From Flame and Ash
— Chapter 13 —
A Sunset Pier
THE LEATHER strap of his uniform cinched into place over his shoulder with a snap as Nathan snugged it firmly against his chest.
With a final adjustment to the serge jacket he wore, he turned away from the closet, pushing the door shut behind him with one booted foot. He passed his bed, neatly made for the day after a restless night, and found his footsteps slowing as his eyes fell upon an item lying atop his bedside table, its discarded shipping wrapper neatly folded beneath it.
It gave him pause.
Getting a package from Dr. Carson Shepherd had been unexpected. But it wasn't nearly as surprising as the content of the package.
His finger rubbed absently over the Baltimore postmark stamped on the thick brown wrapping. He stared at the exposed contents, feeling a tenseness settle in his muscles.
All night, he had lain there, his mind endlessly looping with thoughts of her.
Cheeks flushing, eyes evasive, words stuttering, she had been so discomposed last evening after she had — quite literally — run smack into his chest. Even his attempt at teasing her had gone awry; her defensiveness lifting her chin into the air.
Lines furrowed his forehead. His absent fingers turned decisive, firmly placing the contents of the package flat in the upper drawer of his bedside table, covering it with its wrapping and securing it again with twine. The softness with which he closed the drawer was all the sterner for its restraint.
His footsteps were quiet as he descended the stairs to the first floor of the row house he normally shared with Allie.
Behind him, laying open on his bedside table, the pages of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Hyperion fluttered gently in the breeze from his open window. But not strongly enough to lose his place. Even if it had, the simple leather bookmark he had tucked between two pages would have brought him back to his spot.
"Coffee?" was the word that greeted him as he entered the kitchen.
His house guest had made more than just coffee. The simple table was set with two plates and an abundance of hearty breakfast foods. Savory smells drifted to him, eliciting a nod of easy agreement. They ate quickly, both with their mind on the day ahead. They spoke as they ate.
Nathan had quickly learned that the man was an adept conversationalist and could speak easily about many topics. It provided a balance to his own quieter inclinations. But with all his guest's gift for conversing, he was equally gifted at keeping private that which was private.
"I'll come by the cabin on my lunch break; help you get a start on that chimney." Nathan got to his feet to begin clearing the table, chair legs scraping back on the floorboards.
The cabin his guest had found to rent was recently vacated but in need of some repairs before it was fit for occupation again. The landlord had wanted to wait, but caved when his new tenant had calmly said, without batting an eye, that he would fix the lopsided front door, loose asphalt shingles, and missing stones in the chimney. The grateful landlord had given him the first month free of rent, overriding all protest.
"You don't have to do that." The other occupant of the kitchen leaned back in his chair, took a last sip of coffee, then caught Nathan's look, and chuckled, lifting his still-steaming coffee mug in a small motion of surrender. "But . . . I'd be grateful for the extra set of hands. It will make things go faster."
Nathan privately suspected that his brawny house guest could make things go plenty "fast" all on his own, but he wanted to do something to help him settle in. Still, he made a mental note to take an early lunch — or he might arrive at the cabin to find the work already completed.
The man joined him at the sink, carrying his dishes, and Nathan took a minute to study him. He'd gathered that the man was well-traveled and had a diverse background of occupations, acquiring a checkerboard of skills and talents, able to converse about the nuances of Latin or the details of horse feed with equal ease. But so far, he'd sidestepped Nathan's quiet, skilled probes into specifics or into the reason he was in Hope Valley. And Nathan, not feeling any kick-up in his instincts about the man, had let him. Unless he was given cause not to, he believed in letting people have their privacy.
Dishes dried and in the cupboard, Nathan turned to a crate in the corner, matching the one he'd made for his office. Crouching down, he chuckled at the languidly stretching ball of white fluff inside who opened one eye at him resignedly.
"Yes, I know, miss grumpy. Morning isn't your favorite thing." He scooped her up delicately. "Time to go to work, though, sorry."
Her croaky little meow made both men laugh.
"Maybe by the time we get to the office, you'll be awake enough to drink some milk, hmm?" With gentle fingers, Nathan tucked her into the crook of his arm and headed for the door, where his guest was hoisting up his waiting suitcase.
Nathan eyed it. Superb quality leather, but scuffed enough to see it had been used not infrequently.
"Are you sure you don't want a hand getting to the cabin?" He knew the answer, but innate courtesy prompted the inquiry.
With a quick head shake in response, the man stepped through the door Nathan held open. He turned to him outside on the small porch as the freshness of the morning air fluttered by in greeting. Dropping his piece of luggage with a muted thunk, he extended one solid hand.
"Your kindness won't be forgotten. This has been the most enjoyable inn I've ever stayed at in a small town. Thank you for your hospitality, Constable, I'm grateful."
Nathan gripped his hand. "I'm glad you agreed to it. It's been good to have another male about the place."
