Heart of Texas Volume One

by Debbie Macomber

  “Did Louise corner you?” Caroline lowered her voice.

  “She tried.”

  “Hey, give the old biddy something to talk about.”

  “Caroline!”

  “She’s jealous, that’s all.”

  “Jealous of what?” Savannah wanted to know.

  “Of you. For being young and pretty and having a good-looking man in your life.”

  “Laredo’s not in my life—at least not in the personal sense,” Savannah felt obliged to protest—although she wished it wasn’t true. She’d like him to kiss her or hold her hand—anything so she’d know he felt the same things she did. Once she’d caught him looking at her and she thought he seemed…interested, but she couldn’t be sure. If she’d had more experience, she’d know.

  “Well, more’s the pity,” Caroline said with a laugh. “A little romance would do you a world of good.”

  “What about you?” Caroline was a fine one to talk. Savannah couldn’t remember the last time her friend had gone out on a date.

  “Me? Romance?” Caroline shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough romance to last me a lifetime.”

  “Oh, Caroline, don’t allow one negative experience to sour you forever.”

  Sadness dimmed her eyes, although Caroline made an effort to hide it. “Some people are meant to fall in love, and then there are people like me…” Her words faded and she looked away.

  Savannah’s heart went out to her, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  LAREDO HEARD WILEY WHISTLING in the back of the bunkhouse. The old coot was certainly in a good mood. By nature the foreman appeared to be an easygoing sort, but this afternoon he was downright cheerful.

  Stitching a stirrup, Laredo inserted the needle into the worn leather. No one had asked him to repair the saddle, but he had time on his hands, and keeping himself occupied was better than sitting around doing nothing. He wasn’t a man who could remain idle long.

  Although it was none of his concern, he’d visited the barn and inspected the horses. They were well cared for and in good health. Widowmaker, the stallion kept for breeding purposes, reminded Laredo of Grady. Man and beast shared the same temperament—although he figured he’d have a better relationship with Widowmaker than he ever would with Grady. Horses instinctively recognized Laredo as a friend. He shared an affinity with them that was the key to his success as a wrangler. From the time he was a toddler he’d enjoyed working with his father and their horses.

  One of his fondest childhood memories was of his father holding him high enough to pet and talk to Midnight, a beautiful roan gelding. Memories of his father were few and far between. Laredo had been six when word came that Russell Aaron Smith had been killed in a country with a name he couldn’t pronounce. He’d bled to death in a rice field six thousand miles from home. Shortly afterward Laredo’s mother had moved back with her parents, into the very house where she’d been born, and had never remarried. His grandfather was a good man, patient and caring, but he’d owned an office-supply store and didn’t understand Laredo’s love of the country or his passion for horses.

  As a teenager Laredo had started working summers on local ranches. His talent was soon recognized. To please his mother he’d graduated from high school, but the instant that diploma had been placed in his hand he was gone. She’d dated Clyde Schneider for years and Laredo had always assumed that once he was out of the picture they’d finally get married, but it hadn’t happened.

  His mother would love Savannah, Laredo thought, but he hesitated to say anything in his next letter home for fear she’d give the relationship more importance than it warranted. Laura Smith wanted grandchildren and brought up the subject at every opportunity, reminding him that it was time he settled down, started a family. He’d dismissed her heavy hints; he didn’t consider himself the marrying kind. Not now, anyway, when he had nothing to offer a woman other than a few hundred dusty acres he’d bought in Oklahoma and a stallion he’d recently spent his life savings to acquire. Laredo was on his way to pick him up. Renegade—the horse he’d pinned his dreams on. The horse he hoped would sire a dynasty of quarter horses. But right now that was all he had—and Savannah Weston deserved a damn sight more. If he was ever in a position to entertain marriage, he hoped he found a woman like her. No, he couldn’t mention Savannah to his mother; if he did he’d never hear the end of it.

