Walker's Wedding (25 page)

Papers collected, Caleb glanced at Walker. “I don't know what she's talking about. Perhaps she detected a slight miscalculation. Regrettable as it is, these things happen. I'll be happy to go over the figures with you and explain anything in question.”

For a moment Sarah was almost swayed by his sincerity. Had she mistaken this man? Was her condition making her utter these wild accusations? But she'd seen the mistakes! The receipts were the only way to prove her claim. She snatched the papers out of Caleb's hand and scanned the long rows of numbers again.

She glanced at Walker, who said nothing. His grave features chilled her.

Caleb smiled, reaching for the papers. “After dinner? We'll come in here and I'll explain whatever's bothering you.”

He met her gaze and she wasn't sure what she saw. A warning? Fear?
He's a fraud,
Sarah realized.
He's deceiving Walker and he's desperate. And desperate men are dangerous men.
“That won't be necessary,” she said.

Walker broke the silence. “Caleb and I will finish up in here.”

“But, Walker—”

“Sarah, go cool off. You are out of order.”

Sarah bit back resentment. He did not believe her. And why should he?

“Go rest, Sarah.” Walker opened the door and gently ushered her through it.

Over Walker's shoulder she saw Caleb's cold, hard face. “Fool,” he
mouthed. Although he didn't make a sound, she knew exactly what his warning implied. He was cheating Walker blind—and she couldn't do a thing about it. He may have cleverly covered his tracks, but someone with more knowledge about numbers could catch him.

A moment later, she was out in the hall, the door closed behind her.

“Don't be so smug, Caleb,” she told the closed door. “You haven't won yet.”

A
fter supper Sarah avoided Walker, going instead to the front porch. The encounter with Caleb had left her numb.

Gazing at the stars, she wondered why she'd opened herself to more of Walker's disgust. He didn't believe a thing she said. Her eyes traveled to the darkened bunkhouse. The ranch was remarkably quiet tonight. During supper, Flo had mentioned a grange dance that she and S.H. planned to attend, if they could stay awake. Apparently the ranch hands had taken advantage of the monthly social as well and left the bunkhouse early.

Drawing her wrap closer, she leaned against the railing, imagining herself in Walker's arms, dancing to the music of banjos and fiddles.

Sighing, she opened her eyes, aware that her dreams were as hopeless as their relationship. She would give everything she had to start anew, but she couldn't. Tonight she had only heightened his anger by accusing his best friend of being a thief. Maybe the time had come for her to go home. There, Papa and Wadsy and Abe would love her. After the baby came, Abe could deliver the child to Walker and…

Her hand slipped to her stomach, where part of Walker McKay grew. She'd seen the doctor, and he confirmed that her pregnancy was going well. The baby kicked, a strong flutter, reminding her that if anyone had been wronged, it was this innocent child who was created in love—if one-sided.

Stepping off the porch, she meandered to the side of the house and entered the rose garden. Sitting down on a bench, she stared at the neglected bushes—painful reminders for both her and Walker. Did he keep them to bolster his belief that all women were schemers? Her gaze swept the light that burned in Walker's study and then returned to the roses. Fall was here, and the flowers were almost gone, the vines withered and drawn. What must Walker think when he looked at the shriveled tokens of his and Trudy's love?

Hopeless tears swelled to her eyes. One moment she was reasonably optimistic that Walker would forgive her; the next, she wallowed in a pit of despair. Both Doc and Flo had assured her that mood swings were normal, but tonight they didn't feel normal. They felt hateful and strange, as if someone else occupied her body.

Tears ran down her cheeks. Her breasts were sore to the touch, her ankles puffy and swollen. She must weigh ten pounds more than she did last week, even though she'd passed on Flo's chocolate cream pie tonight.

Her eyes roamed the garden and then switched back to the light that streamed from the study window.

Walker had no right to treat her this way. Shoving off the bench, she gathered her wrap and marched around the corner of the house.

He couldn't treat her like this—barely speaking to her, ignoring her when she walked into a room, locking himself away in that hateful study every night, refusing to go to town socials. He made them live like hermits.

Walker dropped the journal he was reading when Sarah pushed through the study doorway. “You can't treat me this way.”