The other man's eyes answered with a smile.
It was true. Nathan had come to enjoy their discussions at breakfast and in the evening after work, relaxed before the fireplace with easy silences in between topics. In those silences, his mind often drifted to a certain slender figure that haunted the recesses of his mind, but her he was careful never to speak of.
The sound of an auto car reached them. Both their heads turned to glance in its direction as it came toward them.
It was Lucas Bouchard, driving his automobile, headed in the direction of the oil rig. Katie Yost was in the passenger's seat, her bright eyes greeting Nathan with a smile in them. Her eyes noticeably altered when they fell on the man standing directly beside him on the porch. From the back of the vehicle, anxiety found an odd home on Hickam's homely, normally happy features.
Fiona Miller was nowhere to be seen.
Odd.
Or was it, given how last he'd seen Fiona and Lucas?
Lucas' dark eyes noticed them on the porch, lingering on Nathan's guest with a sharpening look, and the car began to slow as if he would bring it to a halt in front of the house. But his eyes turned away and the sound of the car's exhaust picked up as its speed increased, passing them without so much as a second look. Katie, however, gave a second look, the outline of her face visible as she glanced back through the automobile's small rear window. Nathan knew it was not he whom her gaze fell upon.
He cut a quick look at the figure opposite him. There was a cool, hard look in the man's eyes but his face gave nothing away. As far as Nathan knew, the two men had not interacted since his guest had left Lucas' establishment the night they had met as the man strode away from the saloon, traveling case in hand. But anything was possible.
"Alright?" he asked quietly, not pushing.
The other man could have answered obliquely. Could have skirted the question, pretended he didn't know what Nathan was asking about.
He didn't.
"Yes." He was just as quiet. "I am. It's just one of those things."
"Let me know if I can help." And Nathan dropped it there. "See you at lunch."
The other man waved as he strode off and Nathan continued on his way into town. He glanced back, once, at the last row house on the dirt street, but seeing no sign of life from Elizabeth's house, turned his eyes forward again. He found himself pondering if she would be as tongue-tied today as she had been the day before, should they run into each other again.
The flustered state she had exhibited after her graceless blunder straight into his chest had awoken something very masculine in him the previous evening and he had been unable to resist dryly teasing her, even if just a little, at several points throughout their brief encounter.
She had definitely been rattled, stammering that her thoughts had distracted her from watching where she was going. She had seemed oblivious to her surroundings in the moment when she had walked right into him, her eyes unfocused, unseeing. He wondered about those thoughts of hers, which had so preoccupied her, what they could have been about.
Her flushed cheeks and evasive, confused eyes had practically begged him not to ask.
He hadn't. But still, he wondered.
Would she have been so befuddled if it had been Lee or Kevin she'd run into?
No.
The thought was without pretension.
Her embarrassment seemed tied to it having been him she plowed into. He knew her at least that well.
Her horseback conversation with Faith Carter on the way home from the Rolling K had not stopped rolling around in the background of his mind since he'd overheard it. She had spoken words about grief, letting go of old love, being open to something new. She had been speaking to Faith, but her words could have just as easily have applied to herself. Had she realized that? Had she been talking half to Faith, half to herself?
The short toot of a horn pulled his thoughts away and he looked up in time to see Walden Wyman driving past on his way out of town, waving to him like they were old buddies. He gave him an oblique look, watching as the green auto car trailed away.
"Wish he'd disappear, but then we'd never find out what he's up to." Sotto-voiced, Bill had stepped out of his office doors and was looking after the automobile with as much friendliness as Nathan felt. Zero.
"I had a visit from your friend AJ Foster the other evening," Nathan murmured, lowering his voice. "Walk with me. I'll tell you about it."
"That woman and I are not friends," Bill growled, then subsided into a sigh. "Hold on. Let me tell Miss Li I'm leaving. I've got to head to Benson Hills after this anyway."
Nathan nodded, waiting while Bill opened the office door and poked his head inside. "Miss Li, I'm heading out. I have some business with the Constable and then I'm off to Benson Hills. There should be plenty of filing to keep you busy. If I'm not back by the end of the day," he shrugged, "well, you know how to close up."
Beyond him, Nathan could see a sleek head nod, the dangling charm of a silver hair pin catching the light where it anchored hair in a thickly-twisted figure eight. She didn't speak, but she looked around Bill and, meeting his eyes through the opened doorway, gave Nathan a guarded nod of acknowledgment. The thin scar that traversed one side of her face was barely visible in the indoor lighting.
He nodded back, surprised that she had gone out of her way to extend a greeting in her own silent way.
"Ready?" Bill was looking at him expectantly.