  Wiley broke into song and Laredo gave an involuntary shudder at the off-key rendition of an old Kenny Rogers hit. He couldn’t recall the title, but it was some ballad about a woman not taking her love to town. In Wiley’s version the words were barely distinguishable, the tune not at all.

  When Wiley appeared, his hair was wet and slicked back, his boots polished. He wore a tan suede jacket and string tie with a turquoise piece the size of a silver dollar. He reeked of cologne so strong, Laredo’s eyes watered.

  “You’re lookin’ right pretty,” Laredo teased the foreman.

  Wiley laughed. “I’m off to visit the Widow Johnson in Brewster. Grady can work himself into an early grave if he wants, but I’ve got places to go, people to see. Don’t be concerned if I’m a bit late this evening.” He winked and all but danced out the door.

  If Laredo remembered correctly, Brewster was at least a hundred miles east of Promise. Wiley’s cheer was contagious, though, and he couldn’t keep from smiling at the older man’s pleasure. His task finished, Laredo carried the saddle back into the barn and returned his tools. He’d watched Savannah walk out to the car this morning, a Bible in her hand, and knew she was headed for church.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d darkened the door of a house of worship.

  As twelve-thirty approached he found himself listening and watching for Savannah. He would have enjoyed spending more time with her, but her watchdog of a brother made that difficult. Every time they were alone for more than a few minutes, Grady showed up. Rather than place Savannah in the awkward position of having to defend her actions, widening the rift that already existed between brother and sister, Laredo made his excuses and left. He’d dined with them only once, the night of his arrival, preferring to eat by himself in the bunkhouse ever since.

  When he left the barn, Laredo saw the car, which meant Savannah was back. He must have stood in the same spot for five minutes trying to decide what to do. Grady was out checking the herd, so he’d probably be away for several hours. This was the perfect opportunity to seek out Savannah’s company. A tempting thought.

  On the other hand he wasn’t doing her any favors by leading her on. He had nothing to offer her other than a few stolen kisses. Besides, he’d already decided that once he’d earned enough to pay for the truck repairs he’d be on his way. And yet…

  He shook his head. He barely knew the woman, and even if a relationship developed between them, it would do no good. He’d be living in a small secondhand trailer while he built his business from the ground up. It’d be years of blood and sweat before he had anything to show for his efforts. One day in the distant future his stock would be legendary; he was certain of it. But until then…

  When he left Promise, he wanted to go without regrets. Savannah was sweet and gentle, and he’d rather cut off his right arm than hurt her. He wasn’t stupid; he saw the look in her eyes. Even though she tried to hide it, she was interested. Damn it all, so was he!

  She was the type of woman a man introduced to his mother. Savannah deserved more than a flirtation. He should go back to the bunkhouse now before he started something he couldn’t stop. Something he had no right to start.

  The decision was taken from him when Savannah stepped onto the back porch. When she saw him standing there, staring at the house like…like a stunned steer, she paused. A look of pure joy lit up her face.

  “I was just about to ask you to join me for lunch,” she said.

  He knew he should politely decline, but he hadn’t the heart to disappoint her—or deny himself the pleasure of her company. “I’ll wash up and be inside i
n a minute.”

  On his way toward the house he started whistling; when he realized what he was doing, he stopped. He shouldn’t be this happy. Damn it all, he was looking at trouble with his eyes wide open and grinning like a schoolboy.

  The scent of roast beef greeted him as soon as he entered the kitchen. Savannah was bent over the stove, pulling a tray of biscuits from the oven. The scene was a homey one. After years of meals on the run, it was a rare treat to sit down at a real table, to have lunch with a woman, to eat in a civilized and leisurely fashion.

  “When did you have time to make those?” he asked. She couldn’t have been home more than ten minutes.

  “Early this morning,” she said, scooping the biscuits from the tray and placing them in a breadbasket. Everything else was already on the table.

