Cassidy (Big Sky Dreams 1) Page 3

"How was that?" Meg asked, looking for approval.

  "Much better. You're just one short of mine." Cassidy had done a swift count.

  Meg looked very pleased about this and also relaxed about her ability. The conversation shifted to Jeanette and Brad's mother until it was time to make supper.

  "How was the sewing?" Trace asked when he came in much later and found Cassidy setting the table.

  "We're almost finished with the quilt."

  "What will you work on next?" Trace asked, realizing how long Cassidy had been coming out on Wednesday afternoons. Cassidy smiled and said, ,"Probably baby clothes."

  Trace laughed a little. It should have been obvious to him but hadn't been until just that moment.

  "Trace," Meg called from the kitchen, "is Brad coming in?" "Not for a few minutes. Is there something I can do?"

  Trace went that way without being asked, and Cassidy wondered

  if Meg knew how special that was. Both men were swift to help her,

  and she knew it wasn't only about the pregnancy.

  27

  Most of the men in the church family were unerringly polite. This was not true of all the men of Token Creek-some of them were downright rude, which probably explained why the men of the church family stood out to Cassidy.

  "How's it going?" Brad asked as he entered the dining room, having come from the direction of the front door. Cassidy realized she'd been staring into space.

  "Fine. Trace is in the kitchen. Meg needed something."

  If Cassidy expected him to head that way, she was wrong. He hesitated, and his voice dropped.

  "How did the nightgown turn out?"

  "Very well," she answered with a smile. "Did you find it?" Brad could only nod as Meg came from the kitchen.

  "Oh, Brad, I didn't hear you."

  "Hi," he said with a smile before bending to kiss her. "I came in from the front."

  "Supper is almost on."

  "I'll get washed up."

  Meg watched her husband walk away, and Cassidy watched Meg.

  "What's the matter?" the visitor asked.

  "I don't know. I feel like he's not telling me something."

  "From that short interchange?" Cassidy asked, hoping her face and voice would not give Brad away.

  Meg shrugged. "I'm probably just imagining things."

  The women went back to work on the meal and the table, and Cassidy was relieved. Brad was most certainly up to something, and Cassidy would rather bite her tongue than spoil the surprise.

  For the first part of the journey back to town, Trace and Cassidy were quiet. On Wednesday nights Trace always tied his horse to the back of Cassidy's buggy and saw her back to town. Tonight was no

  28

  different, except for the quiet. The four had talked nonstop over supper, but at the moment the couple headed back to town had nothing to share. Not until Cassidy sighed did Trace comment.

  "Contented sigh or a tired sigh?"

  "Did I sigh?" Cassidy asked with a frown.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Trace waited, but Cassidy didn't share. He looked down at her profile and knew she was thinking. Not for several seconds did she look at him.

  "Tired, I think," she answered, as though the question were brand new.

  "You work hard," Trace said, wondering if that was all there was to it.

  "Not today."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. I think a break in routine can be just as tiring as work."

  Cassidy thought about this. She always slept very well on Wednesday nights.

  "I think you might be right," Cassidy said in wonder. "I am more tired on Wednesdays."

  "Do you think you'll still come to the ranch?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "To sew with Meg-because it makes you so tired."

  Cassidy turned her head, her mouth open in surprise, and caught the teasing glint in his eye. Not bothering to answer, she tried to hide her smile as she turned back to the front.

  Trace did not keep at her. They were still a little quiet on the ride in, but it was comfortable. Once in town, Trace headed directly to the livery, and after helping Cassidy to the ground, took care of the buggy and horse. That done, his horse's reins in hand, they began the walk to Cassidy's store.

  "How busy are you this week?" Cassidy remembered to ask.

  29

  "About normal, I think. Why do you ask?"

  "I just wondered if you're coming back into town to study with Pastor Rylan and the other men."

  "Actually I am planning on it. We're getting together Friday night. It's been a few weeks since we've been able to meet, and that's the first night we can fit it in."