The tiny kitten cradled in Nathan's arm opened her mouth as if in response, exposing a tiny pink tongue and miniature white teeth in a massive yawn, letting them know just how fascinated she was with this conversation. Nathan couldn't help but laugh. Unexpected though her arrival had been, the petite feline was anything but lacking in personality. Bill just shook his head with a disgruntled look at the kitten, but Nathan didn't miss the humored twist to his mouth.
"Miss Foster caught me by an alley the other night," he began quietly as they stood inside his office moments later, remembering the low whistle that had accosted him the night prior, "and had a brief update for us on her situation with the Pinkertons. She's keeping her head low, working on building trust, but they're pretty resistant to her. She but has noticed that Wyman and . . . "
"Wyman and Spurlock have frequent meetings behind closed doors," AJ Foster had looked thoughtful as she spoke, her features masked by the darkness of the alley she had summoned him into. "It could simply be about the supposed need for protection for Wyman's proposed factory site or assistance with setting up his business operations, but since he has yet to actually purchase any land, I find it odd, to say the least. Small groups of Spurlock's closest buddies seem to go out regularly to scout land, but after distracting the guard, I managed to get a glimpse inside one of the wagons they use and saw shovels poking out from under the tarp concealing whatever else they were taking with them. One shovel, I could see taking along to test the soil for building purposes, but a whole pile of them?" She shook her head. "Something feels off. I'm never invited along, so one of these days, I'm going to sneak out and follow them."
"Be careful, Miss Foster." His return whisper was sharp. "These men are shady to the hilt and no gentlemen. If they catch you . . ."
"If they catch me, I could pull rank on them, but that would only serve to set me back as it would lose whatever ground I've gained and place me under renewed surveillance. The level I'm already under is not inconsiderable."
"Or, they could disregard all that and hurt you. Badly."
"I know." Her eyes were steady. "But that's what I signed up for. Something isn't right out there."
"All you have to do is say the word, Miss Foster, and I'll come." The thought of a woman getting hurt on his watch hardened the blood in his veins. "In the meantime, I've very quietly asked headquarters to dig into the pasts of Spurlock and Wyman. Can you get me a list of names of the other men?"
She hesitated, but only for a split second. "I know some of their names, but if I can get to the payroll records, I can get the rest."
Be careful. His eyes spoke loudly but he didn't utter the caution a second time. "Is there anything else I can do to support your efforts?"
"No, not right now. But" — her smile glimmered in the darkness — "you'll hear from me when you can."
"Fair enough."
Her smile turned wry. "And do tell Bill I send my regards."
He snorted under his breath. That would be an interesting, and short, conversation with their prickly Judge.
"I'll be back as soon as I can with that list of names."
"You be safe out there."
"Hmph." Bill just grunted when Nathan had finished relaying the update. "Her regards, indeed," he mumbled. "That woman."
"Yes, what about that woman, Bill?" Nathan held back a chuckle. Her provoking greeting had raised Bill's ire, just as he and Miss Foster had both known it would.
Another grunt. "Nothing."
Nathan shrugged, deciding to play this out a little longer. "She seems quick-witted and brave to me."
A side-eye. "She's obnoxious."
"Obnoxiously quick-witted and brave?"
Something that sounded suspiciously like thunder rumbled in Bill's chest. Nathan smiled to himself and decided to move on.
"I wrote to headquarters to see if they can dig up any dirt on the Spurlock and Wyman. We'll see if that turns anything up. They know to be discreet on their end and I'll destroy any communications upon receipt that I receive from them. Letters will take longer, but I'm not using the telegraph or telephone as both can be read or heard by others and I don't want to take any more chances than we absolutely have to. Miss Foster's life could depend on it. At least with a letter, I have more of a chance of knowing if it was intercepted, unlike a telegram or phone call."
That was one of the more mundane things Mounties were trained to spot.
A third grunt for the day emitted from Bill. "Good thinking. Well, if that fool woman doesn't get herself killed" — another, briefer burst of thunder seemed to growl out of him at the thought — "we may perhaps see a satisfactory conclusion to this business after all."
Nathan scrubbed a hand along his jaw. "That's the hope." He glanced at the clock. "Let me walk you to the livery. I need to start my rounds anyway."
A plaintive mewl sounded from the crate on the floor, as if its occupant heard and understood that Nathan was leaving. He stepped over and dropped down closer to her level.
"Now, you hush," he chided her, although his tone was anything but chiding. "I'll be back before you know it. With a bellyful of warm milk and a blanket, you have nothing to complain about." He reached a finger through the slats and stroked the underside of her soft chin. "So be good and wait for me to come back. Do we have a deal?"
She wheezed through her nose, shaking her head with a rebellious glare from her eyes. But as he left, she padded on tiny paws to the forefront of the crate and pressed her nose to the slats, watching him for as long as she could catch a glimpse, and only after the door closed off her last sight of him did she retract her head, a forlorn droop taking hold of her formerly rebellious little body.
