Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1) Page 8

  Marla and Crystal sat at the table watching Mark feeding Benjamin some soup. Mark’s movements awkward, the tiny spoon almost lost in his hands. With each spoonful he gave Benjamin, he unconsciously opened his mouth as well.

  Sheryl’s steps slowed. He looked far too appealing now, his hair still dented from the bandana he’d worn all day, his lean jaw shadowed with whiskers. He looked darkly handsome, dangerous, the image so at odds with the domestic scene in which he seemed so comfortable.

  “Oh, there’s Sheryl.. .and Nate.” Lenore rushed past Sheryl to Nate, watching carefully as Nate clumped down into the kitchen and eased himself into a nearby chair.

  “Daddy!” Marla and Crystal cried out in unison. They jumped from their seats, jostling Mark.

  “Whoa, girls,” he reprimanded, almost spilling the spoonful of soup he was transferring to Benjamin’s waiting mouth.

  Marla and Crystal eased themselves around him, then scampered over to their dad’s side.

  Sheryl couldn’t help but watch as Nate’s children hovered, his wife slipped her arms around his shoulders and his mother-in-law fussed over him. Why did it hurt? Why did it matter that Nate was the one everyone ran to. This was his house, his place.

  Swallowing, she slipped into a chair on the opposite end of the table, one over from Mark.

  “So your face didn’t go permanently brown,” he commented with a grin.

  “I feel like I left a bale of hay in Elise’s bathroom.. .Oh, no, I was going to sweep it up.” She rose, but was forestalled by Mark’s hand on her forearm.

  “Don’t worry about it Elaine or Elise can get to it after. The haying crew gets preferential treatment."

  “So, can we eat this soup or are we going to live on love?” Dale complained.

  In a flurry of people and chairs moving, the family sat around the table. An expectant pause hovered just before the meal when Dale looked around, smiling. He held out his hands to Elise on one side and Lenore on the other. Marla sat on one side of Sheryl, Crystal on the other, and they both clasped her hands in theirs, as well.

  Dale bowed his head and began to pray.

  Sheryl blinked a moment, bowed her head but kept her eyes fixed on the oil stain on her left leg.

  But Dale’s gentle voice and soft-spoken prayer drew Sheryl in. He thanked the Lord for the weather and for the work that was done. He thanked God that Sheryl could have helped Nate and that she was able to help Mark, as well. From thanks he moved on to requests for Ed’s return to health and to spare his life. Dale’s words, spoken with a quiet confidence, were simple and straightforward, more like a conversation than a listing of confessions.

  Sheryl closed her eyes as a faint remembrance of her own prayers trickled upward. How long had it been since she’d felt her prayers were getting through to God? She had winged enough heavenward those first few years.

  But here, now, with Dale’s prayers drawing her up, she felt the faint touch of eternity. And as Dale said amen, Sheryl felt bereft. She kept her head down, drawing herself back into this room, composing herself. When she looked up it was to smiling faces drawing her into their meal and their communion.

  The first few moments were quiet as Elaine, Elise and the children finished their interrupted meal. They then excused themselves.

  “Kiss your dad good night girls and it’s off to bed with you.” Crystal and Marla protested, but Elise held firm.

  Nate hugged his daughters, wincing as he did so, gave Benjamin a soft kiss on his red cheek and watched them as they left the room. Then he turned back to Mark.

  “So how did baling go?”

  “We got most of my field done,” Mark replied, hunched over his soup. “We’ll be able to move the tractors to the river-bottom land tomorrow.”

  “What?” Nate looked up from his supper. “How did you manage that with only one tractor and baler?”

  “Sheryl brought your tractor over and stayed and helped until we were done.”

  Nate’s spoon hovered in midair, his mouth open. He blinked, looked at Sheryl, frowning. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Mark laughed.

  “I mean, why did you help, Sheryl?”

  Sheryl stirred her soup, lifting one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I had nothing else to do, and I know how busy haying season can be.” She toyed with a noodle, avoiding his eyes.

