Terms of a Texas Marriage

by Lauren Canan

  The distant rumble of thunder shattered the serene silence, waking Alec from his sleep. The sky was still dark even though the clock on the nightstand said it was almost five in the morning. Faint flashes of lightning intermittently lit the room for a few brief seconds as the increasing winds surged around the corner of the old house. He immediately thought of Scotty. Steve would have both boys inside Leona’s house by now. It was a new and comforting realization that he could leave his only child in the care of near strangers and trust, without any hesitation, that his son would be well taken care of. Such trust was almost unheard of in his world.

  Alec started to turn over, but immediately felt a soft, warm body snuggled against him. The aura of innocence and trust as Shea slept was alien to him. Hell, everything about her, about this place, was so different than what he was used to. Yet, at the same time, it often felt as though he’d come home.

  With his sexual frustration at its peak, his body ached with desire every time she came close and now was no exception. He didn’t know how much strength remained before his good intentions would go out the window. He’d never have believed he could become this damned infatuated with anyone, especially after Sondra. With a groan of frustration, he eased Shea onto a pillow and got out of bed.

  The few days he’d originally anticipated being here had rolled into weeks. He’d surprised himself by actually finding a way to continue his own work and still enjoy the physical labor the ranch required. Ironically, it was in that labor he found an inner peace. A fresh breeze on his face, sweet scents in the air and the sun on his back. Beat the hell out of any gym.

  He pulled on some jeans and grabbed a shirt and his boots. He needed to put some space between himself and Shea. A lot of space. One last glance at the bed where she slept was all it took to confirm in his mind what his body had been telling him. He wanted her. Desperately. And the frazzled strength of the single thread of determination that held him at bay was about to snap.

  Nine

  By six o’clock the rainstorm was over and the morning dawned clear. The eastern sky lit up in glorious color, heralding the sun’s imminent appearance. Alec threw the last of the coffee down his throat and turned away from the kitchen window, stepped outside and meandered toward the barn. As he got close, the scents of alfalfa and pine shavings permeated the air. Soft nickers greeted his approach, bringing a smile of contentment to his face.

  Entering the barn, he followed the bank of stalls until he came to number twelve. The big bay gelding was licking the last remnants of breakfast from his feed trough.

  “You’re up mighty early.”

  He turned to see Hank amble in his direction.

  Alec nodded.

  “You want me to throw a saddle on him for you?” Hank asked.

  He hadn’t thought about going for a ride, but the idea immediately took hold and it was too perfect to pass up.

  “I’ll do it,” Alec replied. “Where’s the tack?”

  A few minutes later, Alec rode the big horse out the main gate and headed north. Ransom was excited about the outing, dancing against the firm hold Alec kept on the reins. Hank had mentioned the old homestead and provided general directions. It sounded like the perfect place to think.

  The rutted path eventually grew less and less visible as the big bay continued to carry him through the trees and over the rolling hills. After an hour, Alec began to relax. The serenity of the countryside, the wind blowing softly through the leaves of the trees, helped clear his head. He honestly loved it here. He again experienced a twinge of regret over the changes that would soon come. For the first time in his life, the jubilance of building something great was overshadowed by the nagging uneasiness over the fact that he was about to destroy something very special.

  Not surprising, his thoughts turned to Shea. Her determination to keep this spread should be an obstacle to overcome, not something to admire. But that was before their wedding night when she’d been so gut-wrenchingly beautiful and so damn sensual. It was before he’d seen her laugh, before she’d received hugs from his usually standoffish son. Before she’d shared her concerns about the ranch and had begun to trust him enough to open up and talk to him about things that troubled her. Before he’d seen her schoolgirl-like grin over a bunch of silly wildflowers.

  It was before she’d become someone special in his life. Hell, they hadn’t even had sex. But the longer he was around her, the more he had to remind himself their marriage was based on a very bizarre two-hundred-year-old contract. Becoming involved with Shea wasn’t something that should happen. But his gut instinct told him it was too late. He’d already crossed that line.

  * * *

  Shea sat alone in the kitchen watching the morning unfold. She fixed a piece of dry toast, poured a cup of the not-too-old coffee and decided she could afford to take the time to enjoy part of the day. It was only five weeks until fall roundup but all of the preparations had been made, the equipment checked and ready to be taken to the site.

  After clearing away the few dishes, she set off in the direction of the barn. Finding it empty, she walked down the main hall toward Hank’s house. As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw him sitting on the wooden porch, leaning against a post with a wide-eyed little boy hanging on his every word. Apparently Hank had picked up the boy from his overnight stay at Leona’s and from the lingering smell, they’d already enjoyed a breakfast of bacon and eggs.

  “...So he lays real quiet-like and crawls on his belly—real slow—over to the fallen log. But just as he reaches fer his gun, this old owl comes screeching out of the trees and swoops down right at him.”

  “Wow...” Scotty’s voice held the excitement of the moment. “What did he do?”

