Chapter 3
Although his ears perked slightly at the distant, lonesome howling of a coyote, the well-trained bay kept a steady gait, his strong legs eating up the solitary miles between Brady and the ranch as the shadowy dusk gradually gave way to full darkness. Above their heads, the stars twinkled cheerfully in the vast, moonless sky, the crisp February air cooling rapidly. Well used to chilly Texas winter nights, Wyatt scarcely noticed the cold, however, it belatedly occurred to him after some time passed that it was possible the woman sitting beside him might not feel the same.
Probably would've been considerate of him to have brought one of Gran's quilts to put over the new school teacher's lap for the ride back to the ranch, he lamented with a guilty pang. Clearly, his usual good manners–drilled into him from a very young age by his grandmother-seemed to be missing this evening. Acutely aware of the sleeping woman's pale cheek resting trustingly on his shoulder and unwilling to disturb her rest, Wyatt courteously held himself as still as possible while skillfully handling the reins.
His lips curved in a sympathetic smile. Poor thing must be completely worn out from her long trip to drop off so quickly–which was fine by him. Saved Wyatt the trouble of having to make polite conversation with a woman he'd known for all of an hour, if that. If he had to take a guess, though, falling asleep like that probably wouldn't be so fine by her because just from his first brief impression, he gathered an elegant-looking lady like Miss Preston was likely pretty big on social graces, and therefore might be dismayed when she eventually woke from her nap. Didn't take much imagination on Wyatt's part to guess that Gran was going to highly approve of the new teacher's pleasing appearance and manners.
Impulsively turning his head and inhaling shallowly, the delicate, flowery fragrance of Miss Preston's thick, dark hair pleasantly tickled his nose. Surprisingly, even though he knew for a fact she'd spent the better part of a whole day riding in an open stage, the school teacher still managed to smell fresh and clean (and unfortunately, tempting). Of course, Wyatt hadn't been physically this close to a woman who wasn't his grandmother in quite some time, and it seemed he'd forgotten how nice a young, attractive female smelled. His late wife had been particularly fond of lavender water, he recalled distractedly before a thoughtful frown knitted his brow.
Wyatt shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat without disturbing his passenger–determined to shut down such a dangerous line of thinking. So what if—since losing Jess going on two years ago now—he might feel kind of lonely every once in a while (especially for female companionship)? That was neither here nor there–and definitely not something Wyatt had any trouble dealing with. Whenever he felt the need to be around other people, there was always his grandparents or his friends. No, despite feeling drawn to her for some odd reason he didn't care to ruminate on, it just wouldn't do for him to be even the least bit attracted to a woman he just met. No, Ma'am. No way was he giving Betsy Sherwin any kind of encouragement in her never-ending quest to find her widowed grandson a new wife.
Around thirty minutes later, Wyatt spotted the graceful iron archway that read, Sherwin Ranch, and began to slow the buggy. In the distance, he could see where someone–probably Gramps-had lit the farm house's front porch lanterns to welcome their guest. Unsurprisingly, both his grandparents were waiting on the porch wearing wide smiles when Wyatt brought the horse to a stop in front of the steps.
"Finally!" Gran exclaimed, but as she started to step forward, her husband grabbed her hand, and bending his head, whispered something in her ear before the couple both turned to face him. Wyatt's face reddened at the speculative expressions each one wore as they took in the sight of the new school teacher sleeping on his shoulder because he knew exactly what they were probably thinking-especially his grandmother. Aww, hell. The only mother Wyatt had ever known was gonna make his life miserable in the near future unless he nipped this in the bud right now...
Clearing his throat quietly, Wyatt moved his shoulder cautiously and whispered, "Miss Preston? We're here." Nothing. Conscious of their audience watching raptly from the porch, he spoke a little louder, "Miss Preston, Ma'am? You need to wake up now." Still nothing. The woman was out cold. Without warning, the school teacher's rosy lips parted, and she exhaled softly, her warm breath caressing Wyatt's stubbled cheek and sending a faint tingle down his spine. He closed his eyes in frustration, hoping Gran and Gramps hadn't noticed...but naturally, they did...dammit.
