Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  She brushed the flour from her hands and turned to face him. “Do what?”

  “Take me a wife.” He’d been thinking about it ever since last night, and the answer was clear. This was what he was meant to do. “You’ve been saying it was time I married, and you were right. She’s the one for me.”

  A small frown crossed his mother’s face. “Who is this woman?”

  Karl supposed it was only normal that Mutter would be concerned. After all, she would have to share her kitchen with his wife. But when she heard the woman’s name, he knew she would be relieved. “Miss Kirk. Harriet.”

  His mother’s frown did not ease. If anything, it deepened. “But, son, you’ve only just met her. She seems like a fine woman, but . . .”

  “She’ll be perfect. Didn’t you see how she kept those children in line? There’s no nonsense about her. She’ll be a good helpmeet, and those boys can work on the farm. I tell you, Mutter, she’s perfect.”

  His mother folded her hands and was silent for a long moment. This was not what he had expected. He had thought she would be pleased. When she spoke, her voice was solemn. “It is true your father and I would like to see you married. If this were the Old Country, we would already have chosen a bride for you, but it’s not as easy here. We can’t simply go to a woman’s parents and arrange a marriage. Women here expect to be courted.”

  Karl shrugged. Was that all that was bothering Mutter? “So, I’ll court her.” How difficult could it be?

  4

  “We need to catch those rustlers,” Lawrence said as he looked at the western end of the Bar C and Lazy B ranches. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins. This was why he’d come to Ladreville, to uphold the law, not to think about marriage, a gray-eyed schoolmarm, and a child who reminded him of the worst day of his life. “The courts may not believe taking a dozen head of cattle is as serious as stealing one horse, but the way I figure it, stealing is stealing, and it’s wrong.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.” The dark-haired man whose eyes were as blue as the Texas sky tugged on the brim of his hat in a futile attempt to block the sun.

  “Here’s where it happened.” Zach extended his arm to the left.

  Lawrence squinted, then nodded. The rustlers had chosen well. The rolling hills that characterized this part of the state were a bit higher here, and the underbrush showed less evidence of grazing. Combined, the two provided adequate hiding spots for men and horses. The cattle wouldn’t be spooked, and if other humans ventured into the area, the rustlers had cover. Most importantly, two of the hills joined to create a narrow divide, not quite a canyon, but close enough for rustlers’ needs.

  “It makes sense,” Lawrence said. As much as he hated to admire criminals’ brains, he had to admit that these had shown more sense than others he had chased. He gestured toward the divide. “It would be easy to herd the cattle this way, and once they’re in the narrows, there’s no chance to turn around. After that, it’s simple enough to drive them somewhere else and change the brand.” The rustlers had taken advantage of the open grassland on the other side of the defile and had herded the cattle in different directions, making it impossible to track them.

  Lawrence hobbled Snip, then studied the ground. Though the cattle had trampled most of the grass, a few horse prints were visible. “I’d say three men were involved.” He pointed to the different horseshoe patterns.

  Zach scuffed the ground, as if looking for clues. “I thought the rustlers might have been Comanche. I heard they were in the area, but it doesn’t seem likely, since these horses were shod.”

  Lawrence heard the disappointment in Zach’s voice. Better than most, he knew how strong the desire to find wrongdoers could be. That was why he had joined the Rangers, because he’d wanted to see justice done. “The horses might have been stolen. At this point, there’s no way to tell.” Lawrence strode back to Snip and mounted the palomino. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do other than promise to keep an eye out in this direction.” The problem, and he was certain Zach knew it, was that rustlers were wily. There was no telling when—or if—they’d return.

  Zach’s nod said he’d heard Lawrence’s unspoken words. “Thanks. I hope you’ll come back to the Lazy B and have supper with us. The least I can do is offer you a home-cooked meal.”

  “Another time, maybe.”

  “What’s wrong with today?”

