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Wearing an old straw hat, a lumbering old man slid off his horse onto the road, but didn’t head down her path.
She could see the resemblance. But where Tom was a thick, solid oak tree, his father was a fragile bending willow. Still, the handsome resemblance of dark features, square chin, and sauntering gait was striking.
“Pa!” Tom shouted. His voice grew edgy and she wondered why. “Over here!”
Old Mr. Murdock petted the husky dog circling around his work boots. “Wolf? Is that you?”
Tom smiled in relief and with Amanda a few steps behind, bounded to his father. “Mornin’, Pa. Did you bring your divining rods?”
Mr. Murdock gazed at him with a blank expression.
Tom’s tender smile faded. A rush of color infused his neck. He lowered his voice, but the wind had stilled and Amanda could hear. Tom’s normally confident voice quivered as he bent to his father’s level. “It’s me. It’s Tom.”
“Tom who?”
Tom swallowed. “Your son. Remember? The oldest one. You’ve got Gabe and Quaid, too.”
Amanda’s heart spiraled. Father didn’t recognize son? He recognized the dog but not Tom? Oh…she slumped against the wagon boards and closed her eyes for a moment. She could barely watch the heartache in Tom’s face as he tried to explain his existence to his father.
Tom’s voice fell to a whisper. “Tom… I own the sawmill,” he explained, raw with emotion. “Remember? You taught me how to chop my first tree. We built this shack together three years ago, remember?”
Dazed, Mr. Murdock glanced to the shack and back, then to Amanda. Donald was strolling down the trail with Ellie and four children in tow, Willy with his scabbed-over blackfly bites, all approaching closer. Tom glanced frantically to them then back to his father, then back to them. He froze as Amanda watched.
Trying to spare Tom the anguish of Donald and Ellie’s witnessing the situation, Amanda sprang forward. “Mr. Murdock, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She shook Mr. Murdock’s hand, clasping her warmth over the wrinkles, desperately searching for words to help orient the man. “Tom told me you live up the road. That makes us neighbors. He said you’re good at finding water, and that’s great because I need a well dug, you see.”
Mr. Murdock gazed to the partially cleared area and something twinkled in his eyes. “Digging a well, that’s what I’ve come for. Tom,” he said with recognition, “come help me get the stuff off my horse. Sorry, I, uh, the dog…the dog caught me off guard.”
While the old man straightened, Tom’s watery eyes turned to Amanda. She pretended she hadn’t seen what had happened, but by the grateful look in Tom’s eyes, he knew the truth.
“Ellie, Donald, howdy,” Amanda said, giving Tom time to recover. She crouched to the children’s eye level. “Willy, how are those blackfly bites? Is the calamine helping? I’ve got some of my own to show you.”
As they exchanged pleasantries, Donald hollered to Mr. Murdock, “Mornin’, John!”
John Murdock waved back.
What must it be like to have a father who didn’t recognize you? Poor Tom. A parent’s decline was a big heartache to endure alone. Did he have any other family members who could help him through it?
Was his father suffering from early dementia? Tom’s brother Quaid was a doctor, and surely John Murdock was getting the best care possible.
While the others went to work, Amanda made the gentleman sit with her and have coffee. When he got up to do his work, he held his wooden sticks parallel to the ground and slowly walked the site, waiting for them to twitch when they passed over underground water. Amanda wasn’t sure how the set-up worked, but folks swore by it.
Grandma looked up from hauling branches, eyeing John Murdock with something on her mind. “You don’t happen to need a rag rug, do you? A pretty one for your cabin floor?”
Mr. Murdock put down his sticks. “I might. The floor’s awfully cold this time of year.”
“Well, I’ve got one for sale. Real cushiony. I made it myself from some of my prettiest scraps.”
The elderly man laughed, rich and warm, endearing him to Amanda. “Bring it out. Let’s see it.” He removed his straw hat, revealing a receding hairline, and squinted in the sunshine. “Just don’t make me lose my shirt on the price.”
Grandma chuckled. “Ten cents is what it costs.”
Amanda watched Tom noticing the exchange. Although he’d avoided glancing Amanda’s way while they worked, his rigid shoulders relaxed and the tenseness to his jaw dissolved. She wasn’t sure why he wasn’t looking her way, but it was just as well. She didn’t need any more complication in her life than she had already.
When the day was over, Ellie dropped by with the children to retrieve her husband. They offered to walk Mr. Murdock and his horse home. Grandma wanted to join them, eager to see how Mr. Murdock’s new rag rug would look in his house, so they all set out together.
Amanda gave Tom a curt nod. “Thank you for your hard work. Your father found two well locations for me to choose from, and I think we’re making good time.” She gazed up at the cloudy sky. “Hopefully, we won’t get any rain to slow us down.”
The red setting sun grazed the snowy mountain peaks, casting shadows on the rocky cliffs, and deepening the green timberline of pine trees.