"Need some help, there, son?" James called politely enough from the porch, the clear amusement in the older man's voice setting Wyatt's teeth on edge.
"No, sir, I got it," he gritted out, draping the reins over the front of the rig to free up his hands. Turning his body slightly towards Miss Preston's, Wyatt carefully slid his hand under her cool, smooth cheek and gingerly lifted her head at the same time he said her name. To his immense relief, the school teacher's long, dark eyelashes fluttered a couple times before she gradually opened her eyes. Blinking at him drowsily, Miss Preston gave him a hesitant smile that made inexplicably made Wyatt's heart skip a beat. Before he could speak, however, her whole body stiffened, dark amber eyes widening in distress.
"Oh, goodness, have we arrived at your home so soon? I'm quite sorry to have fallen asleep on you, Mr. Logan–how impolite of me," she murmured, hastily pulling away from him with a jerk and straightening her hat with shaking hands. Wyatt could tell by the warm color blooming on her cheeks and the rigid way Miss Preston was holding herself that–as predicted–she felt embarrassed about sleeping on her host.
"No harm done, Miss Preston," he assured her calmly over his shoulder, hoping to ease her discomfort. Jumping down from the buggy, Wyatt quickly made his way around the horse to help the school teacher, who gazed at him uncertainly when he reached for her. Wrapping his hands around Miss Preston's tiny waist, Wyatt ignored her startled gasp and easily lifted her trim figure from the seat and set her down in front of him.
"Um...yes, well, thank you, Mr. Logan," The teacher stammered breathlessly, shivering slightly when a freshening winter breeze swept over them. She really needed to be inside where it was nice and warm, he thought abruptly, but couldn't seem to make his feet move. The hell? They continued to stare at each other awkwardly until Wyatt suddenly heard Betsy Sherwin's impatient voice behind him.
"For heaven's sake, Wyatt, quit dawdling...poor girl must be near to freezing..." she reproved, rushing forward at last to greet their guest. Any relief Wyatt felt from Gran 'breaking the spell' this young woman seemed to have cast over him was instantly erased by the hot color flooding his face at being scolded like an ill-mannered child in front of a stranger.
For God's sake, he wasn't some green cowpoke who'd never been around a woman before...he was 28 years old, and a retired Texas Ranger to boot who'd been married and fathered a son, Wyatt muttered under his breath before turning to face his grandmother with a strained smile. Glancing over at Gramps for any kind of moral support, he was disappointed–but not surprised-to note the older man appeared more than content for the moment to enjoy the evening's entertainment Wyatt and the new teacher were providing...
Desperately yearning for a chance to wash off some of the day's grime and hopefully have something to eat, an exhausted Lucy nevertheless found herself choking back a giggle at the positively disgruntled expression on the cowboy's rugged face as she watched the interplay between him and his grandmother in fascination. It seemed as if Mrs. James Sherwin was a formidable personality indeed, despite her age and diminutive stature. (At first glance, the woman reminded Lucy somewhat of Dean Christopher-a rather comforting thought.)
Supremely conscious of Mr. Logan's large hand firmly cupping her elbow, Lucy stepped forward and climbed the porch steps of the large, two-story farm house to meet her hosts. Thankfully, it was indeed a favorable first impression.
"Welcome to Brady and Sherwin Ranch, Miss Preston," Mrs. Sherwin greeted her warmly, taking Lucy's gloved hand in hers and squeezing it firmly. "I'm Betsy Sherwin, and this is my husband, James." Lucy nodded politely at the tall, silver-haired gentleman standing behind his wife (who bore a remarkable resemblance to their grandson).
"And of course, you've already met our Wyatt. We are so pleased a lady with your fine qualifications has agreed to serve as our town's school teacher for the next year. Now, dear, let's get you out of this cold wind while the men bring your things inside. It's turning downright bitter out this evening. You must be fair worn out and hungry, too, I bet, from your arduous journey."