  He seated her and bowed his head while she said grace, then reached for a biscuit. It was too hot to hold, and he tossed it between his hands, making Savannah laugh. A man could get used to hearing this woman’s laugh, he mused. Warning signs flashed in every direction, and again Laredo ignored them.

  “They’re buttermilk biscuits,” she said. “The recipe was my mother’s.” She waited for him to take his first bite.

  The biscuit was incredible. The best he’d ever tasted. He told her so and watched her eyes light up at the compliment.

  “It’ll just be the two of us. Grady’s busy just now.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

  Laredo already knew as much. “Would you rather I ate in the bunkhouse?” he asked.

  “Oh, no! I like being with you.”

  “Me, too.” He supposed he shouldn’t tell her that but found it impossible to keep to himself.

  Savannah started passing him serving dishes. “How was your morning?” she asked, handing him the platter of sliced roast beef.

  He wanted to tell her he’d missed her; instead, he helped himself to the carrots and potatoes. “I wrote a couple of letters,” he said as he set the bowl aside.

  Their conversation felt stilted and awkward in the beginning as if they were unsure of each other, afraid of saying too much or too little. But gradually he grew comfortable speaking with her again. There was a naturalness about Savannah. When she asked him questions, her interest was so obviously sincere that he couldn’t help responding with equal sincerity.

  Following the meal, they sat and lingered over coffee. Savannah asked about his family and perhaps because he’d written to his mother earlier, he described his early years in Texas before his father had gone off to war.

  She was such a good listener that Laredo continued, recounting his father’s death and the move to Oklahoma to live with his mother’s parents, both dead now. He told it all as casually as if he was discussing the weather. In an unemotional voice, he talked about the painful details of those early unhappy years, things he’d rarely shared with anyone.

  He sensed that Savannah intuitively understood the significance of the memories he confided in her. She understood and appreciated that he was sharing a piece of his soul, although he made light of it, even joked. But he suspected that the pain revealed itself in the pauses, the unspoken words, and that she was attuned to it.

  Her questions were thoughtful and perceptive. After a time he thought he should reciprocate. “What about you, Savannah?” he asked. “Tell me about your family.”

  She left the table so fast he wondered if his question had offended her. She stood with her back to him, supporting herself on the kitchen counter. He longed to place his hand on her shoulders. Apologize.

  He of all people should know enough to respect the privacy of another’s pain. After talking about himself nonstop for more than an hour, with her constant encouragement, he’d felt a certain right to ask. It was a right he didn’t have. Savannah owed him nothing. Nothing. He was the one in her debt.

  “Savannah, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He raised his hands to touch her and dropped them just as quickly.

  She was still turned away from him, her head still lowered. “Did you know I have two brothers? Grady and Richard.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Richard’s younger than me. He’s twenty-nine.” She turned then, to face him.

  “Does he live close by?” he asked gently.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know where he is. Neither Grady nor I have seen Richard in six years—since the day we buried Mom and Dad.”

  Laredo didn’t know how to respond. He continued to fight the urge to put his arms around her and found it more and more difficult to resist. Speaking of her younger brother clearly upset her.

  “He…disappeared.” Her voice was shaking with emotion.

  “Savannah, listen, you don’t need to say any more. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her pain was right there, and so real it was agony to see. He felt helpless, unable to console her.

  “No…please, I want to tell you.”

  He nodded.

  She took a moment to compose herself. “Apparently Dad told Grady that if anything were ever to happen to him, Grady should go to the safe-deposit box at the bank in Brewster.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “The day before the funeral Grady and Richard visited the bank together. You can imagine how shocked they were to discover that the safe-deposit box was full of cash. Grady estimated there must have been close to forty thousand dollars there, along with a letter.

  “Dad wrote that he’d seen what had happened to people who put their faith in life-insurance companies and after the savings-and-loan fiasco, he didn’t trust banks much, either. He didn’t want Mom and us three kids to worry about finances, so he’d been putting the money aside little by little for years. His plan was that there’d be enough money to pay the inheritance taxes on the ranch, plus keep the place going. I don’t even think my mother knew.

