Seeing Daylight (5 page)

“Sounds good.” He dismounted quick, wishing he could help her dismount so he could enjoy her body's slide down his, her scent filling his senses. But of course an experienced rancher like Rachel didn't need his assistance and probably didn't want it anyway. But his breath caught when she held out her hand to him after tethering the horses to a branch.

“Come on,” she said, waving her fingers. His disappointment flared; she hadn't been inviting him to hold her hand, merely indicating the direction. Her cinnamony scent floating near him helped make up for the loss of her warmth.

The path down past the dedicated horse trail was primitive at best, and he decided to go first. Likely she'd traversed it often, but he wanted to man-up. “I'd have worn my broke-in hiking boots if I'd known we were going so Wild West.” He tossed over his shoulder.

“Not much of a pioneer spirit, are you? Anyway, I like your Bright Angel boots. Ten dollars from every pair sold going to children's cancer. They look good,” she called back, words carried on the wind. He turned quickly so he could watch it tussle her hair, pleased at her compliment. Pleased she'd noticed the least little thing about him.

So pleased he stumbled, backwards, boot heel meeting a rock. He flailed a bit, and her arms reached to catch him, to steady him. To pull him close. His racing heart didn't do a thing to calm him.

“Watch yourself, cowboy.” Her voice trembled against his chest, and she didn't pull away. “You wouldn't be the first to take a header down the hill.”

After a moment that lasted forever and not long enough, he swallowed hard and maneuvered to take her hand. “Thanks.” He strengthened his unsteady voice, drank in deeply of her scent, a heavenly aroma when mixed with sunshine and pine. “Last thing I need is to get laid up here at Hearts Crossing.”

Or not. Her fingers tightened through his as they made their way, together, to a small overlook ringed with chokecherry. Below them, the scenery all but stole his breath.

“It's a small stream-fed lake. Cold as ice but oddly refreshing after a hot day on the wagon train. Our guests swim and fish. There's a pretty little grove on the north side. It's said our ancestor Josephus Martin buried his faithful mule there. But Christy designed it as a natural gazebo for the ranch's destination weddings.”

“Is there anything Hearts Crossing doesn't offer?” he asked with a grin and a squeeze.

She smiled back, and he was certain he read flirtation in her eyes. “No. There's something for everybody.”

The love of her land gentled her voice, and the chill in the breeze warmed at her words. Something new was going on inside him. “Even from here, it's gorgeous. Maybe we ought to go swimming there ourselves. You could show me the place close up.”

Her smile warmed him through. “I think we could manage that.”

They headed back up the path to their horses, wordless and comfortable. Spirits high, he untethered her horse and handed her the reins. He was unable to resist the gallantry. Her smile dazzled. The ride back to the ranch had him wondering if she could read him. He'd come more alive at Hearts Crossing in this afternoon than he had in years. Dismounting, he carefully plotted what to say as he and Rachel set to unsaddling their horses.

“I'll check the water tubs,” Rachel said, apparently back in everyday mode. How then could he feel the trail ride had been so momentous? Like…well, he might as well say it.

“Rachel, after today. I feel like I've known you forever.”

She looked up from the water hose. Eyes bright, with tears, he figured. Fingers tense around the nozzle. She'd never looked more beautiful, and he wanted to help her,
needed
to help her, felt
called
to help her, through whatever it was tormenting her. He knew it was more than widowhood. Something had gone wrong, and Nick had died before it could be fixed.

“Brayton.” She shook her head and looked upward. “I can't deny I'm flattered or attracted to you. I liked touching your hand, being close. But this isn't the right time, you know, for anything more than a friendly ride to Joe's Hole. Or a cup of coffee during Addie's lessons. Nothing extra, nothing special. That's all I can promise. All right?”

He held in a smile of triumph. At least she wasn't spurning him or slamming an imaginary door in his face. “I'll take whatever you want to give me, Rachel. I'll never ask for more.”

 

 

 

 

5

 

“Sounds good, Brayton. And I did enjoy our day.” Rachel meant every word, enjoyed the return of her smile, but his face tensed, and he pointed toward the house.