She paused to gaze at her guest expectantly, and to her consternation, Lucy felt her throat swell with the tell-tale sting of unshed tears–immediately caught off guard by the older woman's kindness. Maybe it was because it had been quite some time since she'd been fussed over by another female?
Beneath her weariness, Lucy was appalled that her usual composure was beginning to crumble. Mercifully, Mrs. Sherwin pretended not to see and turned to enter the wooden front door held open by her husband. Blinking rapidly, Lucy swallowed hard and silently followed, smiling shyly at Mr. Sherwin. Within minutes, she found herself swaying just a bit on her feet in the center of a well-lit, surprisingly spacious bedroom on the second floor while Mrs. Sherwin bustled around the room, showing her the generously-sized closet and a lovely antique stand that held a large porcelain bowl and pitcher of steaming water that Lucy eyed with longing.
Before she could even shed her coat and hat, however, there was a brisk knock on the open door. Lucy turned around to see it was Mr. Logan and his grandfather with her things. At Mrs. Sherwin's suggestion, the men set the heavy trunk down in front of the wide window draped with crisp white curtains, and swiftly left the room. Lucy blushed faintly when the younger of the two tipped his hat at her respectfully when he walked past. He really was probably the best-looking man she'd seen since leaving San Francisco...
At last, perhaps sensing her guest was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the events of the day and might like a little time to herself, Betsy Sherwin patted Lucy's arm soothingly and invited her to take a few minutes and get freshened up before coming downstairs to have a light supper before retiring for the night. Nodding gratefully, once the door closed behind her hostess, Lucy removed her hat and coat and after placing them in an elegant wing chair in a corner of the room, sank down on the comfortable four-poster bed with a sigh. She was finally here, safe and sound...a hundred miles from Belton-and everything familiar-in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Struggling not to panic, Lucy gulped at the blunt realization. What in heaven's name was she doing here?
Despite the presence of at least three other people (that she was aware of), the Sherwin house was peacefully quiet at this time of night. To her consternation, now that she was completely alone for the first time during this interminable day, the enormity of the hasty, impulsive decision made in Dean Christopher's office only yesterday hit a susceptible Lucy like a ton of bricks, and her burning eyes began to well up once more. Swallowing hard at the nearly suffocating wave of self doubt threatening to overwhelm her, she hadn't felt this alone and unsure since the dark days after Papa first passed away.
For the second time in five short years, Lucy Preston found herself in a new, unfamiliar situation that-unlike losing her father to consumption–was entirely of her own making. Good grief...what had she been thinking? Lucy worried, as a few tears slid unchecked down her face. Had she lost her mind? Closing her eyes, she very briefly gave into self pity. Oh, Papa, I hope with all my heart I've made a wise decision...
Mindful of her hosts patiently waiting downstairs, after a few seconds of feeling sorry for herself, she yanked off her soiled gloves in disgust and reached in her sleeve for a handkerchief. You need to calm yourself this instant, Lucy Preston, and remember your manners, she thought. Dabbing at her eyes and damp cheeks with the limp hankie, she took a shaky breath and forced herself to relax a bit and take a good look around the nicely-furnished guest room. Fortunately for her vulnerable state of mind, what Lucy saw was actually quite reassuring. Judging by her surroundings, it seemed safe to assume the Sherwins were a family of some means.
Papered in a dainty pink rosebud pattern, the walls displayed several fine paintings, and there were plush rugs scattered about on the polished hardwood floor. The oil lamp on the small table beside the bed was made of dark red hand blown glass and cast a rosy, inviting glow around the room, which was as nice as any in the home she grew up in. Lucy felt her spirits lifting. It had been silly to let tiredness shake her confidence so. Jumping up, she moved over to the stand and poured a generous amount of warm water in the bowl. Gazing into the gold-framed oval mirror hanging above it, Lucy grimaced at the young woman staring back at her. Goodness, she looked positively haggard...