Outside, Nathan and Bill walked swiftly, but as they passed the cafe, Nathan's attention was pulled away as he caught a glimpse of Fiona, sitting outside on a bench with Clara, engaged in what looked like a serious conversation.
Hmm.
At his side, Bill slowed suddenly, then backed up several steps and craned his head to the side, a suspicious frown twisting his features.
It wasn't Fiona he was looking at.
Nathan backed up to join him, following the direction of his unfriendly gaze . . . and landed on the figure of Kevin, their blacksmith, kneeling high up on a step of the outside stairwell that led to Miss Li's rooms, his hands busily engaged in what looked to be repair work on a section of it.
"Didn't he repair that already? As in, just the other day?" Bill started forward as if he would climb the stairs and interrogate the man right then and there, but Nathan reached out and discreetly snagged his friend's arm.
"Bill."
"What?"
"Leave it be."
"Nathan—"
"So what if he's finding more work to do there? He's a strong man with an upright character. It's clear he wants to be near her, wants to do things to make her feel safe."
With a last glare in the unsuspecting blacksmith's direction, Bill clamped his hat on his head. "Fine. But I'll be keeping an eye on him."
"You do that." Nathan was moderately amused but kept any trace of it out of his expression. Bill's protective streak, much as he tried to act like it didn't exist, was rearing its head, plain as could be.
He matched Bill's strides as they headed back in the direction of the livery stable. In the stable, he had a rub for Hero and Bill had one for Newton before they led their respective horses outside and swung into the saddle.
Nathan started on his rounds, accompanying Bill as far as the town limit, where he pulled up and waved Bill off. "Safe travels, Judge."
"Same to you . . . Constable."
Understanding grins flashed at each other and then the men parted ways, Bill off to Benson Hills, and Nathan to continue his morning rounds.
—ooO0Ooo—
"Constable? May I . . . come in?"
The visitor who showed up before lunchtime was a surprise to Nathan. Back from his morning rounds, he had busied himself with desk work after greeting his small feline friend and letting her out to wander for a while before her inquisitive nature prompted him to place her back in the crate for her own safety.
At the sound of the inquiring female voice, he had glanced up from fingering through the files on his desk to see whose shadow spread across the floor from the open door of the NWMP office.
"Of course. Please come in."
Fiona Miller stepped inside the office, an agitated uncertainty on her features that was foreign to the calm confidence she usually displayed. He remembered the glimpse he'd gotten of her with Clara only a few short hours before . . .
He tried to put her at ease, standing to face her and gesturing to an empty chair beside the sun-bathed window. "Please sit down." He smiled a little. "How can I be of help?"
She didn't make any move towards the chair.
"Well . . . actually, I . . . " There was a fidget to her entwined fingers. Her eyes lurched sideways towards the crate on the floor, a hesitancy across her brow as her eyes fell on its tiny occupant.
Ah. Now Nathan understood. He'd invited her to visit the day she and Lucas had tried to rescue the kitten, but as the days had passed, he hadn't thought she actually would.
"So, you've come to try your luck with her again?" He nodded in the direction of the crate as the kitten inside came to its door, her big blue eyes peering out at the new visitor suspiciously.
Fiona took a deep breath. "I just - I'd like to hold her."
The bald declaration had Nathan studying the woman intently. Her darkly lashed eyes did not meet his; they remained unblinkingly fixed on the small creature, but he could see tension visible in small but tell-tale signs. There were few things more calming than holding a tiny kitten. He just hoped his small feline friend would behave.
"I will warn you; she's a fractious little thing," he cautioned Fiona as he came around the desk and crouched before the crate.
Fiona smiled faintly. "I remember."
"Let's see if she'll cooperate today." He opened the latch on the crate door.
The kitten poked her head out inquisitively, gave Fiona one look, then stepped out and headed straight for Nathan, her miniscule paws making no sound on the floorboards. She paused beside his boot and rubbed her whiskers against it, letting out a squeaky purr.
Looking down at her, he couldn't help but notice the contrast between the size of his boot and the kitten. She wasn't as long as its sole, even with her tail extended. He curled a hand under her featherweight body and cradled her as he rose again to his feet, feeling her cool nose press against his wrist as she let out another purr, this time no squeak, just pure contentment.
"She looks so comfortable there, I hate to disturb her." Fiona chewed her lip. "Maybe I shouldn't . . ."
"Yes, you should." He was firm. "She's a cat; she could be comfortable upside down between the bars of a jail cell. The only question is if she'll be amenable. She's been known to scratch unsuspecting hands of people she didn't want near her — and she doesn't like most people near her." He moved toward Fiona. "Here, let me try to place her in your hands. That might have a better result than you reaching for her."
"Alright." There was no fear visible in Fiona, just the lingering air of disturbance she had brought into the office with her.
He softly stroked the thick poof of white fluff covering the kitten's back as he slowly slipped her onto Fiona's sleeve-protected forearm, keeping a hand under her for a moment while he waited to be sure she wasn't going to have a conniption fit.
