Page 16

A ustin Leigh owed her nothing. Loree repeated that litany in the following days as she watched Two-bits romp through her garden. He was a fierce protector. As she watched him attack the worms he uncovered, she couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so hard.

Two-bits would never replace Digger in her heart, but he was slowly earning his own place, different but just as precious. She wondered if any woman would ever replace the woman Austin held in his heart. She thought it unlikely. She doubted that his heart even held room for another.

She wished she had kept her hurt buried deep inside and hadn’t shown it to him when he visited her.

She had driven him away with her accusations.

He’d never return now. She knew it was for the best, but the loneliness increased because for some unfathomable reason when she had seen him sitting astride his horse, it felt as though a part of her had come home.

Standing in her garden, she heard the rapid clop of horses’ hooves and the whirl of wheels.

She spun around, her heart imitating the rapid motion of the buggy as it approached, two matching bay horses trotting before it.

Austin pulled back on the reins, jumped out of the black buggy, and swept his hat from his head. “Morning, Miss Grant.”

Her breath hitched at the warm smile he bestowed upon her. “What are you doing?”

“Well …” He turned his hat in his hands as he walked toward her. “I told you my parents had lived near Austin. My brother drew a map of the area for me before I left. I woke up this morning with a hankering to see the old homestead. I was hoping you’d give me the pleasure of your company.”

He halted his steps and his fingers tightened around the brim of his hat.

“But I’m not courting you, Loree. I’ve got nothing to offer you so I want to make that clear at the outset, but since you’d mentioned not knowing me well …

and thinking that you should, I just thought you might like to come.

” His smile lessened. “And I’d like for you to be there with me. ”

“I could pack some food and we could have a picnic.”

His smile returned, deeper than before. “I had the kitchen staff at the hotel fix us something and I bundled up the blankets from my bed …” His gaze slowly roamed over her. “So you wouldn’t have to get your britches dirty.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at her brother’s clothes. “Do you have time for me to change into a dress?”

He settled his hat into place. “I have time for you to do anything you want.”

“I won’t be long,” she assured him as she hurried past him and scurried into the house, her heart beating so hard she was certain he’d been able to hear it.

He had come back. His reasons didn’t matter, and she didn’t care that he wasn’t courting her.

She would spend the day without the loneliness eating at her.

She washed up quickly before donning the faded yellow dress.

She rolled the stockings over her callused feet and up her calves before reaching beneath the bed and dragging out her black shoes.

She worked her feet into the hated leather, reached for the button hook, and sealed her feet into what she’d always considered an instrument of torture.

But for reasons she couldn’t understand, today, she was glad she’d kept them.

She almost twisted her ankle with the first step she took toward the mirror.

She gazed at her reflection, wishing the dress were a bit more fashionable, her hair more colorful.

She wasn’t a beauty. Yet Austin had rented a buggy and two horses and driven out here, seeking her company, when surely he had met women in town.

She tossed the braid over her shoulder, hating the way it made her look like a little girl.

But she had never tried to sweep it up into a womanly fashion and had no idea where to begin.

With a sigh, she grabbed a ragged shawl just in case they didn’t get back before nightfall and headed out the door.

Austin shoved himself away from the porch beam as she closed the door, the shawl draped over her arm.

She hadn’t noticed before how his shirt appeared to be freshly laundered, recently ironed.

His hair no longer curled around his collar, but was slightly shorter, cut even along the edges, and when the breeze blew by him and traveled to her, she smelled soap and a scent that was uniquely his.

For a man who wasn’t courting, he’d gone to a lot of trouble.

When she had finished her slow perusal, she lifted her gaze to his sparkling blue eyes.

“You’re wearing shoes,” he said quietly, but she heard the amusement in his voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you owned a pair.”

“I wear them in winter … and on special occasions.” The heat warmed her cheeks. “I’ve never taken a ride in a buggy.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. This buggy rides well.”

She stepped off the porch, and he fell in step beside her, his hand coming to rest easily on the small of her back. The buggy had two seats. The bench in the back held two boxes.

“What’s in the boxes?” she asked.

