“But there’s more to it than—”
The copper-colored head shook back and forth. “I love him. He loves me. What else is there?”
Shannon tried another tack. “I understand your Aunt Mae wants you to go to college.”
The bright head shook harder. “I’ve had enough of school!” Jodie’s hand groped for Shannon’s again. “I want to start a family, Shannon. A real family—mother, father, babies. I want a house of my own, on a piece of land that doesn’t have ‘Parker’ written all over it. I’m sick of being a Parker! I’m sick of being told what to do, how to think, how to act!”
Shannon swallowed. “But do you think—” She stopped. Jodie was confiding in her. If she completed the question she’d planned to ask—But do you think Rio is the right man for you?—the confidences would cease. She’d lose whatever influence she had over the girl, however small. She altered her words. “But didn’t you say that Rio—”
“That’s where you come in!” Jodie was too impatient to wait for her to finish.
“Me?”
“I need you to talk to Rafe. He’ll listen to you. You’re an outsider, and you’re pretty.”
“I don’t see where that—”
“It sure doesn’t hurt! Shannon, you’re my only hope! I’d die if Rafe sent Rio away! I know I’d just dry up and die!”
“Dying isn’t that easy,” Shannon murmured, knowing from experience the truth of that statement.
“I’d still do it!” Jodie swore. “Shannon, like I said, you’re my only hope!”
“Exactly what is it you want me to say?”
“Get Rafe to make some kind of commitment. I’ll be eighteen in a few months. Get him to promise he won’t let Rio go before then.”
Shannon recoiled. “I can’t do that!”
“Tell him...tell him I’ve threatened to run away!”
“I won’t lie for you, Jodie.”
“Then I’ll make it not be a lie. If he does anything to make Rio leave, I will run away. I’ll follow Rio wherever he goes!”
“Jodie, you can’t!”
“Oh, yes I can! My mother ran off with a man she fell in love with. I can do the same.”
“Jodie!” Shannon cried, shocked.
The girl had the grace to look abashed. “I must have more of Aunt Mae in me than I thought. But if a person can’t fight for what they want out of life, what’s left to fight for?”
Shannon searched for a way to calm the girl before she decided to do something she might later regret.
“Jodie, look. Just take a few deep breaths. You’re upset. Things probably look much worse right now than they actually are. You’ve had an unsettling day. I was in the barn, remember? I saw the way Rafe talked to you—and to Rio. He was upset because Rio had kicked Shep.” She stopped the girl’s immediate protest. “I realize Shep had just bitten him. Was it bad, by the way? The bite?”
“No, it was mostly a bruise.”
“Good. Now, I’ll agree to talk to your cousin, but you have to agree to something, too. There’s no emergency except in your own mind. For the time being, don’t do anything—anything!—until you really think it through. Okay?”
“When will you talk to him?” Jodie sat forward, her eyes hopeful.
“When I’m ready. It may take a few days.”
“But—”
“What if I wasn’t here? What would you do then?”
“Probably cry until I made Aunt Mae mad.”
“Which wouldn’t do any good, would it?”
Jodie rubbed a tear away. “No,” she admitted.
Shannon patted her hand. “You make me feel very old,” she said on a sigh.
“How old are you?” Jodie asked.
“Twenty-seven.”
“That’s not old!”
“Stop trying to butter me up,” Shannon teased.
“But it’s not old! That’s just five years older than Rio.”
Everything in the girl’s life seemed to revolve around the cowboy she loved. But was it love? Or merely infatuation?
“Sometimes I feel every year,” Shannon murmured.
“So do I,” Jodie agreed, and she said it with such tragic conviction that Shannon couldn’t help but smile.
~*~
Shannon lay in bed that night fighting with her sheets and blanket until finally she had to do something else. She tried to read, but when the words turned to gibberish, she discarded the book. What she really needed was physical activity, she decided, something to keep her thoughts from racing. She didn’t want to dwell any longer on Rafe Parker and what he’d said to her in the barn, or Mae Parker’s ambiguous statements, or Jodie and her problems with her cowboy lover—or the way she’d let herself get involved by promising Jodie she’d talk to Rafe.