Retrieving the magazine, he grunted. “Ever hear of knocking?”

Striding across the floor, she cleared the top of his desk with a defiant sweep of her hand. Papers, journals, and blotters fell to the floor in a heap.

Shoving back from the desk, Walker stared at the carnage. “Are you in another one of those moods?”

“I'm not in a ‘mood' and you listen to me, Walker McKay. Trudy might have betrayed you, and you might think I'm just like her, but I'm not! Do you hear me?”

He tried to straighten the papers. “The whole ranch can hear you, Sarah.”

She leveled a finger at him. “Don't patronize me.”

“I'm not patronizing you. I'm telling you that everyone in a ten-mile radius can hear you.”

“Good. Then maybe they'll listen to my side of the story.”

Getting up, he fetched a ledger, but she stepped in front of him before he could open the book. They faced off, neither giving an inch.

“You're in my way.”

“You are not going to fix this by ignoring me. You're going to talk about us whether you want to or not.”

Grasping her by the shoulders, he set her aside. She dogged his attempts to reach his chair.

“Trudy ran off with another man. I didn't.”

“At least I knew who Trudy was.”

“Just because I'm not the bride you sent for—and you should be down on your knees thanking the good Lord that I'm not!—doesn't mean I'm bad. What I did was foolish, and for the hundredth time I'm sorry. But if you're so pigheaded that you can't see that you and I belong together, then I give up.”

“I understand what you're saying.” He opened the ledger. “And it still stinks.”

Tears surfaced to her eyes. “You're never going to forgive me, are you?”

“It's late, Sarah. Go to bed.” He stared at the garden, eyes fixed, jaw set.

“Oh, Walker.” Her voice caught. “There comes a time when you have to forgive or be eaten alive by bitterness. You stare at those roses and you won't allow yourself to forget. Did you love her that deeply?”

The accusation in her voice surprised him. Love Trudy? He almost laughed. No. In time he might have grown to love her. His bitterness hadn't been built on losing her love, he realized, but on the humiliation of being made a fool. He wasn't about to let Sarah do it a second time.

“Did you
love
her, Walker?”

Sarah's voice drew him back, and he turned to face her. “I fail to see how that should concern you.”

She picked the ledger up and hurled it at him. He ducked, barely avoiding being struck. “Sarah, if you throw one more—”

She reached for the humidor.

“Sarah McKay!”

He lunged for her as she threw the humidor at him and then darted away. Bolting into the foyer, she picked up a vase and threw it. He sidestepped it, chasing her. She was going to hurt herself—or worse, hurt the baby. “Sarah!”

She dashed outside and down the front steps. Racing around the corner of the house, she fled with surprising swiftness. He watched her skirt fade into the darkness.

Turning, he went back into the house, slamming the door behind him.

G
ood heavens! Did a cyclone go through here?” Flo, hands on her hips, stood at the study door surveying the aftermath the next morning.

Walker looked up from pouring a cup of coffee. “Sarah stopped by to visit.”

Shaking her head, Flo looked at tobacco ground into the rug. Setting the humidor back into place, she said, “It's a shame you two fight all the time. You could both put the energy to better use.”

“Talk to her, not me.”

Flo scooped the remains of the ashtray into the trash. “A few more months of this and you won't have a lick of anything left. Anyone ever mention that yer hardheaded as a gourd? You ever think about getting down on yer knees and asking the Lord to intervene in this mess?”

“I've been on my knees. It's the Lord who's not speaking right now.”

“Who'd think?” Shaking her head a second time, she added. “By the time that young'un gets here, I'll be a mass of nerves.”

“Open the drapes, will you, Flo?”

Tsking, the housekeeper shuffled across the floor. Sunlight streamed into the study when she parted the heavy fabric. Walker glanced up at Flo's soft gasp.

“What?”

“Have you seen this?”

“What?” Walker got up from the desk and walked to the window. Stunned, he viewed the carnage. Not one rosebush had escaped the bloodbath. Uprooted plants and clods of dirt filled the fountain. The rose garden was no more.

“What in the…?”

Flo chuckled. “Looks like the cyclone was still on the ground when it left the study.”

Whirling, Walker strode out of the room and took the stairs two at a time.

