Brenna laid her hoe down and stood up. Grandmom sat down on the bottom step, and Brenna joined her. "This is a special, special place." "Most young folks think a farm is a boring place. Cole's fiancee never thought much of it when he brought her here. She couldn't wait to leave." Cole's fiancee. Surprise held Brenna speechless. She should have guessed he would have been engaged, maybe even more than once, maybe even married at some point. She frowned, trying to remember if he'd ever mentioned it. His only reference had been vague-a woman he had brought here a long time ago.
In as casual a tone as she could muster, Brenna asked, "When was that?"
Grandmom thought a moment. "A couple of years ago, I guess. Maybe even three. It was about the time he went to work for that big law firm of his." She glanced at Brenna. "Anyway, that young lady didn't like the ranch, and we all wondered what you'd be like when he told us he was bringing you home."
Reminded of the acceptance and sense of homecoming she'd felt last night, Brenna wondered if Cole's unmentioned fiancee had been given the same welcome. Brenna would bet Cole's parents trusted Cole's judgment enough to give anyone the warmth and hospitality they had given her. A flare of jealousy surprised her and made her intensely curious about the kind of woman Cole had asked to marry him.
Choosing more neutral ground, Brenna said, "What's not to like? Maybe a farm isn't for everyone, but some of my best memories come from my grandparents' farm in Pennsylvania."
Accepting the change in subject, Grandmom asked about the farm and soon had Brenna relating anecdotes about her visits there. They eventually got back to weeding, the conversation flowing comfortably between them. They finished just before lunchtime. Jack and Cole returned, and Norah, who had spent the morning in the office, helped prepare lunch. They ate on the front porch and made plans for the Fourth of July celebration on Friday.
Grandmom wanted to go into Scottsbluff to see the fireworks, and Cole said they absolutely had to have watermelon or the holiday would be canceled. After lunch Cole again disappeared with his father to finish the repair on the combine. Norah returned to the office. Brenna helped Grandmom wash and dry the dishes, enjoying the older woman's easy companionship.
"Did you make all the doilies I've seen on the furniture?" Brenna asked, putting the last of the glasses in the cupboard.
"Most of them. Norah made a few and one or two are from my mother."
"They're beautiful. Learning to crochet is something I've always wanted, but never taken the time to do."
"If you like the doilies in the living room, you'd love some that my husband's mother made. Tiniest little stitches you ever did see."
Brenna followed Grandmom to her bedroom where she opened a cedar trunk that was full of handmade linens, some dating back to the Civil War era. The stories Grandmom told about each piece were magic to Brenna. As she fingered the old quilts and coverlets, she felt a connection that transcended time.
"This is really beautiful," she said when Grandmom laid a white batiste christening gown across Brenna's lap. The aroma of the cedar chest and starch filled the air, which Brenna liked as much as she liked the texture of the fine stitches.
Their conversation gradually turned from the past to the present, and Brenna confessed that knots were all she had ever been able to make.
"It's not that hard." Grandmom pulled a skein of thick yarn out of a basket setting on the floor and sorted through a group of crochet hooks until she found the one she wanted. She demonstrated making a slip knot, then a chain, then the stitches required to make a granny square. The two of them laughed over Brenna's efforts.
"I don't know about this," she said skeptically, after producing a lopsided rectangle.
"You're doing fine," Grandmom said. "I've got an instruction book here someplace that has pretty good diagrams." She stood up and went to a bookshelf, leafing through a group of magazines until she found the one she wanted.
"I couldn't impose like that," Brenna said.
"Sure you can," Grandmom said. "The diagrams are easy. And you can borrow this as long as you want."
"Thank you," Brenna said, "but..."
Oh, God, not again, she thought. When had the deceptions gotten to be so difficult to carry off? When had the glib half-truths she had told for years suddenly begun to sound exactly like what they were-lies?
