Cattleman's Courtship Page 6

  Lorne caught the direction of his gaze, frowned, and drew Nicholas aside by the shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, with Cara and all?”

  Nicholas forced a laugh. “It’s over, Lorne. Has been for three years.”

  Lorne shrugged. “Maybe, but I know you cared about her and I didn’t get the whole attraction thing until I met Trista. If what you had with Cara was anything like what I have with Trista—”

  “If what I had with Cara was the same, we would have been married already,” Nicholas said, unable to keep the sharp note out of his voice.

  “But it’s still gotta be hard to see her like this. I told Trista she had to ask someone else, but she wouldn’t and neither would I, so here you two are. Stuck with seeing each other. Sorry.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I’ll deal. It’s sort of like that horse I used to have. The one that spooked every time something brushed its stomach.”

  “I remember the time he dumped you in the patch of thistles,” Lorne said with a laugh. “But I don’t get the Cara connection.”

  “Remember how I fixed the problem?”

  Lorne nodded, but still looked puzzled.

  “I took it in the corral. Brushed it with sticks and sacks and my hand and kept at it until it got desensitized. Until it didn’t jump each time it saw a stick or something coming at it.” Nicholas lifted one shoulder in a slow shrug. “I just have to do the same with Cara. Get desensitized.”

  Lorne nodded slowly, as if he didn’t quite get it but was willing to go along with the idea. “Desensitized. Sure. Whatever.”

  “And the more I see her, the less spooked I’ll get.”

  “Just make sure you don’t get spooked the day of my wedding.”

  “I’ll be there.” Nicholas slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Now let’s finish with those chairs before the women start nagging. Then we can get going on those lanterns I see piled by the trees.”

  Half an hour later, chaos had fled and order had been restored and Mr. Elderveld was calling out for people’s attention. Both sets of parents of the bride and groom stood side by side, fidgeting and tossing quick glances at each other.

  Nicholas knew Lorne’s mother, Mrs. Hughes, hated fuss and hated being the center of attention. Yet there she stood in her party clothes, smiling at her son and Trista, who sat at a table beside them.

  “We’d like to thank everyone for coming here,” Mr. Elderveld was saying once the noise settled down. “I’m hoping the weather for the wedding is as cooperative as it has been for this party.” He glanced down at his daughter and gave her a loving smile. “I’m so thankful we can celebrate this special occasion and though I know the wedding is only a couple of weeks away, we wanted to do things right and in this family that means we have an engagement dinner.” He glanced over at Lorne’s father. “I’d now like to ask Mr. Hughes to say a blessing on the food.”

  Lorne’s father stepped forward. “My wife and I would like to thank Mr. and Mrs. Elderveld for hosting this party. This means a lot.” Mr. Hughes tucked his hands in the back pockets of his pants, glancing at his son and future daughter-in-law. “We all know this is a difficult situation for you two, but we want to show you that we support you both and are thankful you are taking this step. You are a blessing to us from the Lord in so many ways. Your future wedding is a celebration and, as Mr. Elderveld said, this engagement dinner is part of that.” He paused a moment, glancing around the crowd as if making sure everyone there understood. “Now if you could all bow your heads, I’ll ask God for a blessing on this evening and on the bridal couple and their future plans.”

  As Mr. Hughes spoke, a peculiar sensation curled through Nicholas’s midsection.

  He thought of his own father. Dale Chapman had openly struggled with his feelings toward Cara. How would he have reacted had the two of them been in the same situation as Lorne and Trista?

  Would he have been as supportive? As encouraging?

  Would he have been able to thank the Lord for them and to pronounce a blessing on their plans?

  The thought settled, creating a restless current of uncertainty.

  Was his father one of the unspoken reasons Cara had left?

  Nicholas knew exactly where Cara was and he chanced a quick glance her way.

  Cara was looking at Trista and her face was etched with a sorrow so strong Nicholas had to fight the urge to go to her, put his arms around her and hold her close.

