Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1) Page 14

  “The tents are on Brad’s pack horse,” Mark said to Allen, pulling the tarp off his own. “Get the girls to set them up while we unpack these horses. Those teenagers can help.”

  He carefully untied the boxes, making sure he took the same weight off each side to keep the pack frame from slipping. By the time Elise pulled up, all the boxes and containers were off the horse, lying in a neat pile.

  “Working already, brother?” she asked, dismay tingeing her voice as she looked down.

  “Don’t wimp out on me now, sister. We’re hungry, and since you’re the chief cook, we have to wait for you.”

  Elise slipped off her horse with a groan. “Well, the least you can do is take care of this poor critter for me. I’ll see what’s on the menu for tonight.”

  Mark caught the reins, looking up just as Sheryl rode in, a curious half smile on her face.

  He had spent most of the afternoon glancing past his family to the end of the train, catching only glimpses of her blond hair as it caught rays of the sun through the gentle dapple of the pine trees. Now that she was in front of him, he felt suddenly tongue-tied, an unfamiliar feeling for an Andrews.

  “This really is God’s country,” she sighed as she slipped off her horse, running her pack horse’s rope through her hands.

  He smiled at her as she brought her horses around to the hitching rail.

  “So how does it feel to be back up in the mountains?” he asked, watching her slim hands working at the latigo of her saddle, pulling it loose, her head bent. He half turned, still watching her, resisting the temptation to kiss her exposed neck.

  She paused a moment, looking up again. “I’ve forgotten how much I missed this.” Her voice caught on the last words, and she looked down again, busying herself with the saddle, the bridle and moving on to her pack horse.

  Mark let her go, sensing her need for space, encouraged by the emotion in her voice. He returned to Elise’s horse, thoughtful. If spending only one afternoon riding in the hills could open up even one tiny crack, he wondered what he might learn about her after two days.

  Mark paused, glancing over his shoulder once again. Brad and his wife, Lois, were helping Sheryl unpack, their voices carrying a murmur punctuated by an occasional laugh from Lois. Drew and Elaine were gathering the tack, and Allen and Diane helped Elise set up the kitchen. Their teenagers had found a frying pan lid and were already playing frisbee with the younger kids.

  He felt the tension ease in his shoulders. He had been dreading this trip, and when Nate broke his leg, it put that much more on him. He had come so close to canceling, but now, as he saw his family so thoroughly enjoying themselves, he realized that all the trouble was worthwhile.

  And when he heard Sheryl laugh softly, he knew that the patience he had unexpectedly received to finish the preparations for the trip was God-given, possibly for another reason.

  Soon the clearing was full of tents, and Elise was ringing the gong for supper. Mark stretched, pushing a kink out of his back. The horses were hobbled, the more aggressive mares picketed to prevent them heading back home. Folded tarps hung over rails alongside saddles, blankets and bridles. He quickly scanned the sky. No clouds, but in the mountains you never knew. He would cover everything with the tarps before he went to sleep.

  With a satisfied nod, he turned back to the camp, where his family had now gathered, waiting. They stood in a circle, a steady buzz of chatter flowing comfortably around them. He approached them and took his place beside Sheryl who stood off to one side, her hands clasped behind her back.

  “Allen, can you say grace?” Elise asked as she held out her hands.

  Mark saw Sheryl hesitate as a circle formed. Marla pulled Sheryl’s one hand to herself and, with a wry grin, Mark reached over and caught her other.

  She pulled away as Mark had known she would, but he only looked at her, his hand holding her smaller one firmly. When she looked up at him, a slight frown marred her forehead.

  “Shall we pray?” Allen said, looking around the circle with a smile. Mark bent his head, still holding Sheryl’s hand. She relaxed.

  Allen’s words were hushed, almost muffled by the largeness of the space they were in. His voice flowed, counterpointed by the whispering wind teasing the leaves of the trees above.

