Within My Heart (37 page)

Lyda’s eyes brightened, though not enough to erase the veil of concern clouding her features. While Ben hadn’t suffered another heart episode or other setback in recent days, he also wasn’t gaining strength as they’d hoped. Prior to the resort’s grand opening last Saturday, Brandon Tolliver had demanded, for a second time, that Ben be removed from the Health Suite. Rand had flatly refused, according to Lyda, and had taken pride in introducing Ben to the important hotel investors as they toured the medical facilities. Ben felt honored beyond words at the attention, answering questions posed to him about the surgery and the resort’s medical accommodations. But mostly, he appreciated Rand standing up to the likes of Brandon Tolliver on his behalf.

“Every afternoon for the past week,” Lyda said, “Mr. Westin has stopped by the Health Suite to give Ben an update on the store. He describes the progress the workers have made. He even drew a sketch of the new counter over there so Ben could picture it exactly as it is.” She shook her head. “This is what I’ve been after Ben to do for years.” She let out a breath, her expression giving way to the grief she tried hard to hide. “But I’d give every bit of it up—this store, everything we own, today, right this minute—if Ben could be made whole again. If I could keep him with me.”

Rachel slipped her arm around Lyda’s waist. “I know you would, and Ben knows it too. But let him do this for you, Lyda.” She leaned closer. “And try to take pleasure in it . . . for his sake. The happiness he’s getting in doing this for you is giving him such joy.”

The next day, Rachel saw the boys to school, then spent the morning feeding the animals, milking the cow, and mucking out the stalls. Charlie arrived midmorning and helped her lay fresh straw and tote water from the stream. Quiet and somewhat sullen, he rode to check on the cattle as she gathered eggs and set two loaves of bread to rising.

That afternoon, back aching and with her fingernails still stained from barn work despite repeated washings, Rachel met the boys after school and walked them the short distance to James and Molly’s house. Molly had agreed to watch them while she met with Mr. Westin.

Important decisions awaited, ones Rachel wasn’t sure she was ready to make.

She made a brief stop by the general store to check the basket she’d left beside the front doors on the boardwalk. With Rand’s help, she’d fashioned a rustic wooden sign with the inscription
Notes of Encouragement for Ben and Lyda Mullins
and they’d hung it above. Without fail, each day the basket held a collection of letters and notes. Today was no exception. Rachel tucked them into her reticule to deliver later.

True to young Elijah’s word, the warmer weather once again found Miss Clara’s cafe situated beneath the canopy of the ancient ponderosa pine. Miss Clara’s cast-iron stove skulked black and smoky beside the familiar array of mismatched tables, most of them already occupied, their blue-and-white-checkered cloths fluttering in the breeze. How comforting the simple routines of life often were, and how sweet.

Rachel spotted Edward Westin seated and waiting. He rose as she approached and held out her chair.

“You’re early, Mr. Westin.”

He glanced at his pocket watch. “As are you, Mrs. Boyd.”

She smiled. “I’m always early when I’m nervous.”

His expression held playful reproof. “No need to be nervous. As we discussed, I’m simply going to lay out the options available to you and let you decide. I have no financial stake whatsoever in the matter. I’m merely a liaison between a very intelligent and capable rancher”—he nodded in her direction—“and a former business partner of mine back east. Your decision is completely and utterly your own.”

Rachel felt a jitter. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or only contributes to my nerves.”

He laughed and nodded when Miss Clara came by with a pot of hot coffee.

“It’s still a mite early, so dinner’s not ready,” Miss Clara said, “but I’ll bring hot corn bread as soon as it’s done.”

Nodding his thanks, Mr. Westin withdrew a stack of papers from his satchel beside his chair. “I’ve worked the figures on your behalf, Mrs. Boyd, as you requested, based on the information you provided and . . .”

Listening, Rachel spotted James seated at a table on the opposite side of the cafe, near the stove. She discreetly tilted her head to the side, wanting to see who he was—

Rand.
He was with Rand.
Odd . . .
She’d seen Rand last evening, and he hadn’t said a word about getting together with James today. Not that he had to tell her his schedule, but James
was
her brother, and it only seemed—

“So you can see from the figures here, Mrs. Boyd . . .”

Rachel quickly readjusted her focus.

“. . . that you do indeed have enough capital for this venture
if
you’re willing to sell your current herd and take out a manageable loan for the remainder of the investment. My former partner’s willing to personally underwrite your loan, in fact.”

That got her attention, as did Mr. Westin’s detailed financial analysis. “And, by chance, does this former partner realize to whom he’s making the loan?”

“I don’t quite know what you mean, ma’am.”

Recalling what Mr. Fossey had said about how the bank’s investors would feel more secure if she were married, she felt she had to ask. “Does he understand that I’m a widow?
Un
married?”

Westin’s head tilted in acknowledgment. “He understands your situation, yes. And his willingness to make the loan is based in part on the market value of your land—the section not currently being held as collateral by the bank here, of course. As well as on the personal reference Mr. Fossey penned himself on your behalf. It was a stellar reference, Mrs. Boyd.”

Rachel stared, letting that sink in. “That was very kind of him.”

“I assure you, while Gilbert Fossey
is
kind, he’s also an excellent judge of character in relation to evaluating potential risks. You qualified for the loan on your own merit, though I feel sure your dealings with the bank here, as well as those of your late husband, influenced the final outcome. Gilbert has spoken most highly of your late husband to me, Mrs. Boyd. Of you both,” he said softly.

He said nothing for a moment, seeming slightly uncomfortable, then returned his attention to the papers on the table. “Now . . . in the event you decide not to purchase the Scottish Highlanders and choose to continue with your current operation, I’ve taken the liberty of working those figures as well. As you can see . . .”

