Among the Fair Magnolias

by Tamera Alexander

  Aunt Jolene, however, was far more circumspect. “Nora dear, you always made it sound like he hadn’t been happy here. Why did he come back?”

  “I think he wanted to see his mother one last time.”

  Aunt Jolene stirred her cook pot a moment. “That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” Though she and her parents hadn’t had the easiest relationship after Russell left, Nora would have given every bit of the money they’d left her in order to spend just one more hour with them.

  “Did you speak to him much?”

  “Not much.” Only enough to notice that he was still handsome. And to realize that they both had strong regrets about that afternoon in July.

  “People say he’s an outlaw. You’d best be careful around him,” she warned. “He could be dangerous.”

  As she took in her aunt’s worried expression, Nora realized that Russell’s appearance was going to disrupt a lot of things in her life besides her breathing and heartbeat.

  Her parents had always mistrusted him. While she and Russell had been dating, they’d never actually come out and said why. It was only after he’d killed his stepfather that her mother and father had admitted their real opinions of Russell Champion.

  As for herself, Nora couldn’t begin to guess how many times she’d relived that awful afternoon in July.

  She’d been so shocked by Emmitt Johnson’s pawing her, Russell’s explosive temper, and the flash of his hunting knife, that she’d hardly been able to stay on her feet.

  Even now, Nora could barely stand the sight of blood. That was what had stuck in her head after Russell had saved her. Emmitt Johnson’s knife wound. His blood dripping on the floor. The way it had stained Russell’s clothes and his hands. The way it had turned dark and permeated the air with a terrible metallic scent.

  That scent had clung to her skin and pores. No matter how many times she’d washed, she’d been certain she would never be free of it.

  It was only months later that she’d started doubting her memory and her parents’ self-righteous conclusions. She remembered the bruises that had constantly been on Russell and his mother. She recalled how he’d hated to go home and the way he’d been so torn, wanting to get far away from the Iron Rail Ranch but feeling obligated to stay as close to his mother as possible.

  She’d begun to realize that Russell had been a product of a violent and broken home. She would also remember how pretty much everyone in town had known about it, but no one had wanted to get involved.

  No, Russell Andrew Champion hadn’t been a violent man, just a very hurt and injured one.

  He’d also loved her.

  He’d treated her with such tender care that she’d often teased him that she wasn’t fragile. But no matter her protests, he’d simply gaze at her in that patient way he had and say that she was precious. And that he would do anything and everything in order to protect her.

  Which, she’d realized when her mind had cleared, he had done. He had done the only thing he could to be certain that his pain would never be hers.

  And she’d sent him away for it.

  Aunt Jolene dipped a spoon in her pot, tasted the soup, and added a bit more salt. “I certainly hope he goes on his way soon. Do you think he will?”

  “I don’t know. He said he might stay awhile.”

  “Hmm. He sounds like a man on a mission. I guess time will tell what he really wants.” She glanced Nora’s way. “Did you tell him that you are seeing Braedon Hardy?”

  Nora couldn’t help but notice her aunt’s voice sounded as careful as it always did whenever she mentioned Braedon. “I did.”

  “What did he say about that?”

  “Nothing.”

  She stirred the soup again. “You know, I’ve always been grateful to have a home here with you. I don’t know what I would have done back in Fort Worth if you hadn’t asked me to move in after your parents died.”

  “I’ve been glad for your company. You’ve helped me so much. This old house would be lonely without you in it.”

  “If you’d like me to leave after you and Braedon marry, I will.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you’ll stay. And we’re not engaged, Aunt Jo.”

  “Sure seems like he’s going to ask any moment. You’ll have to do what your husband wants, Nora. And I’ve gotten the feeling a time or two that Mr. Hardy isn’t going to be content living in an old house in the middle of a broken-down town.”

  This was news to her. “What else would we do?”