  And he wondered what, exactly, had created her sadness.

  Cara swiped at her eyes and before she bowed her head, she looked over at him, as well.

  Their gazes met and eyes held and it seemed as if time slipped backward. As if the angry words spoken about the ranch and his risky work—her sudden disappearance and long silence afterward—as if none of that had happened.

  Because in that moment, awareness, as tangible as a touch, arced between them and everyone around them faded away.

  For that moment it was just he and Cara as time hovered.

  Then Cara jerked her head to the side, breaking the connection.

  And as she did, Nicholas knew that putting his relationship with Cara behind him was going to be harder than he thought.

  Just get through it. Just get through this wedding stuff and then both of you will be going your separate ways. She to Montreal and you to Kuwait.

  The thought depressed him, but he pushed it aside. The ranch was doing well, but every bit of money he made brought it further along.

  When everything was exactly the way he wanted, then he would quit and ranch full-time.

  And he hoped, when that happened, he was going to find someone he could love as he once loved Cara.

  Chapter Six

  “It’s good to be home.” Alan sat back in his chair, glancing around the living room with a satisfied sigh. “I can’t believe it’s been a week already.”

  To Cara, he still looked pale. And his shirt and jacket hung on his large frame. She stacked up the old magazines that had gathered on the couch and added them to the pile of newspapers she had put on the coffee table.

  “And everything is still okay at the clinic?” he asked Cara. “Do you need me to stop in?”

  “Everything is still under control. Don’t you dare drop in,” Cara said, snapping open a garbage bag. “You need to rest.”

  “Like you’re resting?” he teased as she dumped the magazines in the bag.

  “I’m not the one who had a heart attack.”

  “You might get one the way you’ve been going. You haven’t sat down since I came home,” he said. “Just relax.”

  But Cara couldn’t. When she came back from the hospital she had immediately started tidying. She’d made some progress, but she’d had to ignore the disorganized pantry. She would have loved to tackle the kitchen, but her aunt was there now, making up a snack for them.

  “I want to get a little more done before I go,” she said, tying the handles of the garbage bag.

  Uncle Alan caught her hand as she bent over to pick up the discarded coffee cup from the floor beside him. “You didn’t want to go to church with your aunt? You could have easily picked me up afterward.”

  Cara didn’t meet her uncle’s eye, feeling a nudge of guilt at the concern she saw there. “No. I…wanted to get you home as soon as they released you.” That was a lame response, but it was mostly the truth. She didn’t want to tell him that last week she’d felt uncomfortable singing songs about drawing closer to Jesus and about trusting in Him.

  She preferred to trust in herself. Just as her mother had always taught her. She realized the benefits of that now. There were fewer disappointments in your life when you didn’t count on others for happiness. Love was too risky. Either love of God or love of others. They required too much trust and that trust was too often broken.

  “I don’t mind being home earlier. I get tired pretty quick. It’s frustrating,” he said.

  Cara curled her hand around his, squeezing it gently. “You don
’t have to worry about anything. The clinic is doing fine.”

  “I’m trying not to worry,” Alan said, shifting in his chair. “But the doctor says I’ll be back at work soon,” he said, returning Cara’s hand squeeze.

  Cara didn’t reply because she knew better. The specialist had been fairly emphatic about Uncle Alan making drastic changes in his lifestyle.

  And the most drastic had to do with his work. He was too old to deal with the stress of late-night calls, which meant his work would slow considerably.

  “Have you talked to that new vet, Gordon?” Cara asked. “Is there any way he can come sooner?”

  “I called him and he said he might. Depending on how things go with the job he’s working now.”

  “So are you ready for dessert?” Aunt Lori asked, coming into the living room, carrying a tray of fruit and three small bowls.

  Uncle Alan pulled a face at the fruit and Cara stifled a smile. Uncle Alan loved his sweets and she could see future battles with her aunt once he felt better.

  She glanced at the clock, then got to her feet, grabbing the garbage bag as she left. “Sorry to bail on you, but I have to meet Nicholas.”