Grandmom sat back down next to Brenna. "There was once a young girl," she said. "Her mother died when she was twelve. And this girl had six younger brothers and sisters she had to care for. And she had a father who thought school was overrated, and certainly not something a girl needed. So, even before her mother died, she didn't have much schooling. Afterward, she quit. She read well enough to get by-barely. Like you, she left home when she was very young."
"You?"
Grandmom nodded. "Like you, she needed to read much better than she did to make her way in the world."
Ice replaced the blood flowing through Brenna. "How did you know?" she whispered.
Chapter 18.
Grandmomtook both of Brenna's hands in hers. "I watched you, my dear." "Oh, God," Brenna muttered. "Cole doesn't know..." Brenna shook her head, equally astounded and alarmed this woman had seen through the deceptions.
Not only seen through them, but challenged her as well.
"How did the two of you meet?" Grandmom asked. "He never did say."
Brenna glanced away. Remembering his shock over her being a dropout, she wondered what he had
told his family about her. Too easily she imagined the kind of woman Cole was probably accustomed to dating. Doctors and lawyers and MBA executives.
Brenna cleared her throat. "He was the attorney representing a man who sued me."
"Oh, my. You two certainly would have had some differences to overcome."
The surprise inGrandmom's voice made Brenna smile. "That's putting it mildly." She met the older woman's gaze. "I didn't intend to deceive him. I really didn't."
"That's often the case with lies of omission."
The statement might have been a sharp accusation or a reprimand at the least. Instead, it was merely a mild statement of fact, uttered without the slightest rancor. The lack of accusation made Brenna feel worse, compelling her to explain.
"At first, I thought we'd go out just once or twice, and that would be the end of it. I didn't expect to enjoy his company so much." She ducked her head, then looked up. "He makes me feel so good. And he listens to me, you know? Really listens like what I think matters."
Grandmom nodded as though she understood.
Brenna plunged on. "I kept getting in deeper, and my lies of omission ... I know they're going to cause trouble. I just can't stand the idea of telling him anything that would..." "Be the end of it," Grandmom finished, compassion in her voice. "Yeah." Brenna swallowed the lump in her throat. "You're right. He'll be angry," Grandmom mused. "Not so much about the reading, but about the deceit." "I know." Her plan to delay telling him until she had mastered reading had at its core an unforgivable flaw-a deliberate lie. Grandmom patted her hand. "I guess it all comes down to whether you trust him." Brenna stared at Cole's grandmother. She hadn't thought of it in so stark a light. If she had been asked whether she trusted Cole, she would have said yes without hesitation. And yet, in this ... did she trust him?
"Okay, where is everybody?" came Cole's baritone voice from the living room.
"Up here," Grandmom called back.
His footsteps thundered up the stairs, giving Brenna scant time to pull herself together. He appeared in the doorway. When Brenna caught his eye, he winked. She returned his smile, comparing this carefree, boyish side of his personality to the stern man she had first met. Both aspects of the man drew her.
Did she trust him to understand her illiteracy? More importantly, would he forgive her deceptions? Brenna wished the answer was either a simple yes or no. Nothing else in her attraction to Cole was simple, and this was no exception.
"Do you still need to go to the grocery store, Grandmom?" he asked.
"If you want that watermelon."
His smile broadened to a grin, "Oh, I thought I'd go steal that from McCracken's farm."
"And come back home with buckshot in your-"
"I'm sure you have me confused with someone else," he interrupted.
"I'm sure not," she retorted. "Though it was a relief when you decided to give up a life of crime in favor
of the law."
Cole planted his hands on his hips. "Actually, I planned to graduate from stealing watermelons to robbing
banks."
"In some circles, that might be a more highly rated career choice than being a lawyer," Brenna teased.
"You..." He pointed a finger at her. "You've obviously been spending too much time with my
grandmother. We're going to have to do something about that."
She nodded. "Bringing her back to Denver might be good."
