Read Online From Here to There by Rain Trueax - Free Book Online
Authors: Rain Trueax
Tags: Romance
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I don't figure to tell her neither. Helene's got enough on her mind. She's tryin' to sort through her life, figure out where she's going to go from here. If it's any consolation to you, she's no happier about what she did than you are."
"It's not much," Phillip said with a grimace.
"Well, if you come out, you'd find out for yourself what she's going to think about the idea. I won't say a word to her unless you show up. Then I'll tell her it was my idea."
"What do you get out of all this?"
Amos grinned, his smile widening, blue eyes twinkling. "Happiness for my niece... a good hand for the ranch? Who knows what I'll get out of this deal. You just think it over."
Phillip stared at him, his incredulity still showing on his face. "I'd have to be nuts to even consider it."
Amos pulled on his hat. "Most likely."
Chapter Three
Pouring oily, dark brown Old English furniture polish onto a soft cloth to polish the oak credenza, Helene whisked away the dust as she renewed the rich brown of the wood. On her knees, she worked the carved front of the cabinet. The scent of the polish brought back countless memories from years gone by when she and her aunt had done the same task.
She could almost hear Aunt Rochelle's admonishing voice--"Don't let the furniture dry out. It needs moisture if you expect it to last for the next generation." Her aunt would push graying hair back from her eyes and look down at Helene, a twinkle in her hazel eyes. "Relationships are a little like furniture," she would add with a knowing grin. "You absolutely must keep feeding them too, buff and polish, put a little elbow grease into it. Relationships need that. It's how you make anything good last."
Helene smiled at the wisdom she'd been given so freely during those years. Although at the time she'd thought little of it, it had stuck to her, and now she treasured it as she did the oak credenza. Not believing in ghosts or spirits, Helene could feel that of her aunt throughout the home, at times nearly hear her soft, sometimes almost melodyless humming.
Rising, Helene paused a moment to stand at the large living room window and savor the view. The Hartz farmhouse sat on a rise above the ranch land. Four thousand acres of land stretched to the east and south, then reached high back into the Absaroka Mountains. Although it could not be seen from the ranch, the ranch didn’t extend that far, below in the center of the Paradise Valley, the Yellowstone River flowed, wild and free on its way to the Mississippi. It was the last untamed, undammed stretch of river of its length in the territorial United States. She could see the gravel road that wound toward the main highway, a thin umbilical cord that connected the ranch to the outside world, yet gave it a sense of isolation, peace and timelessness. It could have existed this way a hundred years before and, as a matter of fact, had.
The big house now consisted of an original log cabin and several additions. The large living room with a cathedral ceiling had been added in the 1930's when ranches all around were reeling under the effects of the depression, but somehow the Hartz family had kept holdings together and even managed to expand. The kitchen, dining room and two downstairs bedrooms were what were left of the original log home, updated with modern conveniences, but much the same as they had always been. Upstairs three more bedrooms had been added, along with the large wooden staircase at one end of the living room. The home was large, yet intimate with its log walls, wood trimmed and small paned windows, wide pine board floors, large stone fireplace, and the comfortable mix of antiques, Indian crafts, Oriental rugs, soft sofas, comfy chairs, and handmade furniture.
Most ranches its size had been bought by rich bankers or movie stars but her uncle had fought to keep this one in his own hands. She wasn’t sure how he had succeeded, but she was grateful.
Capping the polish,
"It's not much," Phillip said with a grimace.
"Well, if you come out, you'd find out for yourself what she's going to think about the idea. I won't say a word to her unless you show up. Then I'll tell her it was my idea."
"What do you get out of all this?"
Amos grinned, his smile widening, blue eyes twinkling. "Happiness for my niece... a good hand for the ranch? Who knows what I'll get out of this deal. You just think it over."
Phillip stared at him, his incredulity still showing on his face. "I'd have to be nuts to even consider it."
Amos pulled on his hat. "Most likely."
Chapter Three
Pouring oily, dark brown Old English furniture polish onto a soft cloth to polish the oak credenza, Helene whisked away the dust as she renewed the rich brown of the wood. On her knees, she worked the carved front of the cabinet. The scent of the polish brought back countless memories from years gone by when she and her aunt had done the same task.
She could almost hear Aunt Rochelle's admonishing voice--"Don't let the furniture dry out. It needs moisture if you expect it to last for the next generation." Her aunt would push graying hair back from her eyes and look down at Helene, a twinkle in her hazel eyes. "Relationships are a little like furniture," she would add with a knowing grin. "You absolutely must keep feeding them too, buff and polish, put a little elbow grease into it. Relationships need that. It's how you make anything good last."
Helene smiled at the wisdom she'd been given so freely during those years. Although at the time she'd thought little of it, it had stuck to her, and now she treasured it as she did the oak credenza. Not believing in ghosts or spirits, Helene could feel that of her aunt throughout the home, at times nearly hear her soft, sometimes almost melodyless humming.
Rising, Helene paused a moment to stand at the large living room window and savor the view. The Hartz farmhouse sat on a rise above the ranch land. Four thousand acres of land stretched to the east and south, then reached high back into the Absaroka Mountains. Although it could not be seen from the ranch, the ranch didn’t extend that far, below in the center of the Paradise Valley, the Yellowstone River flowed, wild and free on its way to the Mississippi. It was the last untamed, undammed stretch of river of its length in the territorial United States. She could see the gravel road that wound toward the main highway, a thin umbilical cord that connected the ranch to the outside world, yet gave it a sense of isolation, peace and timelessness. It could have existed this way a hundred years before and, as a matter of fact, had.
The big house now consisted of an original log cabin and several additions. The large living room with a cathedral ceiling had been added in the 1930's when ranches all around were reeling under the effects of the depression, but somehow the Hartz family had kept holdings together and even managed to expand. The kitchen, dining room and two downstairs bedrooms were what were left of the original log home, updated with modern conveniences, but much the same as they had always been. Upstairs three more bedrooms had been added, along with the large wooden staircase at one end of the living room. The home was large, yet intimate with its log walls, wood trimmed and small paned windows, wide pine board floors, large stone fireplace, and the comfortable mix of antiques, Indian crafts, Oriental rugs, soft sofas, comfy chairs, and handmade furniture.
Most ranches its size had been bought by rich bankers or movie stars but her uncle had fought to keep this one in his own hands. She wasn’t sure how he had succeeded, but she was grateful.
Capping the polish,
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