The Long Road Home (19 page)

“Thank you again for my gifts,” she ventured in whispers. “I should have given you one for the cabin.”

“You’ve done enough. Besides, I won’t be there long. Lambing is almost done.”

She swallowed and blinked. “Are you really going to leave?”

“Have to.”

She looked up in surprise.

“Getting too cold in that cabin,” he added.

“Well, you can stay here. I’ve told you that before.”

His eyes burned into hers for what seemed an eternity. “I can’t. You know I can’t do that. Especially now.”

She mouthed, Especially now, as she leaned slowly against the brick wall.

He paused and rubbed his cheek in consternation. Then, eyes on her, he took three steps toward her. She measured the distance with her breaths. As he neared, she pressed back against the cool brick with her fevered hands. Now, in the few inches that remained between them, the heat from his body seemed to scorch her own, and his breath was like a flame of fire upon her head. He pressed still closer.

She uttered a soft cry and raised her palm against his chest to stop him.

“Shhh,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to her head. Slowly, he traced a fiery trail to her temples, to her cheekbone, to her ear.

Her knees grew weak and her shoulders slumped. Her palm was resisting nothing and beneath it, his heart beat harder. She felt his head turn and his nose press against her cheek nudging her face upward to where he could continue his trail to her mouth. His lips teased hers like a butterfly, alighting here and there, until with a soft sigh, she relinquished and allowed the seal to open. The tip of his tongue slowly slid along the tight aperture, moistening her parched lips, then darted inside and eased them fully apart.

Then his lips possessed hers—cool and dry, then warm and wet—as their excitement leaped. His palm slid to her breast. Whimpering softly, she inched away.

“Let me touch you,” he entreated, his voice husky. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Reassured, she relaxed and, sliding her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe to meet him. Openmouthed and eager. She tottered back, but his hand grasped her bottom and anchored her firmly against him.

Fused together, his flame struck deep and low, and she felt
the rekindling of a fire she had thought long extinguished. Searing, swirling sensations traveled from her lips to her breasts to her belly, where they churned then shot back up to her brain. There, they wreaked havoc on her common sense. From somewhere came the message to slow down…to stop. But another, more urgent ache screamed to be fulfilled, drowning out any warnings for prudence. She felt starved for his kisses and hungrily sought his mouth for the passion he delivered.

He crushed her against the wall, and she felt, for the first time in many years, the long hard pressure of a male’s passion. As his hips began to move against hers, she was curious, even desirous, to feel again that passion between her legs. Slowly, tentatively, she moved her hips to his rhythm. Their music synchronized and they began to dance to the beat of their passion.

“Nora, Nora,” he whispered against her hair.

The sound of her name snapped her out of rhythm and she stiffened. Mike’s image flashed before her. Her lips shut tight and she clumsily pushed him back. For a moment, C.W.’s arms held tight, as though he would not let her go. Then he dropped them and took two steps back, leaving her trembling against the warm brick wall.

The heat of his kisses still smoldered on her lips as she took deep breaths of the cool evening air. Her heart was hammering the tale of her unabashed desire and though she shook her head in denial, she heard its truth.

She closed her eyes in shame and confusion. A part of her soared with joy at the spark he had ignited, but another, more practical side wanted to shove it back into hiding. She had no business getting involved with anyone right now, much less some handsome drifter. And—she remembered Mike.

When she opened her eyes, he was standing upright with his hands in his rear pockets and his gaze like flint.

“Just so I know,” he said. “Who are you pushing away? C.W. the man or C.W. the hired hand?”

Her mouth dropped open and she cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“I open a door and you slam it in my face. Why, Nora? Is it because you still mourn your husband? If so, tell me. That I can understand and respect.”

She stiffened. “It’s not that,” she blurted out.

He didn’t think so. “Then why, Nora?”

“I don’t know who you are,” she explained. “Where you’re from—”

“Or what I have to offer.”

Her voice caught in her throat. “Just what is that supposed to imply?” Her voice rose as she did.

“I think you know.”

The silence spoke for itself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, abruptly turning and grabbing his coat. “It won’t happen again.”

She sighed deeply, whether from relief or disappointment she wasn’t sure. Her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes. “No, it won’t,” she agreed softly. The air was heavy with repressed desire.

He turned to leave.

Let him go, she told herself. It’s better this way. But as his hand reached for the doorknob, her resolve fled and she pushed herself from the wall.

“C.W.!” she called.

He stopped and swung his head, hand still on the door.

“This has nothing to do with you. I—I just don’t want to get involved right now.”

He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. Disappointment etched his face.

“I wish I could believe that.” Then he turned and was gone, taking the warmth of the room with him.