A few of the kids at the porch steps wore Scout uniforms, but most had on plaid shirts and Western hats. Surrounded by a half-dozen of them, Addie Metcalf preened like Scarlett O'Hara at Twelve Oaks and set Rachel grinning. She easily recalled those days of being almost-thirteen. She grinned harder as she watched Brayton's fingers clench.

“Oh, that must be Bragg's Rodeo College,” she said with a tease, glad for the change of subject. “They sure look like a bunch of nice boys, don't they?”

Grumbling a response, Brayton obviously recalled the age group, too, for he started a fast stomp to the house. Ma was standing guard, though. Rachel saw Brayton relax. The bachelorettes were part of the mix, too. Walking normal pace from the corral, she caught sight of Bragg and a few of the Scouts romping past the corral with Matty and one of the ranch dogs. Toddler and Border collie had obviously made complete and frequent contact with a mud puddle. As always, her heart exploded with love at sight of her boy, and now, with the pure joy of nature and family. Love? She knocked that word out of her head.

But hmmm. A dog of his own might be something for Matty when they made the move. Funny. The ride with Brayton had helped Rachel realize she
was
ready to move on.

“Oh, howdy, Rachel,” bridesmaid Cricket called out with a squeak as she left her friends and trotted close. “Bragg's been teaching us all roping skills. I nailed the pretend wire cow twice! Who's your friend?” Her eyelashes batted toward Brayton although Rachel clearly remembered she was attached to Travis. Brayton, however, wasn't attached to anybody. Yet. Could he and she be something together, someday? She wasn't ready...but she had liked the touch of his hand.

And the hand was usually given before the heart.

She remembered her manners. “Cricket, this is Brayton. His daughter Addie is over there...”

“What a cutie. You're gonna have your hands full.”

Brayton grumbled again and Rachel smiled in secret.

“Brayton? Brayton Metcalf?”

Suddenly a voice rang out from the porch where a herd of Scouts' parents lounged on sturdy log furniture, plates of lunch balanced on laps. “Is that you? Whatcha'all doing here?”

As if roused from another place, Brayton shook his head and looked up, waved, and turned back to Rachel. “Some River Ridge folks.” Then he returned the yell. “Hey, Crusty. My daughter's had a riding lesson. You?”

“Scoutmaster. Ridge County Scout troop's getting some merit badges done. Gonna take a trail ride in after we eat. The lot of us is spending the night in the bunkhouse. You ought to stay over and perform some horsemanship skills with us tomorrow. Another badge for the boys, but we're all having fun.” Suddenly, Crusty looked over at Ma, perhaps realizing he wasn't in charge of guest services.

But Ma, ever all eyes and ears, added to the invitation. “You sure ought to, Brayton. Addie's fitting in with these fine folks like rainwater in a drought. We have plenty of room.”

Rachel's heart sank. Riding at Brayton's side all morning had thrilled her, but she was confused. She wanted him near and yet she wanted him gone. Somewhere on this ranch she needed to find a quiet space to catch her breath and sort her thoughts, clear her head and open her heart. But he'd fill every cubic inch of air if he stayed. She sighed in defeat. Ma was a force of nature in her own right and rarely did folks tell her ”no.”

Addie was jumping up and down like the child she was. “Come on, Dad. You always keep a change of clothes for us in the trunk. Come on. Say yes. Please?”

“Besides which,” Ma said, dispatching her matchmaker glare, “anything you might need, you're likely to find in our gift shop. We keep it stocked for any tourist eventuality.”

As Brayton's eyes beseeched Rachel to second the invitation, her blood poured heat through her veins. Sitting at supper with him, lounging close afterward in front of the fire. The possibilities were endless, beguiling. Tantalizing, but frightening as well. Forcing every cell to calm down, she shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Her tone was neutral, not inviting but not inhospitable either. “Addie'll have a blast.”

The disappointment in his gaze made her ache, but she left him, headed into the house, leaving him to chat up his hometown neighbors. In the dining room Ma had spread a luncheon buffet, and her mouth watered in spite of her nerves. Once calm in thoughts and controlled of body, she'd take Brayton a plate so he could eat with her. Just the thought, just the anticipation started her heart beating up her ribcage, ascending to a knockout when the clomp of boots, the scent of outdoors and pine came up behind her. And mud.