Touched by what Mr. Westin had said about Thomas, and still mulling over Mr. Fossey’s generous reference, Rachel picked James’s laughter out of the crowd and was tempted to look over again. But instead, she made herself follow the column of figures down the page as Mr. Westin pointed to and explained each one.

Miss Clara brought dinner, and they continued to discuss business as they ate. Rachel chanced another look across the cafe, glad to find James and Rand still there, though neither gave any indication of seeing her. Whatever the two were discussing now, they seemed deep in conversation. Rand’s expression was especially serious. Her imagination led her down a very short path in regard to the reason behind their meeting, and the singular conclusion she reached might’ve tempted her to smile if it hadn’t nearly scared her to death.

The more time she spent with Rand, the more she wanted to spend. They were compatible in so many ways, and Mitchell adored him. Kurt did too, although Kurt was still a touch reserved around him. Rand was so different from Thomas, and she couldn’t keep from comparing them. She was the same woman. And yet, at times, she felt like someone completely different when she was with Rand.

And odd as it sounded, even to her, she liked that woman.

Rand hadn’t tried to kiss her again since that night at the clinic, which was probably for the best . . . she guessed. Still, she hadn’t gone out of her way to discourage him.

A boisterous party of miners arrived and claimed two tables near the center of the outdoor cafe, which blocked her view of James and Rand. Taking the obstruction as a reminder of why she was here, Rachel pulled her focus back and concentrated on giving Mr. Westin her full and undivided attention, certain he hadn’t noticed.

Enjoying Miss Clara’s signature fried chicken and creamed potatoes, she reviewed the different scenarios Mr. Westin had so thoroughly researched on her behalf, and one thing became clear. She had to make a change. Either risk making the investment and buy the Scottish Highlanders, or decide to sell. Doing nothing wasn’t an option. And neither was purchasing more of the same cattle— not with how the harsh Colorado winters were picking them off one by one.

If Mr. Westin’s calculations were right—and she had no reason to believe they weren’t—if she made no changes, then within two years, and perhaps sooner if faced with another winter like the past one, the ranch would be bankrupt.

“Are there any questions I haven’t answered, Mrs. Boyd?”

Rachel sighed, her mind swirling. “I’m sure I’ll think of some after I leave, but none for now. You’ve been very thorough. All I need is time to think things through . . . to
pray
things through.”

“I understand completely.” He leaned a little closer. “And frankly, I would’ve been disappointed if you’d answered any other way.”

She stood, gathering her reticule, and glanced back across the cafe. James and Rand’s table was empty. She scanned the surrounding area for them. Gone. Disappointment trickled through her, though she told herself it was foolish. Still, they might have at least said hello.

She reached inside her reticule for her change purse.

“Please, allow me,” Westin said, tucking the bills beside his empty plate. “Which way are you headed, Mrs. Boyd?”

Thanking him, she motioned in the direction of James and Molly’s house, and he fell into step beside her.

“The question you asked me before, ma’am . . . about whether my colleague knew that you’re an unmarried woman.” He eyed her with some humor. “I presume you’ve been encouraged by someone to enter into marriage again before seeking another loan?”

Rachel looked over at him, matching his smile. “They didn’t exactly
encourage
it, but yes, the suggestion was made that I would stand a better chance of being approved if I had a husband.”

Nodding, he looked ahead. “I’ll take a shot in the dark here, but I’m guessing that suggestion didn’t go over very well with you. Nor would I expect it to. After having been married to the love of your life, I can’t begin to fathom marrying again only for the sake of a business partnership.”

“Yes!” She nodded, liking this man more and more. “Those were my sentiments exactly!”

They walked in companionable silence for another block.

“May I ask you something else, Mrs. Boyd? Something of a far more personal nature?”

The tone of his question roused her curiosity. “Of course.” She took the stairs to the boardwalk, glad there were few pedestrians.

“Let me preface my question by saying that under normal circumstances I would never inquire about this. But understanding how closely I’m working with Mr. and Mrs. Mullins, and that we’re partners in the store now . . .” He sighed, looking down. “I’m making a mess of this.”

Rachel smiled, hoping to ease his discomfort. “Why not simply ask the question outright? That’s often best.”

He nodded. “I showed Ben a picture of my grandchildren the other day, one my daughter sent me last week, and then I asked him whether he and Lyda had any children.”

Rachel winced and saw him do the same.

“It was a thoughtless question on my part, I realized immediately. But Ben was gracious, as seems his nature. He told me they’d had a boy and a girl, twins, but that their children were gone now. That’s all he said. And, of course, I didn’t press for more. But I was wondering if . . .”

“You’d like to know what happened,” Rachel said softly, understanding.

Eyes remorseful, yet hopeful, he nodded.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me telling you, Mr. Westin. Most everyone in town knows, at least those who’ve lived here long enough.” Rachel confined her gaze to the weathered planks passing beneath her boots, but her eyes briefly closed as an image of the children returned. She slowed her steps. “It’s been eight years ago now. The twins were four years old. It was winter, and it had been snowing throughout the day.” She felt a shiver, not from the memory of the bitter cold as much as the anguish in Lyda’s face when she and Thomas had arrived at the house.

“Ben and Lyda had taken the children sledding. Up on a hill near the edge of town. It wasn’t until they’d gotten home that their daughter realized she’d left her doll behind. A storm had moved in, and it was snowing hard by then.” Rachel stopped at the end of the boardwalk and looked out across the street, remembering. Mr. Westin stood beside her, quiet. “When they put the children to bed, little Ellie Grace was still crying for her doll. Their son, Andrew, said he’d go back and look for it. But, of course, Ben and Lyda said no, that they’d go look for it the next day.” Just as she and Thomas would have done.