Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  “It gets easier once they can talk. Then they tell you what they need.”

  Thank you, Gunther. He’d provided the opening Zach sought. “I suppose that does make it easier, and the school helps, but don’t you still worry about whether they’re learning everything they should? Last night at supper Priscilla was talking about the school she attended. They learned to do needlework, play the pianoforte, and speak both German and French.”

  Gunther frowned. “Why do young’uns need all that?”

  Zach had asked the same question, pointing out that life in Texas was different from Boston and Philadelphia. His wife’s answer had prepared him. “According to Priscilla, that’s what’s expected of ladies in America.”

  The miller’s frown deepened. “I didn’t know that. Looks like I need to talk to the mayor. When he hires the next schoolmarm, he’d better make sure she can teach the piano and stitching.”

  “Don’t forget French and German.”

  Though he was normally affable, it was clear Gunther did not like the idea. His frown became a full-fledged scowl. “Eva already speaks German.” It was a measure of Gunther’s anger that his normally light accent grew more pronounced. “There’s no need for her to learn French. We’re Americans now.”

  “True.” Zach had expected this argument. He had made it himself. “If Eva never leaves Ladreville, she’ll be fine, but what if she wanted to visit a big city? Priscilla said cultured ladies do that. They go to museums and opera houses and eat in fancy restaurants.” When Priscilla had ventured the explanation, Zach had cringed. Cities and crowds held no attraction for him. “I heard fancy restaurants serve French dishes. You wouldn’t want your daughter to seem ignorant in front of some waiter, would you?”

  Gunther clenched his fists, clearly appalled at the thought that Eva might not be prepared for every social eventuality. “Of course not! Maybe Sarah can start those lessons right away. She speaks French.”

  Zach repressed a smile. The morning was going better than he’d expected. Gunther had taken the bait. All he had to do was reel him in. “True, but she’s mighty busy, what with being a bride and caring for her sister. I reckon it would be a real imposition. Still, you’re right. The sooner Eva starts learning, the better.” Zach paused, as if searching for an alternative. A few seconds later, he clicked his fingers. “There might be a way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The fish was in the air, headed for the creel. Zach kept his voice even, though inwardly he was chuckling. “I heard Miss Rousseau is good at fancy stitching, and she speaks French. I wonder if she might agree to tutor Eva. That would give your daughter a leg up when classes do begin.”

  “Sehr gut. It’s a good idea,” Gunther said with a grin. As he handed Zach the sack of freshly ground corn, he narrowed his eyes. “If you want my advice, Zach, you and Priscilla shouldn’t wait too long before you start your family. Children are God’s greatest blessing.”

  The pleasure Zach had felt in accomplishing his mission for Priscilla evaporated. Though he nodded in apparent agreement with Gunther’s statement, he doubted either Priscilla or Margaret considered their children blessings.

  Married! She was married! Lawrence Wood schooled his face to reveal nothing, even though he felt as if someone had rammed a rifle butt into his stomach. He’d been whistling with anticipation when he’d ridden onto the Bar C. He wasn’t whistling now that the Canfields’ housekeeper had delivered unwelcome news. Though he hadn’t been sure what to expect and had even considered the possibility that she might have gone back East, one thing was certain: he hadn’t expected Priscilla to be married.

  Why not, Lawrence? he asked himself as he strode away from the ranch house. She’s a beautiful woman. If you can’t stop thinking of her—and admit it, man, you can’t—what makes you think another man wouldn’t react the same way? Women were scarce out here. As for beautiful, courageous women like Priscilla Morton—well, they were one in a million. It was no wonder Zach Webster had seized the opportunity. Chances like that didn’t come more than once in a lifetime.

  Lawrence kicked a rock, deriving scant satisfaction when it skittered away. He’d been a fool. An utter fool. Only a fool acted like a schoolboy, dreaming dreams that would never come true. Only a fool took on a new assignment when the first one wasn’t finished, simply because it would bring him close to her. And, worst of all, only a fool believed a woman like Priscilla would care about him.