The grandfather clock had just struck twelve when Shannon let herself out of her room. She didn’t plan to go far, just onto the porch and possibly partway down the drive. As she moved silently down the stairs, she shrugged into a lightweight jacket, protection against the chill air.
The moon, still in full phase, provided a milky glow to the entire compound. All the houses were dark. Everyone was in bed except her.
The earthy tang of cooling ground, grasses and animals mixed with the sweet drifting fragrance of a night-blooming flower. Shannon walked to the edge of the porch and breathed deeply, ignoring all but the most pleasant thoughts. For so long her spirit had been wrought with doubt, with self-blame. She was grateful to be free of it, if only for a moment.
She lifted her face to the wide expanse of starry sky and let the delicate night scents fill her nostrils. It was then she heard the soft quiver of an indrawn breath, followed by muffled sniffles. Someone was crying! Shannon knew the sound well. She cocked her head, listening, until she could work out where the crying originated: the house immediately to the right. Thomas and Darlene’s house.
Shannon peered across the moonlit space and saw someone sitting in partial shadow on the front porch.
Her first instinct was to go back inside. To her room, to her bed, to the oblivion of sleep. But the pitiful sniffling continued, and the way the person—it had to be Darlene—tried to conceal it pulled at Shannon’s heartstrings.
She stepped off the porch and walked along the driveway until she reached the short sidewalk leading to the neighboring house. As she approached, the muffled crying ceased.
“Darlene?” she whispered. “Darlene, it’s me, Shannon.”
There was no answer.
“I heard you crying, Darlene. Please...let me help.”
A moment passed, then in a hoarse whisper Darlene said, “No one can help.”
“I can listen,” Shannon offered.
There was a slight rustle and the woman appeared at the railing. She was dressed in a long white nightgown that almost overwhelmed her small frame. It was decorated by a cluster of lace at the wrists and high neck, and had a wide flounce at the hem, beneath which her bare toes peeked out. Her arms were crossed in such a way that her hands cupped her shoulders, instead of her elbows.
“It won’t do any good,” the older woman said, her pinched features swollen from crying.
Shannon waited. She had a good idea what was wrong, but she didn’t want to betray Harriet’s confidences.
“You’ve probably heard by now, anyway, though, haven’t you?” Darlene gave a broken little laugh. “I think everyone has. Of course, Mae says it’s our fault. We should have raised Richard better. And we should have stepped in the first inkling we had that something was wrong in his marriage and fixed it. Just...snap our fingers. But it’s not that easy, is it? You can’t just snap your fingers and make everything fine.” She demonstrated, clicking her fingers together slowly at first, then increasing the pace until Shannon crossed over and made her stop by gently covering her hand with her own.
Tears swam in the older woman’s eyes. “It’s not enough that we love Ann like she’s our own daughter. That Richard’s hurt her in ways it’s impossib
le to measure. That it hurts us that he...that he could think so little of his marriage vows. He says he can’t help himself...that he loves this new woman. That he doesn’t love Ann anymore. That they’ve just been going through the motions for years, hanging on.” She took a trembling breath. “I didn’t see it. Thomas didn’t see it. But we only see them a few times a year. They live in Amarillo and it’s hard for them to make the trip more often. They’re both so busy with their jobs. And getting Thomas away from here is next to impossible.” She shook her graying head. “Mae says it’s our fault.” Her entire monologue had been delivered in a whisper, but the last lamentation was even softer, filled with more pain.
“How old is your son?” Shannon asked.
“Forty-two his last birthday.”
Shannon frowned. “A forty-two-year-old man does what he wants.”
“Try telling that to Mae.”
“Did you?” Shannon asked.
“Thomas did.”
“What did she say?”
“That if we’d raised Richard correctly, he wouldn’t be doing this.”