She stood beside the fire, rubbing her arms against the cold. How could he understand, she thought in dismay? He probably moved from place to place as the whim struck him, depending on his strong back and his incredible appeal. But not her. She wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t looking for a good time. She wanted security at last.

C.W.’s questions flared up in her thoughts. What did he have to offer? Who was she pushing away: C.W. the man or C.W. the hired hand? She covered her face in her hands. “Both,” she said aloud. Nora wept bitterly against the rosy brick, cursing the ghost of her husband. She was afraid to take a risk again. Even after death, Mike could manipulate her rejection.

C.W. crossed the meadow with an angry stride. But by the time he finally reached the cabin, his anger had subsided into mere frustration. After all she’d been through, he could understand her hesitation, but not her fear. Nora, he thought, don’t be so afraid.

He pushed open the door and stood in the entry, hands on hips, lost in thought, while the night air blew in.

There were choices he could make, if only she would give him a sign. Some indication that she wanted him.
Him.
The man. His fortune had already attracted far too much female attention in his life. He wanted a signal that she loved him and the future his love alone could provide. Until then, and until he could clear his name, he had to keep his identity a secret from her.

But his patience was wearing thin, his passion was harder to keep under control. He slammed the door and kicked the potbelly stove, stirring up the embers and sending sparks flying.
He’d had about enough. Time was running out. His patience with Sidney and Nora was running out. He had to find a way to wrap this business up and find it quick.

Then, he’d never cross that damn meadow again.

IT RAINED FOR two days straight, making everyone feel as overcast as the skies. The earth turned to mud that clung to the heels of boots, the bottom of jeans, and the fleece of sheep.

Junior stood ankle deep in mud outside the Zwingers’ two-story redbrick house. He was soaked to the skin and valiantly trying to muster enough courage to knock on the Zwingers’ freshly painted white door and speak to Katie Beth. He knew she was in there: he’d waited across the street until she returned home from the dress shop. At least she wasn’t driven home by John Henry, he thought, puffing his cheeks in relief.

His toes were numb and his fingers were like icicles hanging from a low-pitched roof. Junior stomped his feet, succeeding only in spraying more mud on his jeans.

“Shoot,” he muttered under his breath. He might as well get this over with before he froze out here. Taking a deep breath, he rammed his hands into his jacket pockets and marched straight up the stairs to the front door, glancing nervously over
his shoulders at the trail of mud he tracked across the freshly painted Victorian porch.

The door was opened promptly by Fred Zwinger, Katie Beth’s father. He was big shouldered and tall and had a bristly black mustache that dark eyes glared over. Fred Zwinger had made Junior shrink in his boots ever since he could wear them. Seth had always said Fred’s stern ways was on account’a him havin’ five pretty girls to watch out for. That thought sure didn’t make asking to see the baby of the girls any easier for Junior right now.

“Seth Jr., what are you doing standing in that rain?” Fred asked, his dark brows bobbing.

Junior hunched and nervously stamped the mud from his boots. No one but Fred Zwinger and the reverend called him by his proper name.

“I come to see Katie Beth. She in, sir?”

Fred’s brows arched high in surprise. “
You’re
here to see Katie Beth?” He swung his head farther out of the door to check the curbside. “Where’s Frank?”

“He ain’t here. Just me, sir.”

Fred Zwinger stroked his mustache, perplexed. “Well, come on in. I’ll get her.”

“No, sir. I’m full of mud. I’ll just wait here.”

Katie Beth appeared as promptly as her father, with as much question written on her face but a lot more kindness.

“Come on in, Junior. You’ll catch your death.” She wooed a backstepping Junior into the tile foyer, where she assured him the mud could get wiped right up without fuss. Junior sneezed loudly and backhanded his nose.

“See, you’re catching a cold. Let me get you some blackberry brandy. It’ll take the bite off.”

“No, no,” Junior stammered, waving his hand before his mouth. “I never touch the stuff. Makes me sick.”

Katie Beth cocked her head and waited to hear what Junior had to say that would bring him here even in the cold rain. Her eyes were shiny and she seemed nervous, as if she anticipated that the news had to do with Frank.

Junior colored, held his breath, then blurted out what he had to say like a trumpet blast.

“Frank loves you and you oughta marry him but he’s afraid to ask you ’cause he thinks you love John Henry and he’s got nothin’ and thinks he’s not good enough for you but he is.” Junior stopped, breathless, with his eyes wide, staring at Katie Beth.

Katie Beth’s mouth was hanging open and she stood quiet so long Junior began to shuffle his feet.

Her mouth gradually closed, and Junior was relieved beyond belief to see that her lips closed in a smile. He let loose a tremendous sigh.

“Is that so?” Katie Beth replied slowly. Her face softened. “You’re a good brother, Junior. And a good friend to me, too.”