  His heart heavy with the weight of shattered dreams, Lawrence mounted his horse. He ought to leave right now. He knew that, just as he knew he wouldn’t. It might be foolish, but he had to see her one last time.

  Jean-Michel pulled the six-shooter from its holster and aimed it. Bull’s-eye! The prickly pear pad had a hole precisely in its center. He laughed out loud, pleased by this latest proof of his prowess. He had always known he was smarter than ordinary men, but until recently he hadn’t realized he was so much more powerful. That had changed the night he’d killed the peddler.

  Why hadn’t anyone told him how wonderful it felt, knowing you had the power of life and death? And wielding that power—was there anything so magnificent? He’d felt a rush of pleasure greater than anything he’d ever experienced when he saw the peddler lying there, his eyes open and sightless. That was what being a man felt like.

  He, Jean-Michel Ladre, knew what it was to be a man. The others were too stupid to recognize how much power they held in their hands. They never dared to kill. Then there was Zach Webster. Everyone in Ladreville knew he’d vowed never to kill again. How could he give up such pleasure? The man was weak; he was stupid; he was a fool. Soon he’d be a dead fool.

  It was early afternoon when Priscilla heard the sound of hoofbeats. Setting aside the embroidery that had failed to hold her interest, she hurried to the window, her heart beating faster at the thought that Zach might have come home early. Anticipation turned to fear when she saw that the horse was a palomino, not Zach’s charcoal black stallion, and the rider a stranger. A strange man. Her heart thudding with dread, Priscilla looked around, searching for something to use as a weapon. She couldn’t let the man come near. She couldn’t let him hurt her. No matter what she had to do, no man would ever again touch her.

  He was closer now. Priscilla shuddered. Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened when Zach had told her she needed to learn to fire a shotgun? It was too late now. All she could do was try to defend herself. Quickly she latched the front door. She would barricade herself in her room and hope that one of the ranch hands was close enough to hear her scream.

  As she hurried toward her room, she glanced out the window at the rider who was now dismounting. Silly Priscilla. There’s no cause for alarm. This was not a stranger. It was the Ranger, Lawrence Wood. Mentally castigating herself, Priscilla realized she should have recognized him or at least the palomino she’d ridden for two days. Instead, fear had blinded her, causing her heart to beat faster than a runaway horse’s hooves. Would it always be this way? Would nothing more than the sight of a man cause her to panic? Though she hoped not, Clay had not been able to answer the question, and Papa’s medical books had not discussed the aftermath of a bandit attack.

  Taking a deep breath and willing her heart to return to normal, Priscilla opened the door and walked onto the porch to greet the Ranger. He’d promised he would tell her when he’d caught the bandits. That must be why he was here.

  “Good afternoon, Ranger Wood.” She beckoned him onto the porch. Thank goodness her voice no longer betrayed her fear.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Morton. The folks at the Bar C told me I could find you here.” The Ranger doffed his hat as he climbed the steps, then corrected himself. “Sorry. I heard you’re Mrs. Webster now. May I offer my best wishes?”

  Though the Ranger looked the way she remembered—tall, blond, big, with eyes almost as deep a blue as Clay’s—something was different. Priscilla didn’t recall any signs of discomfort when they’d traveled together, but today he seemed unwillin
g to meet her gaze. Surely it was her imagination that his voice sounded strained. It must be her imagination, for the words were ordinary, and there was no reason to think he was somehow distressed by her marriage.

  Recalling her mother’s lessons in deportment, Priscilla gave her visitor a warm smile. “You look as if you’ve traveled quite a distance. May I offer you some refreshment? It won’t take long to make a pot of coffee.” Fortunately, the day was warm enough that she could serve it on the porch. Though she knew there was no cause for fear, for this was the man who’d rescued her, Priscilla did not want a man—any man other than Zach, that is—inside the house.

  The Ranger appeared to hesitate. “I can’t stay long, but I wanted to see you. That is, I wanted to see how you were faring.” This time there was no doubt about it. Priscilla heard discomfort in his voice.