  “And what about tomorrow?” Nate’s question hung between them. “I seem to remember that you never seemed to be around the next day.”

  Sheryl knew he alluded to the times she would steal a ride up into the mountains on those glorious mornings that were also perfect haying weather. How she would be expected to help and wouldn’t show up because she was angry at being forced to work so hard.

  “You mean to say you helped with the haying when you were young?” Lenore asked.

  “I only had to drive the tractor when we were stuking and when we were picking up the bales,” Sheryl replied, surprised at the incredulous tone of Lenore’s voice.

  “How old were you when you started?”

  Sheryl pursed her lips, thinking back. “Probably about eleven or twelve.”

  “What?” Lenore looked first at Sheryl, then at Nate, her eyes wide. “Your feet barely reached the floor at that age. I can’t believe Ed actually made her do that, Nate.”

  “We had a ranch to run. Everyone had to pitch in.” Nate’s tone was defensive.

  “If a ranch depends on twelve-year-old girls driving tractors then I don’t think it has a right to keep going,” Lenore returned.

  “It was only during haying season,” Sheryl put in, trying to ease the gathering tension.

  Lenore opened her mouth to speak again.

  “Can I bother you to get me some more soup, my dear and docile wife?” Dale interrupted.

  “Good idea, Dad.” Mark held out his bowl, as well, grinning at his mother. “Keep her feet moving and they might not end up in her mouth.”

  Lenore glared at her husband, then her son, but got up. The rest of the meal passed quickly and soon Sheryl could feel the effect of working outside all day. The room was warm, and the edges of everything in her line of vision grew fuzzy.

  She gave her head a shake. She had to get moving or she’d fall asleep. She got up and began stacking the empty bowls, Mark laid a restraining hand on her arm.

  “Elaine and Elise can do it. You’ve had a busy day.”

  The warmth of his fingers sent a quiver through her stomach. She knew she should pull away, keep moving, but somehow her body wouldn’t respond to her mind.

  “I.. .I should go, anyway. I’m tired, and if you need help tomorrow, then I need my sleep.”

  “You’re not going to do that dusty, dirty job tomorrow, too, are you?” Lenore asked.

  “I want to, Mrs. Andrews. It’s okay.” She smiled at Lenore. “Say good night to Elise for me, please. And thanks for the delicious meal.”

  “You’re welcome.” Lenore smiled warmly, and Sheryl couldn’t help but return it.

  Mark got up, as well, leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I think I’ll head back, too. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  “Are you going to give Sheryl a chance to come in and see Ed sometime in the next couple of days?” Lenore asked.

  “That’s up to her,” Mark replied quietly, straightening.

  “I can come and get you tomorrow afternoon,” Lenore said to Sheryl.

  Sheryl threw a questioning look at Mark, who only shrugged.

  “How about later on in the day,” Mark suggested with a yawn. He rubbed his neck and blinked. “Late afternoon should give us enough time.”

  “I’ll bring a late lunch at two-thirty. Dale could manage a few turns around the field. Couldn’t you Dale?”

  “As long as I can drive slow,” he replied dryly. He grinned at his wife’s puzzled look. “Doctor’s orders, remember.”

  Sheryl watched the give-and-take between them, smiling at the total lack of conflict in Mark’s family, so differ
ent from the atmosphere that had pervaded this kitchen when she and her mother had lived there. She shook her head, dispelling the mood and turned to leave.

  The porch door squeaked open behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her that Mark was following her out.

  “Wait a sec. I’ll walk you home,” he said, pausing to pull on his battered cowboy boots.

  “It’s not that far,” Sheryl replied, but she waited anyway, a gentle warmth suffusing her cheeks. She put it down to being outside all day, but as they walked in silence down the darkened pathway to her cabin, a sense of waiting drifted around her.

  Leaves rustled as they passed by, and far off a coyote threw its lonesome wail out into the soft night.

