Aunt Polly chuckled, grinding the herbs. “I mixed some rose water and sugar and told them to rub it on their necks every day. It was nothing but plain ole’ perfume.”
“I wonder who the boy was.”
Aunt Polly paused and smirked up at Josie. “I think we both know whohewas.”
A flame soared up Josie’s cheeks. Travis must have been a handsome fellow during the days of his youth. She couldn’t doubt it, given his looks now, but the thought of him getting attention from other women raised questions. How could he not find a wife in Montana?
Aunt Polly brushed her hands together then wiped them on her apron. “If you don’t mind waking Gideon and changing him, I’ll get the girls and Jonas up and going.”
Josie took the last few bites of her pancakes. “Of course.” She proceeded to her bedroom where Gideon was sound asleep in his crib. She picked him up in her arms, and his eyes drifted open. A small yawn escaped his lips, making Josie’s heart overflow.
“Good morning, my sweet boy,” she whispered. She held him close to her chest. “I love you.”
Those eyes of his were green, unlike Travis’s and the rest of the children’s, which were blue. Perhaps the mother’s eyes were green. However, she wouldn’t ask. If it was important, Travis would have brought it up—including the late Mrs. Blythe’s name.
Gideon’s mouth parted, giving her a grin that displayed his two bottom teeth. Her heart nearly melted. This baby was hers now, just as much as Travis’s. But for how long? Her chest ached looking at her covered window.
The law couldn’t find her. No one would search this far.
Travis spent the day preparing for the harvest. He checked each stalk of wheat from every acre, searched for pests, and spent the remainder of the day in town, searching for supplies. Since Josie was in the picture, they needed an extra scythe. Even though Josie claimed to have suffered and endured hard labor after the war, he could hardly picture it. Her delicate appearance, with a slender waist and thin arms, suggested she hadn’t touched anything but a needle and thread in years.
How had she looked during the war? Strong, perhaps? The only image he saw was her sitting with her elderly aunt, sipping tea in a great parlor with pristine white walls, heavy drapery made of silk over the great windows so high eagles could see through from their soaring heights. Maybe she would surprise him come harvest time.
Pulling up to his homestead, Travis’ heart beat in excitement. Next to him sat a brown bag of paints he bought from Mr. Lynde’s mercantile. Travis couldn’t help but smile, imagining Ivy’s face when she’d receive the paint she begged for. He kept his promise, and now Ivy could depend on his word again. When Mr. Lynde brought out his paint inventory, Travis picked every color—blue, orange, green, yellow, pink, and purple. The price at the counter was outrageous, but at least his debts were paid.
Travis’s immediate thought went to Josie. This could be it—painting would bring them together. Ivy would have a mother again, and Josie would feel accepted into their family. Josie was a blessing, an answer to prayer, and a woman like that needed more than he could give her.
Sophie had been easy to read since he met her—an open book. But he couldn’t read Josie. Travis let out a breath and shook his head. As her long yellow hair and whiskey eyes entered his mind, he couldn’t shake away his curiosity of why she hadn’t married. Perhaps she was running from a broken heart. Thatwould explain why she was crazy enough to come to Montana. However, she was too attractive and nice to be rejected.
Yet there Travis was, rejecting her since the day she arrived. So, it wasn’t nearly impossible.
Travis halted the wagon in front of the cabin and unhitched the horses, leading them to the fenced area behind the barn. He had moved them outside the stables days ago, mostly because they were too disruptive, skittish from every sound.
When Travis entered the cabin, his heart sank and his strong posture slumped. A sharp sting pierced his core—more painful than the one he had felt upon seeing the picnic days ago. Instead of his copper-brown-haired Sophie, there was a blonde at his stove, carrying Gideon on her hip. She bent, pulling a pan of biscuits out of the oven. A pot of gravy simmered on the stove. Jonas’s eyes lit up while seated at the dining table, holding a slate.
“Pa come here and see!” he exclaimed. “Josie’s teachin’ me ‘bout numbers!”
Travis smiled faintly, clutching Ivy’s paints in a paper bag. He stepped closer to observe the children’s work. Lillian showed him what he thought to be the alphabet. Her handwriting still needed improvement.
“I know my ABCs, Pa!”
Travis kissed his daughter’s head. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Just A through D,” Josie explained, fanning the biscuits with a rag. “It’s her first day, and school keeps her occupied as I work with Jonas and Ivy.”
Travis stood behind Ivy who was writing simple words like “bat,” “rat,” and “cat.”
“You are doing very well, Ivy. Your handwriting is more legible than mine.”
“Thanks, Pa,” she said quietly.
Ivy sighed, propping her right cheek against her palm, her elbow resting on the table. Travis pressed his lips together. Ivy’s melancholy had slightly improved months ago, but it seemed she was down again. Travis knew exactly how she felt since he lost his father at a young age. Except he couldn’t relate to her feelings towards Josie, given that his mother never remarried.
Travis forced a smile and reached into the paper bag, hoping the paints might lift her spirits, even if only for a moment. “I think you need something better to write with,” Travis said with a wink.
“A pencil?” Ivy asked, craning her neck to see him.
Travis’s heart skipped as her eyes brightened at the sight of him pulling out her paints.
