Chapter 18

18

T hree days later, finally home, Edgar snuck behind the bunkhouse and eyed the main cabin. Waiting, hoping for a glimpse of Fran.

The early morning light reflected off the kitchen window where his ma usually spent the morning washing up. He couldn't detect any movement there at all.

Another two weeks and Ma and Pa would be home. Would he have a wife to show off to them?

It had taken a couple days to work out the issues with the cattle buyer. They'd been blessed to find a new buyer when the other backed out.

In the meantime, Fran had agreed to come home to Jonas's place, her brother and sister tagging along.

Edgar had arrived late the previous evening, and although he'd seen Fran briefly, he hadn't had a chance to really talk to her. She'd had some leftovers that she warmed on the stove for him and Seb and Matty.

While they'd been settling the cattle deal, it was obvious she'd charmed Davy in their absence. He was all smiles in the bunkhouse the night before, until Edgar had had to tell him about Ricky.

Now that Edgar was home, he was unaccountably nervous.

What if she really couldn't forgive him for letting Underhill take her, and for his momentary doubt of her trustworthiness?

If she walked away, he would deserve it.

And with her brother there, probably encouraging her to do so, what chance did he really have?

But he wasn't a kid anymore. When his ma had left him at that orphanage, he hadn't been able to do anything to stop her.

With Fran, he could try. He could proclaim his love, or at least let her know how he felt and let her make the decision from there.

He had to try.

He looked down at the piece of mirror and straight razor in his hand. Might as well give the best showing he could. Fran had cut his hair, but it was past time that the beard went away.

He walked around the side of the bunkhouse to the wash bucket back behind. He assumed his brothers were working or in the barn, since he hadn't seen hide nor hair of them yet that morning. Better to shave in privacy.

He dunked his whole head in the bucket. The splash of cold water was bracing. He shook like a dog, droplets slinging through the air.

He worked up a lather with the shaving soap and spread it into his beard.

He took a deep breath and only hesitated briefly before he took the first swipe with the razor.

With every stroke, he thought of Fran. Of the way she'd cut his hair, her tender care for him when he'd been nothing but harsh to her.

Of her in the moonlight, begging him to let her in.

Of kissing her.

He ran his palm over one side of his freshly shaved face and wondered if she had been right when she'd accused him of hiding.

Did he let himself reach such an unkempt state to make sure no eligible girls got close? Was that the real reason he'd always kept distant?

Why had he let himself be so closed off?

Was it too late for him?

"There he is."

A voice snapped him from his thoughts. He tossed his towel over the side of the barrel and let the straight razor fall to the ground.

He turned to see Davy, Seb, Matty and Fran's brother waylaying him.

"Whoa!" Seb exclaimed.

"Who is that?" Matty teased. "Don't recognize ya, pardner."

He sent a stream of water from the top of the wash barrel splashing toward them. "Morning, boys," he said. What was going on?

"Dan here wants to talk to ya," Seb said.

He nodded, facing off with Fran's brother.

Although Dan was only slightly shorter, Edgar probably had sixty pounds of muscle on the man. Dan was slender and still looked like he could stand to gain some weight after his illness.

"You've regained a little color," Edgar commented.

"It's been a relief to be reunited with my sisters and to have the accusations against Fran resolved. I wired some business acquaintances back in Tennessee, and it seems the witnesses Underhill claimed could accuse her didn't exist. There is no case against her." But instead of looking relieved, Daniel looked serious.

Edgar was glad they'd been reunited. Families should be together. That's why his responsibility for Ricky and his brother's desertion still weighed heavy on him. But while Ricky was of age, the girls had needed a protector.

"How's Emma?" he asked.

"Having nightmares nearly twice a night. She wouldn't tell me—the difference in our ages—but Fran has shared some of it." The other man looked weighed down by his sister's situation.

But he seemed to rouse himself from his internal musings. "Fran seems to have developed some affection for you," Daniel said, and Edgar's heart thumped wildly.

Did he still have a chance to win Fran?

"And he wants to know what your intentions are," Seb put in gleefully.

Davy stood looking on, arms crossed and silent.

"I…." Edgar hadn't even expressed his feelings to Fran yet. He didn't want to tell her brother he loved her first. "I care about her. I want to make things right for her."

"Do you really think you can? Do you even know what she's been through? What it's been like for her, a city-raised girl thrown onto the prairie with a bunch of cowboys?"

"Fran's tougher than you think," was his immediate response.

Daniel did not look pleased with the comment. His expression grew even more perturbed.

"I'd like to know where you were when the girls needed you," Edgar went on quickly. "Fran wrote to you more than once." He hated that he sounded so confrontational, but was not sure he appreciated someone who hadn't been there for Fran taking him to task.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," the other man said.

Edgar gave him a long look. He was Fran's husband. He didn't have to explain himself to her brother.

"I've had a bad bout of tuberculosis," Daniel finally said. "It came on quickly, and I suppose the truth is I almost died."