  They were at the side of Cassidy's shop now, at the outside stairway that led to her door. Cassidy stopped and looked up at him. "Sounds great."

  "You know, Cass," Trace said, his head tipped a little to study her. "You're always happy for others."

  "Oh," Cassidy said, frowning a little. "I guess I am, but what made you say that?"

  "I don't know. I just thought of it."

  Cassidy smiled, remembering yet another thing she liked about Trace Holden. He was good at sharing his thoughts.

  Trace only smiled back at the small blonde, urged her indoors, and told her he'd see her Sunday.

  Cassidy wasted no time, knowing he had to ride all the way home, in slipping into her small upstairs apartment. She lit a lantern even though it was still light and thought about why she felt a mixture of weariness and restlessness.

  Not only did Cassidy make and mend clothing, she also sewed quilts and displayed them in the window of her shop. They sold at a fairly fast rate, and she was nearly always working on one. Tonight would be a perfect time to get in some extra stitching, but for some reason her heart wasn't in it.

  Opting to just sit by the window and watch the sun go down, Cassidy sat in her most comfortable chair and thought back on the day.

  "What's this?" Meg stopped by the bed much later that night, her long-sleeved nightgown already in place.

  30

  Brad peeked out from the newspaper he'd been reading and tried not to look pleased.

  "What does it look like?" he asked.

  Meg picked up the thin garment and held it up for inspection. Knowing Cassidy's work by heart, she wasn't long in catching on. "Did you have Cassidy make this?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Just about squealing in delight, Meg swiftly changed into the new nightgown and looked down at herself.

  "It's so light and soft."

  Brad only smiled at her expression and watched her closely. He caught it the moment she frowned.

  "It's very sheer," Meg decided.

  "Is that a problem?"

  "I don't know."

  "Meg," Brad spoke gently to his wife, "you're too warm at night, and you never leave the bedroom without your robe."

  Looking down at herself, Meg studied the sleeveless design, V neck, and the way the garment stopped just below her knees. In truth she hadn't felt so cool all day.

  Without speaking, she climbed into bed and put her arms around her husband. Kissing him softly, she said, "Thank you."

  "You're welcome," Brad said, and kissed her right back.

  Meg looked into his eyes. "I wondered what you were up to." Brad smiled. "I can't get away with much these days." "It all shows on your face."

  "What's showing on my face right now?" Brad asked, pulling her a little closer.

  Meg smiled without answering and kissed her husband again.

  31

  "GOOD MORNING, JEANETTE,"RYLANsaid quietly.

  "Good morning, Rylan. Come in," Jeanette invited. The big man stepped inside her elegant home early Thursday morning. "Thanks for coming," the woman continued. "She's in a bad way."

  Rylan only nodded, having been through this before, and followed Jeanette to the conservatory. At times, Theta Holden grew agitated. She didn't cry out or fight against Jeanette and Heather, but she shifted in her seat often and wo
rried the padded arms of the chair. At times tears would roll down her face. The first time it happened, just two years earlier, Jeanette stood helpless and cried with her, but in time she learned to send for Rylan. His deep, calm voice had a settling effect on her sister, and if he was available, he was always willing to come.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Holden. Your sister tells me you're not feeling the best this morning."

  Jeanette, listening from the edge of the room, thanked God for her pastor. He did not make foolish or inane statements. It might have been tempting to tell Theta that he'd just happened to stop by, but instead told her he'd been sent for.

  32

  "Starting in verse three, it says, Tea, if thou criest after knowledge, and liftest up thy voice for understanding; if thou seekest her as silver, and searchest for her as for hidden treasures; then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord, and find the knowledge of God. For the Lord giveth wisdom; out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding. He layeth up sound wisdom for the righteous; he is a buckler to them that walk uprightly. He keepeth the paths of judgment, and preserveth the way of his saints. Then shalt thou understand righteousness, and judgment, and equity; yea, every good path."

