Family of Her Dreams

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Tess had the audacity to laugh in his face, a musical sound he usually enjoyed. But not today. “This is Luke we’re taking about. A mere boy. He’s too young to master his emotions.” She sobered at his frown. “Oh, dear. I’ve angered you.”

“You presume to know my feelings now?” She had no idea what he was dealing with. How waking each morning alone in the room he and Trudy had shared brought back the stabbing pain that had pierced his heart when she’d drawn her last breath. How dragging himself to the railway station day after day required Herculean effort.

She persisted. “You’re clenching your hands.”

He unfurled the fists he hadn’t realized he’d formed. “I’m not angry. I’m...frustrated. You waltz in here with no warning, interrupt my work and expect me to make a decision on the spot.” He placed his palms on his desktop and leaned forward. “Let me make myself clear. I want things left as they are. I know what’s best for my family, and you will abide by my wishes.”

“I would if I could, but I can’t keep quiet, not when one of your children is hurting. Luke let it slip that he misses his mother. Please give me permission. If not for your sake, for his.” She lifted pleading eyes to him. Warm cocoa-brown eyes with the longest lashes he’d ever seen.

“He told you he’s missing her? He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Boys don’t like to admit weakness—even sadness—to their fathers.”

She was right. He would never think of telling his father how much he missed his mother. “Fine. You’ve made your point. You may remove all her things.”

“What would you like me to do with them? Store them in the attic? Donate them to the missionary barrels? Or...?”

He spread the next day’s train schedules on his desk. “Do whatever you’d like. I don’t care. Just don’t bring this up again. Please.” He had a job to do and didn’t have time to think about such matters.

Tess stood. Her every word was clothed with compassion. “I’m sorry this is such a difficult time for you. I wish I could do more to help.”

“Do your job. That’s all I ask.”

Sadness filled her eyes. She quickly blinked it away, sent him a polite smile and left, giving him the impression he’d disappointed her.

So be it. He didn’t need her sympathy. All he wanted was to be left alone.

* * *

Red. Every one of Trudy Abbott’s tiny dresses boasted a different shade. A petite woman, such as she’d been, could wear the vibrant color and look stunning. Tess preferred her understated blues. People made enough fuss about her height as it was without drawing more attention by looking like a red-hot poker.

The massive wardrobe in Spencer’s room held few of his items but brimmed with his late wife’s clothing. Tess pulled out a gown and laid the stunning creation on the four-poster bed. Luke sat cross-legged in the middle. He grabbed the dress and plunged his face into the folds. Was the dear boy crying?

He lowered the glossy fabric, his lips downturned in a pronounced pout. “I can’t smell her anymore. She used to smell like roses.”

“She must have worn rosewater. I do sometimes, but the scent doesn’t last long.”

He shoved the dress aside, scooted up to the headboard and leaned against it, his arms folded. He narrowed his eyes and shot daggers at Tess. “I don’t wanna help.”

“Hush now. I don’t want you to wake your sister. You can just watch, but I would like your help with one thing. I don’t know which of these dresses were your mama’s favorites. Do you?”

He shook his head, but the telltale twitch around his mouth was a clear indication he wasn’t being truthful. She held up the crimson silk, a gown so exquisite she wondered where the woman would have worn it. “Do you remember her wearing this one?”

Luke’s expression didn’t change, so Tess set the dress aside. She worked her way through a burgundy brocade, a scarlet satin and a vermillion velvet. Not one of the ornately trimmed garments—none of which showed wear—evoked a response. She reached for a calico the color of cherries generously kissed by the sun that had obviously seen a season or two, and Luke jerked his head. Three more calicos, two lawns and a red-and-white checked gingham elicited similar responses. Tess added the dresses to the growing pile.

Trudy Abbott had owned far more clothing than a small-town housewife needed. If Tess were to venture a guess, she’d say the woman had come from a family of means. If that was the case, how had she ended up married to Spencer and living in a remote community like Shingle Springs? Someone of her tastes generally gravitated to Sacramento City or San Francisco.

Luke inched forward, casting surreptitious glances at Tess. She averted her gaze but kept him in her peripheral vision. When he reached the pile of his mother’s everyday dresses, he leaned over and sniffed one as he’d done earlier. He beamed. “I can smell her!”

Tess didn’t have the heart to tell the dear boy she’d dabbed herself with rosewater before leaving her room at the boardinghouse and that some of the scent must have come off on the clothing. “How nice.”

He clamored off the bed and darted out of the room, making little sound in his stocking-clad state, for which Tess was grateful. Moments later he returned clutching his crib-size quilt. He rubbed a corner of it against his mother’s dress, put the fabric to his nose and drew in a deep breath. Seemingly satisfied, he lay on his side, silent but watchful. And still.

By the time Tess had folded the dresses and stowed them in some crates she’d found in the barn, Luke had fallen asleep with the quilt pressed to his cheek. She’d never seen him as relaxed, even in slumber. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his brow.

An idea struck her. She located the bottle of rosewater that had belonged to Luke’s mother and flicked several drops of the floral-scented liquid on Luke’s quilt. The fragrance, although strong now, would fade quickly, but perhaps smelling it again would help lock the scent in his memory.