Nothing, however, that a proper washing up and a good night's rest wouldn't alleviate, she reasoned optimistically, nodding at herself before leaning over to splash warm water on her face and hopefully remove the worst of her travel grime. It felt heavenly. Patting her skin dry with the soft white towel beside the bowl, Lucy peered at her reflection and slowly smiled in approval. She looked better already.
Her hands stilled as, for the briefest of moments, her thoughts turned to the intriguing man she'd met for the first time mere hours ago. As ridiculous as it seemed under the circumstances, Wyatt Logan had apparently made quite the impression on Lucy–and yet, who could blame her? she mused wistfully. The cowboy was tall and broad-shouldered with blue, blue eyes, and possessed a quiet manner that she found very appealing.
Lucy shook her head. It didn't take a genius with a fancy college education to figure this out. She imagined the easiest explanation was the fact there'd been no other men in her life since moving to Texas five years ago, and simply put...she was lonely. And also practically an old maid, she conceded ruefully, having celebrated her 25th birthday a couple weeks ago. At times, it felt like so many of the things other woman took for granted as they matured–a suitable marriage, followed hopefully by motherhood–had been given in sacrifice to her fervent desire to attend college. For goodness sakes, she'd never even been kissed on the lips by a man...
It couldn't be denied she would be living a completely different life now if she'd accepted Noah's uninspiring marriage proposal five years ago. As soon as her period of mourning for Papa was finished, Lucy would've taken her place in San Francisco society as a young matron, a pampered doctor's wife raising as many beautiful, well-mannered children as the Lord provided...and spent the rest of her years going from one boring, superficial function to another practically until the day she died. What a truly dismal thought. No, far better to feel lonely at times living a fulfilled life of her own choosing than gradually suffocate from being trapped in a tedious, regimented society marriage to Dr. Cooke.
And as for the cowboy? Realistically speaking, it was extremely unlikely a handsome man his age was still single...probably a safe bet he was married with a half dozen children tucked away in a cozy house somewhere, she told herself glumly, and only doing his grandparents a favor by meeting the stage and bringing her here. Enough, Lucy. This inappropriate fascination with Wyatt Logan was most likely the result of exhaustion and loneliness, she told herself firmly. It was best to put this 'attraction' or interest or whatever she thought she was feeling towards the man out of her mind completely. After all, Lucy was here to teach school, not look for a beau...
Retrieving her hairbrush from the tapestry bag, she hurriedly took down her hair and bending over from the waist, brushed it thoroughly before fixing it in a loose braid. Re-tucking her shirtwaist and smoothing her hopelessly wrinkled skirts as best she could, Lucy squared her shoulders and taking a steadying breath, fixed a calm smile on her face and left the guest room.
Sunday morning dawned clear and chilly without a single cloud in the pale blue sky. After a rather sleepless night, Wyatt was up and dressed before sunrise to get a jump on the every day chores since the family would be leaving for church services right after breakfast. The horses were all fed and watered, and their ranch hands, Charlie and Jonah, were finishing the day's grooming while Wyatt readied the larger carriage. He was checking the harness straps when he noticed Gramps, already dressed in his Sunday clothes, walking across the barn yard.
"Morning, Wy," he greeted him with an affectionate smile. "Your grandmother said for you to hurry up now with the buggy because Martha is about ready to put breakfast on the table. Wouldn't do to put either one of those ladies out of sorts on this fine Sabbath morning, now would it?" Wyatt grinned in acknowledgment. Miss Martha, the Sherwins' cook and housekeeper, had been with the family since before he came to live at the ranch at the age of three, and had a fierce reputation for running a tight ship. Still, Wyatt had fond memories of the stern, white-haired woman patiently bandaging his skinned knees and elbows and slipping him cookies when Gran wasn't looking.
"No, sir," he agreed, exchanging a conspiratorial look with his grandpa. James watched in silence as Wyatt quickly buckled the last harness and draped the reins over the front of the carriage, but didn't say anything. Bemused at first when Gramps continued to just stand there, it took him a minute to figure what was going on. He didn't think it was his imagination the man appeared to have something on his mind...and suddenly, he had a sneaking suspicion it might be a someone–namely the pretty new teacher Wyatt had brought home last night. Well, that was just great. He could feel his temper start to rise.