  “The next day we buried my parents,” Savannah whispered, and her voice quavered with remembered pain. “I recall almost nothing about that day. Again and again I’ve gone over the details in my mind and it’s all a blank. I remember the people— so many friends and family came. I remember how kind and generous everyone was. That part I have no problem with. What I can’t recall is the last time I saw Richard. He vanished without a word to anyone. At…at first we assumed that something terrible had happened to him. That in his pain and grief he’d done something crazy. I was worried sick. Grady, too.”

  Slowly Savannah raised her eyes and Laredo could see that they’d filled with tears. When she spoke again, her voice was small and weak. “He took the money—every dime. As best as we can figure, he left the funeral and went straight to the bank, forged Grady’s signature and cleaned out the safe-deposit box. He took what belonged to all three of us. He left us with nothing. We’d just lost Mom and Dad. Our grief was unbearable, and he made it worse with his betrayal. Neither Grady nor I have heard from him since.” Some of her tears spilled over. “Grady’s never been the same. He’s practically killed himself trying to hold on to the ranch, and I think he hates Richard.

  “I can’t hate him—he’s my brother. You see, Laredo, in one day I lost my parents, and I lost both my brothers, too.”

  Nothing could have kept Laredo from reaching for her then. When he did, she came to him as though he’d held her a thousand times. It felt so…right to press her against his heart. Her body was warm and pliant, molding to his as naturally as if they’d been designed for each other.

  Laredo had no idea how long they stood there. Not nearly long enough, of that he was sure. Savannah’s arms were around his middle, her face buried in his chest. His hands were in her hair, his eyes closed, savoring the wonder of being close to someone this beautiful and this good.

  He didn’t hear the door open, but he should have realized it was bound to happen.

  The screen door slammed and Laredo’s eyes shot open. Instinctively his arms tightened around Savannah before he reluctantly released her and faced her brother. Eye to eye. Man to man.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing
with my sister?” Grady Weston shouted.

  GRADY MULLED OVER WHAT HE had to say before he confronted Savannah. Pacing the living-room floor, he carefully weighed each word.

  Okay, so maybe he’d been out of line earlier when he found her and Smith clinging to each other like lovers. The sight had distressed him and before he could stop himself he’d exploded.

  He didn’t want to fight with Savannah. She was his sister, but damn it all! Her infatuation with Laredo Smith—or whatever his name might be—had deprived her of all reason. It was more than he could bear, watching her make a fool of herself over this useless drifter.

  Unfortunately his methods of convincing her hadn’t worked so far, and Grady realized he needed to change his tactics. To this point, all that his anger and frustration had netted him was the silent treatment. He’d never known a woman who could say more without uttering a word.

  Okay, okay, he was willing to admit he’d made mistakes, too. Earlier in the week Savannah had cooked him his favorite dinner as a peace offering, but he’d been so angry he’d chosen to overlook the gesture. He’d been wrong to ignore her outstretched hand, but he was man enough to admit it. He hoped to make peace with her now—hoped he could persuade her to see reason.

  Savannah had given him the cold shoulder since he’d walked in on her and Smith in the kitchen. For the rest of the day she’d conveniently disappeared and had retired to her room as soon as it was dark. She wasn’t asleep; he could hear her moving about upstairs, as restless as he was here below.

  He continued pacing, then decided to talk to her now, before the opportunity was lost. Before he changed his mind. He headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, paused outside her bedroom, inhaled deeply and knocked. Loudly.

  “Yes?” his sister said through the door. Her voice was anything but warm, and the door stayed closed.

  “Savannah, I’d appreciate the opportunity to discuss the matter of Laredo Smith with you,” he said. It’d taken him ten minutes to come up with those words, to strike the proper tone. He thought he sounded formal, calm, even lawyerly.