  “Perhaps he would like you to sell your house.” Aunt Jolene looked like she was tempted to add more but she pursed her lips.

  “Braedon is a good man. A godly man.”

  “I know that, dear. Forget I said anything.” Finally setting down her spoon, she propped her hands on her hips. “Well, you’d best get ready. He’ll be here before long.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Turning from the kitchen, she walked down the hallway to the second door on the left. When she entered her room, its bed still covered in a childish quilt, Nora closed the door behind her and looked in the mirror.

  She’d tied her long blond hair back in a simple way before going to Corinne’s home. She had forgotten about what it must look like. Russell had only looked at her with admiration.

  Now, as she examined her curls, she sighed. Her aunt was right; she was going to need to spend some time cleaning up and attempting to tame her wild curls.

  Ruthlessly, Nora brushed her hair and then tightly braided it into two neat rows. Then she pinned it back, doing everything she could to transform herself into a lady fit to be a minister’s wife.

  A lady so very different from the girl she used to be.

  Next, she opened her wardrobe. She had three dresses that were appropriate for an early-evening caller. None were as comfortable as the faded gold calico she was currently wearing. They were wool and composed of flounces and tucks. In sedate eggplant, navy, and dark gray.

  All were flattering and yet modestly cut. Braedon had seen two of the three.

  Which left, of course, her navy dress.

  After she pulled off her calico, she quickly ran a damp cloth over her skin, then began the laborious chore of fastening the gown at her back.

  As she did so, twisting and turning in her efforts, she did her best to concentrate on the gentleman who was so very appropriate for her. Braedon was a gentle soul. He always looked his best and appreciated how she always looked her best too. In some of Nora’s worst moments, she reflected on how he seemed to view her as nothing more than a paper doll. A well-dressed, well-mannered woman with little inside.

  But that had been part of his appeal to her, she knew. Braedon was always smiling and didn’t expect much from her. Didn’t actually expect much from himself.

  Instead, he seemed perfectly happy to spend his family’s money. At least, that’s what he said. Nora had never actually met his family.

  Last year, when he’d suddenly appeared in Broken Arrow, his tales of being a well-to-do preacher in need of a wife and a home had created quite a stir in their dusty town. When he’d set his sights almost immediately on her, she’d been flattered.

  It had felt as if she’d at last moved beyond the shame and heartache that loving Russell had thrust on her.

  But now that she’d seen Russell in person, she wondered if she was making a mistake. Braedon Hardy paled in comparison. He seemed false while Russell was everything real. Slippery while Russell was honest.

  She looked in the mirror and saw the woman staring back. Her hair tightly braided and pinned into a simple chignon. Her navy dress, with its fine lines and attractive bustle, modestly covered her . . . yet somehow highlighted her pale neck and chest. Nora hardly recognized herself.

  This woman looked confident and content. As if she’d never had a moment’s worry.

  Or a second’s regret.

  It seemed Braedon wasn’t the only person in Broken Arrow who was intent on covering up his true self.
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  CHAPTER FIVE

  RUSSELL SPENT A GOOD TWO HOURS RIDING THROUGH TOWN and exploring all the changes that had taken place in the last seven years.

  Much was different, as it should be. The war and the subsequent reconstruction changed everything. While he’d been living on the fringes of society, the town of Broken Arrow slowly rose again. The pair of buildings the Yankees had utilized as their temporary headquarters had been torn down, as had the old house the women had used as a hospital during the war.

  In their place, a hotel, a schoolhouse, and a church had been added. And the new mercantile and the blacksmith and assorted saloons.

  But the aura of desolation, mixed in with red dirt and mesquite trees, was still alive and well. He recognized it. Felt it like a second skin. He’d grown up feeling it too. For a time, he assumed that was how all people felt.

  It had been a revelation to meet the men in the Walton Gang who were buoyed by feelings of self-worth. Though, of course, many of those feelings were misplaced and misguided, given that half the men in the outfit were known thieves, train robbers, and hired killers. However, the novel idea that it was possible to feel good about oneself had stuck with him.

