Linda Ford - Big Sky Homecoming

Duke rolled his eyes. “Billy, I didn’t mean for you to repeat that.”

Billy lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

Duke gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Billy, you aren’t stupid. And don’t you forget it.”

Billy sucked in a long breath. “If you say so.”

Rose turned away to hide her expression. Her admiration for the way Duke dealt with Billy left her struggling for equilibrium.

“Billy Boy,” he said, “I fear the horses are still tied at the rail. Would you take care of them, please?”

Billy set out on the task immediately.

“Billy seems an odd friend for you.” Rose kept her attention on peeling the potatoes as she spoke, but she couldn’t resist darting a glance at Duke to see his reaction.

He wiped a hand across his face. If she wasn’t mistaken, he tried to remove regret. Regret from Duke Caldwell? It didn’t seem possible.

“Billy said you saved his life. Sounds as though he tried to drown himself.”

“It was my fault.” The agony in Duke’s voice brought her attention to him.

Her heart twisted at the look on his face. “What did you do?” she whispered.

“I stood by while so-called friends teased him.”

The horror ground through her insides. “Let me guess. They called him stupid?”

“Among other things.” Each word seemed to scrape from inside him. “They were very cruel. To be fair, I was on my way to some silly play and I didn’t think I had time to stop and tell them to leave him be. I should have.”

“Oh, poor Billy.”

Duke wiped his hand across his face once more.

“He tried to drown himself because of what they said?”

Duke’s gaze clung to her, full of despair and sorrow.

She pressed her hand to her chest in a vain attempt to quench the same emotions rising within her. “You rescued him?”

Duke nodded.

“He saved me.” Neither of them had heard Billy reenter the room. He rushed to Duke’s side and hugged him. The movement caused Duke to flinch with pain but he patted Billy’s back and smiled.

Billy continued, “He almost drowned, too. You’re a good man, Duke.”

A silent communication passed between Rose and Duke. She understood what he hadn’t said. He saw only his failure in not intervening when he could have.

She wanted to grip his shoulder and say his good deed cancelled out his failure. Instead she turned her attention back to the meal preparations.

Who was he? Truly? A manipulator who said the feud was over when it obviously wasn’t. A hero who almost drowned rescuing someone weaker than him in every way.

He was a curious mixture of strength and vulnerability. Could he be both at the same time? What was she to believe?

Was he a feuding neighbor, the arrogant son of the rich rancher?

Or a kind, noble man?

She tried to dismiss the questions. What difference did it make to her? She had only come because he’d been injured and Ma had taught all the girls to never refuse to help a sick or injured person.

Apart from that, she was Rose Bell and he, Duke Caldwell. That was all she needed to know about him.

But her fierce admonitions did not stop the churning of her thoughts.

* * *

Duke had confessed his shame. She’d understandably been shocked and had turned away to prepare a pot of soup. Why had he let her see his weak side?

His only explanation was that his head hurt, making it hard to think straight.

Rose filled the soup pot and mixed up a batch of biscuits and popped them in the oven.

Putting aside his regret over confessing his sin of omission regarding Billy, he sat back and enjoyed watching Rose flit around the kitchen. His mother didn’t cook. Back east all the meals had come from the kitchen, prepared by a cook and served in a dining room. When Mrs. Humphrey prepared meals in this room he’d only been allowed to watch. Hence, cooking over the open fire had been learned by trial and error. Being able to share the kitchen with a young woman was a new experience. One, he decided, he quite enjoyed.

Rose brushed strands of hair out of her face. She wore her red hair in a braid down her back and it danced in sunshiny waves as she moved.

“Billy’s right,” he murmured half to himself. “Your hair is pretty.”

She ground to a halt and slowly came around to face him, her eyes narrow and challenging. She held the big stirring spoon like a weapon.

He held up both hands in a gesture of retreat. “Hey, it’s a compliment.”

Slowly the spoon was lowered. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

Billy went to her side. “How come you don’t like people saying your hair is nice?”

“Mostly because they don’t mean it.” She kept her back to both of them.

“I mean it.” Billy sounded hurt.

“I know you do.”

Duke waited, hoping and wishing she might turn to him and say the same thing. When she didn’t he couldn’t leave it alone. “I mean it, too.”

She stiffened. Then she slowly set the spoon on the cupboard and turned to face him. “‘Redhead redhead, fire in the woodshed.’ Remember that? I do.”

Her accusation ripped through him like a tornado, twisting, turning, filling him with tangled regret. He pushed to his feet, ignoring the dizziness, and crossed to her. He longed to touch her, to smooth her hair, to assure her in so many ways. “I was a foolish kid who didn’t know how to express his admiration.”

“Admiration?” Her eyes dripped disbelief. “For what?”

“Your hair is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

Her eyebrows reached for her hairline.

In for a penny, in for a dollar. He might as well say it all. “You are about the kindest, wisest woman I’ve met.”

She snorted. “Haven’t met many women, have you?”

He grinned. “Met some.” Indeed he’d met a lot of young women while back east. “None of whom would rescue an injured man. None who would likewise prepare him a meal. Rose Bell, you are something special.” He had the satisfaction of seeing pleasure flicker through her eyes before he returned to his seat.

Let her muse on that a while, he thought.

Billy chuckled. “Duke sure does like you, Rose.”

Rose jerked around and stirred the soup rather vigorously. “He hit his head too hard.”

A few minutes later she put two bowls on the table.

He caught her wrist. “Which one of us isn’t eating?”

She didn’t pull away but her face revealed a wealth of confusion. “I made the meal for you and Billy. I’ll ride on home.” She glanced out the window. “It will soon be dark.”

He looked out the window, too. “You have time to eat with us before you go. Billy and I will do the dishes so we don’t keep you.”

She glanced around as if seeking escape or excuse.

“Please eat with us, Rose.”

Not until she nodded did he release her wrist.

She scurried to the cupboard for another bowl. Put it on the table then ladled out soup and set out a plate of golden biscuits.

She hesitated only a moment before she sat in the chair opposite Duke. Only then did she lift her eyes to him.

He smiled at the expectant guardedness of her expression. “I’ll ask the blessing.”

She bowed her head and he did likewise. His heart was so filled with gratitude that his throat tightened and his words came out husky.

“God, bless this food. Bless those who share it at this meal. Thank You for Your many blessings. Amen.” Silently he added thanks for Billy, for Rose and for being safe at home with only a minor cut on his head. And for Rose being willing to share his table.

“Amen,” Rose and Billy echoed.

They were quiet a few moments as the biscuits were passed and the soup tested.

“That is so good.” Duke indicated the soup. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”