The rays also shimmered off Tom’s dark hair. She thought he’d be quick to leave. But instead of harnessing his draft horse, he adjusted his leather gloves and picked up the ax.
“What are you doing?”
“You need someone to chop this wood.”
Stepping closer, she removed her apron. “Please don’t do that. You’ve worked hard all day.”
“So have you.”
“Please don’t make me say it.” Her voice lowered to a breeze. “I can’t afford to have you chop my wood.”
“There’s no charge.”
He was already chopping. With quiet dignity, she accepted his kind offer. She admired the gesture. Not many men had offered to do something like this for her. None at all, in the past eighteen months.
They worked side by side for an hour in the setting sun, she stacking wood, he pounding away. She grew warmer, feeling his proximity, every muscle that moved with every strike.
The air seemed hot and heavy. What was this thing between them? This ripe awareness that swelled and rolled, seeming as though it would burst?
When they finished, he turned to look at her. Drops of moisture clung to his temples. His eyes glowed with life. She found herself extremely conscious of his sensuality. Nervous under his gaze, she went to take the ax, but she shouldn’t have stepped so close. Beneath their work gloves, their fingers pressed together. She heard his sharp intake of breath. He slid out of his gloves.
She set the ax along the shack wall, but he bent closer and grasped her hand. With one erotically smooth motion, he peeled off her one glove, then the other. Standing alone with this potent man, surrounded by the scent of damp ferns and his clean sweat, she felt as if with this one intimate gesture he was peeling off her clothing. She could barely breathe. At his feathery touch, she trembled right down to her toes.
“You’ve got such beautiful hands,” he murmured. “Yet they work too hard.”
Stroking his way over the tiny little calluses, he rubbed and kneaded and massaged. Everything about him felt hot. His hands, his breath, his touch. Long, loose strokes as if he were stroking her entire body. No man had caressed her like this. Never. Not her hand, nowhere on her body.
It made a woman yearn for his exploration. Imagining him dipping down her bare shoulders, over her languid arms, gently exploring her soft breasts and down her belly. And lower….
She closed her eyes and gasped when she felt his kiss along the back of her palm. Sweet, tender lips grazing her flesh, the heat of his mouth kissing along the openings. Her nipples went hard. If she let him go any further, she’d be sorry….
This was mad.
She knew what it was. It was a thank-you for today, for coming to his father’s aid. She could never let it be more. She’d given everything she had to William, her heart, her body, her beloved baby, and she had nothing left to offer. Not to a potent man like Tom Murdock.
And what about his other woman?
As silently as it started, it ended. Without looking at him, she withdrew her hand. “You’ve got Clarissa to think about.” Escaping into the dark shack, Amanda pressed the door closed behind her. Getting caught up with a man was just too wretchedly painful.
She was right, he had Clarissa to think about.
Tom swore softly under his breath as he found his way from his cabin door to the sawmill. The full moon glinted over his shoulder. With a jangle of keys, he unlocked the side door and entered. He struck a match and lit the largest lantern.
What in heaven’s name had happened back there at the shack? Why had he completely lost himself in Amanda? Every time he looked into her heavy, blue eyes, he had to stifle his urge to touch her.
She didn’t have a father to watch out for her, no brother to ward off Tom’s advances. She had only herself to protect, and it wasn’t fair to take advantage of a lone woman if he wasn’t free to take it further. Was he free? Where did he stand with Clarissa? Where did he want to stand with Clarissa?
He dipped his brush in a pail of white paint, then swept it over a three-legged stool, more furniture designated for the big hotel.
“You in here, Tom?” Graham’s voice shattered the silence. “I’ve got some news for you.”
Tom rose. “What is it?”
Boots thudded across the floor. The fringes dangling from Graham’s coat swayed as he walked. “A warrant’s been put out for Finnigan’s arrest. Robbery, fraud and larceny. I’ve wired the information across the country. The last sighting of him was in the coal mines just east of here. He’s disappeared, but we’ll flush him out.”
Tom pulled in a long breath.
“I’ve had to ask some questions around town for Finnigan’s last whereabouts, but I don’t think anyone’s suspicious.”
“Good.”
“About Clarissa…”
“She’s not in Calgary, is she?”
Graham shook his head. “Can’t seem to locate her. She never showed up there. Bought a train ticket but never used it.”
Tom snorted in disgust. He started painting again, coating the stool’s legs.
Graham pulled out a chair, sat and scratched his curly blond sideburn. “Why aren’t you surprised?”
Tom’s spirits sank. “What would you say if I told you I think they disappeared together?”
“Aw, hell.”
Betrayed. Tom swallowed past the hard lump in his throat. What was worse? Losing his business to Finnigan? Or losing his woman to the man? Tom had been betrayed by two of the people he trusted most.
Clarissa wasn’t the dignified woman he thought she was. How could he have been involved with a woman who tore off with his partner?