  Uncle Alan’s frown made her smile.

  “We’re planning Lorne and Trista’s wedding,” she assured him. “They’ll be there, as well.”

  He relaxed visibly. “Okay then. You go.”

  Cara brushed a kiss over his forehead. “And you make sure you take care of yourself.”

  But as she straightened, he caught her by the hand, squeezing it as if to catch her attention.

  “And you take care of yourself, too,” he said, his serious voice holding another undertone.

  “I will.”

  But as she got into her uncle’s car, his warning rang in her ears.

  Uncle Alan knew exactly the struggle Cara had with Nicholas. It was he who had told her sometimes hard choices needed to be made and that it wasn’t wrong to think of herself. Uncle Alan knew better than anyone else how much Cara had been hurt by her mother’s decisions and by her mother’s choices. And it was he who had held a sobbing Cara in his arms when she had come back from Nicholas’s ranch, after breaking up with him.

  And now she was heading right back there.

  She had changed, she thought as she turned onto the road leading to the ranch. Her heart wasn’t as easily ensnared. She’d been on her own for three years and had developed some independence and a tougher crust.

  But as she parked her car beside Lorne’s truck, she couldn’t stop the fluttering of that supposedly free heart.

  Remnants of old emotions, she told herself as she got out.

  “Hey, Cara, over here,” she heard Lorne’s voice calling out from beyond the barn.

  Frowning, Cara walked in the direction of his voice. What were they doing at the corrals?

  She came around the corner. Lorne was stroking one of Nicholas’s horses and grinned up at her when she came closer.

  “I thought we could go for a ride up into the mountains after our meeting,” Lorne said. “Where’s Trista?”

  “She and Nicholas are in the barn, checking out if it’s big enough for the wedding reception in case we have rain.”

  “So if we go with a barbecue, we could do it standing up,” Trista was saying as she and Nicholas came out of the barn. Then she glanced over and saw Cara. “You’re here. Thank goodness.”

  And Cara didn’t imagine the look of relief on her friend’s face.

  “So why don’t we go to the house and get a few things set out,” Cara said.

  “What’s to talk about?” Lorne said. “We got the place, we got the minister, the other things can wait—”

  “No, they can’t,” Nicholas said. “And Trista’s been taking care of the other things all on her own.” The slightly angry tone of his voice surprised Cara. He was taking this wedding seriously.

  Which created a lingering, twisted pain. Had he shown as much commitment to their relationship, things might have been so different.

  She pushed the feelings aside.

  “Before we head up into the mountains, lovely though that may be, we need to do some basic planning,” Cara said, underlining Nicholas’s opinion.

  Lorne glanced at Trista, and then, thankfully gave a light shrug. “Okay. If that’s what you think should happen.”

  “As the maid of honor, I do.”

  As Cara spoke, she caught Nicholas’s relieved gaze. And then a smile.

  As she returned it, a sense of equilibrium returned. It was going to be okay. I’ll get through this just fine. We’re just two old acquaintances helping friends plan a wedding. Nothing more.

  “We can go up to the house and work there,” Nicholas said, leading the way. “Dad’s gone so it will be quiet.”

  As Cara followed, she looked behind her at the beckoning mountains, feeling a moment of kinship with Lorne. The sun was shining and she had some time off, so she would much sooner have ridden up into the mountains than sit inside and plan a wedding that should have been hers.

  The past year, in her last job, most of her work had been inside, working with small animals. She had often thought of the wide-open spaces of Alberta when she was casting broken limbs and stitching and dosing in the confines of the vet office.

  She pushed the yearning aside.

  If she was going to be a part of this wedding she couldn’t let it just “happen” as Lorne seemed to think it would. For Trista’s sake, she needed to help.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Nicholas was saying as she stepped into the kitchen.

  Cara blinked. Mess? All she saw were some coffee cups on the table and a couple of magazines.

  If Nicholas truly wanted to see a mess, he should come to her aunt’s place.