Junior turned redder and made a dash for the door. “I gotta go now.”

Katie Beth put her hand on his damp coat sleeve as he reached for the door knob.

“Tell Frank I think he’s got everything a girl like me could want.”

For two nights, since the kiss, C.W. did not walk over to the big house for their usual seven-o’clock meeting. Instead, he stayed in the cabin poring over his files and creating a farm budget that would coerce Nora MacKenzie to reveal her financial situation. To do that, C.W. needed to keep his feelings for Nora separate from the job at hand. He needed the cold approach to carry this off.

But at what cost? That morning, a dull ache formed in his chest as he approached the barn’s entry. Despite himself, he hoped that he’d spy her blond head bent over some lamb. Regardless of his resolve, he realized that he missed her.

It was clear that Nora had made her own decision to back off, and he had to admit he was burned that she’d decided to ignore him completely. Although she was polite when they fed the ewes, prompt to help repair the grain feeders for winter, and agreeable to his opinions on balancing the sheep rations, no sooner was Nora done than she ducked out like a bat out of hell.

Esther, too. Like Nora, Esther showed up for her chores, did them efficiently, then darted away with scarcely a hello. It was clear the two women wanted nothing to do with the men around here.

C.W. spotted Nora in the barn, filling the feed box with confident ease. He stepped back in the shadows and watched. Nora was learning fast and already doing a number of chores that Esther used to do. Given the chance, she might just make it on this farm, C.W. realized with appreciation. He leaned against a timber and crossed his arms and legs, considering again how the hell he’d manage using MacKenzie’s secrets without destroying his widow’s chances.

It had been hell watching Nora blossom from city flower to wildflower. From pale and skinny to pink and rounded. Her cautious guard had dissipated to reveal a spontaneity that lured his own wounded spirit from its shell. Her mellifluous laughter was luring out his own.

And through her eyes, he viewed day-to-day chores with renewed awe. Each birth was a miracle, each lamb assigned a personality. Even hauling hay was done with a lighter heart.

Nora moved away from the ewes and headed toward the creep for preweaned lambs. C.W. straightened quickly, tucked
in his shirt, buttoned his sleeves, then entered the barn a man with a mission.

C.W. approached the creep and abruptly cleared his throat. Nora looked up at him with eyes filled with an inner peace. Seeing it, his own shaky peace was rocked.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He rested his hands on the rail and lifted a boot on the creep’s runner. “I’ve got that budget information you requested. Whenever you’re ready.”

Willow stood up at the noise and slipped through the panel that lets lambs in but keeps ewes out. Nora walked to the lamb and plopped down cross-legged next to Willow.

“That’s great, C.W.,” she said, looking at the lamb rather than him. The runt was growing heavy and strong between milk and high concentrate rations, and Willow had a definite preference for Nora.

“Never saw a lamb take so to a human,” he said, moving closer to the pair. “Maybe you’re right about him being exceptional.”

“At least he knows what a nipple’s for. Isn’t that right?” she asked the lamb, scratching behind the lamb’s ears and neck.

When was she going to stop talking to that infernal lamb, he wondered with another scowl? He moved still closer.

“Do you think Willow understands English?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Nora said, finally looking up. She seemed pleased to be exchanging her first joke with C.W. in days.

A smile escaped C.W.

Nora smiled back, quickly, before looking back at the lamb.

“Willow tells me you’re loafing off down here and only work this hard when I’m here watching you,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Does he now?” he replied gently. C.W. bent down and
patted Willow’s head. “Well, little fellow, did I ever tell you how much I like lamb stew?”

Willow looked sleepily up as C.W. stroked his chin.

“I can see you frighten him,” Nora said in a whisper.

“Yes. It’s obvious I have this effect on people.” C.W. turned his head to face Nora. On bent knee, his face was inches from hers, and he could feel her warm breath against his cheek.

“Do I frighten you too, Nora?”

Her mouth opened but no response formulated. Her lips, now centimeters from his own, slowly closed. Her breath stilled. The air grew thick. Closer they drew, their lips almost touching.

“Ahem. Am I breakin’ up something here?”

Seth stood at the far railing, hands in his pockets, smiling a toothless grin.

Nora jolted back while C.W. jumped up and stepped back a pace or two, shuffling his feet in the straw.

“Nope,” C.W. replied, running his hand through his hair. “Just talking to Nora, that’s all.”

Seth raised his brows and offered a doubtful expression.

“Can’t say as I ever knew she was so hard of hearing.”

C.W. grimaced and knew there was nothing he could say to change what the old coot was thinking. And hell, he was right. He was about to kiss her. He peered over his shoulder and found Nora’s eyes still on him.

