.  She said she decided to marry Dad when she was ten.  It took him ten years after that, though, to get around to proposing to her.  Mum was crazy about thoroughbreds.  Soon after they were married she and Dad worked on a proposal to make the Diamond Bar a breeding and training farm and presented it to Grandpa Gordon with quivering knees.  Grandpa took one look at it and said anyone who had put so much thought into it as to write a fifty page report, deserved a chance.  He lived long enough to see the Diamond Bar well on
its way to becoming one of the finest thoroughbred ranches in the state."