  “Well, Roy reckons that old owl done give away his hiding place, don’t ya see, so he pulls his gun from the holster, counts to three, then jumps out from behind the log with his gun a blazin’. Old Treach figured that owl was after a mouse so he never knew what hit him.”

  “Boom! Bang! He shot him! Didn’t he, Hank?”

  “He did fer a fact. Got the reward of all that gold and built him a little cabin right there on the bank of that river. Some people say his ghost still walks along the riverbank to this very day, protecting his gold.”

  “I wouldn’t never go there ’cause he might think I was gonna steal it and I sure wouldn’t want him to shoot at me!” Scotty shook his head, speaking in whispered excitement. Then he noticed Shea for the first time. “Did you ever see him? Old Roy?”

  “Once. When I was about your age.” She smiled and winked at Hank.

  “Man...”

  “How was your campout?”

  “It was good!” Scotty answered, his eyes full of excitement. “We got hot dogs and cooked marshmallows on a stick. Mine got on fire.”

  “You had a campfire?”

  “Uh-huh. And we heard the owl way deep in the woods. Then we hadda go in the house cause of the rain. But it was cool.”

  Smiling, Shea turned her attention to Hank. “Where’s Alec?”

  “Said he was going to ride out to the north and see if he could find the old original homestead. Left here a couple of hours ago.”

  “Ride out...on what? You mean on a horse?”

  “He saddled Ransom.”

  “Ransom!” He’d never make it back in one piece. Shea was incredulous. “And you let him? That horse could—”

  “He’s a big boy, Shea.” Hank squinted up at her. “I watched him saddle the gelding and swing up like he’d been doing it all his life. Didn’t seem to have any problem with him.” He shrugged and bent his head, his attention focused on the small stick he’d been whittling.

  Alec told her it had been a long time since he’d been on a horse. To handle Ransom as proficiently as Hank described, he would have to be a skillful horseman. A feeling of unease ran d
own her spine. She turned and quickly made her way back into the barn.

  The stalls were empty. Hank must have moved the horses to the other barn in preparation for the drive. She marched straight down the main hall and back toward the house. Her truck was missing. She supposed Jason or one of the other hands had borrowed it, which wasn’t unusual. She didn’t see Alec’s car either, which was unusual. Maybe Alec had let one of the hands use it to run into town. It wouldn’t be the first time. She climbed into the only remaining vehicle in sight, the old white Jeep.

  She wouldn’t sit around and wait for Alec to come back. Something could happen. It was of equal concern that he was nosing around the old home site. It was a sacred place to her. She put the Jeep into gear and headed toward the big gate that opened to the northern pastures.

  It was a bright, sunny day with not a cloud in the sky. All indications of the thunderstorms that had blanketed the area in the predawn hours were gone. Thanks to all the rain they’d had this spring, the grass was a deep, rich green. Shea should have enjoyed the outing. The old home site was her favorite place where the world couldn’t come crashing in. It was a special place. A private place. Why had Alec headed there? With a grimace, she punched the pedal, and the Jeep bounced along the dwindling path into the deepening timber.

  The trail cut through the forested area for several miles, skirting the vast grasslands to the west. It wound its way through the trees, over a rise and down into a small valley. The cooling waters of a small lake glistened in the sun as a gentle breeze sent small waves to lap against the shore. It was just past this tranquil setting that one would find traces of the original home site.

  Shea shifted to a lower gear as the vehicle climbed the rise past the lake. As she topped the hill, she spotted Ransom, his front feet tethered, contentedly munching the tender, knee-high grass.

  Pulling up a short distance away from the remains of the old foundation, she killed the motor and stood up in the seat. Immediately, she became aware of the silence. Somewhere in the distance, a meadowlark sang. The trees, touched by the gentle breeze, danced to its song.

  Leaving the Jeep, she walked purposefully in the direction of the old home. There was very little left of the original structure. Not surprising since fire had raged through the timbers, followed by the ravages of the elements for two hundred years. The giant cinder blocks supporting the foot-thick oak timbers and roughly hewn floorboards were still intact. Three walls, log and mortar, and a corner of the original lower roof remained, their edges bearing traces of the fire that had claimed the house. The tall, sturdy chimney rose impressively as if daring anyone to challenge its right to be there.

  “It’s incredible.” Alec’s deep voice beckoned from behind her. Shea spun around, watching him casually walk toward her.

  “Yes,” she replied warily. “Is this where you’re going to build your shopping mall?”

  Alec ignored her taunt. He looked at the ancient dwelling. “Tell me about the house. Did they bring in the logs or were there trees this size on the land?” He looked up at the remaining roof.

  “The logs for the house were all cut from here. The stones used in both the chimney and for some of the floor support were gathered from the creek bed.” Shea pointed to the east. “Down there.” Alec nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.

  “The house had only two rooms and a loft. The kitchen was separate, over there.” She nodded in the direction of the far side of the structure. “It used to have a covered breezeway linking it to the house. You can still see some of its foundation.”

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly what caused the fire. Dad tried to find out once, but there were no records. He believed lightning struck the roof. I think he said that someone died. There wasn’t a lot anyone could do to save the structure. The remains you see here are probably thanks to a few buckets of water from the well.”