  When Allen said amen Mark felt Sheryl’s fingers cling to his almost desperately. When he turned to her, her head was bent, eyes squeezed shut, lips clamped between her teeth. Mark resisted the urge to pull her close to him, to ease the tension that held her so stiff.

  But then she pulled her hand away and looked up, not at him or anyone else, but at the leaves above them as if in supplication.

  “We’ll eat the usual way.” Elise’s voice broke the moment. “Parents help the little kids, and then the adults can eat once they’re settled.”

  Sheryl turned to Marla and away from Mark, as if shutting him off.

  He waited, watching her as she ushered her step-niece to the line, helping her select a plate and cutlery and then get served by Elise. Sheryl found them a spot on a fallen log and sat down.

  Mark waited until everyone was served, intending on sitting at the table. He had envisioned sitting with Sheryl, but sensed that she wanted to be left alone. Crystal suddenly appeared beside him.

  “Come and sit with us. Uncle Mark?” she asked, an overly bright smile wreathing her face.

  “Why?” he asked, looking past her to where Sheryl sat with Marla, her head bent over the little girl’s.

  Crystal leaned closer, her voice lowered to a theatrical whisper. “Sheryl has tears in her eyes,” she whispered.

  Mark straightened, his fingers tightening on the plate he held. Ignoring his family’s knowing looks, he affected a casual air, got up and sauntered across the clearing to where Sheryl sat.

  He lowered himself slowly to the ground beside her, leaning against the log she sat on. “Hope you don’t mind that I sit here?” he asked, glancing up at her.

  “No, go ahead.” Her voice was quiet, almost strained. Beside him he could see her legs stretched out, the toes of her scuffed running shoes tapping against each other in agitation.

  Crystal joined them with a plate of food for Sheryl, and between the two little girls, they managed to fill up the silence that loomed between the two adults.

  When Mark finished eating, he gave Crystal his plate, sent Marla on an errand and pushed himself up on the log beside Sheryl. She sat, head bent over her plate, her fork pushing around the remnants of stew that he knew was now cold.

  “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” he told her, his hands dangling between his knees.

  “But if I don’t, the bears will,” she said with an attempt at humor.

  Mark took the plate from her and with two spoonfuls finished it off. Then he handed it back to her. “Now just wipe it with your bread and you’re done.”

  She did as she was told. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  Giving in to an impulse, Mark slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her.

  Her answering smile surprised and pleased him. She didn’t resist. It was as if she was content to have him hold her beside him. She took a slow breath, and Mark saw the shimmer of tears on the corner of one eye. With a gentle forefinger he touched it and one slipped out.

  Mark pulled her closer, wondering, praying, knowing that somehow she had been touched, but knowing, as well, that he would have to trust and wait.

  Chapter 10

  The crackle and snap of the fire broke the stillness of the night. Sparks spiraled upward into the darkness then chased by others.

  Sheryl watched the flames, her hands cupped around a coffee mug, her restlessness easing.

  She had helped Elise put her girls to bed, told them a story about when she was young and then kissed them good-night. She had dawdled, hesitant to step out of the safety of the little girls’ company and join the adults sitting outside, their words an indistinct murmur punctuated by the snapping fire. The single t
ear that had slipped out at suppertime was a mistake, she didn’t know what to do about it.

  Mark had wiped it away, and she knew he wouldn’t leave her alone. So when she stepped out of the tent, safely out of the circle of the firelight, she scanned the bodies around it, checking for his distinctive hair, but she couldn’t see him.

  So why had she felt a twinge of disappointment as she stepped closer to the fire?

  The circle had opened for her, and she had found a spot just within reach of the warmth of the flames, but slightly back from the group.

  Sheryl took another sip of her tea, followed by a deep, cleansing sigh. She enjoyed watching Mark’s family, enjoyed listening to their light banter. Unfinished jokes circulated, memories interrupted by laughter and other remembrances, the conversation a stream of consciousness that meandered over past and present.