The only person he'd been able to successfully introduce to the kitten without claws coming out was Allie. But even with Allie, it hadn't been love at first sight. At least, not for the kitten.
She tolerated Allie; it was Nathan she loved. She became quite upset when he was out of her sight for more than a few minutes — which was quite prone to happen, particularly on his daily rounds — and she let him know just how upset the instant he stepped foot back in his office where she had waited for him. He had toyed with the idea of taking her out with him on his rounds but, as yet, had not decided for or against the idea.
After a brief arching of her back, she seemed to decide against having a conniption fit on Fiona's arm and he slowly removed his hands and Fiona's took their place, stroking the kitten's head and back. As she stroked the down-like softness, he could see the lines on her face begin to smooth out, one by one.
The kitten only tolerated this for a handful of minutes, then pushed her head out over the edge of Fiona's arm, stretching her body towards Nathan, and began to cry up at him.
No one needed to speak cat to understand her message.
"Well, at least it lasted that long," Nathan couldn't hold back a chuckle as he held out a forearm to her. Tiny legs stretched in a leap as she transferred from one arm to another in a flying tumble of snowy white.
Fiona wrapped her empty arms together, absently rubbing the spot where the cat had been. "Yes, I'm glad it did. It helped. And thank you."
"Anytime," he answered her reassuringly as she started to turn back to the office entrance, her stylish heels pivoting against the floor.
From the street outside, gravel crunched beneath tires in a sound he was becoming accustomed to, then Lucas' automobile became visible through the door as it slowly rolled by.
Lucas was alone.
His eyes seemed to be looking for someone, sweeping back and forth from the drivers seat with a penetrating focus. As if pulled by a force outside himself, his look suddenly swung and vaulted through the open doorway to Nathan's office, landing on Fiona inside.
Lucas stiffened, the engine of the car suddenly puttering unevenly, seeming on the verge of a stall.
Fiona drew herself upright silently, a flash of something that Nathan could have sworn was a mixture of haughtiness and hurt trembling at the corners of her mouth.
Under the closely-cropped dark beard that covered it, Lucas' jawline grew taut even as his eyes seemed to heat with flat frustration. He opened his mouth as if to call to her but something he saw in her seemed to silence him and, his movements jerky, he adjusted the pressure on the pedals and shifts in the car, the engine smoothed out, and silently, he drove off, his profile bleak with frustration.
Fiona's face darkened.
"I'll be going," she murmured, and slipped soundlessly out of the office without another word.
—ooO0Ooo—
On his knees straddling the ridge of the cabin's roof, Nathan rocked the rugged stone he had clasped in his hands into a cavity in the aged wall of the chimney, hearing its hollow, scraping protest as it settled into place atop the stone below it. He reached into the mortar bucket to begin sealing the new stone in place.
The project to repair the chimney was going faster than he'd expected; something that trickled a slight disappointment through his frame. He relished the chance to work on a home project like this, to make something usable and whole out of something in need of work. His own new home he was only able to work on over weekends or after work hours, and afternoons like this — all too infrequent as they were — reminded him how nice it was to be able to devote regular working hours to working with his hands, something he had long enjoyed doing.
His recent meeting with Fiona was still weighing on him.
He knew there was a story between her and the man working on the other side of the chimney, and he was considering how plausible it might be that it, whatever it might be, was partially to blame for the ongoing tension that crackled between Lucas and Fiona.
Then there was Katie Yost's involvement . . .
She had been in the auto car with Lucas and Hickam that morning on their morning trip to the oil rig site, and he hadn't forgotten the scene he and Elizabeth had witnessed as they came back into town from visiting the Rolling K — Lucas and Katie talking seriously, openly, on the sidewalk; across the road, Fiona waited, watching them without expression from beside Lucas' car while Hickam, worried, watched all of them from inside the car.
His inner detective came to the forefront. Nathan kept shifting the puzzle pieces around in his mind, trying to fit edges together to form a more complete picture. He knew one man who held at least one piece of the puzzle . . . standing not three feet from him.
A small, friendly silence had fallen between them as they worked on the chimney, allowing the sprightly singing of a yellow and grey Canada Warbler in a nearby pine tree to fill the void with its melodic voice. It was a cheerful sound, complimenting the golden sunshine that coated them in its warmth.
Nathan decided to break the silence. "So," he kept his tone neutral, "I've been meaning to ask — you and Fiona Miller, you seem to know each other." He stated it more than asked it.
The other man smiled, more of a grim twist than anything. His eyes never wavered from the crevice around the stone he was pressing mortar into.
"We're known to each other," he said evenly, but his profile invited no further questions.
Nathan nodded, a touch rueful. And dropped the topic. If his former guest wasn't ready to divulge his connection to Fiona, he wasn't going to push him. He couldn't say he blamed the man for wanting a little privacy, a commodity which, in Hope Valley, there was precious little of.
