Stuck Together

by Mary Connealy

  Then there was nothing but a gusting wind and the hoot of an owl stirred up by the ruckus.

  Slowly Luke straightened.

  Gun in hand, he listened, let his eyes adjust to moonlight and waited until he was certain whoever had done the shooting had for sure gone.

  “All right, he’s taken off.” Luke made certain his men knew exactly where he was before he came out from cover and strode for those who’d come out of the bunkhouse and took positions with their firearms.

  “Did anyone see him?” Luke took a quick count. Everyone was here. Including Quince Wilcox, the man Ruthy had seen drunk earlier. He looked pretty steady now, though Luke couldn’t tell for sure in the moonlight.

  Luke felt a twist of indecision. He’d intended to fire the man first thing in the morning. He didn’t like a drunkard working for him, and he was sure Ruthy had been upset by the encounter and was making light of it to keep the man from losing his job.

  But now with the shooting, he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t keep a lot of hired men around after the spring roundup, and he was already shorthanded. And it looked like he needed to start posting a stronger night watch.

  “Did anyone see anything? Get a look at who was shooting?”

  “I did, boss,” Wilcox said.

  Luke felt his tension rise. He didn’t like the idea of accepting the word of a man who’d been drinking. It’d been several hours ago, though, assuming the polecat had quit drinking when Ruthy had seen him and hadn’t been pulling a cork the whole night.

  “You got a look at the man who shot at the house?”

  “Yep, one man, alone and on foot, unless he had his horse tied up away from the ranch. I didn’t get a good enough look to pick out the man, but I did see one important detail.”

  “What did you see?”

  Wilcox gave Luke a long look that had a mean edge to it. “You ain’t gonna like it.”

  Luke didn’t respond. Wilcox looked to savor the moment, enjoyed that he was the center of attention. The silence stretched, and Luke fought back the urge to shake the answer out of Wilcox.

  Finally, sounding smug, Wilcox said, “I saw him well enough to know he was an Indian. One of those Kiowa you’re so fond of. Might’ve even been the one you let come around here from time to time, Red Wolf. And the way he was swinging that rifle, then running, unsteady-like, I’d say he was drunk.”

  “You eat now, Vince.” Tina hurried to Mrs. Yates’s bedside. The woman had shifted and moaned. Her eyes flickered open. Blue eyes, but so light blue in this light they were almost gray, nothing like the warm brown of Vince’s.

  The lack of resemblance seemed wrong. Why had Vince and Melissa taken after their father so completely?

  Tina looked nothing like Jonas, her brother. How did God work it all out? How was it arranged who to hand down the hair color and eye color, the height and even the personality traits to?

  Vince ate silently while Tina pondered these things. She kept her gaze fixed on Mrs. Yates to stop herself from looking at Vince.

  Finally he finished his meal and came over to his ma’s bedside across from Tina.

  “That was mighty good, Tina. I appreciate you taking care of us.”

  Tina couldn’t be so rude as to not look at him when he complimented her, so she gave him a quick glance and a smile. “You’re welcome. I was glad to do it.”

  Mrs. Yates’s eyes had closed as Tina watched over her, and she settled into a sound sleep, which was a shame, considering Tina was stuck in here alone with Vince. Mrs. Yates needing attention would be a nice distraction.

  Tina had to come up with a way to spend time with Vince and yet stay far away from him. Then she thought of a few questions she’d been harboring that he wouldn’t want to answer. In fact, they’d annoy him something fierce. All the better to keep him on his side of his mother.

  Besides, she was dying to know what was going on. Watching him closely as he stood staring at his mother’s still form, she said, “I couldn’t figure out why you rode off like that, to New Orleans, over Lana Bullard.”

  Vince’s eyes lifted until they locked on Tina’s. His dark eyes shifted from concern while he’d watched his mother to blazing lightning now. Oh yes, she’d annoyed him, all right. That gave her the courage to go on, despite his forbidding expression.

  “It wasn’t Lana you were worried about, was it? When I asked Dare if there was some kind of treatment for people who are . . . are . . .”

  “Mad?” Vince suggested with sleet in his voice. “Insane? Lunatics?”

  “Impaired,” Tina said. She’d jumped at that word when it came to her. “You thought if there was a treatment for Lana, it might work for your mother.”

  Silence stretched between them. Tina wondered if he’d toss her outside and take over watching his mother himself.

  “What makes you so stubborn about protecting Lana?” Vince’s voice was quiet, smooth, but carried a harsh warning. “I have to wonder if there isn’t someone in your life who reminds you of her.”