“I hear you’re ready to start work on the insulation,” Nora said shifting her gaze to Seth. “None too soon. It seems to be getting colder by the day.”

“I thought it was getting warmer,” Seth replied.

Nora blushed, and C.W. rocked on his heels and whistled a silent tune.

“I got the batting and some drywall,” Seth mumbled, pulling out ragged papers from his equally frayed jacket. “Joe
Cronin brung it up. You know Joe. Does construction. Lives in the gray cape by Squire’s place. Married to Fred Zwinger’s little girl, Elsa.”

Nora couldn’t keep all the names straight but nodded anyway. She’d know Joe and Elsa, and Fred, “the pump man,” well enough by the time the house was finished.

“Got the figures too,” Seth continued. “We’ll do the work for a good price, but it ain’t going to be cheap. There’s lots of floors and walls in that big house, and gettin’ it ready in time for winter will take full-time work.”

Nora sighed and chewed her lip. “Everything is a lot of work and a lot of money these days,” she replied. “Still, we’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.”

That comment played right to C.W.’s hand. “Speaking of money,” C.W. said, drawing Nora’s attention back.

Nora set Willow down off her lap onto the hay, ignoring his bleats of protest, and proceeded to rise. She shooed away C.W.’s hand. No more nonsense, her eyes told him. C.W. felt properly chastised.

“Well,” she said to C.W. “when can we meet? I’d like to get started as soon as possible. How about four o’clock?”

“I’ll be tied up all afternoon. Why not the usual time. Seven o’clock?”

“It’s a date,” she replied, then stammered. “I mean, yes. That would be fine.”

Nora left with Seth, unaware or uncaring that C.W. followed her every step out of the barn. C.W. ground his teeth as he stared at the emptiness left by her departure. If he wasn’t careful tonight, that emptiness would be all he’d have left.

C.W. and Nora sat in agitated silence across the long mahogany dining table. It was seven-fifteen and they were meeting as planned to discuss the budget. It was clear that they
would not discuss what had almost happened between them. Yet Nora could think of nothing else.

C.W. was thinking only of business. He quickly glanced at his watch. There was no putting this off. He had to get his hands on her books. Time was of the essence. He covered all the angles to ensure the result would be the same. How many times had he designed an interview in his career? More than he could count. And he had always emerged the victor. Yet never before had his emotions been involved. Never before had the outcome been so important.

“Well,” he said, sitting straight and slipping on his wire-rim glasses. “Shall we get started?”

Nora nodded and brought her chair closer to the table.

“This is a good lambing,” C.W. began, pointing to the column of figures. “Lots of twins. Few deaths. All together Seth expects to bring your flock up to about one hundred.”

“That’s good,” Nora said, her enthusiasm sounding false in the tension. He was being exceptionally formal again.

“Yes, but not good enough.”

C.W. went on to carefully review the fixed and variable costs, the depreciation, and discussed in detail the profit-and-loss statement. The situation was bad, but C.W. had deftly maneuvered the numbers to paint the picture bleak.

He tapped his pencil across his palm. “The bottom line is you’re facing more losses. In the past Mike covered the losses with a check. No questions asked.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, then shoved over a sheet of paper with long columns of his calculations.

“The farm will not push into the black. You’ll need to do likewise.”

Nora’s mouth gaped open as she read the amount. It was staggering. More than she had left in her account after the
winterizing of the house and the pricey new ram. She slumped in her chair and rubbed her temples with shaky fingers.

“I don’t have it.”

C.W. slowly removed his glasses, folded them, and laid them parallel to his pencil before looking up again. This was it. She had finally admitted financial trouble.

“Are you saying that your husband’s estate can’t balance this budget?”

“What estate? I don’t have the capital. It’s gone.”

There was a long silence. Gone? It was worse than he’d thought. Go on, he silently urged. Let’s get this out in the open and done with.

Nora shook her head and slumped down in the chair. “When Mike died, the outstanding debts were enormous,” she replied with a voice that had lost its enthusiasm. “It’s too hard to explain. Some of it is beyond my own understanding.”

C.W.’s fingers drummed on the table as he watched her stare in silence out the window while her chest heaved.

Nora looked over at him, her face clouded with indecision.

C.W. stilled his fingers.

She wrapped her arms around her chest. She seemed to be fighting an inner battle. Then, dropping her chin to her chest, she released a ragged sigh.

“I need your help.”

C.W. exhaled slowly. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. Folding his hands tightly before him, he asked in a low voice, “What do you want me to do?”

Nora looked at his face, and in that moment he saw her make a leap of faith. It made him sick with guilt. Rising with resignation, Nora walked to the maple sideboard, and from its center drawer she pulled out a long leather volume. He craned his neck for a better view.