Now to make good use of the unexpected hour while both children slept. She could spare them the pain of witnessing the removal of their mother’s things from the house.

Working quickly, Tess stowed the items from the dressing table in a crate. She opened the bureau drawers Spencer’s wife had used and removed an impressive selection of nightwear and unmentionables, including several pair of expensive silk stockings.

She picked up a stack of corsets, and a bundle of letters tied with a red ribbon fell at her feet. Letters exchanged between Mr. Spencer Abbott in California and Miss Trudy Endicott of Houston, Texas. Love letters most likely.

Unsure what to do, Tess added them to the crate. Spencer had said he didn’t want to talk about his late wife’s things, but she had no choice. Surely he’d want to save something so special. He might not be up to reading the letters now, but in time they could serve to bring him comforting reminders of his courtship.

Letters were important. Those she’d taken to writing to her someday fiancé on her birthday each year brought her solace in the midst of her loneliness. She used her real name, Faith, when she penned them. Somehow it seemed fitting that the man she hoped to marry would be the only person to know the name—along with the sensitive side of her that she kept hidden. She certainly wouldn’t want to lose those letters.

She carted the crates downstairs and added Trudy’s hats and cloak from the foyer, her aprons from the kitchen and her sewing basket from the parlor. Tess didn’t have the heart to remove anything more than the most obvious personal items. She stowed the crates in the attic, where they would available should Spencer or the children want to see Trudy’s things again someday.

Her task complete, she moved from room to room. Although the changes were subtle, the removal of the ever-present reminders of his late wife might lessen Spencer’s pain. Would he notice the difference?

Chapter Seven (#ulink_eaf4763d-075e-576c-9254-6e72bc799c01)

Spencer’s steps slowed as he neared the house. Trudy used to have their son watch for him each evening and alert her when he approached so she could greet him, but Tess involved Luke in the supper preparations. Spencer missed the warm welcome.

He entered, reached up to set his top hat on the shelf above the coat hooks and froze. Trudy’s cloak was gone, as was her profusion of fancy bonnets. His slouch hat and Tess’s monstrosity were the only hats remaining. His hat rested on its crown to keep the brim from losing its shape, whereas hers, with its frothy fabric and feathers, sat right side up. It was a wonder the massive thing didn’t fall off.

Apparently Tess had wasted no time clearing out Trudy’s things. Considering her belief that doing so would help Luke, her haste made sense. Clearly she cared about his son.

Spencer marched upstairs to his room, threw open the wardrobe doors and stared at the empty space. True to her word, Tess had removed every last one of Trudy’s dresses. His few items looked lost in the large clothes cupboard. He yanked open the drawers on Trudy’s side of the bureau and found gaping caverns. Tess was not only fast. She was thorough.

But why, if she’d whisked away all of Trudy’s things, did the room smell so strongly of roses, as though his wife had been there moments before? He had to do something to clear his head. Now.

As quickly as he could, he changed from his work clothes to ranch wear. He shut the doors of the wardrobe with more force than he’d intended and stormed down the stairs, not stopping until he reached the barn. Inhaling deeply of the scents of his childhood—horses, straw and leather—his senses were restored.

Spying his ropes, he knew what to do. He grabbed his favorite one and entered the pen. With the coils of his lariat in his left hand, he spun the loop with his right and let it fly.

* * *

Tess wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and stepped out the back door. What was Spencer doing? She’d worked hard to have supper ready when he got home, but he’d raised a ruckus in his room overhead, with doors and drawers slamming, and stomped out of the house a good ten minutes ago. Evidently he was angry about the changes she’d made, even though he’d given her permission.

Regret settled in her stomach like a rock. In her desire to help Luke, she’d neglected to take Spencer’s feelings into consideration. What was done was done, but perhaps she could find a way to show that she understood his pain and assure him she was only trying to ease it.

She followed the wraparound porch to the north side of the house where she could see the barn and stopped, her chin dropping. Never had she seen a man work off his anger by lassoing things. She stood transfixed as Spencer spun his loop and threw it.

He roped fence post after fence post, not missing a single one. His form and prowess were awe-inspiring. She could watch him for hours. If only he hadn’t started his roping before supper.

Supper! She dashed inside to rescue her meal, moving pots and pans to the side of the stove where the dishes would stay warm. “Please play with your sister, Luke, while I get your papa.”

He grunted a reply.

Tess left the children rolling their canvas ball back and forth. She stepped off the back porch and rounded the corner. To her disappointment, Spencer stood outside the pen with one foot resting on the lowest slat of the fence, gazing into the distance.

Loath to disturb him and yet having no choice, she crossed the yard, her boots making little sound on the hard-packed earth. She reached him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

He started.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to surprise you, but supper’s ready.”

His eyes widened, and he shook his head as though clearing it. “The smell. It’s you. I wasn’t imagining it. I thought...”

“Luke noticed it, too. I didn’t know your wife wore rosewater. My intention was to help, not to stir up memories.”

“It’s fine. The job needed to be done. I was just...surprised.”