  “No, there’s no one like that in my family, but I was taught by my aunt Iphigenia that a woman needs to know how to—”

  “Take care of herself. Yes, I know. You say it about twice a day.”

  “So it seems like there should be a way for a woman to overcome whatever’s wrong with Lana. But you’re changing the subject. You’re looking for a cure for your mother’s . . . confusion, aren’t you? Has she always been like this?”

  “My life before Broken Wheel is none of your concern.” Vince turned from the bed and went to the front door. She half expected him to walk out. Instead he turned, leaned his back against the door, and crossed his arms. Sentry position. Vince did dearly love to stand guard.

  Tina decided she’d ask him about that next. “It’s clear you love your mother, just as it’s clear your father isn’t a kind man. I heard she mistook you for your father at first. That must hurt.”

  “I’ve been around my mother and father enough not to let them get my feelings ruffled.” Vince settled in. His voice smoothed out, and he was fully in control of himself. Which was exactly what Tina didn’t want.

  “Then if it doesn’t hurt your feelings, why not talk about it?” This had started because Tina very deliberately wanted to be a pest. But with her question and his reaction, she realized she really could hurt him. It had been a mistake to bring up his trouble with his parents.

  “Listen, Miss One Woman Picket Line, my mother was confused when I went home to heal up after the war.”

  “Heal up? You mean you were wounded?”

  “I was never wounded. All my troubles were as a result of the terrible conditions at Andersonville. I was half starved. No, truth be told, it was more like three-fourths starved. I was down to skin and bones. I was ailing from every disease in that place except the ones that killed quick. I just plain needed a place to lie down, eat right, get a doctor’s care for a while and regain my strength. I stayed at home as long as I could stand it.”

  “Did your mother mistake you for your father back then?”

  Shaking his head, Vince said, “She thought I was a stranger. She’d get upset every time she saw me in the house. I ended up hiding from her as much as I could because she acted like I was there to harm her. I stayed mostly to my rooms. The servants brought food. The doctor stopped in. I learned Mother’s routine and could avoid her, but every so often she’d run into me and there’d be trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  Tina saw his jaw working as he gritted his teeth and looked into the middle distance, as if he were seeing the past. “As soon as I could get around, I took to leaving the house all day. I should’ve just found someplace else to live, but I needed to rest. I needed steady meals. I needed home.” Vince shook his head. “Those are excuses. I was weak and I let myself depend on my father. He got it in his head I was back to stay, even though I told him I didn’t want any part of the banking business.”

  Tina decided Vince was more comfortable complaining about
his father than talking about his mother. She wasn’t going to let him get away with changing the subject. “So your mother was showing signs of confusion back then? Or has she always been like this?”

  “This was new. She’d always been . . .” Vince’s voice broke. He lapsed into silence and looked at his mother.

  Tina also looked at Virginia Belle, an aging Sleeping Beauty. A lovely, fragile Southern belle who’d probably always given her care over to others. But she’d never needed it as much as now.

  Then Vince gave his head a hard shake and glared at Tina. She could see that he preferred anger to sadness, and all these memories were enough to make a grown man cry. And for all her resolve to stay away from him, Tina found her feet carrying her to stand facing him.

  “It’s not unheard of for an older person to get a bit absent-minded, Vince.”

  “Absent-minded?” A harsh laugh replaced the sadness. “That’s what you call it when you forget your own son?”

  Tina decided anger was better than tears, at least from a man’s point of view. “Call it anything you want, but yes, sometimes older people begin to get a little dotty.”

  “She’s not that old, and . . . and her father was like this, too. Both of them were much too young to be entering their dotage.”

  “And this is why you were so interested in Lana’s troubles?” It made sense now. “You wanted to see if those papers might also help your mother.”

  Vince’s shoulders sagged just a bit, and his eyes lowered to the floor. Tina thought she was wearing him down, but then she noticed the dark circles under his eyes, his dusty clothing. He’d lost weight since he left Broken Wheel. She could smell him: horse and sweat and dirt and fresh air and strength. Those last two weren’t a smell, yet somehow they were part of him. She wasn’t sure how far it was to New Orleans, but she was sure it was a long, hard ride and he’d pushed himself to the limit to get there and back in such short order.

  The man was at the breaking point, and she didn’t want to say the word that would make him snap. She opened her mouth to change the subject. She decided she’d bring up a lengthy discussion about the weather while they waited for someone to come and take over for them. But before she did, she had to tell him one last thing.

  She rested one hand on his shoulder. He’d deny it, of course, but she thought he could use the support. “I see no sign that your mother is dangerous in any way, except maybe to herself. I don’t think your mother’s problems are of a similar nature with Lana’s.”

