Unbroken Hearts (8 page)

    
The more Sarah
reflected on their actions, the more convinced she was that Mrs. Easton must be
troubled by their intrusion into her home. Like all mothers, she had cooked
meals, and had joyfully wrapped gifts for her sons to celebrate their growing
up years, and, no doubt, thought Sarah, she suffered merciless pain watching
two orphan waifs as they took charge in her sacred domain. They'd donned her
aprons and rattled her pots and pans. It was surely bitter tonic for Mrs.
Easton.

    
To escape the kitchen heat Sarah and Emily
brought Mrs. Easton to the back porch, where they sank onto the step. They
lifted their skirts up around their ankles to feel the cool evening breeze
lapping against bare skin. Emily shook the bell to call the brothers to supper.

    
Within a few minutes the Easton men came strolling in
from the far side of the barn, towels slung over their shoulders. Wet snippets
of hair clung around the corners of their faces.

    
Cal used his good arm to hold the door open
when they entered the house. Rich smells of stew and biscuits embraced them.
The men didn't bother to check contented smiles.

    
"Mmmmm, we must be in heaven."
Roy had completely forgotten his brother's earlier admonition.
 

    
Cal simply inhaled deeply.
 

    
A flush began edging its way across
Sarah's face. "Oh, well, it isn't much."
 
She made her way to the table

    
Cal brushed lightly against Sarah's
backside as he passed her to take his seat. He'd brought his mother up next to
his chair, and he slid her plate close beside his own, noting that the girls
had laid down a tablecloth and matching plates. The womanly touch reminded him
of the days when his mother presided over Montana's most elegant and lively
table, back when people throughout the territory placed great stock in an
invitation to Sunday dinner at Elizabeth Easton's place. Theirs was known as
the ranch where eastern grace and elegance cantered harmoniously with fine
western humor. Elizabeth and John Easton had been as unlikely a match as night
and day, but like bass and soprano voices when they came together they'd
complemented and contrasted at once to produce sweet music.
 

    
Sarah ladled the stew onto each plate. She
passed the pan of biscuits. Emily and Sarah, now starved, struggled to maintain
the pretense of being ladies as their forks hit the food. The men pretended not
to notice the two girls wolfishly gulping.

    
"I've never had better
biscuits," commented Cal, after recovering from the sight of such
unladylike food consumption. His gaze flickered to Sarah and he waved his free
hand. "We usually grab some grub from the chuck crew," he explained.
"And Nettie brings us a pie and jelly now and again." His eyes
remained fixed on Sarah as he punched down thoughts about how a woman had a way
of making a house into a home. He reminded himself that, for him, the luxury of
a woman usually came with a steep price.

     
"Oh, it's not so much,"
she deflected his praise. Sarah's jade eyes traveled to Mrs. Easton's face.
"I'd bet your cooking is much better, ma'am."

    
Cal felt oddly stung by her inability to
accept his compliment. "Sure, Mama's known clean through the territory for
her cooking," he tersely ceded.
 

    
Locked in his gaze, the strange feeling
that she was looking at a vision from a dream ran through her. If Cal was aware
of her response he didn't show it. Instead he turned his attention to his mama.
He gently guided graying hair away from the woman's face. Then his rough cowboy
hands patiently offered her small spoonfuls of gravy, waiting until she had
completely swallowed each one before giving her more.

    
"You must be hungry, Mama,"
commented Roy. He threw a wink at Sarah and grinned. "She likes your
stew." Then he swung his eyes across the table to meet up with Cal.
"Brother, you're having one mighty fine birthday."

    
Cal nodded. "Yep. I can't wait to get
in some target practice with my new rifle!"

    
Sarah cast her eyes downward. Her thoughts
were a flurry of confusing disappointment.
Of course a rifle was the most
treasured gift! He would no doubt forget her and Emily after tomorrow.

    
Roy glanced at Sarah and flashed Cal a
sharp look. Cal Easton was a man who used words carefully, and now he sat
between two fires. He bristled as he struggled to come up with the proper ones
to smooth over his omission. His eyes flickered past Sarah and rested safely on
Emily.
 

    
"Um, of course this delicious supper,
and meeting you fine ladies, has made this a special day . . . one that I won't
soon forget," he added awkwardly. His gaze bravely ambled over to Sarah
and he swallowed hard. He figured a red-hot branding iron would feel better
than the scalding glare blowing in from that direction.

    
Her throat tightened. She felt heat rising
in her cheeks
. Fine ladies?
Sarah
rose stiffly from her chair and hastily excused herself to bring coffee from
the kitchen.
Oh,
she fumed,
the
man was patronizing
! What she was
sold to provide to Mr. Caleb Easton couldn't possibly make her a fine lady in
his estimation.
 

    
Emily sprang up and skipped merrily after
her sister. She took the cake from the shelf where it had been cooling, plucked
the gift from behind a jar of pickles, and turned to make the trek back to the
table.
 

    
Stricken with indignation, Sarah was sure
they had needlessly troubled themselves with the cake and gift. It was too late
to back out now. Emily would be sorely disappointed if they didn't give it.
Sarah grabbed the coffeepot, composed a cool expression, and did her best to
appear aloof as they headed back to the table.
    

    
"We made you a cake for your
birthday!" Emily bubbled. "And we have a gift for you too! Even your
mama kept it a secret!" She beamed as she set the cake on the table and looked
at Cal. She was so thrilled to see his expression of genuine surprise that she
clapped her hands and laughed.