Dammit. Bad enough Gran had started playing matchmaker barely six months after Wyatt lost Jess and Mattie, but it was starting to look like his grandpa had decided to get involved with her crazy schemes also. Not you, too, Gramps, he thought in disappointment and yes, to be honest, possibly a touch of anger. Shaking his head in disgust, he started to walk past James, but stopped abruptly when the older man reached out to put his hand on Wyatt's arm.
"Alright, alright, hang on there a minute, son...I can tell by the tight set of your jaw that you've probably jumped to some mistaken conclusion here before I even say a word and getting yourself all worked up in the process," Gramps observed mildly, causing Wyatt's shoulders to stiffen.
Out of an abundance of love and respect for the fine man who raised him, he reluctantly held his tongue, uncomfortably aware his annoyance was probably written all over his face. He never had been very good at hiding his feelings from his grandpa. "Just spit it out, then, Gramps, 'cause our meal is probably getting cold," he finally replied gruffly.
He was taken aback when James dropped his hand and inclining his head, suggested, "Let's walk over to the barn and see if the boys are done brushing those horses yet." Gazing into those deep blue eyes so like his own-but unable to discern even a hint of the man's thoughts-Wyatt exhaled impatiently before dutifully following his grandpa across the yard. Best to just let him get whatever it was off his chest...
Of course, as expected, Gramps had no intention of actually going inside the barn, but stopped a few feet away from the open doors–which just happened to be out of direct sight from the house, Wyatt noticed absently. Crossing his arms self defensively across his chest, he stared at the older man warily. He really wasn't in the mood for a lecture. Wyatt leaned against the split-rail fence enclosing the corral beside the barn with a resigned sigh-only to be immediately caught off guard by his grandpa's words.
"I'm not as young as you, Wy, but I still remember the first time I laid eyes on your Gran like it was yesterday," James shared with a wistful smile. "I turned seventeen that spring, gone as far as I could in proper school, and working on a horse ranch north of San Antone owned by one of my pa's friends. Not sure if you were aware of this, but your grandmother and I actually met at a church social. I was sitting with some of my friends from the ranch, eating and having a fine time, and just happened to look up from my plate long enough to make eye contact with a dark-haired girl walking past our table. She was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen, a little bitty gal no bigger than a minute, and wearing a dress the color of bluebonnets."
Wyatt's earlier irritation melted away entirely at the wealth of love he heard in Gramps' deep voice for his wife-a love so strong and true, it had lasted more than forty-five years. He swallowed thickly at the momentary flash of sorrow mixed with resentment rising in his chest that he'd been denied the same experience with his Jess, and forced himself to pay attention.
"Now, I swear this is the God's honest truth–when that girl in the blue dress glanced my way and then gave me this shy little smile before walking on, my heart stopped in my chest like I'd been struck by lightning. It was all I could do just to breathe in and out." The two men grinned companionably at each other. "I felt such a spark between us...of love or attraction or desire or whatever you wanna call it, that I knew sure as my own name I was going to marry this young woman, and God willing, spend the rest of my life with her."
James fell silent, appearing to be lost in warm memories of the past. Along with the faint rushing sound of the crisp breeze sweeping across the barn yard, Wyatt heard the low voices of Charlie and Jonah from inside the barn talking to the horses and the occasional soft whinny in response. Searching his grandpa's face, he straightened up, assuming their conversation was done, when the older man shook his head and sharpened his blue gaze on his grandson.
"Sorry about that, Wy, guess I got a little caught up in the past," he apologized with a sheepish grin. "Unfortunately, as you will find out for yourself some day, that seems to get easier and easier when you get to be an old man like me." Wyatt chuckled. Old? Gramps? The man usually ran circles around him on any given day of the week.