  Sheryl stopped by the door of her cabin. “This is a first for me, you know,” she joked, trying to lighten a mood that felt sombre.

  “What’s that?” Mark leaned one shoulder against the door frame, his eyes resting on her.

  “Having a man walk me to my door.”

  “Jason never did?”

  Sheryl laughed. “Jason would drop me off at the end of the driveway, and I would climb up the verandah and sneak into my room."

  “Ed didn’t like him, did he?”

  “Ed hated him.” Sheryl looked away. “Nate didn’t like him, either. I guess that’s one of the things they were right about.”

  “What do you mean?” Mark’s voice was quiet, prompting, but Sheryl didn’t get drawn in.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” She took a breath, but to her own surprise it was a little shaky. Fatigue, she thought. “It’s all past and things have to move on.”

  “I don’t know if our past is ever past...”

  “Please don’t start analyzing my life,” Sheryl interrupted, trying to soften her words with a light laugh.

  “Hobby of mine,” was all he said, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. It put him a little too close to her, but she refused to let his size, height and mere presence intimidate her. “I think much of what happened to us in the past shapes the decisions we make for our future.”

  “So what made you leave Vancouver to come here?” Sheryl verbally sidestepped, changing the direction of the conversation.

  Mark rubbed the side of his nose, as if thinking about the answer.

  “Well,” she prompted.

  “When I was a young boy, I used to dream of being a cowboy. I’d sit on a fence, wearing my cowboy hat and boots, staring off into the distance. But in my mind I was on the Goodnight-Loving trail, pushing horns, eating dust and fording rivers.” He laughed softly. “I’m sure for a while there my parents thought I was losing it.”

  “So how did you end up in real estate?”

  “It was a place to make money. I spent enough years in college and thought I could make a quick buck on the side.”

  Sheryl frowned. “You don’t seem the avaricious type.”

  “Thanks for that.” Mark pushed his hair out of his eyes and grinned down at her. “I was at that time though. Made a pile of money and thought I had the world by the tail.”

  “So what made you sell out?”

  Mark sighed, staring past her. “I saw what was happening to my friends. Saw the emptiness in their lives and how few of them were really doing what they wanted. As a Christian I couldn’t see myself wasting my life like that. So when my parents told me that there was a place for sale beside Nate and Elise’s, I chucked it all and came out here.” He reached out and touched her hair, his fingers warm on her forehead. In the pale light his eyes seemed to glow, and Sheryl felt a shiver of apprehension. "And here is where I want to stay.” He dropped his hand. “And what about you?”

  “I have plans.”

  “College?”

  Sheryl nodded.

  “And after that?”

  “A job as a teacher, I hope.”

  “No marriage plans?”

  “Been there. Done that.” She flicked her hands deprecatingly, as if the past eight years were a mere blip in her life.

  “Not all men are like Jason, you know.”

  “I’ve met more that are than aren’t.” She replied, uncomfortable with the intensity she saw in his probing gaze. “So we’ll just change that subject.”

  “Okay.” Mark smiled lazily at her flippant reply. He shifted his stance so his back was against the wall of the cabin. “I love this time of the evening,” he said, falling in with her request. “I love looking at the stars, even though it makes me feel small and unimportant.” He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants as he stared at the stars strewn across the inky black darkness. “Isn’t it amazing how vast the universe is?”

  Sheryl bit her lip, sensing where the conversation was going this time, and she didn’t know if she liked it anymore. She said nothing.

  Mark didn’t seem to notice her silence.

  “God sure made a beautiful world.”

  “This part of it, yes,” she replied.

  He glanced at her as if encouraging her to say more.

  “God hasn’t been around my part of the world much these past few years,” she added, trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact.

  “If you seek Him, you will find Him,” Mark replied softly.

  “I don’t want to talk about God, either.”