  Nothing, other than the fact that it would be downright embarrassing. Sitting next to Priscilla at the Bar C had been bad enough. It would be worse with fewer people around to carry the discussion. As he started to invent an excuse, the image of Harriet’s face broke Lawrence’s concentration. Though he knew she was miles away, in his mind she was glaring at him, those gray eyes fierce behind the spectacles, her lips pursed with disapproval. “Coward,” he could almost hear her say. As much as he wanted to, Lawrence couldn’t deny that his reluctance to have supper with Zach and Priscilla might not be prudence but cowardice.

  “All right,” he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice. “I’ll come.”

  As they rode up the lane toward the Lazy B’s main house, a woman hurried onto the porch. Tall and slender, almost unbelievably beautiful with that sunset-colored hair and those grass-green eyes, she gave her husband a smile so filled with love that it made Lawrence’s stomach do a summersault. So this was what being married was like, coming home to a woman who acted as if the sun rose and set in you. A lump rose to Lawrence’s throat as he wondered whether he’d ever find a woman who looked at him that way.

  Priscilla descended the steps and smiled again when her husband wrapped his arm around her waist. “I see you convinced Lawrence to come.” She wrinkled her nose as she pretended to frown at Lawrence. “Did Zach warn you about my charcoal biscuits?”

  “Now, Priscilla, that was only once.” Zach gave his wife a fond smile as he said, “She’s a good cook.”

  “And he’s a tolerant husband.”

  Lawrence laughed at the couple who were so obviously infatuated with each other. “You two remind me of Sarah and Clay.” Though he had expected that seeing Priscilla again would be embarrassing, it wasn’t. Perhaps he was fully recovered. Lottie had said that would happen, that one day he would regard Priscilla as just a woman, not the one he’d once thought he fancied.

  “That’s what marriage does to you.” Zach opened the door for his wife, then followed her into the house. “You ought to try it.”

  Priscilla turned, her eyes wide with feigned shock. “Zachary Webster, I never thought I’d hear you say that. After all the trouble we had with Isabelle and Gunther, I was sure you’d sworn off matchmaking.”

  “Matchmaking? Who’s matchmaking? All I did was make the observation that marriage is good.”

  “My sister says the same thing,” Lawrence admitted. “I’ll tell you what I told Lottie: all the good women are taken.” He looked around the house that Zach had bought soon after he married Priscilla. Although Lawrence had visited the Lazy B a number of times, this was the first time he’d been inside. To his surprise, as he studied the building, his thoughts were focused not on its owners but on the woman who had stared at a half-stone house with horror. Would Harriet like this one? A formal parlor stood on the right side of the center hall, with the dining room on the left. Stairs led to the second story sleeping quarters, and there appeared to be two more bedrooms at the rear of the first floor. It was a pleasant house, probably large enough for Harriet and her siblings, but it lacked the primary attribute she appeared to seek: a stone exterior.

  “You never know when you’ll meet the right woman.” Zach’s words brought Lawrence back to the present. “Who knows? She may ride into your life when you least expect it. That’s what happened to me.”

  Priscilla nodded toward the door. “If you two wash up, I’ll have supper on the table in five minutes.”

  Lawrence wasn’t certain whether he should be flattered that Priscilla served him in the kitchen. The other
invitations he’d received had included a meal in the dining room using what were obviously his hostess’s best dishes. Priscilla appeared to be treating him like part of the family. Perhaps she realized that his years with the Rangers made him more comfortable with tin plates than fancy china.

  “I’m amazed at all the changes in Ladreville.” Zach buttered a perfectly browned biscuit, holding it up as if toasting his wife. “I’ve been here only a bit more than a year, but it’s starting to seem like a different town.”

  “Do you suppose that’s because there’s no one named Ladre here any longer?” Lawrence had had qualms about taking the position of mayor and sheriff, knowing that he was expected to fill the shoes of the man who’d founded the town and given it his name.

  “That’s part of it.” Zach nodded as he cut a piece of sausage. “Michel Ladre kept a pretty tight rein on folks.”

  “And you don’t think I will?”

  It was Priscilla who answered. “I suspect you’ll be fairer. Even though he claimed not to be biased, it seemed to me that Mayor Ladre sided with the French settlers more often than not.”