  From that ragtag band of men, he’d learned that a man didn’t have to resolve to be judged by his past. Or even by the company he kept. He’d learned that no one was all good or all bad. Instead, they existed in that broad spectrum of hazy gray.

  In fact, the man Russell had admired the most had been working undercover in the gang. And the man he’d feared the most, Scout Proffitt, had later acted so unselfishly that the lines between his reputation and honor had become blurred.

  Now, as he rode Candy through the streets of the town he’d once known, old insecurities washed over him all over again. Their return was as unwelcome as they were unsurprising and served to remind him that he was only steps away from going back to that dark place he’d vowed not to ever even think about.

  Because, he suddenly realized, he was once again willing to defy all things holy and right in order to protect the honor of the one woman he’d always loved. Even if it seemed she would never hold him in such high regard.

  Yes, it was obvious now that he was in a more precarious situation than he’d understood at first.

  He entered the mercantile and purchased a few provisions for his mother. He also made arrangements for oats and hay to be delivered the next morning for Candy. Then, still feeling a bit out of sorts, like he was missing something he’d never known he’d had, Russell started toward home.

  However, when he passed a rundown building advertising home-cooked fare, he decided to take a break. His mother didn’t eat much, and what little she did eat Nora had prepared in such a way as to be gentle on her ailing body.

  It was no match for a man like him.

  After pulling off his saddlebags, he tethered Candy, then entered the establishment. As the faint aroma of baked chicken and vibrant seasonings filled the air, his stomach growled in appreciation.

  “Just you?” a woman perhaps ten years older than he was asked when he set his saddlebags just inside the door.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Table or counter?” She gestured to a trio of mismatched, rickety chairs and tables and a set of six bar stools near the kitchen.

  “Counter.” Usually, he would have preferred the solitude that a table provided but he was too plagued by old fears and memories to take solace in only his company.

  “Pick one of the empty spots, and I’ll fetch you something to drink. What’ll you have? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea. Cold, if you have it.”

  She looked amused. “I’ve got it. It’s too hot to sip near anything else.”

  Of the six stools, two were occupied by men, one separating them. Russell elected to take the one at the far end. He might need a little company surrounding him, but that didn’t mean he was looking for conversation.

  The woman came back, a tall glass of tea in her hand, keeping company with a lopsided ice chip still decorated with sawdust. When she saw his gaze flicker to it, she laughed. “Ice wagon’s comin’ tomorrow. We got sawdust ice or nothing.”

  He smiled. “Sawdust ice will do. Obliged.”

  “We keep hoping for a break in the heat, but the Lord hasn’t seen fit to answer that prayer yet.”

  He shrugged. “I’m used to it.” There were far worse things than being hot, after all.

  After the woman told him about the evening’s offerings, he asked for the chicken with potatoes and vegetables, along with a couple of fresh rolls.

  “You from these parts, sir?” the waitress asked before giving his order to the cook.

  He was tempted to lie, but he figured his presence was going to be known before too long. “At one time I was. I grew up here, then left for a spell. Seven years,” Russell added when he saw the waitress was mentally attempting to place him.

  “Seven years?” Her expression cleared. “That explains why I don’t recognize you. I only got here six years ago.”

  She left then, and he was glad. It was obvious she was a gifted waitress. She knew how to make a man feel less alone while not pushing into his business. But he had no desire to make friends. He was leaving soon.

  After taking a fortifying sip of his tea, he looked to his right. If there was one thing being in the gang had taught him, it was that it was always best to look a stranger in the eye.

  Both men were gazing his way. The older of the two nodded. “Heard you tell Trish that you’re originally from these parts?”

  “Yessir. Name is Russell Champion.”

  The older man raised a brow. “You’re Corrine’s boy?”

  He nodded. “Not much of a boy any longer,” he said by way of warning.