  “So, after the fire, your family rebuilt in the present location?”

  “Yeah.” Shea pushed away a strand of hair the wind had blown in her face as she looked at him with curiosity. “Why are you so interested? I mean, what does any of this matter to you?”

  Alec turned away, looking out over the surrounding area. “If you’ll remember, it was my ancestors’ land. They lived here, too.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. He had as much a right to seek his heritage as she did.

  “Behind the house—” she pointed west “—on top of the far rise is the old family cemetery. I think one of your relatives might be there, as well.”

  “I’d like to see.”

  Together they walked to the small burial ground. The names and dates on the long-standing headstones were partially obscured, some more than others. The men and women who had come to this land, driven by a desire to build a future and the courage to tame the raw wilderness, now rested in peace on this small patch of earth. At the edge of the area, two headstones stood slightly apart from the others.

  Alec read one of them. “‘William Alec Morreston. Born 1780. Died 1848.’ My great-great-grandfather.”

  Shea reached out and gently touched William’s stone. “Odd he was buried here. He was originally from the north, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Alec nodded. “My grandmother used to tell me stories of how her grandfather loved the West. He came out here as a young man and fell in love with this part of the country. There was a young woman he met here. Alyssa, I think. He wrote that they were to be married, but she died before it could happen. Eventually, he returned to the family home in New York but I guess this is where he wanted to be laid to rest.”

  “At least someone in your family had some sense,” Shea couldn’t resist saying. She glanced at Alec in time to see a grin pull at the corners of his mouth.

  “I have some old letters indicating he was a trapper. He used the river for his transportation and supposedly built a cabin, probably more of a shack, not far from here. Does the property reach as far as the river?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. About a mile in that direction.”

  “You up for a hike?”

  “We could take the Jeep.”

  “Let’s go.”

  It took only a few minutes to reach the river’s edge. Together, they walked along the high riverbank looking out over the wide expanse of the Red River. Appropriately named—the red clay, seen in the shallow parts of the riverbed and in the steep canyon walls flanking each side, cast a pinkish glow in the late afternoon sun.

  “I don’t think I’m going to find anything.” He stood, hands resting on his hips, gazing out over the scenic terrain. “I’m sure the river has changed its banks dramatically in the last two hundred years. Erosion probably destroyed any remnants long ago.” He sounded regretful.

  “You’re probably right, but it never hurts to look.”

  Alec’s interest in his heritage surprised her. The questions he’d asked about the Hardin home site and now the interest in his own ancestral home didn’t fit the image of the modern builder who wanted to level everything. She couldn’t stop from watching him as he continued looking out over the scenic waterway. From his tawny eyes and full lips to the strong, deep set of his jaw, his face was temptation run amuck. Add intelligence sprinkled with a sense of humor, and it all added up to an irresistible combination.

  In a moment of clarity, she realized she had come to respect Alec. He was a successful businessman and builder, a great father and a man of his word. But the reason he was here sent a twinge of sadness inching its way to her heart.

  At that moment, he turned toward her and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. The smile faded and his eyes darkened to the color of molten topaz. She knew he saw the awareness in her face. She swallowed hard.

  The cry of a hawk circling overhead broke the spell.

  “It’s getting lat
e. The sun has almost set. We’d better get back,” she whispered, turning away.

  In silent agreement they climbed into the Jeep and headed back to the home site and the trail leading home.

  Ransom was still contentedly munching on the knee-high grass when the Jeep pulled up near the old homestead. Alec approached the big gelding and ran his hand down the glossy neck, then looked at the last rays of the setting sun in the open western sky.

  “Is it true a horse can find his way back home on his own?”

  Shea pursed her lips to hide a grin, nodding. “They usually know where the food is. Go ahead and unsaddle him and turn him loose. You can ride back in the Jeep. We wouldn’t want Scotty to think his dad doesn’t know which way is up in the dark.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  With the saddle, bridle and tether removed, Ransom acknowledged his freedom by kicking his heels in the air and running for home, his tail held high above his back. Alec put the tack in the Jeep and climbed into the passenger seat. She slid in behind the wheel and turned the key. The engine caught, but immediately sputtered and died. She tried again, but it refused to start. Pumping the gas pedal did no good either.

  “Mind if I have a try?” They switched places, but Alec had no more luck getting it started than she had. He walked to the front and opened the hood. “Everything looks okay,” he muttered. “How much gas did you have?”

  “I filled up last week and haven’t really gone anywhere except over to Leona’s. It should have plenty.”

  “Well, it doesn’t.” Alec closed the hood.

  It was miles back to the ranch house. By the angle of the sun, it would be dark in less than an hour. A quick glance revealed he was thinking the same thing.

  He walked over to a small crevice, kicked at the grass, then looked out over the far hills as if deep in thought. He smiled, shook his head, then he began gathering rocks, placing them in a circle around the indention.

  “Are you building a fire?”

  “Yeah. It might get cold later tonight.” He looked at her. “Unless you know of a better way we can keep warm?”