Page 51 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
“I’m sorry, Franz.” She straightened her shoulders. “I already lost my pa and ma. I can’t bear to lose a sister too.”
“She might be upset temporarily, but you will not lose her.” At least, he hoped not.
As if hearing his unspoken thought, Clarabelle’s eyes saddened. “I can’t take the risk of ending up like you and Eric.”
Protest rose swiftly inside again, but he swallowed it. He couldn’t argue with her. Instead, he had to release his intense need and wait patiently for her to be ready for him. He’d continue to build a relationship, even just a friendship, if that’s all she was willing to give him. All that he knew was that he couldn’t let go of her. Not yet.
But even as he tried to convince himself that he could win her and that everything would be all right, she lowered her head and walked back toward the cabin, each step heavier than the last, as if she were already thrusting him away.
18
Clarabelle knelt beside her ma’s grave. Her heart ached, but she’d already spent all her tears over the past week since the fight with Clementine.
“Oh, Ma, I miss you.” She’d plucked the weeds around the headstone, and she’d placed a small bouquet of early-blooming columbines on the grave.
The small graveyard just outside of Breckenridge was situated in a clearing with aspens standing guard nearby and a wrought-iron fence to keep out the wild animals. Mostly, tall grass surrounded the grave markers of various shapes and sizes, some covered in moss and vines.
Ma’s marker sat next to Pa’s, both of modest size and both still smooth and untouched by time and weather.
She plucked at another weed. “I hurt Clementine a lot, and she still doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Before riding over to the cemetery, she’d gone over to the ranch to visit with her sister. It was late enough in the day that Clementine was home from selling candy in town. But as with the previous days when she’d tried visiting and talking with Clementine, she’d gotten nowhere. Clementine was even more upset after hearing the marriage rumors.
Clarabelle had tried to clarify that she and Franz weren’t really married, but Clementine had bitterly complained that Clarabelle had made her look like an even bigger fool for having dinner with Franz.
Yesterday, Franz had gone to Reverend Livingston and attempted to clear up the confusion and the rumors about being married to her. Apparently, everyone had learned he hadn’t returned to the hotel but had stayed the night at the farm. Naturally, the town folk—including the reverend—assumed he was now sharing a bed with his new wife.
Franz had tried to explain to the reverend that they weren’t really married—that the children had misspoken and the supposed marriage ceremony had been acting out a story.
The reverend had asked Franz some pointed questions about the nature of their relationship, and Franz had admitted to having slept together in the bed. Even though he’d made it clear that they hadn’t consummated their relationship, the reverend had also made it quite clear to Franz that if he wasn’t already married to her, he needed to rectify that as soon as possible.
So Franz had come back to the farm after the visit with all his bags loaded upon the horse, and his forehead had been furrowed with distress lines. He’d apologized to Clarabelle for making the situation worse.
She couldn’t blame him, not when she was the one at fault for not having put a stop to the rumors the moment she’d heard them outside the general store. It was just one more incident when her not speaking the truth had caused problems.
If only she’d been braver and had spoken with Clementine earlier.
But what would she have said? What was the truth in regard to Franz? That she loved him?
He’d been at the farm all week, but he hadn’t said anything more about his love for her, and he certainly hadn’t tried to join her in the bed again. Not that she’d expected him to. Instead, he’d made a bed of blankets on the floor in the main room of the cabin.
Even so, just the thought that they’d been in bed together made her flush. And the trouble was, she thought about those delicious moments with him far too often. The way she’d felt so cherished and secure and safe in his arms. The way his body had felt against her. The way his mouth had taken possession of hers.
She couldn’t deny she’d loved every second of kissing and holding him. She also couldn’t deny that she wanted to kiss and hold him again.
Therein was the problem. He wasn’t hers to kiss and hold. He’d been Clementine’s, and she’d stolen him away.
Well, maybestolenwas a harsh word, but the fact was, she shouldn’t have kissed, held, or done anything else with Franz until she’d confessed her feelings to Clementine.
The evening shadows were growing longer, and the sky was turning more colorful, with hints of lavender and rose and gold. There was still another hour before dusk settled and the children needed to go to bed. Even so, she’d been gone from home long enough.
A yawn pushed for release, but she swallowed it. Even if the living situation wasn’t ideal, she was grateful Franz had helped again with calming Bianca at night—had even brought her down to sleep on the sofa several times, which seemed to settle her down a little.
Clarabelle bent and pressed a kiss to the earth and the new grass finally beginning to grow over the freshly dug dirt. “I love you, Ma. All I want is to have a relationship like you and Pa had. I was hoping maybe I could have that with Franz, but I can’t do it if it hurts Clementine.”
She couldn’t, could she?
As soon as the thought flitted into her mind, she pushed it aside. “She won’t forgive me.” Clarabelle sat back on her heels and peered at the mountains that rose in the distance, therugged peaks still holding snow even though the days had grown warmer. “I don’t know what else to do.”