His ears caught the faint sound of a horse's whinny, carried on the wind. He looked up, his eyes searching the surrounding periphery. There was a flash of white through the trees, flickering in and out of sight as it moved steadily closer. He stopped what he was doing. Loosely, he braced his forearms across his thighs, leaning forward as he eyed the approaching rider, still obscured in part by the woods.
There was something about the way the rider sat the horse . . .
When the rider rode into the clearing surrounding the cabin a moment later, he felt not the slightest surprise to see it was Elizabeth astride Sergeant.
Elizabeth, however, seemed quite surprised to find him there, staring up at him on the cabin rooftop with a flare of shock across her face. Her eyes darted back and forth between him and his former house guest, who, by now, had paused in the work as well, then seemed to fixate on him.
Since words did not seem to be forthcoming from their visitor, Nathan angled himself down the roof to the ladder, his feet carefully braced on shingles, avoiding the many that were loose and in need of repair. Hands anchored to control his descent, he slid down the ladder, grateful for its smooth sides. His boots thudded into dirt at the bottom as he pivoted to face Elizabeth.
She was still staring, mute.
Reaching out a casual arm, he snagged his serge, carefully folded over his saddle, and loosely shrugged into it. The movement seemed to jar her out of whatever held her motionless. She started visibly.
"Hello, Elizabeth," he greeted her levelly, brushing his hands together to knock off the mortar that had survived the slide down the ladder and clung in between his fingers like a rough second skin. "What brings you out here?"
"I-I didn't know anyone was . . . I didn't know this - that is, I didn't realize when you said your guest found a cabin to rent that it was this one."
Behind him, he heard the man in question making his way down the ladder. He used the rungs.
"Speaking of my former guest . . ." The man reached the bottom of the ladder and turned around as Nathan spoke. "Elizabeth, meet Mr. Will Bierhals from California — mostly from California. Will, this is Mrs. Elizabeth Thornton."
Tall, with massive shoulders — one of which tilted higher than the other in a barely perceptible disparity — and hair the color of burnished oak, the other man smiled easily at the introduction and inclined his head courteously. "How do you do, ma'am."
As the two engaged in cultured pleasantries, Nathan was amused by the play of expressions on her face as Elizabeth tried but had no more luck extracting personal information from the newcomer than had anyone else.
"California seems like a fascinating land!" she tried one last time. "Whereabouts did you say you hail from there . . . ?"
The man's eyes creased in silent levity. "I didn't." Elizabeth's face gave him credit for his frankness and his responding smile spread from his eyes to his mouth. "But I have spent time all over the state. You should visit if ever an opportunity presents itself. It's a burgeoning state, full of lively souls and a widely varying geography."
They drifted into talk of California's climate even as Elizabeth seemed to sense Nathan's ongoing amusement and she glanced over at him, her clean, tapered fingernails absently drawing soft designs against the flat surface of the reins she held. He didn't try to conceal the humor visible in his eyes as he met hers.
A searching look, tinged with confusion, drifted across her mouth and eyes, and his own mood sobered in response.
"I'd better let you gentlemen finish up your project." Her eyes didn't move from his to the chimney though. Neither did his. "Welcome to Hope Valley, Mr. Bierhals — it's been a true pleasure making your acquaintance. I hope to see you around." Only then did she actually look at the man she was speaking to.
"An honor, Mrs. Thornton," he responded with the subtlest of bows, more an incline of the shoulders than anything else. "I hope the rest of your ride is pleasant."
Elizabeth's corresponding smile was genuine, but Nathan noted its change when she looked over at him. It seemed softer, but also became a little troubled somehow. He could feel Will's gaze on them.
Then Elizabeth was wheeling Sergeant about, his long tail swishing the air in front of Nathan, and her expression became hidden from view as her outline gradually grew fainter until she was finally out of sight.
Hands guilelessly behind his back, Will glanced back and forth between Nathan and the spot where Elizabeth had last been seen.
"History . . . ?" he asked candidly.
Nathan shrugged out of his serge again and moved to Newton's side, returning the jacket to its original holding place atop his saddle, then swiveled around. "Oh, so it's evasion and retreat when I ask about Fiona Miller, yet you expect me to bare all about a woman . . . ?"
An honest laugh broke from the other man, shaking his shoulders. "Touché!" He knocked two fingers off his forehead in a wry salute as he headed for the ladder. Shaking his head with a chuckle of his own, Nathan followed suit.
Twenty minutes later, sweaty and tired, they stood back and surveyed their work. Neatly patched with stone and fresh mortar, the aged chimney rose several feet above the ridge of the peaked roof, seeming to stand like a grey sentinel against the backdrop of trees around them.
"That should do it." Will patted the chimney with something approaching affection.
