Tate. Take me home.”
He knew she meant her cabin, of course. Yet, for an instant, her words shook every nerve in his body. “Home...yes.” He raised an arm and pointed along the northern fringe of the valley. “Your cabin is over there, not too far from my ranch. We’ll stop at your place first.”
He wished he could cover the intervening miles in a flash. He needed to put distance between himself and this woman...this Sophie.
* * *
Sophie couldn’t let Tate see her disappointment. Furnished cabin? In the real estate flyer she’d been sent, that must have been a euphemism for one-room shack. Never in all her days had she seen such a structure, standing upright only through some act of God, shingles missing, chinks in the walls and dirt and animal droppings in abundance. She stood on the front porch taking in the mountain view. “At least this vista is lovely,” she said, shading her eyes against the sun dropping slowly behind the peaks.
“You can’t spend your life on the porch,” Tate muttered. “Would you like me to send one of my ranch hands over in the morning to help you muck out?”
She gathered her courage. “In the provisions they just unloaded, I have the necessary equipment. I would be much obliged if you could help me gather wood and get a fire started. Beyond that I have some tinned food that will keep me until I can get to baking, so you will be able to take your leave soon and get home to your sons.”
She could never admit to him how overwhelming the tasks before her seemed. The place was almost uninhabitable. She had never imagined she would have to start from scratch to turn this place into a home. Somehow she had pictured a snug cabin with perhaps a smattering of dust, but already equipped with a good bed and a sturdy stove, needing only a few touches and some elbow grease to make it hers. Now, with the sun disappearing behind the peaks, the sudden drop in temperature made a fire an even more immediate necessity.
Tate stood beside her on the porch, dwarfing her. “I’ll send the boys on home with the wagons while I help you with the fire.”
He left her, gave orders to his men and disappeared behind the lean-to that made do for a barn, where she had stabled Ranger.
She gathered some kindling, then went inside and busied herself swiping at cobwebs and sweeping ashes out of the woodstove. She vowed she would not cry, especially not in front of the man who called into question her every move. This task was similar to moving to Kansas and establishing their ranch. Her father had often reminded her and her brothers, Patience. One step at a time, one day at a time. She sniffled once, briefly indulging her self-pity. Then she returned to her labors, figuring that for this day, one stove and one bed would be reasonable steps. She could do this. She tried not to look at the bed, sagging nearly to the floor, the filthy mattress having served as home to who knew what.
She heard Tate’s heavy footsteps, followed by a loud thump. She opened the door. “Hidden treasure,” he said ironically, pointing at the logs he’d gathered. “A wood pile behind the barn. I’ll fetch some more.”
“I’ll come with you.” She hurried along behind him, grinning wryly at his use of the word barn to describe the ramshackle outbuilding.
Together they made four trips and stacked up a considerable amount of wood. “At least I won’t worry about you freezing to death,” Tate said when they were finished.
“I don’t want you worrying about me at all.”
“All right. I won’t.”
Why did that easy promise disappoint her? After all, she’d asked for it. “Fine.”
“There’s also a privy over by that grove of aspen.”
She was unable to make eye contact. “Useful information.”
“One last thing. Let me prime the pump that carries the water from the pond over yonder.”
She slumped. She’d been so busy bemoaning the state of her dwelling that she hadn’t even thought about water. So much for her foresight and self-sufficiency. Was her bravado merely a disguise for incompetence?
Satisfied that the pump worked, Tate stood in the door, preparing to leave. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.” She looked into his eyes, reading concern. “I will be fine. I am grateful for the help.” She chuckled sardonically. “Perhaps I don’t know quite as much as I thought I did.”
“Or were sold a bill of goods by some unscrupulous agent.”
“No use crying over spilled milk. I’ll just make the best of what is, I confess, a disillusioning end to such a beautiful day.”
“Where is your rifle?”
She nodded to a corner. “Over there.”
“Load it and keep it with you.”
“That’s comforting,” she said.
“That’s reality.” He put on his hat and they moved onto the porch. “So now, while it may not be quite what you pictured, you’re home, Sophie. Do be wary.”
“Good evening, Tate. Once again, thank you for bringing me here.”
He glanced around. “That’s either irony or supreme gratitude.”
“Gratitude,” she murmured. “Now get along with you.”
Then he was off. She stood on the porch hugging herself for warmth, waiting until the last hoofbeats died away. She was alone in a way she had never been alone. The valley was still and the mountains loomed like sentinels. Tate’s absence swept over her, leaving her breathless. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Solitude? Peace? God had given her this place to heal, and no matter what, she would honor His gift. Here she would, at last, begin a new life. Not one in which she ever forgot her beloved Charlie, but one of which she hoped he would approve...and one he would bless.
Turning to go inside, she looked up at the sky and gasped in wonder. Never had she seen such a canopy of stars. In that moment, a peace came over her as if God was delivering her from her personal wilderness.
Inside, as she threw the mattress aside and made herself a bed of pine needles and straw, she knew she would sleep like a baby. Tate was right. She was home.
Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders the next morning, Sophie moved quickly to build up the fire and get water boiling. No friendly elves had appeared in the night to clean the place and dawn did nothing to improve the cabin, but a deep sleep and the satisfaction of arriving at her destination had restored her optimism. She thought of her father, whose life as a widower with three small children couldn’t have been easy. Start in a corner and work your way out, he always said when faced with a daunting situation. That was exactly what she would do. While she waited for the kettle to heat, she filled a pail with cold water from the pump, added some baking soda and began scrubbing the layers of dust from the crude cupboard shelves and scarred pine table. Later she would go over the surfaces with boiling water. Other chores could wait, but if she was to eat, the kitchen had to be attacked first.
When the
