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Authors: Wagered Heart
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wanted.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather have our own place. I figure Ingrid deserves that.”
“Sure. I understand.”
Rand stood. “Reckon I’ll go have that bath now. But I’ll just use the creek. Easier than haulin’ water, if you ask me.”
Hawk stayed at the table for a long while after his friend left, thinking about this turn of events. Anybody with two eyes could see those two were crazy about each other. He’d figured it was only a matter of time before Rand would want to tie the knot.
What he hadn’t figured on was feeling envious.
He rose, walked outside, turning when he was almost to the corral, and took a good long look at his house. It wasn’t much. A log cabin with four small rooms. Plenty enough for two cowboys who did little more than eat and sleep there. But how would it look to a woman?
Like a shack. Not the sort of place a man would bring his bride.
Against his will, he thought of Bethany. Again. He thought of that unexpected kiss. Again. Whispery soft. Unbelievably sweet. Completely innocent.
More than once this past week, he’d wished he could turn back time, that he could undo the moment when he allowed her to step away from him. If he could do it over, he would pull her close and kiss her the way a man kisses a woman. He would hold her close and never let her go.
He’d long told himself he was better off alone. What if he’d been wrong about that? And what if a woman like Bethany. . . No, not a woman like her. What if Bethany could be happy with him? Shouldn’t he give himself — and her — a chance to find out? Maybe the many things that should separate them weren’t as insurmountable as he’d always thought.
Bethany stood on the porch, her cheek against the post, and watched the setting of the sun. The bright orange ball seemed to rest on the peaks of the mountains, turning the dark, pine-covered slopes a fiery red. Then the sun slipped behind them. The fire-hot colors of sunset faded to a deep purple, announcing the coming of night. As the sky darkened from blue to pewter to black, she saw the first twinkling star above the tallest peak.
Hawk’s mountains. That’s how she thought of them. Beneath their shadows, he was probably getting ready to turn in for the night.
She sighed.
“What’s troubling you, dear?”
The question drew her from her thoughts. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone on the porch. “Nothing, Mother.”
“You’ve been sighing and moping all week long. Is it because your father forbade you to go riding? That will end soon. It’s been two weeks.”
“That’s not it.” Again she sighed.
“Are you unhappy in Sweetwater? Perhaps you would like us to send you back to Philadelphia. I know your grandmother or Cousin Beatrice would — ”
“I don’t want to leave Montana. I love it here.”
“Then what is it, dear? Please tell me.”
How did a girl ask her mother about love and men and . . . and kissing? She adored her mother, but somehow she couldn’t talk to her about . . . this. She couldn’t tell her that she laid awake nights thinking about kissing Hawk Chandler. She searched for something — anything — to say, as long as it wasn’t about him.
Looking at her mother, she said, “Ingrid’s in love with Mr. Howard.”
“Yes, she may be growing to love him.” Her mother rose from her chair and came to stand before her, cupping Bethany’s chin with one hand. “Is that what’s troubling you?”
“No. Not really. It’s just . . . it’s just that I was wondering. How does it feel to be in love?”
It was her mother’s turn to sigh. “Quite wonderful, dear. And sometimes quite awful.”
That was an apt description. Wonderful — and awful. “But . . . how do you know when you’re in love?”
“When it happens, you’ll know. That’s how it was with your father and me. He was always around because of his friendship with my brother, Frederick. I never gave him much thought. And then one day, after he came back from
“Thanks, but I’d rather have our own place. I figure Ingrid deserves that.”
“Sure. I understand.”
Rand stood. “Reckon I’ll go have that bath now. But I’ll just use the creek. Easier than haulin’ water, if you ask me.”
Hawk stayed at the table for a long while after his friend left, thinking about this turn of events. Anybody with two eyes could see those two were crazy about each other. He’d figured it was only a matter of time before Rand would want to tie the knot.
What he hadn’t figured on was feeling envious.
He rose, walked outside, turning when he was almost to the corral, and took a good long look at his house. It wasn’t much. A log cabin with four small rooms. Plenty enough for two cowboys who did little more than eat and sleep there. But how would it look to a woman?
Like a shack. Not the sort of place a man would bring his bride.
Against his will, he thought of Bethany. Again. He thought of that unexpected kiss. Again. Whispery soft. Unbelievably sweet. Completely innocent.
More than once this past week, he’d wished he could turn back time, that he could undo the moment when he allowed her to step away from him. If he could do it over, he would pull her close and kiss her the way a man kisses a woman. He would hold her close and never let her go.
He’d long told himself he was better off alone. What if he’d been wrong about that? And what if a woman like Bethany. . . No, not a woman like her. What if Bethany could be happy with him? Shouldn’t he give himself — and her — a chance to find out? Maybe the many things that should separate them weren’t as insurmountable as he’d always thought.
Bethany stood on the porch, her cheek against the post, and watched the setting of the sun. The bright orange ball seemed to rest on the peaks of the mountains, turning the dark, pine-covered slopes a fiery red. Then the sun slipped behind them. The fire-hot colors of sunset faded to a deep purple, announcing the coming of night. As the sky darkened from blue to pewter to black, she saw the first twinkling star above the tallest peak.
Hawk’s mountains. That’s how she thought of them. Beneath their shadows, he was probably getting ready to turn in for the night.
She sighed.
“What’s troubling you, dear?”
The question drew her from her thoughts. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone on the porch. “Nothing, Mother.”
“You’ve been sighing and moping all week long. Is it because your father forbade you to go riding? That will end soon. It’s been two weeks.”
“That’s not it.” Again she sighed.
“Are you unhappy in Sweetwater? Perhaps you would like us to send you back to Philadelphia. I know your grandmother or Cousin Beatrice would — ”
“I don’t want to leave Montana. I love it here.”
“Then what is it, dear? Please tell me.”
How did a girl ask her mother about love and men and . . . and kissing? She adored her mother, but somehow she couldn’t talk to her about . . . this. She couldn’t tell her that she laid awake nights thinking about kissing Hawk Chandler. She searched for something — anything — to say, as long as it wasn’t about him.
Looking at her mother, she said, “Ingrid’s in love with Mr. Howard.”
“Yes, she may be growing to love him.” Her mother rose from her chair and came to stand before her, cupping Bethany’s chin with one hand. “Is that what’s troubling you?”
“No. Not really. It’s just . . . it’s just that I was wondering. How does it feel to be in love?”
It was her mother’s turn to sigh. “Quite wonderful, dear. And sometimes quite awful.”
That was an apt description. Wonderful — and awful. “But . . . how do you know when you’re in love?”
“When it happens, you’ll know. That’s how it was with your father and me. He was always around because of his friendship with my brother, Frederick. I never gave him much thought. And then one day, after he came back from
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