Silver Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #1) by Amelia Rose Page A
Authors: Amelia Rose
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embroidering I could do, and likely shirts of Hutch's I could patch. There was always laundry in every household and economizing meant not sending it out. I could weed the garden more, or walk through the town. I could write a letter to my sisters, or to my new family in California, who had sent me a letter greeting me and who likely knew nothing of what had occurred here in Nevada. I could find ways to entertain myself.
What I wanted to do was to sit with Hutch as the sun went down as we had that first night, and talk about our lives. I wanted to find commonalities and differences, shared joys and those things that made us both shudder. I wanted to plan for the future and sew a wedding dress and I could do none of those things. Likely I had myself to blame but the question now lodged in my mind: Had Matthew sought my company only to hurt his brother?
Hutch made an offer of assisting with the kitchen cleanup, which I refused. He'd worked a solid day in the mines, worked quite late following the events of the afternoon. When I had returned from Annie's, the few belongings Matthew had had with him were gone. I could clean the sitting room until there was no trace he'd ever stayed there. I could weed the garden and uproot every stalk of corn. It would change nothing.
The light was going from the day as I sat at the kitchen table, my embroidery before me, untouched, when I heard the footsteps running into the yard, panicked hard steps across the porch. I was on my feet and in flight before Hutch came from his den to answer it. I knew that panicked cadence, and anticipated what he'd find as he answered the door.
Mr. Barnett stood on the porch, terrified as a first time father, which from what I'd seen, he was far from. "Mr. Longren, is Miss Lucas in? It's my wife, sir, the baby's coming."
Hutch turned back and looked at me. I was already wrapping my shawl around me, had already gathered the basket I carried in lieu of a doctor's black bag.
I wanted to ask him if he minded, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave this poor scared man or his wife alone and if they'd come for me, then where was Dr. Horton? I wouldn't ask permission. Hutch Longren was not yet my husband.
I paused at the door and couldn't think of anything to say to him. Mr. Barnett was already at the edge of the porch, looking ready to spring from it and run again. A buckboard was tied at the gate, one horse looking downcast and resigned.
Hutch Longren was not yet my husband. He might never be my husband. This was my calling. I did not need to ask his leave. Nor could I tell him when I'd return. That was in the hands of fate and in the will of the unborn child.
I searched his eyes for a moment but they revealed nothing. At last, I simply nodded, murmured, "I'm sorry," and meant it for more than he knew, and followed Mr. Barnett out into the long light of evening.
Mr. Barnett didn't talk either. He urged the horse to trot, forcing it to carry us as quickly as possible to the far end of Gold Hill. Around us, the Nevada night was harsh, all sharp black shadows and gold reaching light as the sun set behind us. The sage gave up strong scent and as we turned from the main roads into the neighborhoods of Gold Hill, sage grouse and quail flew up like dust clouds, tsk-ing discontent. Cotton tail rabbits ran across the rutted dirt track, and magpies dove for carrion along the road. From somewhere in the foothills that surrounded us, some bird repeated a sharp, clarion call.
The night was still hot, the wind died down. I would have liked to have such a night to stroll along the hotels in Virginia City, to meet
What I wanted to do was to sit with Hutch as the sun went down as we had that first night, and talk about our lives. I wanted to find commonalities and differences, shared joys and those things that made us both shudder. I wanted to plan for the future and sew a wedding dress and I could do none of those things. Likely I had myself to blame but the question now lodged in my mind: Had Matthew sought my company only to hurt his brother?
Hutch made an offer of assisting with the kitchen cleanup, which I refused. He'd worked a solid day in the mines, worked quite late following the events of the afternoon. When I had returned from Annie's, the few belongings Matthew had had with him were gone. I could clean the sitting room until there was no trace he'd ever stayed there. I could weed the garden and uproot every stalk of corn. It would change nothing.
The light was going from the day as I sat at the kitchen table, my embroidery before me, untouched, when I heard the footsteps running into the yard, panicked hard steps across the porch. I was on my feet and in flight before Hutch came from his den to answer it. I knew that panicked cadence, and anticipated what he'd find as he answered the door.
Mr. Barnett stood on the porch, terrified as a first time father, which from what I'd seen, he was far from. "Mr. Longren, is Miss Lucas in? It's my wife, sir, the baby's coming."
Hutch turned back and looked at me. I was already wrapping my shawl around me, had already gathered the basket I carried in lieu of a doctor's black bag.
I wanted to ask him if he minded, but I couldn't. I couldn't leave this poor scared man or his wife alone and if they'd come for me, then where was Dr. Horton? I wouldn't ask permission. Hutch Longren was not yet my husband.
I paused at the door and couldn't think of anything to say to him. Mr. Barnett was already at the edge of the porch, looking ready to spring from it and run again. A buckboard was tied at the gate, one horse looking downcast and resigned.
Hutch Longren was not yet my husband. He might never be my husband. This was my calling. I did not need to ask his leave. Nor could I tell him when I'd return. That was in the hands of fate and in the will of the unborn child.
I searched his eyes for a moment but they revealed nothing. At last, I simply nodded, murmured, "I'm sorry," and meant it for more than he knew, and followed Mr. Barnett out into the long light of evening.
Mr. Barnett didn't talk either. He urged the horse to trot, forcing it to carry us as quickly as possible to the far end of Gold Hill. Around us, the Nevada night was harsh, all sharp black shadows and gold reaching light as the sun set behind us. The sage gave up strong scent and as we turned from the main roads into the neighborhoods of Gold Hill, sage grouse and quail flew up like dust clouds, tsk-ing discontent. Cotton tail rabbits ran across the rutted dirt track, and magpies dove for carrion along the road. From somewhere in the foothills that surrounded us, some bird repeated a sharp, clarion call.
The night was still hot, the wind died down. I would have liked to have such a night to stroll along the hotels in Virginia City, to meet
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