The Road to Love. Linda Ford

her arm through his.

      “Some day I’ll convince you but enough for now. Let’s have tea.” He covered her hand with his protective palm as he led her past his secretary, Gertie, a woman with blue-gray hair and steely eyes that always made Kate wonder what she’d done wrong. He left instructions as to where he could be found. They went to the Regal Hotel, the best in town. Only and always the best for Doyle.

      Of course, it wasn’t hard to be the best when, one by one, the other establishments had hung Closed signs on their doors.

      Kate wondered again why he’d chosen her and why he continued to wait for her when other women would have been happy to be cared for by him.

      He led her into the stately dining room, glistening with pure white linen and light-arresting crystal. As he ordered, Kate tried not to compare her simple farm life with the way Doyle lived—luxury, plenty of everything—a stark contrast to her current struggles. Even his clothes spoke of his tastes, a starched white shirt that the housekeeper must have labored over for hours, a perfectly centered tie, an immaculate black suit. She knew without looking that his fine leather shoes shone with a mirrorlike gleam.

      He waited until the waitress in her black dress and crisp white apron had served them tea and scones with strawberry jam at the side then leaned forward. “I can offer you so much, Kate—you and the children. My holdings are growing daily. You would never want for anything.”

      She sipped her tea and watched him, fascinated with the way his eyes sparkled like the diamonds in the rings in Adam’s Jewelers down the street where Doyle had taken her a few months ago, practically insisting she allow him to purchase a ring for her. She’d had a difficult time convincing him she wasn’t ready to make such a decision.

      She brought her attention back to what he was saying.

      “This is a perfect time to invest in real estate. Land prices are sure to go up once this depression ends. Just this morning I bought up another mortgage which will soon make me the owner of the feed store.” He pointed across the street. “Give me a year and I’ll own the mercantile, the hotel—” He indicated the other businesses.

      Kate was no financial genius but she understood what his good fortune meant. “Doyle,” she said softly. “Doesn’t it bother you that it means tremendous loss to the current owners? They’ll walk away broke and defeated.”

      He shrugged. “I’m sorry for them, certainly. But I’m able to take advantage of the situation and if I don’t, someone else will.” His gaze grew intense. “It’s all for you and the children.” He leaned forward. She almost gave in when he stroked the back of her hand. “Doesn’t it seem a waste for me to be alone in my house? You should be living there rather than me paying a housekeeper.”

      Kate studied their joined hands. She missed Jeremiah. Missed being a wife. Missed sharing all the challenges and rewards of her life with someone equally invested in the farm and the children.

      He pressed his point and told her again of the lovely things in his house. “It’s all ready and waiting for you to move in. Surely you can see how your children would benefit from the move.”

      That argument always made her wonder if she was doing the right thing. In town, Dougie and Mary would be close to school. They’d be able to play with their friends. They could enjoy a few conveniences. Even luxuries.

      “What would I do with the farm?” she asked. They’d discussed this before and he always had the same answer.

      “Sell it, of course. Maybe not right away. Not unless we can get a decent price for it.”

      “Doyle, if only you could understand what the farm means to me.” She’d tried so often to explain it.

      “You won’t need the farm to have a home. You’ll have my home. A far better home. You won’t have to struggle and work so hard anymore. I will take care of you. You can enjoy life.”

      “I need more than a fine home.”

      “You’ll have much more. You’ll have the best of everything.”

      She put on a gentle expression as she hid her disappointment. She’d have to accept her loneliness a bit longer because she couldn’t let the farm go. Not yet. Maybe never. If he’d ever suggested she keep it…

      But he was unwavering in his opinion of what should happen. He folded his napkin and placed it neatly beside his cup. “Besides, you can’t manage on your own.”

      It was the final clincher. Little did he know this insistence convinced her to dig in her heels and hang on. She’d find a way to survive, manage on her own.

      It was too bad because she liked Doyle. He was attentive and kind, accompanied her to church, and indeed, offered her a fine life. She was genuinely fond of him. Did she love him? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure she wanted that.

      What did she want? Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and to morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?

      Yes, God would take care of her. She believed it with every breath she took. But she couldn’t be content like the lilies with only the fields for her home. She wanted four solid walls and a roof. She wanted to be warm and dry, have food in her cellar or—thinking of the chickens and the meat and eggs they provided—on two squawking legs.

      Certainly Doyle would generously provide for her, but it didn’t feel the same as the security of her own piece of land and ownership of her own house.

      She sighed from the bottom of her heart.

      “Problems?” Hatcher asked.

      His question brought her back from thoughts of her visit with Doyle. She realized what she longed for was someone with whom she could discuss her farming problems. To Doyle there was no problem. Or at least, a simple solution. Sell. She laughed a little to hide her embarrassment at being caught spending her time in wishing for things that might never be.

      “You found a hired man today?” Hatcher asked.

      “I didn’t.”

      He glanced over his shoulder, a puzzled look on his face.

      “When I came through town there were at least a dozen men hanging about looking for work.”

      She shrugged, noting that today Hatcher wore a clean, unpressed shirt in washed-out gray. “I started to put up the ad.” Her skin had tingled, her face grown hot at the men watching her, waiting to read the notice. “I changed my mind.” She didn’t need help that badly—to invite a stranger into her life. “I decided I can manage on my own.”

      He turned his attention back to his tea. “Hope all your tractor needs is an adjustment to the carburetor.”

      A sigh came from her depths. “My tractor has seen its best days.”

      “No horses?”

      “I had to trade the last one in the fall for feed to see the cows through the winter.”

      “Been tough all over.”

      She murmured agreement. “I’m not complaining.”

      “Me, either.” He downed the rest of his tea, got to his feet and handed her the cup. “You give me the milk buckets and I’ll take care of the cows.”

      “No need.”

      “I never accept a meal without doing a job.”

      “It was my thanks.”

      He made no move toward leaving. “I ’spect the young ones need you.” He nodded toward the interior of the house.

      As she hesitated, torn between the truth of his statement and her reluctance to accept any more help from him, Dougie hurried out with the pails solving her need to make a choice.