Before he could remind him of that fact, though, James continued, "I better finish this little talk we're having before Martha comes looking for us and tans our hides for letting the food get cold. Though you seldom complain, I know full well your grandmother can be pretty heavy-handed when it comes to finding you another wife..." He held up his hand when Wyatt rolled his eyes and snorted in derision.
"What you need to remember is that my dear Betsy's mule stubbornness on the matter comes from a strong place of love. In all the ways it can and should count, you are our son, Wyatt, and have been since the day you came to live with us as a lil sprout of a boy. Raising you to manhood has been about the greatest joy of our lives, and there's nothing in this world we want more than for you to be happy." Wyatt swallowed hard against the swell of emotion clogging his throat.
"Yes, sir," he eventually managed in a husky voice, blinking at the unexpected moisture in the corner of his eyes. Damn Texas dust blowing across the yard...
Swiping roughly at his own suddenly 'dust-filled' eyes, James cleared his throat discreetly and said, "One last thing and then I'll keep my own counsel, promise. Even though I'm sure it felt like it that sad, terrible day-and probably still does to some extent–I don't think your one and only chance for a happy, contented life ended the day you buried your wife and child."
Even as Wyatt immediately frowned and began to protest, his grandpa gave him a stern look. "Easy there, son, I'm not saying you have to marry a woman you met yesterday or even start courting her. Listen, I may have lived on this earth for more than 60 years now, but do still have most of my faculties. All I'm asking is that you consider moving on maybe just a little from your sorrow and bitterness at the loss you suffered. I mean no disrespect to Jessica's fine memory as your wife and the mother of your son. But, Wyatt, even though the person you loved most in this whole world is gone forever, doesn't mean you have to live the rest of your life alone, with your heart locked up tight against ever again feeling such pain. Why, you might ask? Because the other side of that is love. You just have to be open to the possibility of letting someone else in."
With that, James drew Wyatt into a brief hug. Stepping back, he grinned and teased, "And a word of warning: if you ever tell anyone about this mushy talk we just had–I'll deny it with my dying breath. Now let's go get some of Martha's good cooking before she gets all testy and starts clearing away the dishes." Some of the tension eased from Wyatt's shoulders as he laughed in spite of himself and followed the older man into the house.
Stopping in the kitchen first to wash up, he came face to face with an obviously annoyed Martha. Before she could open her mouth to fuss at Wyatt, he widened his eyes and asked innocently, "Is breakfast ready yet, Martha? I could eat a bear." Pretending not to see the disapproving expression on her face at his bravado, he dropped a smacking kiss on her wrinkled cheek and turning toward the sink, hurriedly washed and dried his hands, smirking at the loud humph he heard behind him. Worked every time...
When Wyatt pushed open the swinging door to the dining room, it was perhaps inevitable after his talk with Gramps just now that his eyes were immediately drawn to the slender brunette seated beside his grandmother at the wide oak table. He couldn't help but notice how pretty and feminine the new teacher looked this morning in a light blue shirtwaist with a high, ruffled collar, her shiny black hair gathered neatly in a coil at the back of her head. Entirely against his will, a faint shiver went up his spine and his heart began to race when Miss Preston glanced up and their eyes met. The hell?
When she instantly looked down at her plate, a soft blush pinking her cheeks, Wyatt unwillingly recalled his grandpa's story about the first time he met Gran, and the 'spark' he felt. Of course, it was a sentimental anecdote, but ask anyone who knew the man-James Sherwin was a born storyteller, and Wyatt highly doubted the memory was strictly accurate. And if such a thing as a 'spark' between a man and woman might actually be real? Well, there was no way in hell it was ever going to happen to him...
A/N: Oh, Wyatt, you silly man. (Of course, Lucy's denial isn't much better, lol.) Not a lot of action in this chapter, I'm afraid, but I wanted to get into their heads a little as these two try to deal with the instant attraction they are feeling for each other. Luckily, the natural chemistry between Abby and Matt is a real inspiration for me when it comes to writing about these characters I love so much. My thanks to all of you for the favorites, follows and kind reviews for this new story–it's greatly appreciated :))