A Family In Wyoming. Lynnette Kent
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and so they moved on to Wyoming—Gillette, Sheridan, Buffalo, and now Bisons Creek, where their marriage and their life together had fallen to pieces.
Biting her lower lip, she folded up the nightgown and stuffed it to the bottom of her duffel bag, then eased down on top of the bedcovers still wearing her clothes. This serene bedroom, in shades of cream and coffee, was far and away the most luxurious place she’d stayed since leaving her parents’ home. It was furnished with a queen-sized bed draped with a cozy comforter and softened by plenty of pillows, a dresser with a mirror above and two armchairs for relaxing, plus a private bathroom. The Marshall brothers offered their guests all the amenities she imagined could be found in an expensive hotel.
And her little girl had taken full advantage. Curled up on her side, a chubby thumb pressed into that pouty lower lip and blond curls tousled across the pillowcase, Amber slept deeply. She must be exhausted.
Her mother certainly was, but sleep had never seemed further away. Her brain wrestled endlessly with the mistakes of the past and the troubles of the present—not to mention the questions posed by an unknown future. Eyes burning, she yawned and shifted position but simply could not relax enough to doze off.
After two restless hours, she sighed and sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. Maybe a glass of water would help. Or a walk around the house. At this late hour, she wouldn’t disturb anyone. She’d leave her shoes off to be sure she didn’t make any noise on the wooden floors.
The long hallway was dark, all the doors except for the kitchen’s closed. There, a light shone above the sink. She opened the upper cabinet to the right and found the drinking glasses just where she’d expect them to be. Smiling at having guessed correctly the first time, Susannah drank down two full tumblers of water and then set the glass in the dishwasher. She took a few minutes to appreciate the room yet again—she could picture racks of cookies and fragrant loaves of bread cooling on all this counter space. Amaretto cakes baked for Christmas, tomatoes and green beans and pickles canned in the summertime, a big Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and dressing and sweet potatoes and pies... This kitchen could produce all sorts of wonderful food for friends and family to enjoy.
She’d sorely missed friends and family since she and Travis got married. The only friends he ever made were his drinking buddies. His mother had disowned them both when she heard about their wedding. Her parents had been so hurt when she ran away, though they still called on her birthday...if they could find her. She and Travis had moved around a lot.
Remembering the home she’d left thirteen years ago, Susannah sighed and stepped toward the dining room. A kitchen like this was a dream she couldn’t envision for herself. To be honest, she had no idea what she was supposed to do now. She didn’t deserve anything special, but her children needed something better than they’d had. A safe, stable life. How would she manage that on her own? Where would they go?
Pushing through the dining room door, she was surprised to see a light on in the living room...and even more surprised to find Wyatt Marshall seated in the rocking chair.
She stopped short. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would still be up.”
He shook his head. “No problem. Can’t sleep?” A big man, with broad shoulders and long legs, he seemed to dominate the spacious room. The big, golden dog lay at his feet, its tail thumping the floor.
Susannah swallowed against a sudden surge of nervousness. “Not yet.”
“Sometimes your brain won’t shut off even when you need it to.” Thanks to the brace he wore, he was sitting bolt upright in the rocker, looking anything but comfortable. The strong planes of his face created an impression of austerity. But his deep-set brown eyes were compassionate. “Garrett is right. Worry and regrets won’t change anything tonight. Right now your kids are safe. You’ve got friends you can count on. Your troubles will keep until morning.”
“Until morning. Got it.” Seeking a distraction, she nodded toward the book in his hand. “Is the story so good it’s keeping you awake?”
A smile widened his well-shaped lips. “My back keeps me awake, but the book gives me something to focus on besides how much I’d rather be in bed.” After a pause, he cleared his throat. “Asleep.”
“What is the story about?”
With a finger marking his place, he showed her the cover, which featured a sword and a shield. “The Battle of Thermopylae in 480 BC.”
Susannah frowned. “I don’t know what that is. Was.”
“A small force of Greek soldiers held off the Persian army for a week and then lost their lives defending a narrow pass through the hills. The soldiers’ example inspired the rest of the country, and eventually the Persians were defeated in their attempt to take over all of Europe. It’s a pretty important moment in history.”
Examining the shelves flanking the fireplace, she saw that many of the volumes were about war. “Are battles your favorite subject?”
He came to join her in front of the books. “I enjoy history, especially military history. So much of human destiny has been decided on the battlefield.”
She realized just how tall he was when she had to look up at his face. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
His keen gaze met hers. “Facts are facts. If you aren’t familiar with the past, you’re just going to repeat it.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that quote before. But maybe we use the past too often as a pattern, instead of searching for new solutions.”
Wyatt closed his book and slotted it into an opening on the shelf, before turning toward her. “An interesting point of view. Sounds as if you’ve done some reading of your own.”
“Not really. Not...lately.” She moved away from the shelves. Away from his attention. “My parents were both teachers. They talked about ideas at the supper table.”
“That’s a good way to learn.”
Foolish, to bring up such painful memories. “It should have been. But I was a careless teenager, more involved with my friends and boys than what they had to say.” Running a finger along the top of the rocking chair, she blew out a deep breath. “I wasted the opportunity.”
“It’s never too late to learn.”
“Oh, I think sometimes it is. Right now I’m more concerned about what to do for Nathan and Amber than what happened thousands of years ago.”
“You do have some decisions to make. Forgive me for butting in, but I’m hoping one of them isn’t to go back to that bastard who hurts you.”
The intense anger in his voice mirrored her own. “That’s not an option. He stepped over the line tonight with Nathan. I can’t let him hurt my children.”
“Good for you.”
She gripped the rail of the rocker with both hands. “But I don’t know what comes next. Ford said something about an order of protection. Are we supposed to stay in the trailer after that? Where will Travis live? If he stays there, how will I get the children’s clothes and toys?” Once again, concerns and uncertainties ambushed her, buzzing in from all directions. “Where will I get a job in a place as small as Bisons Creek? Or do we have to move to find work? Where? How can I secure a place to live without a paycheck? What about—”
Appalled, Susannah clapped her hands over her mouth to stop the flow of words. What had possessed her to unload on Wyatt Marshall like that? “I’m so sorry,” she whispered from behind her palms.
He came to stand about an arm’s length away. “I can solve a couple of those problems.”
She uncovered her face. “You’ve already done more than enough. I shouldn’t be bothering—”
“Maybe you ought to stay here for a while. At least for the summer, while your son’s in camp.”
“I couldn’t possibly impose