  Mark straightened, then turned back to her, lifting her hand, and Sheryl wondered what he was up to. She wasn’t used to the casual touches he bestowed so freely. “My mom was right,” was all he said. “You do have blisters.” He traced them lightly with the tip of his other finger.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She could barely get the words past the constriction of her throat. She tried to pull back, but this time he held firm. Then he bent over and kissed her palm, closing her fingers over the warmth his mouth left behind as if to save it.

  Sheryl’s heart slammed into her chest, and she snatched her hand away from him, her cheeks burning.

  “Thanks for helping,” he whispered. “I’ll pick you up around eight o’clock tomorrow.” And with another wink, he turned and left her.

  Unable to keep her eyes off his retreating figure, she watched him, his soft whistling marking his progress until he disappeared. A few moments later Sheryl heard his truck start and drive away.

  She uncurled her hand, looking down at it, expecting to see a mark where his lips had touched her palm. All she saw were lines of grime she couldn’t wash out and two red blisters. What was he trying to do to her? she thought as she leaned back against the door, suddenly chilled. She didn’t need his solicitous concern, his questions that probed deeper than “Are you free tonight?”

  She turned and retreated into her cabin.

  Chapter 6

  Sheryl peeled her orange slowly, her ear attuned for the sound of Mark’s truck. The early morning sun finally found its way through the thick foliage, touching the porch with a soft warmth.

  Two hours ago she’d given up trying to sleep, and after getting dressed she’d stolen into Elise’s kitchen to grab a bite to eat. Thankfully no one had been awake, so she’d helped herself to a couple of bran muffins and an orange and wrote Elise a note.

  The moments of wakefulness had given her time to regret her offer to help Mark. She may as well face the fact, she thought, pulling another piece of peel off the orange. Mark scared her. His charm and interest in her life created a potent combination she was unused to dealing with. She couldn’t allow herself to trust a man again. That way lay pain and sorrow.

  Sheryl pulled a face and popped a section into her mouth. She remembered too well each one of Mark’s casual touches, his intent looks.

  Probably treated all girls the same, she thought, finishing her orange and wiping her hands on her pants. She clung to that notion, because dwelling on any other possibility was too distracting.

  She knew she wanted to take this job from start to finish. Nate practically challenged her to last night. She was determined to show him that he was wrong.

  Sheryl picked up her orange pee
ls and tossed them deep in the bush. Suddenly restless, she got up and began walking down the driveway. She would finish what she started, she promised herself. As for Mark, well she would treat him with the same lighthearted humor that she did any of the men who had shown interest in her over the years. Guys tended to leave you alone if you treated them like you were a brother, she’d found out.

  The muted roar of a truck’s engine bounced off the hills, drawing nearer, and suddenly, there he was, dust roiling in his wake as his truck bore down on her.

  Mark stopped beside her with a rumble of gravel, and before he could roll down his window, Sheryl ran over to the passenger door and jumped in the cab.

  “Aren’t you the eager and willing worker?” he said with a grin as he reversed and spun the truck around.

  “I like that,” she returned, forcing a light tone into her voice. “Demoted from lifesaver to worker. You didn’t even try to open my door for me.”

  “I’d have had to stop twenty feet in front of you in order to beat you to it.” He winked at her, stepped on the accelerator and bounced over the cattle guard that divided the yard from the road.

  Sheryl sat back, pleased with herself. It was surprisingly easy to sit in his truck, to think of spending the whole day together. Perhaps she had only imagined the undercurrents that seemed to flow around them last night.

  At the end of the driveway Mark turned right this time, toward the river.

  “Rob and Conrad moved the tractors down to the river-bottom land last night. We’ll be working there for a few days,” he explained as the truck picked up speed. The scenery flew by, towering fir trees hovering along every curve as they dropped lower into the valley. Ahead of them Sheryl caught a glimpse of the river, flanked by fields ridged with thick swaths of hay.

  “How do you get to the fields on the other side?”

  “There’s a wooden bridge around the next curve of the river. We’ll work on this side the next couple of days and if all goes well, we’ll cross and spend the rest of the week on the other side.”

  “Are the cows still in the upper pastures?”