Seb stepped back from the other man.

Daniel smiled ruefully. "My doctors have assured me that I am no longer contagious." He looked back at Edgar. "As soon as I learned of our parents' deaths, I came looking for the girls. I found that they'd left the finishing school, been to the orphanage and sent west. The woman who ran the orphanage told me of their troubles with the unfortunate Mr. Underhill?—"

"He got what he deserved," Seb interrupted.

Daniel shook his head. "I believe it's up to the courts to mete out punishment."

"He was trying to shoot her," Edgar put in.

Daniel shrugged, eyes hard. "We're getting off track here. I want to know whether you intend to do right by my sister or not."

Davy finally broke in. "I'd like to know that, too."

Edgar looked at all of them watching him expectantly. "Yes. I want her around…." It was such an understatement that he choked on it. "I…I love her."

Daniel didn't look totally appeased, but Seb's face had lit and Davy was smiling.

A wagon rolled up the drive, distracting all of them.

"Looks like the neighbor."

"Wonder what he wants."

It didn't take long to find out.

Fran had been so relieved to see Edgar the night before that she'd begun crying again, so she'd rushed inside with the excuse of warming some supper for the cowboys. But it was really to hide.

And this morning she was still hiding, inside the Whites' warm kitchen, with its overlong plank table. When she should've been outside locating her husband, she was slinking around indoors.

She was afraid he was going to send her away.

With Daniel there and available to take care of her and Emma, the stark fear for their survival was gone.

Especially with Underhill out of the picture. Although Emma still had some healing to do from the whole encounter.

No, Fran's fear had to do with loving the incorrigible cowboy and knowing there was a chance he couldn't return her love because she hadn't been upfront with him about Underhill's accusations.

The kitchen door opened, and he was there, filling the frame with his height and wide shoulders.

"Morning." He took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the door.

When he turned back to the kitchen, she caught sight of his face and sucked in a surprised breath.

"You shaved," she said.

He nodded, red climbing his cheeks. Without the thick blond beard, she could see how easily his fair skin changed color.

He was even more striking without his beard. A sharp jaw and fine, full lips…even his nose appeared handsomer.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw as if she were making him uncomfortable, and she realized she was staring.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

She turned, grateful for the excuse to delay, even for a moment. She needed to gather her thoughts. She was going to tell him that she loved him. She just needed to get her courage in line.

"I made Daniel bring us back to where the wagon had been that night," she admitted. "I was able to salvage some of your mother's recipe cards. I've been copying the recipes to new ones, so she will still be able to use them."

Most of the old cards were readable, though mud-spattered and torn from the cattle's destructive hooves. The new cards were stacked neatly in the center of the table. It was a paltry offering, because Fran knew some of the cards held sentimental value for Edgar's mother. The project had really been to keep her hands busy while she'd waited for his arrival.

Remembering the mangled, decimated wagon cinched her chest tight. Half of it had been sheered completely away, splintered to dust.

"The men…" She took a breath. She'd cried so many tears in the past few days, purging her fear and desperation. She didn't want to relapse into a sobbing ball of emotion now. She wanted her husband to see her strong.

She started again. "Underhill's men had said you'd fallen in the stampede."

He nodded slowly, idly fingering one of the cards with her handwriting on it. She watched his broad fingers sweep across the tabletop.

Seeing him alive, hale and healthy and vital, clogged her throat with emotion.

He glanced up at her, seemed to see she was struggling. His hand closed over hers, and he squeezed. "I'm all right."

She fought off the urge to throw her arms around him. She didn't know where they stood.

"What about you?" he asked, hand still warm around hers. "Your back?"

"Sore," she admitted. "Probably about the same as yours."

His jaw tightened—it was so much easier to read his expressions without his face covered in the beard.

"This was awful nice of you." He motioned to the cards spread across the table.

"It was my fault they were on the wagon," she reminded him.

She'd meant the words to be somewhat of a jest, but he shook his head. "Underhill coming after you wasn't your fault. And his boys starting that stampede wasn't your fault either."

Now tears truly did mist her eyes. He folded her to his chest as hope rose in her heart.

He held her close for a long moment.

"If that's true, then Ricky leaving wasn't your fault," she whispered.

At her words, he set her slightly back, his face dark and upset.

"Seb told us last night," she admitted.

His brow creased. "Pa left me in charge. I should've done something about it."

She touched his hand. "You did. Every day, he knew you loved him, knew he could come to you if he chose. But he chose to leave instead."

He hung his head, eyes squeezing shut.

The fact that he was showing her his emotion, not shutting her out, made her heart soar. Did this mean he wanted to be with her?

"Can we…can we talk?" she asked through a throat tight with hope.

He nodded slowly. "I think we should. Let's start with this."

He put an envelope on the tabletop between them and crossed his arms over his chest.

Curious, she picked up the missive. Spidery handwriting listed the return address as being in Chicago.