Grandmom chuckled. "Just what a young man needs in his bachelor pad. A meddling old woman."
"You're not old. I might even be able to fix you up with a date," Cole assured her.
"As though I need your help," she said tartly.
Cole laughed. "Give me ten minutes to shower. You're coming to the store with us, right, Brenna?"
She grinned. "Of course. After all that nonsense you told us at lunch about picking out the perfect
watermelon, I wouldn't miss it." A few minutes later Brenna piled into the pickup with Cole and Grandmom. Brenna's bare legs brushed next to Cole's denim-clad ones, and it was impossible for her not to remember her reaction to taking off his jeans hours earlier. Cole held her hand between changing gears and pointing out things he considered interesting. "The real purpose of this outing," Cole announced in a tour-guide voice after they pulled onto the highway, "is to show our eminent world traveler, Miss Brenna James, the famous landmark Chimney Rock." He stopped talking, and after an instant of silence made a rolling motion with his free hand. Brenna and Grandmom looked at one another and, smiling, shrugged almost in unison. "You're supposed to ask me why it's a famous landmark," he prompted.
"Ah," wasGrandmom's response.
Brenna grinned. "Okay, Mr. Tour Guide, I'll bite. Why is it famous?"
"I'm glad you asked that," Cole said. He pointed through the windshield where the tall outline of
Chimney Rock jutted into the sky. "Every time I see it, I wonder what it must have been like, following a wagon train on the Oregon Trail, and waiting for this landmark to appear on the horizon."
"It's famous because you wonder about it?" Brenna teased.
Cole squeezed her knee, his hand lingering an all-too-brief moment on her thigh. "It's famous because it's
the first significant landmark for the wagon trains after they left Independence."
"I think I knew that."
"She thinks she knew that," Cole echoed. He turned off the highway, then parked the pickup in front of one of the numerous markers found along the Oregon Trail route. "What a tour guide doesn't need is harassment." He cut the engine and stretched his arm along the seat back and pulled Brenna closer to him. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you've seen point-of-interest signs all over the world."
"As a matter of fact, I have," she agreed, as her mind urged her, taunted her.Tell him. I dare you. Tell him that you couldn't read this sign if your life depended upon it.
She looked at the sign, then at Grandmom, half expecting her to announce to Cole that she-Brenna-couldn't read.
"Some tour guide, refusing to read these signs for the poor foreign tourists who look at the words and see gibberish," Brenna said, her lips curved in a smile she didn't feel, easy casualness filling her voice. She glanced at him again. "The last time I was on vacation with my parents was in Europe. I remember very clearly that tour guides were responsible for all points of interest, not the tourists."
Cole grinned and gave Brenna a casual swipe over the top of her head. "You're asking for trouble, ma'am."
She poked him in the side with her elbow. "I wouldn't want to put you out of work, Mr. Tour Guide, sir."
He dropped a kiss on her cheek and put the truck back into gear. "This tour guide says, 'Onward, ho!' And, besides, I hated these things when I was a kid. I'm never going to make my kids suffer the way my parents made me suffer."
Grandmom snorted. Cole burst into laughter, and Brenna joined in, shaking with relief.
Brenna was positive Cole would feel her trembling as he pulled the truck back onto the highway. She clasped her hands together and forced herself to participate in the easy banter between him and his grandmother.
She was the worst kind of coward, and she hated being one. Did she trust him? Not to pity her. Not to lose interest in her. Not to think she was stupid. Obviously not, or she would have told him by now.
She avoidedGrandmom's gaze, dreading the censure she suspected she would see there, knowing she deserved it.
"Brenna, is there anything special you'd like for our Fourth of July feast?" Grandmom asked.
Brenna faced Cole's grandmother and found exactly what her voice reflected. Concern. Friendship.
"No," Brenna said, then cleared the huskiness from her voice. "Thank you." Disdain, censure, hostility. Those would have been easier to bear.