  Rylan raised his head and saw that Theta was very still. She seemed to be listening. He didn't elaborate on what he'd read but began to sing softly, his voice a rich bass. He sang an old hymn about the love and faithfulness of God. He then prayed for Theta, asking God to bless her and keep her thoughts on Him. When he looked up, she was asleep. Rylan studied her pale skin and graying hair for a moment and then made his way quietly from the room.

  "That's never happened before," he said to Jeanette when they were out of earshot.

  "Her eyes closed right after you began to pray," Jeanette said, just as surprised as Rylan. "I was watching all the time, and I think she was ready to sleep right after your song."

  Rylan smiled a little. "It's usually my sermons that put folks to sleep."

  Jeanette laughed and saw him to the door.

  "Thanks, Rylan," Jeanette spoke warmly. "I have to be at the shop, and I hated to leave her in that state."

  "It's my pleasure, Jeanette," he said. "Let me know how she does the rest of the day." This said, Rylan took his leave. This was not a morning at the livery, and he had a sermon to finish.

  33Chandler Di Fiore opened the bank with ten minutes to spare, knowing he had some work on his desk that needed attention.

  His teller, Mr. Falcone, would be along shortly, and Chandler hoped to get a few things done before the streets grew noisy. The days were warmer now, and the door and windows were opened mid-morning and remained that way all day. Chandler did his best work when it was quiet.

  "Good morning." Mr. Falcone, appearing suddenly, greeted his employer.

  "Hello, Ed," Chandler said in return. "I think we're in for another warm one."

  "I hope so. I'm still working to drive the memory of winter away"

  Chandler smiled but didn't comment. His teller was a fine employee, but the cup was always half empty, never half full. Chandler, putting everything from his mind except the paperwork on his desk, managed to accomplish quite a bit before the first distraction. And that was a good thing because it was Abi Pfister, and she was not there on bank business.

  "I've come, Mr. Di Fiore," she announced, stepping up to his desk, pencil and paper in hand. "I'm ready for your story."

  Chandler welcomed the eccentric older woman, one of Token Creek's many characters, and sat down again once she'd taken a seat. It was common knowledge that Abi Pfister was writing a book, and not just any book, but a book on Token Creek and all its inhabitants, past and present. The book was to include details and events that she alone claimed to know. Few thought she would actually accomplish this because she interrupted most of her interviews with stories she had already recorded. She'd come to see Chandler twice about the details of his life, never quite getting them down.

  "Now," Abi began, her work on her book very important to her. "Exactly how long have you been in Token Creek?"

  34"Four years."

  "Exactly?" Abi pressed.

  "It was four years in May."

  Abi wrote and then looked at him again, her hat a bit askew but suiting her nonetheless.

  "And you hail from where?"

  "Boston."

  "You were born there?"

  "I was."

  Abi speared him with a look just then, certain she was being laughed at, but Chandler's face gave nothing away. She bent back over her paper and continued with her questions.

  "And your fiancée's name is Cassidy Norton, correct?"

  "I'm not engaged to Miss Norton or anyone else," Chandler said, his voice not changing, even though he was surprised.

  Abi looked up at him. "But Heller at the sawmill said that you and Cassidy were engaged."

  "Were you getting Heller's story or mine?"

  Again, Chandler's voice did not alter, but Abi knew she was being rebuked. Her eyes narrowed, and Chandler steeled himself for the moment she stood and stormed out of the bank. It surprised him when she sat back a little and her face changed to thoughtfulness.

  "No fiancée?" she said quietly.

  "No."

  "A gal you consider your own?"

  "What brought you to Token Creek?" Abi asked next, and the interview went on from there. And this time she got through. She finished with Chandler, seeming well-satisfied, and tried to work on Mr. Falcone's story, but he had customers to see to, and the regular interruptions frustrated her.

  She left without warning, and Chandler was not sorry. He'd

  35learned from two past encounters that putting her off only brought her back another time. He hoped this would be the last.

  "Thank you, Patience," Cassidy said to Meg's aunt, who had been looking for a certain color of thread. Cassidy had the very one, and Mrs. Patience Dorn had given her some fabric scraps she'd been collecting before she left the shop. Cassidy used them in her quilts.

