Was it Shane coming in for his dinner? Were those his boots thudding with authority against the floorboards in the other room?
“Please bless this food we are about to partake and know that we are grateful for Thy bounty.” Papa’s brow furrowed in concentration, his face set with sincerity.
I should be paying attention. She did her best to rope in her thoughts, but her disobedient ears continued to strain for the texture of that low, deep voice talking with Cook. It had to be Shane’s because her soul knew it, the rise and fall and rumble.
Please help him to forgive me, Father, she asked silently.
“Although we are far from perfect,” Papa continued, “You forgive us and continue to bless us with Your loving kindness.”
Was it her imagination or did Papa wink at her? It was hard to tell because he was so very somber as he finished his prayer.
“Guide us to Your will, Lord, and Your eternal light. Amen.”
“Amens” rang around the table, but the faint low rumble of Shane’s chuckle was the only sound she heard. It rolled through her like a spring breeze, welcome and refreshing. Why did he affect her so?
“Meredith!” Minnie nudged her with an elbow. “Pass the gravy.”
“Right.” She shook her head, trying to scatter her thoughts, but Shane remained front and center, the tap of his boots against the floor, the deep note of his “thank you,” and the final squeak of the closing door more drawing than the delicious scents steaming up from the serving platters and her family’s conversation.
“I know how you feel, Henrietta,” Papa said to Mama as he plopped a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “But this is the best horseman around. Even our dear Thad recommended him. Braden Shaw and his apprentice are genuine wranglers. They’ve broken and trained horses from Texas all the way to Canada. They’ve been all over the West. Can you imagine? Just like in my favorite novels.”
“Novels are made-up fiction,” Mama pointed out as she always did from her end of the long table. “Just you mind that. Real horses kick and bite and run away with their drivers. Remember what happened to you? You were nearly killed handling an unbroken horse. I hardly think we need animals like that in our stables.”
“That’s why we have a horse trainer, my dear. Besides, I’m fit as a fiddle and fully healed. As Meredith says, all’s well that ends well.”
“All ends well only with eternal vigilance, heaven’s guidance and common sense.” If a corner of Mama’s mouth upturned as if battling good humor, it had to be Meredith’s imagination. “I know where this is going, Robert, and no, I refuse to reconsider. Meredith will not be driving that buggy again anytime soon.”
Meredith was certain Papa winked at her as he handed Minnie the bowl of mashed potatoes.
“I would like to learn to drive.” Minnie dug into the potatoes with unladylike zeal. “Do you think Shane could teach me?”
“Wilhelmina!” Mama’s fork and knife tapped against the rim of her dinner plate. “Such talk! You are far too young, and no, I know what is coming next. You may not learn to ride horses either. A Worthington lady does not resort to such behavior.”
“But, Mama, I don’t want to be a lady.”
The back of her neck tingled, as if someone were watching her. Shane? His path from the kitchen door to the bunkhouse would take him through the garden and right past the dining-room windows. Sadie, their maid, would have given them their meals in a basket. Hired men were not allowed to eat in the house. Was he standing outside looking in, and what was he thinking of her?
She craved the opportunity to talk with him. She glanced over her shoulder, searching through the glass for the sight of his black Stetson and his striking face. But all she saw was the turn of his back and the impressive line of his shoulder as he strode away.
He had understood about her mother when they had spoken before. Surely he would do so again. And if she ought to be wondering why his opinion of her mattered, she didn’t want to analyze it and took the potato bowl from Minnie instead.
“Why don’t you tell us all what Lydia’s letter said,” Papa began as he cut into a slice of roast beef. “I brought home the mail today and there was an envelope from our girls.”
“And another letter from the school’s headmaster.” Mama’s mouth pursed as she held out her hand, waiting for the potatoes. “Angelina is on warning. She was caught smoking behind the outhouse again. Another stunt and she will be permanently suspended.”
“Did you truly think finishing school would change her?” Tilly said in her gentle way. “She doesn’t want to be there, Mama.”
“I know how that feels.” Meredith handed over the bowl and accepted the beef platter from Minnie. She forked a slice of meat onto her plate, remembering how restricted she had felt, how smothered. “Sometimes a girl just has to be who she is, or she feels as if her heart will die.”
“Nonsense.” Mama dished up with a clink of the spoon against her china plate. “We have a family obligation and standards to uphold. We may have moved out West for practical purposes, we are still considered a part of good society. We must not allow our conduct to slide.”
Mama cared far too much what certain people thought about her. Life in St. Louis had been much different, and her mother had been happier with her numerous clubs and charities there. They had moved to take care of cousin Noelle when she had been blinded in a buggy accident, and her parents—Mama’s brother—killed. But what the Worthington girls had seen as an adventure, Mama had viewed as a necessary duty, a hardship she struggled to rise above.
“I hope you do not rue the day you dropped out of that fine school.” Mama’s pronouncement was punctuated by another dollop of mashed potato hitting her plate. “Now, back to Lydia’s letter. Your dear sweet sister writes that she loves her teachers and her course-work this year is most enjoyable.”
Meredith glanced over her shoulder again. The pathway was empty and all sight of Shane gone. She felt as if something important, something she couldn’t describe, had slipped away.
The bunkhouse smelled like fresh lumber, coal smoke and boiling coffee. Shane pushed back his now-empty dinner plate on the plank table and took in his new home. Much better than their last place with separate rooms for sleeping and living, comfortable chairs near the generous windows and a woodstove. Cozy enough to spend a comfortable evening reading and plenty of room for at least a half-dozen hired men. The place echoed around them.
“Looks like Worthington is hoping to be a major operation one day, judging by the size of this place.” Braden ambled over with the coffeepot and filled both ironware cups. “Good for him. I had a chance to ride around the spread. He’s got some prime land for raising horses.”
“And plenty of it.” That took money, and judging by the looks of things, the Worthingtons were rolling in it. Memories of the life back home, the one he’d been dying to get away from, hit him like a slap to the face.
“Tomorrow we look over the horses we’ve come to train.” Braden set the coffeepot on the stove with a clunk. “Caught sight of the two-year-olds in the paddock. Fine-looking bunch. Robert Worthington has a good eye. Shouldn’t be too hard
