A Family Found. Laura Abbot
“Just one more moment, please. It will never again be the first time I take in this scene.”
He had to give her that—at least she recognized the power and uniqueness in the place. He wondered if Estes Park would grip her the same way it had him. As they rode on, no words passed between them, yet he had the disturbing sense that Sophie Montgomery had gotten under his skin as no woman had in a great long time. Against his better judgment, he found himself admiring her determination while at the same time finding her maddeningly independent, even reckless. The contrast to Ramona couldn’t have been more startling.
Finally she broke the silence. “I shall look forward to meeting your wife and children, Mr. Lockwood.”
“I have no wife. Only my two boys.”
She turned to him, eyes wide with pity, and her face reddened with embarrassment. “I’m sorry...I...uh, had no idea. Effie didn’t mention... Oh dear, please accept my condolences.”
“The Hurlburts, always discreet, probably didn’t regard it as their place to convey my personal information.” In that moment, he had an irrational urge to shock her. Bitterness churned in the back of his throat as he said, “My wife, excuse me, my former wife, saw fit not only to abandon me but our two children, as well.”
He had succeeded. Bald shock registered on her face. “Dear me, I fear I have stumbled into your private concerns.”
“You would find out sooner or later. She returned to the East. We are divorced.”
“But...the boys?”
“She prefers to have nothing to do with them. Frankly, that makes it easier for all three of us.” Easier emotionally, he thought to himself, but difficult in the day-to-day reality.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know quite what to say.”
“That must be a first for you.” He watched her face crumple and swore at himself for his insensitivity. “Now I’m the one to offer an apology. That was uncalled for. I would take the remark back if I could, Miss Montgomery.”
“Words have a life of their own, don’t they? Sometimes they just slip out when they should stay put. And you aren’t the first to accuse me of garrulousness.” She smiled ruefully, and he could breathe again.
“Nor will I be the last, I suspect,” he said with a forced chuckle.
Then she laughed gaily and relief flooded through him. “Do you know what I think? I have had quite enough of this Miss Montgomery and Mr. Lockwood business. You are my only friend in all of Estes Valley, and I would like you to call me Sophie.” She paused. “And might I call you Tate?”
His first thought was that this informality moved them into an intimacy he wasn’t sure he was willing to undertake, but his second thought trumped the first. “I would welcome that,” he said.
“All right, then, Tate. Take me home.”
He knew she meant her cabin, of course. Yet, for an instant, her words shook every nerve in his body. “Home...yes.” He raised an arm and pointed along the northern fringe of the valley. “Your cabin is over there, not too far from my ranch. We’ll stop at your place first.”
He wished he could cover the intervening miles in a flash. He needed to put distance between himself and this woman...this Sophie.
* * *
Sophie couldn’t let Tate see her disappointment. Furnished cabin? In the real estate flyer she’d been sent, that must have been a euphemism for one-room shack. Never in all her days had she seen such a structure, standing upright only through some act of God, shingles missing, chinks in the walls and dirt and animal droppings in abundance. She stood on the front porch taking in the mountain view. “At least this vista is lovely,” she said, shading her eyes against the sun dropping slowly behind the peaks.
“You can’t spend your life on the porch,” Tate muttered. “Would you like me to send one of my ranch hands over in the morning to help you muck out?”
She gathered her courage. “In the provisions they just unloaded, I have the necessary equipment. I would be much obliged if you could help me gather wood and get a fire started. Beyond that I have some tinned food that will keep me until I can get to baking, so you will be able to take your leave soon and get home to your sons.”
She could never admit to him how overwhelming the tasks before her seemed. The place was almost uninhabitable. She had never imagined she would have to start from scratch to turn this place into a home. Somehow she had pictured a snug cabin with perhaps a smattering of dust, but already equipped with a good bed and a sturdy stove, needing only a few touches and some elbow grease to make it hers. Now, with the sun disappearing behind the peaks, the sudden drop in temperature made a fire an even more immediate necessity.
Tate stood beside her on the porch, dwarfing her. “I’ll send the boys on home with the wagons while I help you with the fire.”
He left her, gave orders to his men and disappeared behind the lean-to that made do for a barn, where she had stabled Ranger.
She gathered some kindling, then went inside and busied herself swiping at cobwebs and sweeping ashes out of the woodstove. She vowed she would not cry, especially not in front of the man who called into question her every move. This task was similar to moving to Kansas and establishing their ranch. Her father had often reminded her and her brothers, Patience. One step at a time, one day at a time. She sniffled once, briefly indulging her self-pity. Then she returned to her labors, figuring that for this day, one stove and one bed would be reasonable steps. She could do this. She tried not to look at the bed, sagging nearly to the floor, the filthy mattress having served as home to who knew what.
She heard Tate’s heavy footsteps, followed by a loud thump. She opened the door. “Hidden treasure,” he said ironically, pointing at the logs he’d gathered. “A wood pile behind the barn. I’ll fetch some more.”
“I’ll come with you.” She hurried along behind him, grinning wryly at his use of the word barn to describe the ramshackle outbuilding.
Together they made four trips and stacked up a considerable amount of wood. “At least I won’t worry about you freezing to death,” Tate said when they were finished.
“I don’t want you worrying about me at all.”
“All right. I won’t.”
Why did that easy promise disappoint her? After all, she’d asked for it. “Fine.”
“There’s also a privy over by that grove of aspen.”
She was unable to make eye contact. “Useful information.”
“One last thing. Let me prime the pump that carries the water from the pond over yonder.”
She slumped. She’d been so busy bemoaning the state of her dwelling that she hadn’t even thought about water. So much for her foresight and self-sufficiency. Was her bravado merely a disguise for incompetence?
Satisfied that the pump worked, Tate stood in the door, preparing to leave. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.” She looked into his eyes, reading concern. “I will be fine. I am grateful for the help.” She chuckled sardonically. “Perhaps I don’t know quite as much as I thought I did.”
“Or were sold a bill of goods by some unscrupulous agent.”
“No use crying over spilled milk. I’ll just make the best of what is, I confess, a disillusioning end to such a beautiful day.”
“Where is your rifle?”
She nodded to a corner. “Over there.”
“Load it and keep it with you.”
“That’s comforting,” she said.
“That’s reality.” He put on his