“Mama!” Matty jumped at her, and she caught him.

“Your own mama declared this ragamuffin is ready for lunch and a nap. I volunteered to bring him inside,” Brayton said as her heart hammered now.

Rachel's delight stole her breath. She might not be ready entirely, but it was just one day, after all.

“I'm thinking a bath has to line up somewhere in there,” she said, amazed at her calm tone. She set Matty down, brushed away mud flakes, and handed Brayton a plate. “Let's eat. Matty, Gramma has cheese here. And ham.”

“No mustard.”

Brayton grinned at her son while she dished up. Then, as if a thunderbolt had struck, or a locomotive had caught him in its headlamps, he stood stock still at the table.

Rachel understood. Most visitors did that when beholding for the first time the artwork hanging on the wall. Her grandmother's large oil painting of The Feeding of the Five Thousand, only Jesus wore fringed buckskin and the hungry were representatives of as many Native tribes as Grim-Gram had been able to research.

“Incredible. I've never seen anything like that. Mari...” He halted, but it wasn't with emotion from the painting.

“Marianne would have loved it,” Rachel finished for him, covering his embarrassment at a slip of the tongue, waiting a few seconds while she spooned some baked beans on her plate. “I know she would have. She studied art. It's quite something. Primitive and unexpected, but real.”

Brayton peeked close. “It's an original oil. Signed by Frieda Louise Julia Martin.”

“My grandmother. Our gift shop building used to be her granny flat. She painted relentlessly in her golden years. I've always loved her worldview. ”

“That's mighty something.” Brayton looked straight at her. “More and more, I see how special life is here at Hearts Crossing.”

His lips caressed the word
special
, and she wasn't too naive to understand that he meant her. “Let's eat.” Food ought to discharge the potent moment. “Then I'll get Matty tended. He'll want a story after lunch before his nap.”

“I'll help,” he announced. For some reason, the announcement irritated her. Because she wanted to be near him and then again, she didn't dare.

“No need. I've been doing it myself his whole life.”

Brayton's cheekbones colored burgundy across his suntan. “I know. I just missed those little things with Nate.”

Of course. He'd been five when Brayton met Marianne.

“Well, I'd say he's lucky to have you.”

“You mean that?” His voice was so soft she could barely hear.

“I do.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know, that's all. I've seen Addie.”

“But she and I aren't getting along all that well.”

“It's all part of nature, part of the process.” She grinned. “You'll see. Especially if you don't go all shotgun at that boy out there.” Raising her chin and shoulder, she indicated one of the Scouts outside, gabbing up a storm with Addie. “Look at her confidence. How tall and strong she's standing. Everything you could wish for.”

“Gotcha.” Brayton chuckled.

“Now let's eat.” Somehow shy, they settled in the big front room highlighted with a Ponderosa-sized fireplace of river rocks. Both for ambience and for warmth, Ma kept the grate burning almost full time six months of the year using deadfall from the family's forestland. Brayton's placing an afghan on the sofa cushion before letting muddy Matty sit there touched Rachel's heart. Truly he'd had a little boy in his life! When he started cutting Matty's food in bite-sized pieces, Rachel thought her heart would explode at the sweet sight.

“Great grub,” Brayton mumbled through a bite of cornbread soaked in chili.

“I don't eat that,” Matty announced. “But I like my ham.”

Brayton laughed. “Well, I like ham, too. Everything is delicious.”

“Thank you kindly on behalf of Hearts Crossing, sir.” Rachel smiled at him.

“More reason to stick around,” he said then blushed furiously.

Busying herself with Matty, Rachel had to ignore him. The image of him close by was far too appealing.

As if a switch had been turned off, her little boy suddenly all but collapsed into his food, his busy romp having caught up with him.

“I think naptime starts now,” she said as Brayton chuckled. “We'll have to stick with the traditional Saturday night bath.” She rose. “If you're finished, I'll clear our dishes then tuck in my little man. At present, we share a room upstairs.” Somehow, it wouldn't be seemly taking Brayton up there, even if it was just to lullaby her small child.