“Our lunch is in one, and your dog is in the other.”

Looking up at him, she nearly tripped over her feet. He steadied her and smiled. “Didn’t figure you’d want to leave him here alone. I put him in the box with some blankets and my pocket watch. He went right to sleep.”

He took her hand, helped her into the carriage, and settled beside her, his thigh brushing hers. She pressed her knees together and clenched her hands in her lap. He lifted the reins and gave the horses a gentle rap on the backside. In unison, they surged forward into a trot.

They rode in silence for several moments, the countryside unfolding before them, bathed in the blue of bluebonnets.

“I love this time of year,” Loree said wistfully, “when the flowers coat the hills.”

“Their fragrance reminds me of you.”

Peering at him, finding his gaze fastened on her, she released a self-conscious laugh. “I gather them up, dry them out, and sprinkle the petals around the house. Sometimes I put them in my bath water.”

His eyes darkened and she wondered if he was thinking of the night when he’d washed her. His gaze drifted down to her lips and she knew he was.

“How far away is your old home?” she asked hastily.

“If my brother’s map is accurate, I figure an hour or so.”

The journey took a little over two hours, and Loree thought it was the most pleasant two hours of her life, even though they spoke little.

When he finally drew the buggy to a halt, Loree felt a somberness come over him.

She couldn’t say that she blamed him. Weeds, overgrowth, and a dilapidated structure that might have once been a one-room cabin greeted them.

Although she had grown up with little, she knew she’d had more than he might have possessed here.

The buggy rocked as he climbed out. He walked around the horses and came to her side, extending his hand.

He helped her out, then reached beneath the seat and gathered up a handful of bluebonnets.

She was surprised to feel the slight trembling in his hand as he wrapped it around hers.

“I don’t remember much about the place,” he said quietly as he led her away from the buggy.

“How old were you when you left?” she asked.

“Five.”

They walked until they reached a towering oak tree, the branches spreading out gracefully, the abundant leaves whispering in the breeze.

Hanging from the lowest branch, a swing made of fraying rope and weathered wood swayed slightly.

On the ground to the right of it, among the weeds and briars, stood a wooden marker.

Lovita Leigh.

Wife and Mother.

Deeply Loved, Sorely Missed

1829-1865

Austin released Loree’s hand, removed his hat, dropped to one knee beside the grave, pulled at the weeds until he’d made a small clearing, and placed the flowers in front of the marker. He braced his forearm on his thigh and bowed his head.

Loree knew a moment’s hesitation, feeling awkward because she was familiar with every aspect of the outer man and understood so little of the man who dwelled inside. Yet from the beginning, she had been drawn to him and the anguish in his eyes that spoke when his voice didn’t.

She knelt beside him and laid her hand on his forearm, squeezing gently. He turned his hand slightly and moved it back until he was able to intertwine his fingers with hers.

“I don’t remember what she looked like,” he said quietly. “A man should remember his mother.”

“You do remember her or you wouldn’t have felt a need to come here.” She touched the blue petals of the flowers he’d set on the ground. “I bet you picked flowers for her.”

A faraway look came into his eyes and a corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, I did. She laughed. Not because she thought it was funny, but because it made her happy.” He closed his eyes. “Lord, she had a pretty laugh … like music.”

“Did she tell you stories at bedtime?”

He opened his eyes, and it gladdened her heart to see that a small portion of the sadness had melted away.

“She told me stories, but not with words. She used songs. I remember she’d sit on the edge of my bed, and I’d watch her fingers caress the violin strings as she moved the bow and the most beautiful sounds flowed from the wood through the strings.

I tried so hard not to fall asleep so I could keep watching her hands.

I loved watching her hands.” Turning his head slightly, he smiled warmly.

“I remember her hands. She had the longest fingers—”

“Like yours.”

Surprise flitted across his face. He lifted the hand she wasn’t holding, turned it, and studied it from all angles. “I reckon so. I never noticed before.”

“You should learn to play the violin.”

She felt his hand stiffen within hers.

“You have to hear the music in your heart before you can create it with a fiddle. I can’t do that,” he said.

“You could try—”

“I can’t.”