“But Mae’s never been married! She’s never had a child!”
“We’re her children,” Darlene said bitterly. “All of us. Every single one.” She sighed deeply and withdrew a tissue from the sleeve of her gown, wiping her eyes and cheeks. “I didn’t think talking about it would help, but it has. Thank you. If things work out between you and Rafe...well, Rafe will be a lucky man. Harriet likes you, and so do I.”
Shannon blinked at the unexpected accolade. She was glad Darlene liked her, but the part about Rafe and herself, about his being a lucky man... She had to set the record straight!
“Darlene, Rafe and I... There is no Rafe and I. We—”
“I didn’t expect to like you,” Darlene went on, as if Shannon hadn’t spoken. “The other women Mae’s brought out here...well, they weren’t awful, but they weren’t right, either. They didn’t fit in. But you do.”
“I didn’t come here to marry Rafe!” Shannon declared, her voice rising, then immediately softening when she remembered the lateness of the hour.
“You could do a lot worse than Rafe, let me tell you. He’s the kind of man who’ll never let you down.” The sincerity of Darlene’s recommendation made Shannon realize that she could stand here and argue all night and it wouldn’t make any difference. Darlene believed what Darlene believed. And in her own befuddled way, she was trying to be kind.
“I’ll...keep that in mind,” Shannon murmured, and was rewarded with a smile that gave a small hint of the sweet personality that lay behind the woman’s present distraction.
~*~
Back in bed Shannon had to admit that her little foray into the night had provided her with more to think about, instead of less. But oddly she no longer felt the same prickly tension. Talking with Darlene had helped her, as well, which was strange, because that wasn’t the impression she’d previously gathered about the woman. Darlene hadn’t seemed to be a calming type of person. She was more needful than giving. Yet as Shannon lay there, her gaze focused unseeingly on the ceiling, she felt a measure of peace.
Chapter Ten
He's the kind of man who’ll never let you down.
Darlene’s words were at the forefront of Shannon’s mind all too frequently the next morning. They were there when she awakened, when she went downstairs for breakfast, when she spent time in her room trying to be busy, when she called Julia after lunch.
Talking to Julia hadn’t been easy. Julia couldn’t understand why Shannon had wanted to go so far away—from her, from everyone. Nor did she understand why Shannon turned down her offer of a visit. Possibly because Shannon couldn’t fully explain the reason even to herself. All she knew was that she still didn’t want to be beset by people from her old life. She had to continue to be on her own, away from even her dearest friend.
One small change of note had taken place, though. She no longer reacted as strongly to her friend’s ultrasensitivity. When Julia had begun the verbal eggshell-walking that had characterized so many of their conversations, Shannon was able to shrug it off, which immediately lessened the tension. One element no longer fed on the other. Shannon didn’t understand how, when or why the change had come about, but she welcomed it.
He’s the kind of man who’ll never let you down.
The endorsement once again inserted itself in Shannon’s thoughts as she hung up the phone, causing her to grumble with irritation. Last night she’d promised Darlene to think about what she’d said, but this was ridiculous!
A short time later Shannon answered a summons from Mae to begin work on the family history. They were to meet in the downstairs room that Mae used as her office. Like everything else about the matriarch of the Parker clan, the room was neat, efficient and in good taste. The walls were lined with shelves of books, and the highly polished surface of the rosewood desk opposite the door was empty but for a lamp and a brass pen-and-pencil holder. To one side of the room sat a dark green leather couch and a pair of cream wingback chairs, all of which were fronted by a wide low table. In the middle of the table was an arrangement of Harriet’s chrysanthemums.
Mae motioned Shannon to the sitting area, while she remained at her desk. For a moment, after Shannon settled in place, the older woman said nothing, then she conceded, “I don’t quite know where to begin.”
The stark admission surprised Shannon. It was the first time she’d ever heard Mae express doubt about anything.
“Well,” Shannon said, trying to be helpful, “at the beginning?”