  
Roy's laughter mounted to a thunder so hearty that his eyes brimmed with
tears. And then they were all surprised by Cal's broad smile and laugh.

     
Roy couldn't remember the last time
he had seen his brother laugh, not just grunt, at a joke. Roy smiled inwardly
and allowed himself to nurture a secret hope. This could be the cure he'd been
seeking for his brother.

   
"Well, I'll be . . . you didn't have to do that."' Cal's
expression had turned sober. He was at a loss for words. A flash flood of
feelings washed over him. These sisters had just suffered the worst day of
their lives, what with the murdering of their uncle that morning, and yet
they'd reached out to give him a present.

    
Roy was also caught flat-footed. He
couldn't find the right thing to say – something worthy of what they'd
done. He even felt a little guilty thinking of Sarah as one of "Lola's girls".
Now he wished they'd come to know Sarah and Emily under different
circumstances. Of course they'd never understand what this thoughtfulness meant
to his brother.

    
Emily excitedly thrust the little package into Cal's
hand while Sarah busied herself cutting the cake and putting a piece on each
plate. Cal waited until Sarah was seated to unwrap his gift.
 

    
He cleared his mind, focused on the small
package, unwrapping it carefully and turning it over in his hands. His hoarse
whisper broke the silence.
 

    
"My that's fine. Thank you
ladies."
 

    
His long powerful fingers held up a brass
belt buckle for his mother and Roy to see. His dark eyes shone as he smiled
warmly at Sarah.

    
Sarah risked her own small smile in
return.

    
Cal ran his fingers across the buckle as though
it were an expensive treasure, when in truth it was just a gewgaw that somebody
had lost along the trail. Emily, with her eyes always glued to the ground as
she looked for lost coins, had plucked it from the dust somewhere in Dakota
Territory.

   
 
These two orphan girls,
landed on his doorstep, made him realize how much he missed the celebrations in
his life. Lately Cal had numbly plodded forward through the droughts,
blizzards, plagues and plain bad luck. Tragedy had shaped his existence. Only
mental toughness kept the wolf from the door, and he had honed his to a fine
edge.

    
He stared at the woman who was stirring up
a whirlpool of unsettling feelings inside him. Putting a cold bit in the mouth
of a rough broken horse was probably a heap safer than spending time near this
young lady. Her mere presence tugged at long forgotten emotions, and his
insides felt raw and exposed.
Damn Roy.

    
Yet he
dared to wonder: Could Sarah Anders find something to like about him even
though she'd come to his house as a purchased woman, loaded into the back of
the wagon and hauled home like another sack of flour?
 

    
He told himself she couldn't possibly be
one of those rare women, with a true and loving heart, one who could care for
one man with warmth and passion. Women with heart simply didn't end up on
ponies from Lola's. They were always broken. He shrugged off unruly
speculations. Caring for a woman had been the very last thing on his mind
today.

    
Still Cal eyed Sarah thoughtfully. Most of
the young women of his acquaintance would have taken this opportunity to flirt
shamelessly with him. This one was different. She wasn't a saloon gal or the
opportunist daughter of a rancher, full of vanity and ambition, working to
catch a wealthy cattleman husband. No girlish giggle, coy shrug, or batting of
eyelashes -- just an honest response, a directness, as refreshing as a cooling
breeze when a man sat in a hot late summer saddle.

    
Meanwhile his brother Roy considered the
two of them, and he lifted his cup to hide his grin. He knew Cal was a man who
was afraid to feel too much for a woman, and Sarah was a woman afraid she'd
never find a man who'd want her to feel anything. Abruptly he stood up and
started clearing dishes from the table.
 

    
"Cal and me are washing the
dishes." He looked pointedly at Sarah. "Would you take mama to the
parlor and read to her? I brought some newspapers from town. They're on the
table."

    
Cal flinched and reddened. Roy had assumed
they knew how to read. Didn't his brother ever think before he opened his
mouth?

    
"Be glad to," replied Sarah
easily. "Emily and I can read although Emily is still working through
McGuffey's Reader. My uncle let me finish my education so I could teach his son
during the winter -- the times when we couldn't get to the schoolhouse."

    
They rose, and Emily and Sarah pushed Mrs.
Easton's chair into the parlor, and they timidly seated themselves on the edge
of the sofa. Taking turns they read news from the local paper. After a while
the men joined them, and Roy accepted Emily's offer to play checkers. Cal took
a seat near Sarah and listened as she read news to Mama, her pleasing voice
occasionally punctuated by Emily's gleeful "King me!"
 
followed by the rumble of Roy's
groaning from across the room.
 

    
Sarah read an article on the miner's use
of dynamite, invented just a couple years back by Mr. Nobel. In another column
it was noted that several merchants, including Earl Watkins, William Dunlap,
Jake Farrel, and Jack Dullen, were interested in building a schoolhouse in
Wounded Colt to educate the growing number of children in the area. Cal noted
Sarah's disdain as she read Dullen's name.

    
"You met Dullen?"

    
She nodded. Her lips formed a tight line.
"The man is terribly rude. I can't believe he'd help start up a
school."

    
Cal nodded. "He doesn't care one way
or the next. But he knows he needs to keep up appearances." A frown carved
out lines around his mouth and between his eyes.