  Jeanette showed up just as Patience was leaving, and the two had a brief visit on the boardwalk out front. Jeanette came in laughing.

  "What's up?" Cassidy wanted to know.

  "Patience and I were reminiscing. We remember when Meg and Brad met. Meg was rather taken with him but couldn't tell what he was thinking. Patience said she knew Brad was perfect for Meg, and it was terribly hard to keep her mouth shut."

  "Why was Meg in Token Creek?" Cassidy asked. "I can't remember that part."

  "She visited every year, but that summer, Brad actually noticed her."

  Cassidy smiled and went back to the sewing machine. Jeanette got to work on the jobs Cassidy had left for her, but her mind was still on her nephew and Meg. It had been a wonderful summer.

  cae.ktfi es

  "Rylan!" A voice sounded at the pastor's front door. "You here?"

  "Yeah!" Rylan shouted from the bedroom he used as an office. He came to the front room of his house to find Sheriff Kaderly waiting for him, having stepped inside.

  "There's been a shooting. Can you come?"

  "Certainly. Do I know the family?"

  "I don't think so. Far side of town, somewhat reclusive."

  36"Children?"

  "Two."

  Rylan didn't ask any more questions but got his coat and left with the sheriff. He assumed this was a normal part of a pastor's life because it had always been this way. Sheriff Kaderly was not a member of his church family, but when there was a death, if the family looked in need of help, he always came for Rylan. Sometimes it led to a long relationship, and other times Rylan talked to folks he never saw again.

  Praying as he climbed into the wagon the sheriff had come in, Rylan asked God to use him. The sheriff talked almost nonstop on the ride to the house, but that didn't hinder Rylan. He prayed for the family he was about to meet and for Token Creek's sheriff as well.

  (.3Et3?

  Meg took a loaf of bread from the oven and wiped her brow. It was 'awfully warm in
the room, but the bread did not look done. She stared down at the loaf she thought she had burned, frowning in concentration. Behind her were cake pans, ready to go in next, but she wondered if something might be wrong with the oven compartment in the stove.

  A pain, not intense, but making itself felt, knifed across her abdomen. Meg sat down at the kitchen table, her baking forgotten.

  "It's too soon," she whispered to the Lord, knowing that if the baby came now, it would be about seven weeks too early. "Please don't let this start now. Please, Lord."

  Meg sat for a time, waiting to see if anything else would happen. She felt her breathing relax as she continued to pray softly in the empty room.

  "I want Your will more than my own. Well," she admitted, "I want to want Your will more than my own. Please change my heart, Lord. Please help me to accept what You have for me and this baby."

  Meg tried to stop then. She tried to stop all speculation and

  37prayer and just think about who God was. No more requests, no more thoughts of her own-just verses that told of His greatness, His lovingkindness, and His ability to provide.

  When Meg laid her head on the table and fell asleep, she could not be sure. She also didn't know how long she'd slept, but when she woke she was still alone, and the bread was quite cool to the touch.

  Moving a bit carefully, she went about her workday, no other pains troubling her. She thought that might have been the end of it but wasn't willing to take a chance. As soon as she'd fed the men lunch, she lay down on her bed. She thought her body might be in need of rest. It didn't matter that she didn't sleep, having taken that nap at the table. This small act might help the baby go full term, and that was worth getting behind in her work.

  Chandler spotted Cassidy the moment she came through the door of the bank. She looked distracted to his eyes, and for a moment he thought about what Abi Pfister had said. He was not concerned with the wagging tongues of the townsfolk, but he would never want Cassidy hurt by someone's tongue, 'and in truth, he didn't know exactly how he felt about Token Creek's seamstress. She was a friend, certainly, one he cared for very much. But a hurt from his past made it difficult to say if he would ever let his guard down so he and Cassidy could be more than friends.

  "Hi, Cassidy," Chandler greeted when she was close enough. "Hello, Chandler." She smiled as she spoke, but there was strain in her eyes.