  “Where are you?” A gravelly voice murmured in her ear. Joy sluiced through her at the familiar sound. A large hand rested on her shoulder, long fingers curling around it. Sighing lightly she gave in to an impulse and laid her head back, enjoying the feeling of belonging that surged through her at his touch. He liked her, and she had to admit she was attracted to him. Why not just enjoy it?

  “My mind’s just wandering,” she replied.

  “Well, put this on and come and wander with me instead.” Mark drew back and dropped her heavy jacket over her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

  His eyes glowed with reflected firelight, his finely chiseled features accented by the shadows. “I have to check the horses and thought you might want to come with me,” he said, pulling the collar of the coat up around her neck.

  Sheryl hesitated.

  “Please,” he urged, his rough finger caressing her neck.

  She felt her skin warm under his touch and, pushing aside the last of her own objections, slipped her arms into the overlarge sleeves, pulling the coat close to her and nodded. “Sure. If my expert opinion is any good.” Keep it light and superficial and just savor, she reminded herself.

  Mark smiled, dropped an arm over her shoulders and drew her away from the campfire and his family. “You can tell me if I have the hobbles on upside down.”

  “Well if you’re worried about that, you probably tied the horses to the picket with the wrong end of the rope,” Sheryl retorted, a teasing note entering her voice. It was time she proved that she could hold her own, play the game and not get involved.

  The fire was behind them now, the noises of his family receding as they walked.

  “Listen, I had a hard enough time finding a picket that had the point on the right end,” Mark said, slipping his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes on her as they walked.

  Sheryl laughed, the sound softened by the darkness. The sighing of the wind in the trees above them and the occasional nicker or snort from the horses beyond them were the only sounds accompanying their muted footfalls.

  He reached out and took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers, and Sheryl let him, content to relish in his attention. When he stopped and leaned back against a tree and drew her close to him, she didn’t stop him, either.

  She laid her head against his chest, feeling more than hearing the steady thump of his heartbeat, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. He touched her hair and pulled her braid out from the jacket.

  “Do you always tie it up?” he asked, toying with it.

  “Usually. It gets in the way otherwise.” She was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to just enjoy his company.

  “Can I undo it?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve wanted to do this for days,” he sighed, combing her hair with his fingers. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Sheryl leaned back, her hands pressed against his chest, watching him as his eyes followed his own hands as they wrapped themselves in her hair. It felt good to be treated so gently, but she had to be careful to keep the situation under her control. “What do you want, Mark?”

  Mark looked bemused, his eyes still on his hands. “I want a lot of things. A square-bale stacker, some more land...” He paused, looking down into her eyes, his own glinting in the weak light of the moon. “Lots of money,” he whispered dramatically.

  “Who doesn’t?” she replied softly, her tone bantering, her mouth curved up in a smile.

  Mark tilted his head. As his smile faded away, his expression became serious, and against her will Sheryl felt her heart still. Don’t let him do it, she thought grimly, remembering his unexpected kiss that morning.

  But his gentle fingers rested lightly on her forehead, his other hand held her even closer.

  “I want a lot of things,” he whispered, his eyes intent. “But what I need is you.”

  He waited a moment as the words sank in, dropping so quickly past her guard, she couldn’t stop them. They shot straight as an arrow to that deep, empty place in Sheryl’s life that yearned for love and affection. No one had ever needed her before. Wanted, used, but needed?

  She looked up into his soft gray eyes trying to discern what he really meant.

  Stop this now, commanded the angry part of her.

  But Sheryl was suddenly tired of anger, tired of fighting. This moment, this time up in the mountain was like a dream. Mark’s family, the fellowship, the beauty of the surroundings, Mark’s arms around her—all of this was so unreal it was easy to think that no matter what happened it wouldn’t affect her, once she returned to the valley and reality.

  He needed her.

