“Do you love him, Rachel?” he asked hoarsely.

“Do you love Patrick O’Donnell?” Her eyes rounded as she met his gaze. She pulled her hand from the snow, bringing the fingers once more to her lips.

“Do you?” She stared at him for the longest time. Her face seemed pale, even in the golden glow of firelight.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice stronger this time.

“I … I’m going to marry him. How do you think I feel?”

“Tell me you love him, then.” She made no reply. Strange. He wasn’t sure if her silence made him feel better or worse. But he did know that if he didn’t move away from her soon, it wouldn’t matter to him if she loved Patrick or not. He would take the kisses—and more—that were promised to someone else. He rose from her side.

“Good night, Rachel.” Only the silence followed him into the solitude of his room. Rachel remained by the fire until it had burned down to mere embers. A numbness settled over her, stopping all thoughts, all feelings. It wasn’t until the wee hours of morning, when the cold began to creep into her joints, that she realized what her silence had cost her.

“It’s you I love, Gavin,” she whispered. It became so terribly clear to her in the cold darkness of the sitting room. She’d been right when she’d decided not to sit back and wait for that something special to happen to her. She’d been right to get out and find it. And now that she’d found it, she had to make it her own. Somehow, she had to make it her own.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I’ll be gone for a few days.” Gavin announced as he pulled on his coat the next morning.

“Gone?” Rachel felt an alarmed chill spreading out from her heart.

“Jess was riding line when the storm hit. He might need some help. In weather like this, the cows can just bunch up and wait to freeze or starve to death. Stubs will stay and take care of things here. If you need anything, see him. Gavin, wait. I want to tell you it isn’t Patrick I love. It’s you.

“We’ll be fine.”

“I’m taking Duke and Duchess.” His hand rested on the doorknob.

“I’ll leave Joker with you. He might not seem like he’s very smart, but he’d let you know if something was amiss.” She nodded.

“My guess is the worst of the storm is past, but stay close to the house anyway. It can change in a minute. Stubs’ll take care of milking the cows in the barn and feeding the stock.”

“We’ll be fine,” she repeated, feeling just the opposite.

“I should be back by Sunday, but don’t worry about me if I’m not.” I’ll worry every moment you’re away.

“I won’t.” He wrapped a wool scarf around his neck and ears, pulled his hat down low on his forehead, and opened the door. For a fleeting moment, he glanced back at her and their eyes met and held. Then he was gone, the door closed behind him. Rachel felt the emptiness closing in all around her. Sunday seemed a decade away. She glanced around the sitting room. Perhaps this would be a good day to scrub the floors. Anything to keep herself busy. Anything. Sunshine poured in through the sitting room window, belying the frigid temperatures that reigned through the high country. Petula, feeling restless after several days abed, was seated in a chair beside the fireplace. Sabrina sat cross-legged on the rag rug near her little sister’s feet. A book was open in her lap, and she was reading aloud. It was Saturday, and Rachel was busy with the butter churn. Every so often, she glanced through the small glass window in the over-and-over to see how the cream was doing. This time when she looked, she found the little grains of butter she’d been watching for.

“Look for ‘em to be about as big as Number Six shot,” Dru had told her.

“Then you’ll know it’s time to add the water.” She opened the end of the churn, flung in some cold water, and continued churning.

“Miss Harris?” Rachel looked across the room.

“Yes, Brina.”

“Are there really places in the world where it never snows? Where it’s like summer all the time?”

“Have you ever been some place like that?”

“No. I’ve only read about them in books like you. But I’ve talked to people who’ve been to such places.”

“A place where it never snows.” With a shake of her head, she lifted the book and continued reading. Rachel listened to the story with half an ear as she carefully poured the buttermilk from the churn into a large pitcher. Sabrina stopped reading again.


“Can we have some, Miss Harris?” she asked, eyeing their favorite drink.

