Song of Her Heart. Irene Brand

to a garage where Norah made arrangements for repair to be made on her car the next week. Then Mason drove around the business section, pointing out the post office, several grocery stores and restaurants. They stopped at a bank so Norah could open an account, which would be more convenient than to draw on her bank in Missouri during the summer. When they left the bank, Mason checked his watch.

      “It’s eleven o’clock,” he said. “Since the weather is nice today, how about having a picnic?”

      “Sounds great to me.”

      “Let’s buy food and go to the picnic area at the Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge east of town.”

      He drove to a grocery store that had a deli, and when they went inside, Mason said, “You order—I’ll pay. I like any food, so buy what you want.”

      Norah ordered a large and a small sub sandwich with cheese and turkey, two containers of vegetable salad and slices of chocolate cake. She chose frosted fruit drinks, as well as a cup of coffee for Mason.

      “We’ll stop back here before we leave town so you can buy the groceries you need.”

      The thought of her move to the Bar 8 ranch depressed him. The more he was around Norah, the more she fascinated him. He wanted her to stay at the Flying K until the children arrived, but he knew he shouldn’t suggest it.

      He could think of numerous reasons why he shouldn’t become emotionally involved with Norah, so he was only laying up heartache for himself by becoming fond of her. A little voice inside kept repeating, Even if it’s only for a short time, you might as well enjoy her. Still, always in the back of his mind was the tickling certainty of how lonely he’d be when she left Nebraska at the end of the summer.

      Mason related the background of the area as they drove the short distance to the refuge, and Norah learned that great herds of buffalo had roamed the grasslands before white settlers came to the region. The Range Indians had depended on the buffalo for their livelihood, following the great herds as they migrated from north to south for summer and winter grazing. As the United States frontier expanded westward, Fort Niobrara had been built in 1879 to discourage conflict between the natives and the settlers.

      “During the twenty-some years of the fort’s existence, the soldiers weren’t involved in any fighting,” Mason said. “And a few years after the fort was dismantled in 1912, the area became a wildlife refuge.”

      As Mason continued to discuss the history of the land, Norah considered what a difference a few days in Mason’s company had made. Even in her thoughts, she didn’t like to keep harping on how her family had imposed upon her, but for over twenty years she’d been almost like a prisoner of her family. When she did leave the house, she was always in a hurry to get home, knowing she was needed. She’d had a few boyfriends in her teen years, and they’d gone to movies and eaten in the local restaurants, but she hadn’t dated at all after her mother died. And she’d hardly set foot out of Springfield during all those years.

      Travel commentaries hadn’t prepared her for the beauty of America. She looked in awe at the rolling Sand Hills and the breaks along the Niobrara River. Wild turkeys scratched in the grasslands along the river, where aspen and burr oak trees grew, side by side with Ponderosa pines. Near the Visitor’s Center, prairie dogs lived in an underground town, and several peered out of holes and barked. Mason lowered the windows so they could listen to meadowlarks, perched on fence posts, serenading them as they drove by.

      “Why are there so few trees?” Norah asked.

      “The soil is sandy, there’s not much rainfall and strong winds through the centuries have discouraged tree growth.”

      A large herd of buffalo, almost every cow with a brownish-colored calf by her side, grazed contentedly in the high grass along the river. As they traveled slowly along the wildlife drive, Norah made constant use of Mason’s binoculars, which he always kept in the glove compartment, sighting elk, and Texas longhorn cattle, also with calves by their sides.

      “The refuge is devoted primarily to the management of buffalo, elk and Texas longhorns,” Mason explained. “Although millions of buffalo once roamed the grasslands, the animals had dwindled to less than a thousand in the United States until these programs started. The wildlife are kept at manageable numbers—four hundred buffalo, sixty elk and about three hundred longhorns—here in this refuge. Other areas in the country have similar programs.”

      “It’s great to see our nation’s tax dollars put to such a good use. A lot of the nation’s history would have disappeared without programs like this.”

      “Several hiking trails lead into the wilder areas of the refuge, but we won’t have time to hike today,” Mason said as he parked the truck and they got out. “Let’s eat, buy your groceries and head home.”

      They placed the deli containers on a picnic table, but with the wind blowing at hurricane force, it was a constant battle to prevent the sandwich wrappers from blowing away.

      With a wry grimace, Mason said, “Not too good a day for a picnic, but the wind always blows up here.”

      Holding a juice carton in her left hand, and a sub in the other, Norah couldn’t do anything about her hair that was standing straight up. A particularly strong gust lifted Mason’s hat from his head and pitched it several yards away. He hurriedly retrieved the hat and threw it into the truck, allowing his long hair to blow around his face.

      A lot of women would be having a fit about having to eat under such conditions, Mason thought, but Norah downed her food without complaint. He looked her over approvingly, caressing her with his dark eyes.

      Norah intercepted his gaze, and her face flushed. Why couldn’t she get over acting like a lovesick youth when she was with this man? It was disturbing to blush every time he favored her with a glance.

      Noting her heightened color, Mason said, “I shouldn’t have been staring. It’s so unusual for me to be out having a good time in the middle of a workday, that I keep wondering if it’s really happening or if I’m dreaming.”

      “It’s sort of like a dream for me, too. We have excellent scenery in Missouri, but I haven’t seen much of it. I’m a vicarious traveler. I’ve read a lot of books on our national parks and I watch travelogues on TV, but it seems different when you’re actually on the site. This has been a rare treat for me today. So, thanks, Mason.”

      “Didn’t you get away from home at all?”

      “Not for overnight. Most of my expeditions were concerned with shopping, doctors’ appointments and the like. The years passed before I knew it.”

      “Ranchers can’t take extended vacations, so I haven’t done much traveling, either. But I’ve hunted in Wyoming and Colorado, and I know the Dakotas and Nebraska pretty well.”

      “Don’t think I’m complaining about my years at home. I was willing to do it. But that’s all I’ve done, so I don’t have much of interest to talk about.”

      “Talk about anything that pops into your head,” Mason said. “I enjoy the sound of your voice.”

      Not wanting a repeat performance of being lifted bodily into the truck, Norah had learned to stand on tiptoe, hold the door handle and spring into the truck cab, while Mason stood by if she needed help. She was sure she didn’t look very graceful, but at least she had managed the two times she’d boarded the truck in Valentine. But this time, she fell backward against Mason. He wrapped his arms around her midriff, and for a moment, she relaxed against him, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. Her breath was uneven, but she said, shakily, “Perhaps you’d better give me a boost.”

      He loosened his grip lightly and lifted her into the cab. Refusing to meet his gaze, Norah took a comb from her purse and arranged her hair in its usual style. Mason shook his head to settle his hair in place before he put on his hat.

      “My hair is as hard to control as my beard,” he said. “I’ve been letting it grow along with my whiskers. I think I’ll dress as a mountain man for this year’s