  “At least sit down.” She gestured toward the swing as she settled herself in one of the chairs. When she’d rearranged the furniture, she had placed a small table between the two chairs, ensuring that if Zach sat in the other one rather than taking a seat on the swing, he would be far enough away that their arms would not inadvertently touch.

  The swing creaked under the Ranger’s weight. “I’m mighty glad to see you looking so well.”

  Though he seemed reluctant to meet her gaze, he had obviously glanced at her. Priscilla was thankful he hadn’t come in the early morning, for she hadn’t looked well then. “I feel much better than the last time you saw me.” She had been battered and bruised then, and the intense fear that had shocked her by its reappearance today had been her constant companion on the trip to the Bar C.

  A flush stained the Ranger’s face. “Well . . . um . . . about that . . .” He rolled his hat brim as he spoke. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t caught Jake and Chet yet.”

  He hadn’t? Then why was he here? As an involuntary gasp escaped her lips, the Ranger’s flush deepened. “I assure you I will catch them. Those two will pay for their crimes.” Fear snaked up Priscilla’s spine. Though she knew she wasn’t meant to overhear it, she’d heard Zach and Clay discussing the Ranger’s worry that the Dunkler brothers might seek to avenge Zeke’s death by killing her. “Do you think they’ve come this way?” That must be why the Ranger was in Ladreville.

  He shook his head. “No. All indications are they holed up for a few days, then headed north.”

  “But Ladreville isn’t north.”

  “And you’re wondering why I’m here.” He stopped fussing with his hat and looked directly at her, his expression solemn. “It’s true I wanted to assure myself you were all right, but I have another reason. It appears a young man named Jean-Michel Ladre stole a good sum of money from the empresario he was working for and ran away. Since he used to live in Ladreville, I thought he might have headed back here.”

  Though Priscilla had been told the story of Jean-Michel’s earlier misdeeds and his banishment, she thought he was still in Houston. “I don’t go into town very often, so I can’t say whether he’s returned. You’ll have to ask Zach. My husband.” Priscilla added the explanation.

  The Ranger stared into the distance, as if he were once again unwilling to meet her gaze. Perhaps it had not been her imagination that something about her marriage had disturbed him. “If you don’t mind my saying, ma’am, I was surprised to hear you married so quickly.”

  Priscilla bit her lip, debating what to tell him. Though certain things were not mentioned in polite company, the Ranger knew what had happened to her. Why not admit the truth? “It was because of the baby.”

  The flush which had faded returned to his face. “Oh.”

  “I heard you had a visitor today.” To Zach’s relief, his voice did not reflect the jolt of something—surely it could not be jealousy—he’d felt when Miguel had told him Lawrence Wood had returned to Ladreville.

  “The Ranger came.” Though he watched carefully, Zach saw no sign of discomfort on his wife’s face. Priscilla pulled the pan of biscuits out of the oven, carefully placing them on a plate. Only when she’d covered the plate with a towel did she add, “He wanted to tell me he still hasn’t caught the bandits.” She might have been discussing the weather for all the emotion she displayed. Evidently Lawrence Wood’s visit had not been an important part of her day. That was good news.

  “I see.” A progress report. That was the first time Zach had heard of a Ranger reporting to anyone other than his captain. Normally, folks simply assumed the lawmen would do their job, and eventually the stories of how justice was meted out filtered back to them. Lawrence Wood, it appeared, had a different approach. A more personal approach. It certainly wasn’t jealousy, but Zach couldn’t say that he approved, particularly since coming here took time away from what the Ranger was supposed to be doing: hunting the Dunkler brothers.

  As Priscilla placed the last bowl on the table, Zach pulled out her chair, taking care not to touch her. Someday, he hoped, she would not shy from a casual touch, but that day had not arrived.

  When they’d given thanks for their food and started to eat, Priscilla looked up, a question in her eyes. “Did you know that Jean-Michel Ladre has run away from Houston or Galveston or wherever it is he’s supposed to be?”

  The question took him aback, for Zach couldn’t imagine why she was asking about a man she’d never met. Before he could say anything, she continued, “That’s why the Ranger was in Ladreville. He said Jean-Michel had stolen some money and ran away. He thought he might have come here.”

