Page 63 of The Trouble with a Dare

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar voice, and she gasped.

“They’re a fine healthy lot. You’ve done well, son. It’s going to be a good year. Your best yet, I reckon.”

“Aye.”

Sterling was not yet used to this alternative version of his mother. She was still prickly, but less prone to criticism, and she made a point of praising him when she could see he’d done well. At first, he’d not known what to do with such comments, feeling as awkward as a cat with its fur brushed in the wrong direction. It just felt so foreign and peculiar, but he could tell she was trying, and that she meant what she said, too. Today, the comment warmed him and made him feel rather like a small boy told he’d done well and been given a pat on the head. That was ridiculous, but… well, rather nice.

“You’ll be winning a lot of silver at the shows.”

Sterling grinned at her, unable to hold back, for he knew she was right about that. “Aye,” he said.

His mother chuckled. “Just like your father,” she said fondly.

Sterling stared at her for a moment, hearing the wistful note to the words and realising something he had never truly believed. “You loved him.”

She looked up at him in surprise, her ruddy cheeks rather pinker than usual, before she turned away from him. “I did. He deserved better than he got from me. You… You both did.”

Sterling frowned down at the ground, totally thrown by the unexpected admission. He didn’t know what to feel, or what to say. There were questions, demands, and a thousand angry words swirling in his chest. Not just on his own account, but his father’s too, and yet…. He released a slow breath, and let go of them all, of all the old resentments and hurts. Neither of them could change the past, but the future was still to come, and he wanted something better, for all of them.

“Ah, well. Least said, soonest mended.”

His mother turned sharply, staring at him, her eyes glittering with tears. Swiftly, she moved to him and gave him a fierce hug. Sterling looked down, wondering how he’d never realised how small his mother was as he patted her back awkwardly.

“I love you,” she said, so hurriedly that he might not have heard her over the bleating of the lambs if he’d not been paying attention. She let him go as swiftly as she’d hugged him and strode quickly away, swiping at her cheeks.

Sterling blinked, a little astonished but pleased. Well. That… That was nice, too.

They walked through the growing flock, talking about how many ewes had still to lamb and what they thought the final tally might be.

His mother stopped to look down over the field towards the house and the garden.

“Grace’s garden is coming on nicely. People will pay for admission to see it soon, I reckon, it’s so fine. I never realised before, but it does a body good to come out and see all those flowers, all that colour.”

“It does,” Sterling said, feeling a swell of pride in his wife and all she had done for them.

The house was a different place since she’d come to them: so warm and comfortable, and full of love. The garden too. He squinted, smiling as he saw her sitting on the bench enjoying the late morning sun. She started at something and turned her head, and Sterling’s heart jolted as he saw the man walking towards her.

He was tall and lithe, his hair shining as gold as a field of barley in the sunshine, and he was dressed like a gentleman. Sterling’s whole body turned to ice. It was him. Something in his gut told him this was the bastard who’d taken Grace’s innocence and abandoned her and his own daughter. No. My daughter. Something furious raged inside him.

He moved then, intending to run down to the farm and make sure the blackguard knew he wasn’t welcome—wouldn’t ever be welcome—but a hand grasped his wrist. Sterling turned impatiently to see his mother watching him, her eyes full of compassion. She looked down at the garden, to the two figures, and he knew she’d worked it out too.

“I always knew Betty wasn’t yours, son. You’ve not got a dishonourable bone in your body,” she said with a faint smile. “But now you must trust your wife.”

“But—”

He snatched his wrist free, but she took it again, her grip surprisingly firm.

“No. Don’t you trust her, Sterling? Do you think she’s played you false all these months, that the things she says and does are just because you’re here? Do you think she’s been pining for him all this time?”

Sterling made himself stop and think about that. There was a tiny seed of doubt in his heart. There always had been, but now he made himself remember. He remembered the way Grace looked at him, the tenderness in her eyes, the desire in her kiss this morning… and the hundreds of little words and gestures that showed him he was loved as he’d never been loved before.

“No,” he said.

His mother smiled at him and let go of his wrist to pat his arm.

“No,” she agreed. “That girl loves you like you hung the moon for her, and she’s not so fragile as she looks. Don’t mess things up by not trusting her, like I never trusted your father as he deserved to be trusted. You ought to give her more credit, Sterling. Let her help you more if she wants to. And you can start by letting her give this fellow his marching orders. For she will. I promise you, she will.”

Grace’s heart pounded in her throat. She felt sick, giddy with panic that Sterling would come along and see them together. Whatever would he think? It was so strange to see him, this fine, handsome man whom—for a brief time—she’d believed she had loved so desperately.