Cattleman's Courtship. Carolyne Aarsen

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СКАЧАТЬ her that quite clearly.

      She’d stay the weekend and go to church with her aunt and uncle. Then, on Monday she would be on the phone to a travel agent getting her ticket changed as soon as possible.

      Nicholas adjusted his corduroy blazer, straightened the tie cinching his collared shirt and shook his head at his own preening.

      Since when, he asked himself, did you get so fussed about what you look like when you go to church?

      Since he knew Cara Morrison would be attending. He had almost changed his mind about going this morning. He had to trim horses’ hooves and check fences, but at the same time he felt a strong need to be at church. When he worked rigs, he couldn’t attend at all, so he when he had a chance to worship with fellow believers, he took it.

      He turned away from his image in the bathroom mirror and jogged down the stairs.

      His father was rooting through the refrigerator and looked up when Nicholas entered the kitchen.

      Dale Chapman still wore his cowboy hat and boots. Obviously he’d been out checking the cows already this morning. He was a tall, imposing man and, in his youth, had been trim and fit.

      Now his stomach protruded over the large belt buckle, a remnant from his rodeo years that had taken his time and money and given him a bum back and a permanent limp. Though his hair was gray, he still wore it long in the back.

      “What’s with all this vaccine?” He pulled out one of the boxes Nicholas had purchased yesterday.

      “I thought we were out.”

      Dale Chapman narrowed his eyes. “I heard that Morrison girl was back in town,” his father said as Nicholas pulled out the coffeepot and found it empty. “Is that the reason you went to the vet clinic?”

      Nicholas shrugged off the question, wishing away a sudden flush of self-consciousness as he pulled the boiling kettle off the stove and rinsed off an apple. Not the most balanced breakfast, but it would hold him until lunchtime.

      “If you think she’s going to change her mind you’re crazy,” Dale said as he pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge. “She’s not a rancher’s wife and we all know how that can turn out.”

      Nicholas ignored his father’s little speech as he poured grounds and hot water into the coffee press. Though it had been fifteen years since Nicholas’s parents’ divorce, Dale had mistrusted women ever since. And that mistrust had seeped into his opinion of Cara. His father’s negative opinion of Cara Morrison hadn’t been encouraging when he and Cara were dating. When Cara broke off the engagement, Dale had tried and failed not to say “I told you so” in many ways, shapes and forms.

      “How long she around for this time?” his father asked, pouring the milk over his bowl of cereal.

      “Didn’t ask.”

      “Probably not long, if she’s like her mom.”

      Nicholas didn’t say anything, knowing nothing was required, and he wasn’t going to get pulled into a conversation about Cara.

      He thought he had been prepared to see her again. Thought he had successfully pushed her out of his mind. Hadn’t he even dated a number of other girls since Cara?

      Again he could feel the miscreant beat of his heart when he turned and saw her standing behind the counter, almost exactly as she had the first time they had met.

      That first time he’d seen her, he’d been enchanted with her wide eyes, an unusual shade of brown. The delicate line of her face. She had looked so fragile.

      But he knew better.

      He’d seen her covered in mud, rain streaming down her face as she helped deliver a foal. He’d seen her do a Cesarean section on a cow in the freezing cold, seen her manhandle calves that weighed almost as much as she did.

      Cara Morrison was anything but fragile.

      And he was anything but over her.

      She left without a word, he told himself. She couldn’t even break up with you to your face. She ran away instead of facing things. Get over it.

      So why was he going to church knowing he might see her?

      Because he wasn’t the kind of person to run away or get chased away.

      He had some pride, he thought, finishing off his apple and tossing the core into the garbage can. And because, when he stayed away from church, his heart felt empty and his soul unnourished.

      He said a quick goodbye to his father and ran to his truck. He was already running late.

      Half an hour later a helpful usher escorted him to one of the few empty spots in the building. He sat down, got settled in and ended up looking directly at the back of Cara Morrison’s head.

      He glanced around, looking for another place to sit, but then the minister came to the front of the church and encouraged everyone to rise and greet their neighbors.

      Nicholas immediately turned to the person beside him and then Cara’s aunt called out his name. Was it his imagination or did Cara jump?

      “So good to see you here,” Lori Morrison said, catching his hand. He shook Lori’s hand and then, with a sense of inevitability, turned to Cara.

      She gave him a tight smile but didn’t offer to shake his hand. “Good morning, Nicholas. Good to see you again.”

      “Is it?”

      The words came out before he could stop them.

      Well, that was brilliant. Nicholas watched Cara slowly turn away from him. Why couldn’t he be as cool as she was? Why couldn’t he return her greeting instead of running the risk of antagonizing her again?

      Now she stood with her back to him, the overhead lights catching glints of gold in her hair. Three years ago she wore it short, like a cap. Now it brushed her shoulders, inviting touch.

      He crossed his arms, angry at his reaction to her. It had been three years. It was done.

      And Nicholas spent the rest of the church service alternately trying to listen to the minister and trying to ignore Cara Morrison.

      He was successful at neither.

      Finally the minister spoke the benediction. The congregation rose for the final song. As soon as the last note rang out and the minister stood at the back of the church, Nicholas made his escape.

      He had his hand on the bar that opened the exterior door when he heard someone call his name. His first impulse was to ignore whoever called him. And he would have managed if the helpful person behind him hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

      “I believe Mrs. Hughes wants to talk to you,” his neighbor said. He pointed out a thin, short woman waving at him from the top of the stairs in the foyer.

      Nicholas smiled his acknowledgment and, with a sigh of resignation, walked back through the crowd of people in the foyer.

      He had his hand on the handrail of the steps and looked СКАЧАТЬ