  Relief washed over Zach. He’d been mistaken, thinking Lawrence Wood had come to Ladreville specifically to see Priscilla. Apparently she was nothing more than an afterthought. Good. Excellent. As he looked at Priscilla, admiring the way her hair seemed to bring light to the whole room, Zach said, “I hadn’t heard of Jean-Michel’s escape, but I wondered why I hadn’t seen Michel around town recently.” At the time, Zach had thought the mayor was spending more time with his wife in an attempt to prove that she was as important to him as the town. It appeared that Zach was wrong. “If he got word of his son’s latest crimes, Michel is probably ashamed to be seen in public.”

  Priscilla took a biscuit, then passed the plate to Zach. Tonight’s supper was some kind of thick soup—barley, he guessed—with biscuits. Other than the one time when they’d been almost as black as his horse, her biscuits had been delicious, proving what Zach had suspected: his wife learned very quickly.

  Right now that wife was frowning. “But the Ladres didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Zach buttered another biscuit as he searched for the right words. If only he hadn’t opened the Pandora’s Box of rumors and condemnation, but he had. “Folks might claim they didn’t raise Jean-Michel properly. My ma used to tell me that the reason I had to behave was so the neighbors wouldn’t think she was a poor mother.” Though Zach tried to make light of it, he could see that Priscilla was concerned.

  “That might be true of small children, but once a person’s an adult, he’s responsible for his own behavior.” The way Priscilla toyed with her spoon told Zach she was more concerned with the townspeople’s possible shunning of the mayor than with eating. Did she fear that she would be subjected to the same shunning when her baby was born less than nine months after their wedding?

  Priscilla took a sip of coffee, then looked directly at Zach, her green eyes filled with pain. When she spoke, her words surprised him. “Do you suppose some people are born evil?”

  She wasn’t speaking of Jean-Michel. Zach was certain of that, for when she’d asked the question, Priscilla had placed her hand on her abdomen. Her worry was for her unborn child. This was, Zach guessed, a new fear and, in all likelihood, one that troubled her far more than the prospect of being shunned. “No, I don’t.” Zach spoke forcefully, willing her to believe him. “I believe everyone has the potential to be either good or evil. We all make choices, and some of us make the wrong ones.”

  “Like the bandits.”

  “And Jean-Michel.”

  To
Zach’s surprise, his words appeared to have restored Priscilla’s appetite, for she took a spoonful of soup and followed it with a bite of biscuit. When she looked up, some of the pain in her eyes seemed to have receded. “Do you ever wish you’d made different choices?”

  Zach had no intention of admitting how one bad decision had affected his life. Instead he said simply, “Yes.”

  To his relief, Priscilla did not ask him to elaborate. She nodded slowly as she said, “So do I.”

  “What would you change?” Several times she’d mentioned wishing she hadn’t come to Texas, for she believed that if she hadn’t insisted on attending Clay’s wedding, her parents would still be alive and she would not be carrying a bandit’s child.

  A small smile curved the corners of Priscilla’s mouth, as if she knew what Zach expected but had no intention of repeating the same story. He didn’t care what she said. What mattered was that she seemed to have recovered from her earlier distress.

  “I wish I hadn’t listened to my parents.” Zach tried but failed to mask his surprise. Priscilla struck him as a dutiful daughter, and from what she and Clay had said, it was difficult to picture her parents making unreasonable demands. Rather than speak, he raised an eyebrow and waited for her to explain. “I wanted to be a doctor, and they discouraged me.”

  “You wanted to be a doctor?” His voice rose in disbelief. It was the wrong reaction, for Priscilla’s smile disappeared.

  “You sound like my parents—shocked by the very idea. Why can’t a woman be a doctor?”

  Zach could think of a dozen reasons, starting with the fact that patients would not accept a woman in that role any more than they’d accept a woman standing at the pulpit on Sunday morning. But he knew Priscilla didn’t want to hear that, and so he said, “It’s not impossible, but it’s always difficult to be the first to do anything. Trailblazers have a hard time.”