  “I haven’t seen much evidence of hostility since I’ve been here.” When he’d first brought Priscilla to Ladreville after the stagecoach she’d been traveling in had been attacked and her parents killed, Lawrence had been aware of the tension between the French and German immigrants. Although they were now Texans and Americans, the centuries of war they’d endured in their native Alsace had led to deep-seated mistrust that occasionally erupted into fights. That had been one of the reasons Clay had insisted the town needed a mayor with experience enforcing the law.

  Priscilla smiled as she refilled Lawrence’s glass. “Isabelle and Gunther’s marriage helped. The townspeople are taking credit for their happiness now, but it wasn’t always that way. We even had talk of tar and feathers.”

  “I’d like to believe their wedding ushered in a new era,” Zach said. “We’ve got a new mayor and a new teacher.”

  “Don’t forget that we’ll soon have a new minister.” When Lawrence raised an eyebrow, Priscilla continued. “Didn’t you hear? Pastor Sempert asked the church headquarters to send a replacement. He claims he’s too old.”

  “He is elderly,” Lawrence agreed. “But too old? I’m not sure about that.” Though Lawrence had met the German church’s pastor and guessed him to be close to seventy, in his experience men of God worked until the day they died. “How do you decide when you’re too old to work?”

  Zach grinned. “For me it’s simple. The day I can’t rope a calf is the day I hang up my spurs.”

  “What about you, Lawrence?” Furrows had formed between Priscilla’s eyes. “You left the Rangers, and I’m certain it wasn’t because you’re too old.”

  Lawrence chewed slowly, buying time as he considered how much of the story to tell them. “I was tired of being a nomad,” he said. That was true and was all that he’d shared with Clay when he’d agreed to come to Ladreville, but Priscilla’s expression led him to continue. “You’re right. It was more than that. I didn’t like some of the things I saw Rangers doing. There were times when they took the law into their own hands.” It was odd. A few months ago, he would have said “we,” but now he thought of his former companions as “they.” “I was part of Callahan’s company. I tell you, there was no reason to sack and burn Piedras Negras. The Mexicans hadn’t done anything wrong.”

  Lawrence frowned as he thought of the group of Rangers who’d headed south, purportedly to recapture Indians, but who had let anger and their hatred of the Mexicans prevail. As a result, a town of innocent people had been destroyed.

  “Wasn’t Callahan mustered out?” Zach asked.

  “Yeah, but I still can’t forget what happened.” Though he hadn’t lit any of the torches, Lawrence hadn’t stopped the rampage, either, and that weighed on his conscience. “I almost left the Rangers then.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “I’m glad you didn’t. Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come by that stagecoach when you did.” Her eyes darkened with remembered pain. “You were my knight in shining armor.”

  Odd. That’s what Lottie had called him. Lawrence stared at the far wall as thoughts raced through his mind. The fact that Priscilla needed him explained his former fascination with her. It made sense that he saw himself as some sort of hero, but that didn’t explain Harriet. She was not a damsel in distress seeking a knight in shining armor. If there was ever a woman who did not need rescuing, it was Harriet Kirk.

  She didn’t need him, and yet still he thought of her. At the most inconvenient times, Lawrence would picture that delicate nose whose tip turned up ever so slightly, giving her an air of impudence, and he would smile. When he looked at the river and saw the sun glinting on its surface, he would remember how her eyes sparkled behind her spectacles, even when she was trying to look serious. And when he heard the soft sound of leaves rustling in the breeze, he’d be reminded of how the asperity in her voice vanished when she spoke to little Mary.

  No matter where he went, no matter what he did, Harriet Kirk was there. It was annoying. It was absurd. It had to stop. Harriet was not a damsel in distress. She was an enigma, and Lawrence did not like enigmas.

  “Time to settle up.” Though the man’s voice was pleasant, Thomas didn’t like the way he looked at him, almost as if he thought that he, Thomas Bruckner, would not be able to pay. Just because he’d had to borrow a bit last week didn’t mean he wasn’t flush today. He was, for he had helped himself to Uncle Abe’s collection box. The sanctimonious old prig called it an offering, but Thomas knew it for what it really was: a tax on the citizens of Fortune and a mighty hefty one too, expecting them to pay a tenth of all they earned for the privilege of hearing Uncle Abe preach.