  The man lifted a hand. “Don’t get on your high horse, now. I didn’t mean disrespect.”

  “None taken,” he said just as quickly. He had no desire to pick a fight with a pair of strangers. “Beg pardon. It seems I’ve gotten a little too used to looking out for myself.”

  “Makes sense. You look like you’ve done real well for yourself. I’m guessing you made yourself into the man Emmitt Johnson never wanted you to be.”

  Russell had never believed he’d be referred to as someone better than expected, especially in relation to his family. But he couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of it. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “Jim Bennett. I’ve got a spread just south of here.”

  “Ah,” Russell said as his pulse started to race. The Bennett Ranch was well known and well respected throughout most of the state. He felt insignificant in comparison. Russell had to remind himself that he’d done nothing to be ashamed about in years.

  “This here is Robert Carlisle. He’s got an outfit on the edge of Broken Arrow. He’s a Yankee; he hails from Ohio. But we try not to give him too much grief about that. War’s over, you know.”

  Russell nodded his greeting. “Sir.”

  “You planning to stay here long?”

  “No. Only a day or two.” Long enough for him to get his fill of memories.

  “’Spect Corrine is real happy you’ve returned.”

  “I don’t know if she’s real happy or not.” His food came then, and he was glad for a reason to end the conversation. Picking up his fork and knife, he dug in.

  “You know, I never cottoned to getting into another man’s business,” Jim said. “But I want you to know that I didn’t blame you for what you did. I don’t think any man really did.”

  “The man beat me and my mother for years. He left her with a permanent limp. There’s no telling who else he damaged with his fists that I never knew about. No one in Broken Arrow ever stepped in. Therefore I reckon you’ll understand when I say that I don’t really care if you understand my actions, respect me, or forgive me.”

  “I don’t expect you do.”

  Ironically, Russell appreciated Bennett’s lack of excuses. Little by little the tension along his spine eased. “Emmitt’
s behavior forced me to do something I shouldn’t have had to do. And because of that, I lost everything.”

  “He had to leave Broken Arrow,” Bennett supplied to Carlisle. “’Course, what happened was a long time ago. No reason to revisit it all again.”

  “I didn’t bring it up,” Russell retorted. “Like I said, I’m only here for a spell. Then I doubt I’ll ever return.”

  The men left soon. After a mostly silent meal with only Trish asking every now and then if he needed anything else, Russell retrieved his saddlebags, watered Candy, then headed back to his mother’s home.

  But he was unable to stop himself from riding by Nora’s home. Just as he was passing her house, he saw a man about his age alight from a shiny black buggy and stride up her front steps. He knew right then and there that was Nora’s caller, the estimable Braedon Hardy.

  Abruptly, he pulled on Candy’s reins and directed her to Nora’s family’s drive. Candy whinnied, letting him know she was upset about his rough treatment.

  “Sorry, girl. But there’s something that needs to be done, the sooner the better.”

  Candy blew out a burst of annoyance as she clip-clopped up Nora’s drive, illustrating yet again that she had more gumption than most of the men he’d ever known.

  Whimsically, he wished that he had just a portion of the honor his horse possessed. Because he wasn’t going to be able to stay away from Nora, no matter how hard he tried.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BRAEDON HARDY PERCHED PRECARIOUSLY ON THE EDGE OF Nora’s settee, almost as if he feared the worn fabric would soil his clothes.

  As Nora sat on her chair directly across from him, she found herself wondering for the first time why he always sat that way. Was he really so persnickety in everything he did? Or was it a reaction to her home? She’d always been proud of their three-bedroom house. Each piece of furniture and mark on the walls reminded her of happier times. When she’d spent countless cozy afternoons perched on the same settee, looking out the window for Russell to come calling.

  Back before her parents had succumbed to scarlet fever. Back when the rooms had been filled with her father’s deep baritone and her mother’s careful attention to details.