Nathan stretched his back, enjoying the cool breeze stirring across the roof, rustling the leaves in the trees that fringed the cabin. His muscles were satisfyingly tired after an hour's hard labor. "It'll hold."
They gathered their implements and made their way down the ladder before trudging inside the cozy dwelling. Nathan cleaned up as best he could, feeling the cool refreshment of water slide down his neck. He glanced at his reflection in a dusty window pane, finger-combing his damp locks into some semblance of order. "Bierhals!" he called out as he made his way back to the main room.
"Out here."
Nathan followed the sound of his voice and found him crouched beside the front door, jimmying the door on its hinges. It was hanging loose and crooked. "That next on your list?"
Will nodded. "I'll go back up to the roof to work on the loose shingles before dinner. It should be cooler by then."
"Speaking of dinner — listen, please feel free to come by my place for dinner if you don't feel like cooking tonight. I know the first night in a new place can be rough."
Will rose to his full height with an interested smile. "I just might take you up on that."
"Good. We can do a bonfire in the backyard with Allie, enjoy what should be a clear night. Maybe I'll even pull my guitar out and see if I can still remember how to play."
"Guitar?" Quick interest. "You never said."
"It's been awhile, so . . . " Nathan shrugged. "Anyway, I'll be back after my final rounds to see if you need help with these shingles." From overhead came a scraping sound as something slid in a freefall down the pitched roof, and, as if on cue, a solitary shingle tripped over the lip of the roof and completed its journey in a plummet to the earth.
"Shouldn't you be cooking that dinner after your rounds?" Will raised his brow provokingly, but the flash of dry laughter in his eyes dispelled any notion of ill humor.
"You just let me worry about dinner," Nathan jibed back.
Over the sound of Will's laughter, Nathan made his way down the porch steps and swung up onto Newton. He was smiling to himself as he rode off after tossing a wave over his shoulder.
—ooO0Ooo—
Will had the door fixed and shingles neatly replaced by the time Nathan stopped by on his way back to town, finalizing the tail-end of his evening rounds. Nathan was again aware of a flicker of regret within himself. He had wanted to get back to the physical work. But he told himself that he'd make up for it by working twice as hard on his own new home the following evening. Tonight, he had dinner to make for company.
Moments later, he was nearing town, approaching from the end of town that encompassed the schoolhouse as he loved the panorama that the building and pond made at this time of day. As they rounded the final curve in the wooded trail and broke through the treeline, the expanse of sky was enough to take his breath away.
The sunset was in bloom. Swirls of lavender and streaks of indigo met in harmonious accord against a backdrop of rose and peach, casting their pastel vibrancy down onto the lapping waters of the pond below.
The woman on the pier, gazing out across its hued expanse, was enough to take his breath away, too.
Elizabeth.
Beautiful in simple white, she stood a few steps onto the planked pier in nearly the exact spot she'd been the last time he had shared this place with her. The overhead sky seemed to coat her slender figure in hues of amber.
Nathan pulled Newton to a silent halt some thirty feet from Elizabeth. He watched her quietly, noticing the reflective way her fingers unconsciously fingered something she held in her hand. Small and rectangular, it seemed to be about the size and shape of a playing card but lacked the distinctive markings those bore. She looked down at it, her face so serious that he almost ducked his own head downwards to catch them, to better read her eyes, to see what they were saying.
Newton's tack jingled softly in the silence as he shifted under Nathan, taking a half-step closer to Elizabeth.
Her head jerked up.
Each held perfectly still in the sunset-bathed atmosphere; he grave and tall in his saddle, she a slender column of white delicately poised on the pier.
His eyes probed hers across the distance. Her face, at first caught off-guard, had morphed into an expression that seemed half-pensive and half . . . what? Wistful? Anxious?
Just like the night before, her eyes begged him not to engage her.
Tension, in an echo of their last pier encounter, seemed to swell to life, reborn between them as steadily as the sunset deepened across the skies.
His move, when it came, was one of purpose.
Deliberately, Nathan reached up to his campaign hat. He took it off, slowly. His gaze held hers unblinkingly across the span of space between them.
He sat before her, unconcealed, bareheaded in the slow breeze.
The change in her was palpable.
Those pensive eyes cleared. Her hand dropped to her side, fingers lax around the small object she still held. Her other hand reached up to corral a loose section of hair that was wafting around her face, tucking it back into place. The lines of her figure went soft, and the hint of a gentle relaxation began to tiptoe across the expanse of her lips.
Words were unnecessary in this small interlude. He knew it, she knew it.
With an tip of his head good-bye, he settled his hat back on his head, and silently, rode Newton past the pier where Elizabeth's figure stood looking after him, and towards home and stable.
—ooO0Ooo—
SHIVERING A LITTLE, Elizabeth hurried on her walk home from the pier, seeing the darkened storefronts on either side of her. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, rubbing them in time with her hastening footfall through the empty street. She wished her warm woolen shawl wasn't draped over the rocking chair in Jack's room. She could use it right about now.