“I know it’s hard. I’m sorry for that, truly I am, but you’ll be happy to know that Luke fell asleep on your bed with the quilt his mother made him, breathing in her scent. He rested peacefully. No tossing and turning. When he woke he was more amiable than I’ve ever seen him. Not that I’m expecting the change to last, but this was a start. He can begin his healing.”

Spencer stretched a section of the rope taut and snapped it. She resisted the urge to jump.

“He’s a strong boy. He’ll be fine.”

Eventually yes, but now wasn’t the time to delve into the merits of dealing with one’s grief instead of acting as though nothing was wrong. She had a more pressing matter to discuss. “I found some letters hidden among your wife’s things. I felt sure you’d want to keep them.”

Concern creased his brow. “Those are personal. You didn’t—”

“Read them? Of course not. I just wanted to know what you’d like me to do with them.”

The silence hung heavy until he broke it. “Hide them somewhere. I couldn’t bear to see them again.”

“I understand. I’ll do that.” She started for the house but turned when he called her name.

“I’m expecting a shipment soon. A bull. I thought you should know.”

“A bull?” She wouldn’t have expected Spencer to send for one, although she shouldn’t be surprised. He was a rugged, manly man who had quite a way with a rope, so it made sense he knew about raising cattle.

Without realizing it, he’d given her a way to gain a foothold as she attempted to scale the walls the Abbott males had erected—and have fun at the same time. “Would you teach me how to lasso something?”

“You were watching me?” His impassive expression gave no indication of his thoughts.

Heat sped to Tess’s cheeks. Since she’d already blurted her request, she might as well make it sound like a reasonable one. “I’d like you to teach me, so I can show Luke how. Or better yet, you could teach us both. He’d love it if you were to spend time with him.”

“Would he?”

Although they were talking about Luke, Tess got the distinct impression Spencer was challenging her. Well, she hadn’t backed down before, and she wouldn’t now. “Your son is much like you. He needs an active outlet for his emo—his energy. I’d love to see him use it for something as impressive as r-roping.”

If he’d stop staring at her with that quirked eyebrow, she might be able to complete a sentence without stumbling over her words and saying more than she’d intended. Impressive indeed! What would he think of her now? She sounded like a smitten schoolgirl instead of the levelheaded housekeeper she was. “If you’ll give it some thought, I’d appreciate it. Now, I must go inside and get supper on the table. I do hope you’ll be joining us soon.”

She’d taken a total of ten steps when a rope encircled her, tightened around her waist and pinned her arms to her sides. The force jerked her back, causing her to stumble as if she’d run full tilt into a clothesline.

Before she could turn, a tug on the rope spun her to face him. A flash of anger sent a renewed rush of warmth to her face. She struggled to free her hands. “You lassoed me?”

The shocked look on his face showed he was as surprised by his out-of-character behavior as she. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t want you to leave, and then—” he shrugged “—it just happened.”

Although the leather rope was smooth and the binding not uncomfortably tight, she didn’t cotton to the idea of being bound. “I’m not a cow. I’m a woman.”

“You are. And a fine one, too. Here, let me take it off.” He rushed to help her. His gaze locked with hers as he gently loosened the rope and slipped it over her head.

The warmth in his eyes melted much of her anger and ignited a different emotion. Her heart was racing so wildly she felt lightheaded. “I could have fallen.”

“I wouldn’t have let you. I had a solid grip on the rope.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I am sorry. Mostly.” Mischief glinted in his brilliant blue eyes, and a corner of his mouth twitched.

“Is this what cattle ranchers do for sport?”

He shook his head, his earnest expression reminding her of Luke when he explained his actions following one of his antics. “I like roping. Always have. I’ve roped a lot of things, but never a pretty woman—until now.”

Pretty? Even if he was teasing, the possibility that he might mean it chased away the remnants of her anger. She smiled. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m flattered.”

“You’re different from any woman I’ve ever known. You have a ready laugh, and you don’t make a fuss when I—” He averted his gaze and kicked at the ground. “I don’t know why I’m rambling. It’s not important.”

It was to her, but she knew from experience Spencer wouldn’t say any more. Once he put the stopper in the bottle, she couldn’t get another word out of him.

He turned away and coiled the rope. “Thank you, Tess.”

For what? For packing up his late wife’s things so he didn’t have to? For making inroads with his son? For finding a way for father and son to spend some time together?

Once again he left her guessing what he’d meant. But one thing was clear. He’d reached out to her. Not in an ordinary way, but in his own extraordinary way.

A tingling sensation stole over her, unexpected but not unpleasant. Perhaps she could help this family travel the path from their pain-filled past to a promising future, after all.

Chapter Eight (#ulink_39de3709-e0a1-5226-a083-de425d4b70d2)

Tess sat at the tiny dressing table in the room Spencer rented for her at the boardinghouse in town. She had to tuck her feet under the stool to keep from banging her knees into the tabletop. Why must they make furniture so small?

She shook her head, reveling in the feel of her chestnut tresses cascading over her shoulders. She’d loosened her braid just to watch the waves ripple as she swung her head from side to side. Her hair was her one beauty, but she’d best plait it forthwith or risk being late getting to the ranch.