The Shepherd's Voice (11 page)

Akira was surprised by Gabe’s endurance. Eight days before, he’d passed out on the road from hunger, but now he was putting in a full day’s labor. True, they rested more frequently than normal, although she didn’t tell him that.

Early evening had settled over the valley by the time Gabe drove the wagon, with Akira seated beside him, to the stack yard. Sunlight caressed the trees, gilding the leaves. A slight breeze caused the grasses to undulate, rising and falling like the ocean.

Gabe wore a look of weary satisfaction as he drew the horses to a halt.

“No one would believe you’d never done this before.” Akira smiled when he glanced in her direction. “You’re a born rancher.”

After a moment’s hesitation, when he seemed to seriously consider her comment, he replied, “Maybe you’re right.”

As hungry as he was, Gabe was too hot, too sweaty, too tired to eat much. Even Akira’s cooking, which was always excellent, didn’t tempt him. She apparently felt the same.

Ten minutes after they’d sat down to supper—just the two of them, Mrs. Wickham having already eaten—Akira pushed her almost untouched plate away, then scooted her chair back from the table.

“Do you swim?” she asked as she stood.

“What?”

“Do you know how to swim?” She did the breaststroke through the air.

He frowned. “Yes. Why?”

“Because I can’t stand myself another minute. I need to wash off the dust and get rid of the cheatgrass in my hair.” She turned toward her bedroom. “I’m going for a swim. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like to come along.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Nothing sounded better.

He got to his feet. “I don’t have any bathing trunks.”

“My grandfather kept extra clothes on hand for guests and ranch hands. There’s bound to be something in one of the bureaus that will fit you. Wait here.” She disappeared into the other room.

Half an hour later, with towels thrown over their shoulders,
both of them clad in swimming attire beneath their denim trousers, they rode their horses up a narrow deer track into the forest.

“I usually settle for a creek that runs north of the house,” she said over her shoulder, “but it’s running low this summer. I wanted a real swim after the work we’ve done today.”

The sky darkened, revealing the evening’s first stars. The forest sounds changed as day gave in to night—the harsh cries of the jays silenced, the muted hoot of an owl taking their place. If not for the rising crescent moon, filtered through the branches of towering ponderosa and lodge-pole pines, Gabe would have lost sight of Akira altogether.

“‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.’” Her voice was gentle and low, but it carried back to him on the night breeze, each word clear and true. “‘I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust.’”

“What is that?” he asked when she fell silent.

“The Ninety-first Psalm.”

“The Ninety-first Psalm,” he repeated softly. Once he could afford to buy a Bible, he wanted to look up that verse for himself.

He had a lot to learn, a great deal of catching up to do. He longed to know more about God. He wanted to know more about farming and sheep ranching and —

“Follow me.” Akira reined in and dismounted. “The swimming hole’s right over there.” She tethered her horse to a bush. “Come on.” She vanished between two trees.

Whether out of habit or out of eagerness for the promised swim, he hurried to obey. He came through the trees and underbrush in time to see Akira dive into the moon-silvered waters of the pond.

She resurfaced with a shriek of pleasure. “It’s wonderful. Come on in.”

He wanted to learn all about Akira, too, he realized, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Not for him.

Or for her.

EIGHT

If there was one thing Gabe learned his second week at Dundreggan, it was that a rancher’s day began early and lasted long. And with good reason. There was always more to be done than there were hours to do it.

There was the livestock to tend—a half-dozen sheep; two pigs, one due to give birth in a couple of weeks, one meant for butchering come fall; three cows, one for milking, the others raised for beef; a henhouse full of chickens; the saddle- and workhorses. There was a huge garden to tend, rows and rows of corn, tomatoes, several kinds of squash, onions, pumpkins, and more. There was the large patch of berry bushes and also an arbor thickly laced with grapevines. Beyond the arbor was the fruit orchard with apple, peach, and cherry trees.

“This is the easy part,” Akira told him the day they weeded the garden. “The canning. Now
that’s
the part I hate.”

He wondered if she ever rested, but he didn’t ask. It would have sounded as if he was complaining, and he wasn’t. When he fell into bed at night, bone weary, muscles aching, it was with a sense of accomplishment, a sense of having done an honest day’s work. It was a good feeling, and he thanked God for it.

He thanked God for many things every day. At the moment,
he was thankful for the litter of newborn puppies Akira had discovered in the barn.

“Aren’t they adorable?” she asked, pressing one of the mewling, wheat-colored pups to her cheek.

Gabe thought it resembled a rodent more than a dog.

“I’ve got to show Mrs. Wickham.” Akira stood. “Come with me?”

“I’d better get back to work. Besides, I make the lady nervous. She doesn’t care to have an ex-con get too close.”

Her smile faded. “She doesn’t know you. Give her time.”

“Not everyone is as forgiving as you, Akira.”