  Thomas bit back a smile. They might not have known it, but this week Fortune’s churchgoers had staked him in a night of poker. And what a night it had been, all except for the last hour. He’d been on a roll, winning more money than ever. But then the cards had changed, and now this beady-eyed man with the greasy black hair was holding out his hand.

  “Sure thing.” Thomas reached for his moneybag. There’d be enough in there. Of course there would. He counted out the coins, frowning when the bag was empty and the man still held out his hand. “Well, what do you know? I reckon I’m a bit short.” Thomas gave the man his innocent look, the one that made most folks believe his stories of hard luck.

  Beady-eyes appeared unimpressed. “Mr. Allen ain’t gonna be pleased, seein’ as how you owe him close to a hundred dollars.”

  The amount of his debt might have made him choke, but Thomas barely heard it. His brain had stopped, paralyzed by the name Beady-eyes had pronounced. “Mr. Allen? Mr. Herb Allen?” The words came out as little more than a squeak. Everyone in this part of Texas knew better than to mess with Herb Allen. He was as mean as they came, and, if the stories were true, thought nothing of flaying a man alive if he didn’t repay his debts. Thomas blanched at the prospect. How on earth had he wound up in one of Herb Allen’s establishments?

  “I’ll get the money,” he promised.

  Beady-eyes’s laugh sent chills down Thomas’s spine. “You do that, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it fast. Mighty fast.” Beady-eyes pointed at the door. “Now, git out, and don’t you come back till you got Mr. Allen’s money.”

  Though the evening air felt cool compared to the saloon, it did nothing to dry the sweat that poured down Thomas’s face. How had he gotten himself into this predicament? Luck had always been with him, and even when it hadn’t started out that way, he’d managed to turn things around. A smile and some glib words worked magic. When had he lost his touch?

  Thomas frowned as the image of a slip of a gal flitted before him. Harriet. It was her fault. If she’d married him, he wouldn’t be in this pickle. But snooty Miss Harriet Kirk had refused him. Thomas frowned again as he recalled the day she’d announced that she wouldn’t marry him if he were
the last man on Earth, all because he didn’t want to be saddled with her bratty sisters and brothers. Of course, he hadn’t let the town know what she’d said. Instead, he’d told everyone that Harriet wasn’t the woman for him, and they’d believed him. Everyone believed him. Everyone except for Harriet.

  He swung his leg over the saddle and spurred his horse. Harriet might have read more books than anyone in Fortune, but book learning didn’t mean a thing. No, sirree. What mattered were the things you couldn’t learn from a book, like how to sweet-talk folks.

  A smile crossed Thomas’s face. That was the answer. She’d been riled. That’s all that had happened. She didn’t mean it. He’d get her back, and when he did, his problems would be over. All it would take was a bit of sweet-talking, and the richest gal in Fortune’s money would be his.

  “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.” Harriet looked at the brother who was refusing to climb into the wagon. Jake had been sulking for two days. Now sulking had turned into a mutiny. “I thought you liked Frau Friedrich’s cooking.”

  “It’s better than Ruth’s.” Though he muttered the words, he shot a glance at Ruth. Harriet bit back a sigh. Something was definitely wrong if Jake was antagonizing Ruth. Since they’d moved to Ladreville, the two had been allies. Why, then, was Jake goading her?

  “You ungrateful beast!” Ruth reached down from the wagon and thumped Jake’s head. “Just for that, I ought to put ipecacuanha in your milk.”

  Jake’s lips twisted. “Go ahead, sis. Maybe I’d be too sick to work.”

  Harriet had had enough. “Stop squabbling, both of you. Jake, get into this wagon, or you won’t eat anything—not even ipecacuanha—for a week. It was kind of Frau Friedrich to invite us to Sunday dinner, and I expect you to behave.” Though she addressed her last words to all five siblings, she had few worries about Sam, Daniel, and Mary. It was only the older two who had been out of sorts, with Jake surlier than she’d ever seen him and Ruth moping constantly. Whenever she’d asked, they’d both claimed that nothing was wrong. They were lying.