Amanda wasn’t like her. She was as far removed from the word conniving as one could get. Amanda didn’t have the easy life that Clarissa had. Amanda was a tender, widowed woman trying to survive on her own. She didn’t have anything to do with Finnigan’s scam, either, because he’d overcharged her.
Amanda was an honest woman, and right about now, he held the virtue of honesty highest on his list.
“About Amanda Ryan.”
“Yeah?” Tom held his breath.
“I did some checking. You were right. She’s got a hell of a secret. She’s not widowed. The woman’s divorced.”
Chapter Four
Divorced. Tom scowled as he hitched the mules to the stump-puller on Amanda’s property the next morning. She hadn’t been waiting for him as she usually was—which made him happy—but stepped out of the shack and into the thick forest thirty minutes after he, Donald and Pa arrived.
They’d all lied to him. Finnigan, Clarissa, then her.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Amanda’s welcoming smile and pretense of a blush sickened him. A shaft of light struck her high cheekbones beneath the bonnet. Wasn’t she an innocent? A naive divorcée, blushing at the man who’d brazenly kissed her hand the day before. Damn her anyway, for getting to him.
His muscles clenched. “Good for working,” he muttered.
He turned his back, not caring how rude he was, and secured one of two wooden columns to the mule’s harness. The contraption looked like an inverted V over the stump. With a long, sauntering stride, pulling his hat closer to his brow to shade himself from the sun, he left her standing there and joined Donald by the other mule. The animals would walk the columns in a circle, turning the screw and chains attached to the stump, thereby pulling out the root. Tom would finish his work as quickly as he could, and in five weeks time he’d say good riddance to Mrs. Amanda Ryan.
Amanda had looked into his eyes and stole his affections—stole—under false pretenses of him feeling sorry for a widow. And her grandma wasn’t any better. How the two of them must have laughed that day when he’d first met Miss Clementine and they’d discussed widowhood. He’d made a fool of himself for falling for Amanda’s fabrications.
Persistent, dressed in her old flannel, Amanda slid her slender figure next to his broad one, dressed in denim. The demure smile he’d found so endearing yesterday looked like one of deceit today. What did the woman want from him? A friendly conversation? More kisses? Although she’d pulled back yesterday, maybe she’d changed her mind and thought he’d make a good catch. Maybe he’d be able to support her down the road!
“What happened to your two big draft horses?” she asked in a friendly tone that he found irritating.
“I sold them,” he snapped. “I can rent Donald’s mules any time I need them.”
He’d sold them so that Pa could keep his gentle mares. Tom’s secret credit note at the bank had gotten Quaid his new shipment of instruments, but Tom hadn’t wanted to borrow too much. Fortunately, he still had his three best horses, and when he dug out of this financial mess, he’d be able to buy the others back.
He felt a movement beside his boot and looked down. Wolf was digging a deep hole.
“Stop that,” Tom reprimanded. “If someone falls in that hole, they could twist their ankle. Go chase a squirrel.” After a friendly pat on the head, the dog bounced away, but Amanda frowned at his gruffness. When he ignored her, she left. Good. He gently slapped the rear of one of the mules to start it walking in a circle, then adjusted his big leather work gloves.
He admitted, being divorced wasn’t a thing most people would brag about, but why hide who you are?
He knew of only three people who’d ever been divorced; none in this town. One older gent back in Toronto who was an alcoholic, one young miner in the Rockies whose poor wife couldn’t take any more beatings, and a tourist passing through last summer whose wife had caught him with his third mistress.
It was common knowledge that more women were divorced in the West than the East. Women were scarcer here, so if their husbands mistreated them in any way, they divorced, taking their children and quickly remarrying—to one of many men in the West grateful for the company and partnership of a woman. But that’s not what had happened to Amanda.
From what Graham had said, it was Amanda’s husband who’d divorced her. Graham hadn’t uncovered the circumstances, and Tom had stopped Amanda’s investigation. No sense asking Graham to uncover more about a woman Tom didn’t care for. Besides, it was bordering on prying, and he still had his code of honor.
While Donald tended to the mules and gave them water, Tom cleared brush beside his father, who was creating a garden for the women. Pa was in a jovial mood this morning, causing Tom to brighten.
“Sure is nice today,” Pa said. “The blackflies are gone, and the sun is warm.”
Squinting in the warm rays, Tom gazed up at the hills. The landscape quivered in the wind, with a dozen hues of green. The soft yellow-green of fresh grass, the brilliant green of unfolding maple leaves, and the blue-green growth of spruce needles. Blue jays and cardinals rustled through the woods, and insects hummed above his head. The earthy scent was intoxicating.
Tom blurted affectionately, “Pa, why don’t you come live with me?”
The old man took off his straw hat and fanned the air. “Go on now. Come live with you and Clarissa? You know me and her don’t see eye to eye. Why, she’d have my things packed and bundled by the door before I got back from the privy.”
Lifting his shovel, Tom flipped a furrow of dirt. The hard muscles of his biceps tightened. “Clarissa’s not going to be around.”
“Whaddya mean?”
