Rustled by Natasha Stories

Author:Natasha Stories [Stories, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ashton Publishing Group
Published: 2014-01-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The storm finally broke again on the second day after Russ made me promise to stay until we could sort out my legal status. Unfortunately, it was a Sunday, and Russ couldn’t reach his lawyer. But, I had cabin fever in a big way, even though Russ had given me the grand tour in the meanwhile. True to his prediction, the storm had been too bad for travel, which meant that I got to make my own bed and feel a bit useful for a change.

When Russ found me doing it, he helped from the other side, and then told me I needed to know how to get around in the house, of which I had seen only a small portion. He led me to the grand front entrance, floored in slate slabs and trimmed in tall pine timbers. The high ceiling put me in mind of the entrance of a two-story house, but Russ explained it was just a traditional one-level rancher design made larger than usual.

To the right, we entered what I would have thought of as a grand ballroom. A huge empty floor was ringed with sofas and groupings of two to three wing chairs, some arranged around low round tables. An enormous fireplace took up an entire wall, and a double door in the opposite wall led into the next room. This turned out to be a formal dining room with a table that looked like it would seat all the hands and then some, but was elegantly draped in silk, the table and chairs of highly polished mahogany.

“Russ,” I asked, “do you entertain everyone in Wyoming when you throw a party?” I was kidding, of course, but he answered seriously.

“No, that was the Hendersons. It was one of the reasons they bought this place, though it was far too big for the two of them. I told you they had no children, didn’t I?” Yes, I thought he had. I nodded.

“Well, they filled their lives with other people and their children. They were older than my parents, and when I was born, Irene became a second mother, or more like a grandmother to me. My childhood was charmed.”

I considered the differences between us, but didn’t want to spoil his mood with comparisons or protestations that we would never work as a couple. We went on through the house, reaching the bedroom wing, but this time he opened each door as we made our way down the long hallway. Bedroom after bedroom, each with beautiful furniture but no occupant, met my eyes. After the seventh or eighth, I had lost count, I asked him, “Russ, what are you going to do with all these rooms? It seems such a waste.”

A haunted look came into his eyes as he answered, “I once thought Denise and I would fill them with children.” Overwhelming compassion for his grief came over me, and I hugged him. He turned a smile on me and said, “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to help me do that.

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