  His arm tightened about her, his hand slid over her cheek and suddenly his mouth was on hers creating an ache within her heart that almost hurt. His lips were warm, soft, and she drifted against him, clinging to him.

  “Sheryl,” he murmured against her mouth, his own moving to her cheeks, her eyes, his fingers following, touching, tasting.

  She slipped her hands around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, her mouth seeking his hungrily.

  Reluctantly he pulled away, tucking her head close to his chest, his mouth brushing her temple.

  “Oh, Sheryl, I wish I could tell you how much I care about you,” he whispered against her hair, his lips warm on her skin. “I think I’m falling in love with you."

  That word, more than any, was sufficient to wake her, and she pulled back. “Don’t talk like that,” she warned.

  Mark tilted his head to one side, brushing her hair out of her face. “But I have to,” he said. “I feel like I found someone who belongs with me.. .you’re the part of me that has been missing all this time.”

  “Please stop.”

  “I can’t,” he murmured, tracing the line of her eyebrows. “I want to tell you what you mean to me, how much I like just watching you. I like seeing you work with the horses, driving a tractor. You look beautiful with dust streaking your face and straw in your hair. And when you smile—” he kissed the corner of her mouth, as if to encourage it “—that’s what I want to do.”

  Sheryl felt confusion warring within her. Physical actions she could deal with, but not words. She had no defense against what he said. He wasn’t supposed to be making her bones melt and her blood thin with words. This was just supposed to be an interlude, a brief moment, a light flirtation.

  Her mind fought with the pleasure of what he said and the humility of feeling undeserving. Jason and, even earlier, Ed both had tried to pound the feeling into her without success, and now Mark, with only a few words, had succeeded where Jason and Ed had failed. She didn’t want to feel unworthy, yet around Mark she knew she was.

  Caught between her wavering emotions she looked up into Mark’s glowing eyes and slowly shook her head. “We don’t fit at all, Mark,” she whispered, desperately fighting his attraction, trying to keep her emotions under control. What he said was too beautiful, too wonderful, to be meant for her. It gently pried open cracks in her protective covering that let out the remembering. “You’re too different,” Too good for me, she added silently to herself, too wonderful. Too scary. Because if
she gave in and it fell apart, the landing would be too painful to think of.

  “Not so different, Sheryl,” he admonished, running a callused finger down her cheek. “We both love the same things...”

  “No,” she said, her voice suddenly thick with emotions that came so easily to the surface when she was with him, mocking her earlier intentions. “I can’t love...I don’t dare.”

  Mark tilted his head to one side, his hand cupping her chin, slipping down her neck. “I think you already have. I’ve seen you with Crystal and Marla, with Benjamin.”

  “Stop it,” she said, her voice tightening. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t mind it when I kiss you,” he continued undaunted, gently caressing her neck.

  Sheryl stiffened as his hands drifted over her shoulder, reminding her. She stepped away, and Mark’s hands dropped to his side. His chest lifted in a protracted sigh.

  “You do that so well, Sheryl.”

  She ignored him, pulling her jacket around her.

  “What does it take to crack that shell you have so firmly around yourself?” Mark’s voice was soft, but his tone suggested he wasn’t going to let her pull back this time. “I care about you, Sheryl, and I want to help.”

  “What can you do?” she cried out. “You’re just a man, just another lousy man, and what has any man ever done for me?”

  Mark paused, reached out and touched her cheek, tracing the track of the lone tear that slid unheeded down her cheek.

  “One man gave up his life for you, Sheryl.”

  She blinked, swiping the moisture from her eyes with the palm of her hand, watching him, suddenly still as she listened.

  “Jesus took all that pain you’re carrying around, all those burdens, all the mistakes, the punishment that we deserve...” He dropped his hand, his eyes watching her. “He took it all with him and then he died—just for you.”

  It was there again. That hovering feeling, that sense of great love waiting. But she knew too well what God wanted. Subjugation.