  This kitchen, though showing signs of age, was clean and tidy. The countertop gleamed and the stove shone. The old wooden table, though scarred and worn, held a ceramic bowl with a bunch of apples.

  Cara’s mind flashed back to the modern, expensive furniture filling her aunt and uncle’s home. The money, which was no problem for Aunt Lori and Uncle Alan, couldn’t replicate the homey comfort of this worn but clean kitchen.

  This could have been mine, she thought, the idea lacerating her hard-won composure.

  Cara pressed her lips together and marshaled her defenses. Over. Past.

  She pulled a wooden chair back from the table, dropped into it and pulled out a pad of paper from the briefcase she had taken along.

  And then, almost against her will, she glanced in Nicholas’s direction.

  He wore an old shirt, his sleeves rolled up as he measured coffee grounds into a coffee press. While she watched he rinsed a cloth and wiped the already clean counters. He poured boiling water into the press, set out cups, found a plate in the cupboard and a bag of cookies and put that out, as well.

  She tried to imagine her uncle working as efficiently in her aunt’s kitchen. The picture didn’t gel.

  Lorne and Trista were huddled together, whispering and giggling like a couple of teenagers, their previous tiff obviously forgotten. Cara cleared her throat to get their attention. “So how many people will be coming?” she asked.

  Trista pulled away from Lorne, then bent over, pulling a folder out of a bag she had taken along. “We’re keeping it small. Just family and close friends.”

  “And how many is that?” Cara asked. As Nicholas set her mug in front of her, she noticed he had put cream in it. Just enough to give it a faint caramel color. He remembered, she thought, the idea giving her heart a silly lift.

  Old acquaintances. That’s all.

  “Not sure,” Lorne said.

  “Let’s see your list?” Cara asked. Trista handed her a paper from the folder.

  “We don’t really have time to send things out in the regular mail,” Trista said, “so I thought we could e-mail whoever has an e-mail address and phone the people who don’t.”

  “So how many people would that be?” Nicholas asked as he sat in a
n empty chair beside Cara. She caught the scent of his cologne and the faintest hint of hay and straw from the barn, and she noticed the silvery line of a scar along his forearm that she didn’t remember being there before.

  An accident at work? Or at the ranch?

  Focus, you silly girl.

  “About sixty, we guessed?” Lorne said.

  “I’d like to ask some girls from work,” Trista said.

  Lorne frowned. “I thought we were keeping the wedding small.”

  “Well, yeah, but I’ve worked with them for the past four years—”

  “Then I should ask some friends from my work, too,” Lorne put in.

  “Of course,” Trista said.

  “So that makes it, what, eighty now?” Cara wrote the number down at the top of page one.

  “Only if my brothers don’t bring escorts,” Lorne added.

  Cara couldn’t help a quick glance at Nicholas, who was rolling his eyes.

  “Let’s get a firm list down now. Trista, you send out the e-mails as soon as possible and give people a week to reply,” Cara said, feeling like a schoolteacher. “Then we’ll follow up with the people we haven’t heard from. In the meantime we need to think about the meal.”

  “Nicholas suggested we have a barbecue,” Lorne said. “Do it ourselves. Get the relatives to all bring something—like a bit of a potluck.”

  Cara stifled a groan and chanced a look at Nicholas. “Did you suggest that?”

  Nicholas shrugged, looking a bit baffled himself. “I did, when we were talking about only thirty people.”

  Cara imagined herself, in her bridesmaid dress, whipping up a taco salad between the ceremony and dinner. “I think if we can get someone else to do the meal, we should definitely look at that.” She made another quick note.

  An hour and a half later they had a list of people who would be attending, a tentative plan for the service and a rough concept of how Trista wanted the yard decorated and set up.

  “So, is that good enough for now?” Lorne asked, shifting in his chair.

  “What about the supper menu?”

  Lorne blew out his breath and got up. “If you’re getting a caterer, they can take care of that, can’t they?”