“No matter what you did before, you’re different now. Christ has made you so.”

“People don’t always forgive. Not even Christians.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And they rarely forget. It’s something I’ve come to accept.”

Her greenish-blue eyes studied him intently. After a lengthy silence, she said, “Tell me about your brother.”

The request stopped him cold. No one had asked him about Max in years.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have pried.” She started toward the barn door.

“No. Wait.”

She paused, then turned.

“I’d like to tell you about him.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

He thought about it a moment before answering, “I’m sure.” He glanced toward the door. “But do you mind if we walk?”

“Of course not.” She returned the puppy to its mother.

They left the barn, side by side, walking with no particular destination in mind, Gabe silently trying to decide how and where to begin.

Funny, the way the mind worked. Years ago, he’d turned off his memories, closing them away in tight little compartments. He’d learned that captivity hurt less if he didn’t remember the way things used to be, if he didn’t think about the freedom he’d once taken for granted. If he didn’t think about Max and the brotherly love they’d shared.

It took real effort to bring the memories back.

Akira sensed that Gabe needed to gather his thoughts. She said a little prayer, asking God to grant him peace. Then she waited for him to begin in his own way, in his own time.

It felt comfortable to walk beside him this way. In the short time he’d been at Dundreggan, he’d become important to the life of the ranch. Perhaps, to be more honest, he’d become important to her.

She looked forward to seeing him each morning, to discovering the world for the first time through his eyes, to watching him put on weight and grow stronger. Working outdoors had bronzed his skin, and there was new definition in his biceps and shoulders, a new confidence in the way he carried himself.

She’d come to love his smile, too. At first, it had been rare as a blue moon. Now it came more easily, more frequently, and it made her heart skip a beat. Always.

I’ll hate it if he goes away.

She cast a surreptitious glance in his direction.

When he leaves. Not if. He won’t stay. Why would he?

Gabe caught her watching him. He smiled. “Do you always wear your hair like that?”

Reflexively, her right hand reached for one of her braids where it flapped against her shoulder. “Usually. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Gets in my way if I leave it down.”

“Yeah, I guess it would.” His gaze shifted into the distance. He was silent awhile longer, then said, “Max wanted to go to college to become a doctor. Hud wouldn’t let him.”

“Why on earth would he forbid such a noble calling?”

“He said doctors in these parts get paid in chickens and sides of ham, and that wasn’t the life for his son. Max was expected to inherit the Talmadge fortune. He was expected to learn everything about the mill and Hud’s other enterprises, not become a do-gooder.”

And you? What was expected of you
,
Gabe?

“My brother would’ve been a good doctor. He cared about everybody. He was smart and funny. I guess I idolized him. He was Hud’s favorite, but he never lorded it over me or Leon. In fact, he took care of us both, giving us the love Hud refused to give.” He paused, then added, “Our younger half brother, Leon, died of pneumonia while I was in prison.”

Akira acknowledged his words with a nod.

“Everybody liked Max. Everybody. Especially the girls.” He released a low chuckle as he shook his head. “All he had to do was grin, and they were swooning at his feet.” Gabe glanced at her.

She could understand why the girls swooned if Max’s grin had been anything like Gabe’s.

“He looked like our mother. Blond hair. Blue eyes. I’m told she was a great beauty.” His smile evaporated. “She died when I was born. That’s why Hud resented me. He blamed me for her death.”

“But that’s foolish. It wasn’t your fault.”

He shrugged and looked away again. “I wish I’d known her. Miss Jane talked about her often, when Hud wasn’t around. She wanted me to know who my mother was, especially that she was a woman of faith. But Hud …” He frowned. “Hud hated God—if
he believed in Him at all—and he was determined his sons would do the same.”

He fell silent, and the expression that crossed his face caused Akira’s heart to ache. She wished she could wipe away his painful memories. She couldn’t, so she prayed for him instead, asking the Lord to heal the hurts.

They reached the main road, cut across, continued down a narrow trail to the river. The sun rose higher in the morning sky, already warm upon their backs. When they reached the river, they stopped in the shade of a cottonwood. Akira sat on the ground. Gabe picked up a few smooth stones and skimmed them, one at a time, across the water’s surface.

When his hands were once again empty, he said, “Max died on my eighteenth birthday.” He swallowed hard; his gaze was fastened on some point in the distance. “I overheard him telling Hud he was leaving. He was going back East to medical school. He said I could help run things. He didn’t want Hud’s money or his businesses. All Max wanted was to be a doctor. But Hud said he hadn’t made his fortune to leave it to me. I charged into the office and demanded to know why he hated me. His answer was to hit me. Hard enough to knock me to the floor. I got up and ran out.” Gabe flinched, as if reliving the moment. “But first I grabbed a bottle from the liquor cabinet. All I wanted at that point was to get good and drunk.”