“Help yourself,” Rachel answered, her hands busy as she dumped a large quantity of clean, cold water in with the butter to wash it, then turned the churn and tipped the water out. While Sabrina got down the cups and poured some buttermilk into them, Rachel found herself musing over the things she’d learned since leaving Boise City. She’d certainly never known anything about churning butter, although she was vaguely aware of seeing the cook hard at it a time or two when she was growing up. She supposed Maggie knew how, for the Branigans hadn’t been wealthy when they’d arrived in the territory. But she doubted Maggie would believe her eyes if she could see her little sister now. Rachel smiled to herself as she emptied the contents of the churn onto the butter worker. It was a shallow wooden trough with a wooden fluted roller that moved up and down the trough when the handle was turned. She poured generous amounts of water over the butter as she worked it, squeezing it off with the roller, making sure the butter was washed absolutely clean.

“If it’s not,” Dru had said, “the butter will never keep.” When she was certain there was no buttermilk left in it, she salted the butter and worked it some more, then flung it in handfuls into an earthenware crock for storage. She pounded the salted mixture again, then rammed it hard with a wooden tool to drive out all the water and air so the butter wouldn’t go rancid. She let out a satisfied sigh as she surveyed her accomplishment. She’d done it. Without anyone’s help or instructions, she’d done it. She’d remembered everything Dru had told her. Perhaps it was silly to feel so proud of herself. Women had been churning cream into butter for centuries. But this was her achievement, and she was proud. As she finished cleaning up, there was a knock on the door.

“See who it is, Brina,” she said, but she already knew it would be Patrick. Bad weather had kept him away for four days. The sunshine had guaranteed he would soon arrive.

“Ah, lass, ‘tis good to see you.” he said to Sabrina as she opened the door. His big form filled the doorway. He pulled off his hat with one hand, his other held suspiciously behind his back. His gaze flicked to Rachel, then to Petula as he stepped inside and closed the door.

“And how’s the wee lass? Are you feeling better, Pet?”

“Miss Harris let me get out of bed today.”

“Then you’ve been mindin’ the doctor an’ stayin’ out o’ mischief?” Petula frowned.

“There’s nothin’ to do.”

“Well, then, you might take a likin’ to a new friend to play with.” As he spoke, he brought his arm around from behind his back, producing two porcelain-faced dolls. ” your sister might like one too.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell,” Sabrina said, wide-eyed, as she took the dolls reverently from his hand and carried them over to Petula’s chair. Patrick’s eyes now returned to Rachel.

“Faith and begorrah,” he said softly. ““Tis good to see you, my lovely.”

“Hello, Patrick.” She swept her hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

“You’ve been hard at work, I see.”

“Just putting up some butter. We were nearly out.” He walked across the room.

“Best time is in summer when the grass is lush and green.

“Tis hard to get much milk from a cow this time of year.”

“We weren’t here then.” She was surprised by how defensive she felt.

“But look at you, lass.” His green eyes moved slowly down the length of her rose-colored cashmere gown, then up again.

“You look like you should be sittin’ in a garden filled with spring flowers, rather than churnin’ butter.” He took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Once we’re married, you’ll not have to do such things again.”

“Married?” Rachel spun toward the startled sound of Sabrina’s voice. How had she let this happen? The day Patrick had announced their engagement to his family, she had asked that they not speak of it in front of the children. She’d wanted to tell them herself, in private. A sixth sense had warned her that they wouldn’t welcome the news. It would mean another departure from their lives. If it hadn’t been for Petula’s accident, she would have told them by this time. At least, she believed she would have. But it hadn’t seemed so important after the child was hurt, and she hadn’t seen Patrick since then, and… She stepped away from Patrick, moving slowly toward the children. She pulled a chair over next to Petula and sat down, her hands folded in her lap.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I .. . I wanted to keep it a secret a little longer. We’re not going to get married for quite some time. I’m going to be staying right here with you.” Sabrina’s tone had changed to anger.

“Does Pa know?”

“Yes, Brina. He knows.”

“And he’s going to let you? He’s going to let you leave us?” With a betrayed cry, she ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at her hands as she fought the tears that welled up.

“Miss Harris?”

“What is it, Pet?”

“You won’t really go away. You’re gonna stay with us, aren’t you?”

“Pet, I ..”

“Don’t you love us?”

“Oh, Pet.. .” She slipped from the chair, kneeling on the floor as she placed her arms around the child and hugged her.

“I love you very much. You’ll never know how much. And I won’t be far away at all. You know how quickly we can get to Mr. O’Donnell’s house in the sleigh.” Petula sniffed.