She had never intended to spend so long at the pier, but her ponderings held her mind and her feet captive there for hours, watching as sunset darkened into the deep midnight blue of nighttime. She was grateful that Rosemary and Lee had taken Jack for the afternoon and evening, giving her some time to wander and explore on horseback — as well as pray.
Despite her recent interior resolution to spend more time around Nathan, she had not been looking for him earlier that day when she stumbled upon him high on a cabin roof, repairing an old chimney.
She had been on a ride to clear her mind.
An earlier attempt to examine key moments in the memories of Nathan that confounded her — as the Brookfield Jesuit, Fr. Flynn, had gently advised while sharing a pond-side log with her — had resulted in her getting hopelessly lost in the memory of the feel of his hands and the look in his eyes as the blindfold was pulled from her eyes and she found, to her shock, that his were the hands she had selected in the game as those belonging to the man she was supposed to be with, and his were the eyes that greeted her. The warmth, the sweetness, the tenderness that had flowed from him in that moment, cocooning her like wisps of gold, had been nearly unutterable.
And the memories of it had nearly undone her.
Somewhere, a dog barked, rattling her as she jumped in surprise. Hurrying faster, she rounded the final turn of her walk and began down the stretch of dark road that ran in front of the rowhouses. But as she approached Nathan's, a scene opened before her eyes, halting her trek.
Motionless, she looked on.
Outside, three figures could be seen under the night sky behind Nathan's house, seated around a campfire in the dark, the leaping flames illuminating their relaxed figures, and on the air the slow, haunting notes of Oh, Shenandoah drifted through the night to her.
Nathan's tones lifted and fell, the timbre of his voice caressing the notes and imbuing the lyrics with an otherworldly sense of tragedy and the mournful anguish of lost love.
Elizabeth was transfixed. It felt like she had never really heard Nathan sing before. Even in church, she had never heard him like this. His soulful voice and the plaintive, slow guitar made her heart ache for a love story long since buried under the annals of time.
Allie's sweet, clear voice soon joined in the chorus, supplemented by Will's steady modulation.
Elizabeth stood there, unnoticed by them, an outsider to their ring of fire and melody and camaraderie.
And at length, as she slowly slipped past, she wondered what it would feel like to be an insider.
—ooO0Ooo—
Author's Note: Someone reached out with two questions after Ch. 12 and on the off-chance that others were also wondering, I thought I'd share the answers here. They said they were confused: "who or what is in Baltimore?"
Answer: Dr. Carson left for Baltimore at the end of Season 8. This same person asked: "why Sam and not Gabe?"
Answer: Since this was a question from Ch. 12, I can only assume they were referring to a single line I wrote in the last scene of that chapter where Fr. Flynn, in a crossover scene as an OC character from my version of Brookfield, mentioned that he sees Lillian at church every Sunday with Sam and the children. Although I no longer watch WHC, the reason it said Sam and not Gabe is because I do not ship Lillian with Gabe. :-) Big hug to the person who asked; I hope these answers helped!
If anyone wonders what pairings you can expect to see in this story, please refer to my Author's Note at the end of Ch. 1 — at the bottom of it, there is a list of those pairings. :)
I hope you all enjoyed Ch. 13! If anyone is aware what the plot of Wadsworth's "Hyperion" was and how it dovetailed with Wadsworth's real life love story, you probably know why I have Nathan reading it. ;)
And finally (!) the name of The Stagecoach Man with mysterious ties to Fiona was revealed. I hope Will is a character you will enjoy being added to the Hope Valley mix! :) Just as I promised chapters back, Nathan will have friends in this story, including Will. And he's got a kitten that possessively, fiercely adores him and only him, so he has that! :D
And I'm certain you guys already figured this out, but I thought I'd mention that Nathan taking his hat off like that was his way of defusing the tension between them without (seemingly unwelcome) words breaking the silence.
Quick historical notes: According to the research I did, asphalt shingles (still the most popular roofing material today) were "widely available by 1910 and rapidly replaced wood shingles due to their economy and fire resistance." (Thank you architectmagazine .com!) So Nathan and Will using these shingles on the cabin roof was most likely exactly what would have happened back then. Also, the song "Oh Shenandoah" existed as early as the early 1800's in America and I'm sure it is highly plausible that it had long since made its way over the Canadian border by the time this story took place approximately one hundred years later. (I like to research things and make sure I'm not grossly messing with history — as a general rule of thumb anyway! There are exceptions. LOL)
Much love to everyone! Thank you for all the reviews. You guys are spoiling me; but you can't possibly know how much I love reading them. Let's all join a prayer circle now that my next chapter will come out much sooner than this one did. :) XOXO
~Paths Through Lavender Fields