Flo, a hand over her heart, stood at the bottom and yelled, “You harm a hair on that young'un's head and you'll answer to me, Walker McKay! A body doesn't feel like herself when she's in the family way! She's done you a favor by destroying those plants!”

Sarah turned quickly when Walker burst into the bedroom, hiding her battle-scarred hands behind her. She started backing up when he advanced on her, his face a thundercloud.

“Walker, I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. I saw those roses and something came over me—” She edged toward the door and he lunged for her, missing by a fraction. He stumbled and hit the floor hard. Racing down the stairway, Sarah shouted, “Flo! Help!”

Walker got up and boiled out of the room, taking the stairs three at a time. When he reached the bottom Sarah was behind Flo, who planted herself in the middle of the ruckus, arms crossed, daring Walker to come any closer.

“You leave this poor little darlin' alone, Walker McKay.”

“That poor little darlin' just tore apart my rose garden, Flo!” He glared at Sarah. She glared back.

“Needed to be done ages ago,” Flo said. “Now get on out of here. I've got work to do.”

“I want to speak to Sarah.”

Flo's face hardened. “Why? You haven't wanted to talk to her before now.”

“Women!” Walker turned and walked into his study, slamming the door behind him.

Flo shook her head, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hard to believe he once entered and left rooms like a normal person.”

With a trembling hand, Sarah smoothed her hair. “Thank you, Flo.”

“Girl, you'd better watch your step.” Flo eyed her. “What in the world possessed you to tear up those rosebushes?”

“I hate them, Flo. Every time Walker looks at them they remind him of a woman's betrayal.” Brushing off her skirt, Sarah said softly, “I'm reminder enough.”

“Sweet Matilda,” Flo said. “I'm too old for this.”

Later that afternoon, Sarah watched Walker come in from the barn. By the looks of his clothes, he'd been working cattle and she knew it wasn't the best time to approach him. Still, she felt compelled to apologize for her behavior. Tapping lightly at the study door, she entered without invitation. He glanced up, his face darkening when he saw her. “What have you torn up now? The north or south forty?”

“Top of my list tomorrow.” She offered him a timid smile. To her surprise, he returned it.

“You're ornery when you're riled. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Papa tried. I'm sorry about your rosebushes.”

Removing his gloves, he laid them on the desk. He sighed. “The eyesores needed to come out.”

And he needed to let go of the past. Flo's prayer advice had paid off. After Sarah had run off into the darkness, he had read the Bible long into the night, and by early morning he had felt the bitterness lift. God's Word was a balm to his heart. Maybe if he had turned there earlier, he would have realized it weeks ago.

Sarah released a quick breath of relief. “I want to replace the plants, if you'll allow me. I'm thinking some nice perennials, maybe a few flowering bushes.”

He nodded, absently sorting through a stack of papers. “Talk to S.H. He'll get you anything you need.”

“Fine, but I want to purchase them.”

“You bet your life you will.” He grinned, and she was happy to see the plants didn't seem to matter much to him. “You didn't hurt yourself, did you?”

“No.” She eased her hands behind her back so he couldn't see the cuts the roses had put there. “Well, not much.”

“Sarah.” He moved closer, gently taking her by the shoulders. “I'm sorry I acted the way I did this morning. I would never lay a hand on you.”

“I knew you wouldn't.”

“Then why did you hide behind Flo?”

“Because I was frightened. You burst into my room and I was startled.” She rested her hand on his arm.

Drawing her to him, he looked at her as if he were baffled by her charm. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she conceded with a soft, tentative smile. A soft sound slipped from her throat when his mouth lowered to cover hers.

Slowly backing away, she smoothed his lips with the tips of her fingers. “We can't do this.”

His hand refused to release her, and she thought that his eyes held more of a promise than she'd seen before. “You can't tell me that you love me, and I will settle for nothing less.”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes darkening with respect. “Give me a little time, Sarah.”

Nodding, she backed away. When he was near she lost her ability to reason. Their fingertips strained, stretching the contact as long as possible. When distance forced them to separate, she felt miserable. “Will you be joining me for supper?”

“I'm buried with work, but I'll make a point to be there,” he conceded, his eyes still locked with hers. He seemed to war with his emotions before he released her and turned back to the desk.