another.
More than all of those things combined, his decision to say “I do” had changed the course of his life, and if Gracie was gone, Heather was sure to follow.
“Get some rest,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”
There was always the chance Heather and Gracie were exactly what the ranch needed. He only had to persuade her in that direction.
If she regretted her choice when Dillon returned, he’d cross that bridge when the time came. Being her second choice was a lot easier to ignore with his brother gone.
Heather woke with a start, momentarily confused by her surroundings. From beyond the door, the floorboards squeaked, and a sudden rush of fear numbed her senses. She frantically searched her surroundings, and the memory of the previous day came rushing back. The footsteps paused on the landing, and she remained stock-still, not even daring to breathe.
In the next instant she heard the tromp of footfalls going down the stairs. The front door slammed, rattling the windowpanes, and she blew out her pent-up breath. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and took in her bare feet and wrinkled dress. She’d been too exhausted to change last night. She only dimly recalled removing her shoes and stockings and crawling beneath the covers.
She checked on Gracie first and found the child sound asleep. Gracie had wedged her small body into the space between the edge of the bed and the wall. Heather rolled her toward the middle and tucked the blanket neatly around her sides. Gracie’s tiny lips moved in her sleep; her eyes drifted open and she mewled a sound, then rolled to her side.
The sleepy child and Sterling’s absence left Heather time for explorations. She’d only seen the Blackwell house from the outside. She and Dillon had taken a buggy ride on the road near the ranch one spring afternoon, and he’d pointed out the roofline visible above the hillcrest.
Memories from her brief flirtation came rushing back. Though Dillon and Sterling were brothers, they were vastly different in temperament. Dillon had been quiet, almost brooding. He’d kept himself rigid and always in check, and he rarely laughed or smiled. In her naïveté, she’d mistaken his silence for interest. Looking back, she realized she’d always carried the conversation, and her face burned. Her chatter must have annoyed him to no end.
At her aunt and uncle’s, no one had ever asked her how she was doing or feeling. What she’d experienced with Dillon was a reflection of her first taste of freedom and of gentlemanly courtesy. Back then, she was a captive only recently freed from a cage, spreading her wings and embracing new experiences. She’d never expected, all these years later, to be standing in the Blackwell house as his brother’s bride. In truth, she’d never expected to see the inside of the Blackwell house at all.
She shook off the past and studied her new surroundings. The Blackwell family home was legendary around Valentine. Though not overly large by gold rush standards, the house featured every expensive plumbing detail available. According to town lore, Mr. Blackwell’s wife had come from wealth. Her family fortune had been amassed through plumbing fixtures, and she’d insisted on an indoor bathtub, running water and eventually a water closet. Folks were still suspicious of a backhouse in the bathroom, and near as Heather could tell, the Blackwells owned the only water closet in Montana.
One of her school lessons featured the mechanics of indoor plumbing. The lessons were especially fascinating for the farm children who mostly made do with water pumps powered by windmills. She’d taught from books without the benefit of a working example, so the water closet drew her attention. Since Sterling was gone, she pulled the chain. There was a clanging sound and water rushed down the brass pipe from the water tank into the porcelain bowl, filling it up, and then suddenly the water in the bowl disappeared. Enthralled, she pulled the chain again.
There was a sink with a spigot and an enormous bathtub with claw feet. The only concession to frontier life was the potbellied stove in the corner for heating. Intrigued by the luxury, she started the coal and set a pail beneath the spigot. A short time later she had the bath prepared, and Gracie was splashing in the shallow, warm water.
By the time they descended the kitchen stairs, they were both as clean and shiny as new pennies. To her delight, the kitchen was extravagantly appointed with wall lamps, a kitchen range, a wall-mounted coffee mill, a box churn with a crank and cast aluminum pots and pans. There were other gadgets whose purposes were a mystery.
Her aunt and uncle had never splurged on anything deemed unnecessary, and their kitchen had been stocked with only the bare minimum. Heather stifled a giggle. Her aunt would be appalled by the apparatus upstairs. A water closet was most definitely a luxury.
The only thing lacking was a full pantry. The shelves were bare save for a bag of coffee beans and a few assorted cans. Sterling obviously didn’t eat in the house.
As though drawn by her thoughts, his shadow appeared before the window set in the back door. He knocked and she pulled on the handle. He held a pail of milk in each hand, which he set inside the door.
“You’ll want to cover those with a damp cloth.” He crossed the kitchen toward the sink. “I’ll fetch some ice for the icebox this afternoon.”
Heather hadn’t even noticed the sturdy piece of furniture. It was an oak cabinet icebox with fancy brass hardware and latches. Sterling opened the door, revealing the zinc lined interior.
He pointed. “The ice block goes there. We cut blocks from the pond in the winter, and keep it stored in hay in a cutout on the side of the hill. I haven’t kept anything in the icebox since I’ve been back. Now that you’re here, I’ll make certain you have a fresh block whenever you need one.”
“Thank you.”
“If I’m not here, fetch one of the boys to help. Don’t try to carry them alone,” he admonished. “They’re too heavy.”
She figured she was plenty strong enough to carry a block of ice, but she dutifully replied, “I won’t.”
“If you give me a list, I’ll fetch what you need from the bunkhouse. That’s where we keep most of the stores these days. The rest can be purchased from town.”
Her stomach rumbled. “All right.”
Gracie tugged on Sterling’s pant leg. “Up. Up.”
He scooped her into his arms and she squealed in delight. “How is she doing this morning?”
“Settling in nicely,” Heather said proudly. “She slept well and had a bath. I was searching for some breakfast when you arrived.”
“I’ll have Woodley send up fixings with the supplies.” He set Gracie on her feet once more. “Is there anything else you need?”
She tapped her chin with one finger and considered their circumstances. “Not right now.”
This was far better than trying to maneuver around in her tiny room attached to the schoolhouse. She’d had to cook dinner on the potbellied stove while nudging Gracie away from the heat with her foot. The Blackwell house was a wonder.
A memory from her childhood home flashed like a picture in her brain: an oriental rug with red and navy knotting. The rest of her memories were from Pittsburgh. That