Mae arched an eyebrow. “I meant, there’s so much information.”
Shannon glanced around her. From where she sat on the couch she could see nothing that would indicate a project at hand—no bulging boxes, no stacks of papers.
A tap sounded on the door, and at Mae’s response Rafe came into the room carrying two large boxes, one stacked on top the other. Gib followed him in with a similar burden.
“Where do you want these?” Rafe asked his great-aunt.
“On the table in front of Shannon,” Mae said.
Rafe’s dark eyes met Shannon’s, and she felt an immediate sensual pull.
He came toward her and slid the boxes onto the tabletop, lining them up side by side, careful not to disturb the flowers.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” Shannon replied huskily.
Gib elbowed his nephew over a step. “Excuse me,” he said, and deposited his load with a muffled grunt. But he hadn’t separated the boxes, and the box on top teetered, then began to slide toward the vase.
“Hey, watch—” Rafe began.
“The flowers!” Shannon cried.
Both Shannon and Rafe reached for the vase, trying to save it from tipping. At the same time Gib grabbed for the box. All were successful...but Rafe’s and Shannon’s hands were left touching, their faces close to each other.
Gib’s chuckle rescued them from what might have happened next. “Good catch!” he said in congratulations.
Shannon and Rafe pulled back quickly.
Shannon glanced at Mae, who’d observed everything from her place at the desk. There was no discernible change in the older woman’s expression, except for what might have been a wispy smile.
“Thank you, boys,” Mae said. “Now run along. Shannon and I have lots of work to do.”
“What time do you plan to get through today?” Rafe asked.
“What possible reason do you have for asking?” Mae demanded.
“Shannon asked for a horse to ride yesterday. I thought I’d hunt one up for her if she’s going to have enough time to ride it later on.”
“We’ll stop at five,” Mae decreed. “I think a few hours a day is all we should try to handle at first.”
“I don’t mind if we work longer,” Shannon said.
“No. A ride would be good for you. Will you go with her, Rafe?”
“I thought I was to ride in the holding pasture,” S
hannon inserted quickly.
“Not much fun in that,” Mae said to her, then to Rafe, “You could take her over to Little Springs, introduce her to Dub and Delores.”
“That’s a pretty long ride, Aunt Mae,” Rafe said.
Shannon tried desperately to intervene. “The holding pasture is fine.”
Mae had another suggestion. “You could show her the bulls.”
“How about you let me decide?” Rafe countered.
“I’d like her to see something interesting,” Mae insisted stubbornly.
Rafe started to make another reply, but Gib put his hand on his nephew’s flat stomach and pushed him back toward the door.
“Just you come on down to the corrals after you finish here,” Gib said to Shannon. “Rafe’ll have a couple of horses saddled, and if he can’t make it, I will.”
“You’re hopeless on a horse, Gib!” Mae protested. “You haven’t been on one in years.”
“I’m going to take her,” Rafe said tightly, evenly.
“Maybe it’d be better if I just—”
Rafe interrupted her refusal. “Five o’clock,” he said.
Gib pushed him out the door.
Once again Shannon caught that wispy smile on Mae Parker’s face, but when the older woman realized she was being observed, it immediately disappeared.
Mae stood away from the desk and walked over to the boxes on the table. She lifted first one flap, then another to peer inside.
“Mmm...” she murmured with satisfaction. Then she patted the side of the last box she’d examined and said, “The surest way to get where you want is by taking each step one at a time. Let’s start with this one first.”
Shannon nodded, but she had the strongest feeling that Mae’s reference to taking a step held more meaning than the simple choice of a box.
~*~
Several hours later Shannon looked up from an aged sheet of paper that was covered in a spidery script. It was a letter addressed to Virgil Parker that confirmed the receipt of a large number of prime beef cattle. It was dated September 1864, and the signature was of the person acting as a representative of the Confederate States of America. Shannon placed it on a stack of other papers dating from the same period.
West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1) Page 13