  At her touch, Vince looked her square in the eye. “Father writes from time to time and I knew she’d gotten worse. His last letter he talked about locking her up if I refused to come home and help with her care. I’m sure Father meant Mother would go to some asylum, though he didn’t say it directly. He looks at sending Mother away as a failure, which is why he’s kept her at home with caretakers. But in his last letter he told me he’d built a new house, a bigger house than the one I grew up in. He said she’s worse since they moved.”

  “A woman who’s a bit confused in familiar surroundings,” Tina said, clenching her hands without really noticing until Vince removed her fingernails out of his shoulder, “is bound to get worse in a place that’s unknown to her.”

  “If you can figure that out here after knowing Mother for less than a day, how come my father couldn’t figure it out? Why didn’t he see that a new home was a bad idea?” Temper simmered in his eyes. Behind the anger, whenever he looked at his mother, was worry mixed with love. “And now they’re here. I didn’t find answers that were a comfort in New Orleans. Mother isn’t going to like wherever he sends her, and how unhappy will she be in a place surrounded by strangers?”

  That worry and love made him so vulnerable. When he was at his usual tormenting best, Tina had no trouble staying firmly at odds with him. But here he stood, worried about his mother, hurt and angered by his father, exhausted because of the long ride he’d taken based on things Tina had said. He’d held on to her hand when he’d tugged her nails out of his hide, and now he raised their hands, his eyes locked on hers, and touched his lips to her fingertips.

  “What am I going to do about you, Tina Cahill?”

  The suggestions that popped into her head were firmly out of the question. Aunt Iphigenia would be scandalized.

  Even knowing that, it was all too easy to rest her other hand on his shoulder, then slide it over to his shirt collar, then his neck. Their entwined hands were between them, but Vince lowered hers from his lips and leaned down—and butted her in the head.

  For a moment Tina thought he’d attacked, and she balled up a fist to hit back. Then Melissa called out, “What’s blocking the door?”

  Tina rushed to Mrs. Yates’s side and stood with her back to the door, rubbing her bruised nose. Vince stepped aside.

  “Be careful.” He glared at his sister.

  Melissa swung the door open. “Why are you standing by the door?”

  Tina knew the answer to that question. Vince had gotten as far away from her as he could. And then she’d gone after him like some kind of hoyden chasing after a man. It’s a wonder she didn’t try and lasso him.

  Why hadn’t she stayed away from him? Why? Why? Why?

  Banging her head on the nearest hard surface was an idea with merit, and only the spectacle she’d make of herself stopped her. That was when she noticed Mrs. Yates staring at her, her eyes wide open and a tiny smile on her lips.

  Had Mrs. Yates seen Tina and Vince almost . . . almost . . . Tina quickly veered her thoughts away from almost.

  “Virginia Belle, you’re awake.” Melissa rounded the bed so she stood straight across from Tina, though she only looked at Mrs. Yates.

  “Missy.” Mrs. Yates smiled as she reached up to take Melissa’s hand.

  “How are you feeling?” Melissa’s voice was so kind, so patient. Mrs. Yates responded well to it. Tina vowed to learn that exact tone. She realized then that she’d never fully relaxed her fist. Wiggling her fingers, she ignored Vince when he came up beside her, closer to Mrs. Yates’s head.

  “Julius, what are you doing home from work?” She’d forgotten her son again, mistaken him for her husband.

  Tina couldn’t stop herself from looking at Vince. Only a glance, but that was long enough to see the hurt in his expression. “I’m glad to see you awake, Moth . . . uh, Virginia Belle.”

  “I thought you were going to rest.” Vince looked across the bed at Melissa, who’d washed up and changed clothes but still had dark circles under her eyes from exhaustion.

  She gave him a helpless shrug. “I was, but . . . well, something’s come up. I need to talk to you.” Melissa’s eyes went to Mrs. Yates, so this was not about witnessing Vince and Tina standing too close.

  “I’ll stay right here.” Tina was glad for anything that got Vince away from her. “You two can have yourselves a talk.”

  “It won’t take long.” Missy headed for the door.

  Tina sat down on the side of the bed. “Tell me about yourself, Mrs. Yates.”

  “Well, bless your sweet heart. I would like nothing better than a chat.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Daddy owned a cotton plantation, and Mama was the finest hostess in the South. When I was a little girl . . .” Mrs. Yates began talking about her childhood.

  Melissa and Vince stepped close to the door. Tina couldn’t hear Melissa’s words, just an urgent murmur.

  “What?” Vince shouted.

  Mrs. Yates frowned and tried to look past Tina, who took her hand. “Go on, you said you were an only child?”

  The furrow eased from Mrs. Yates’s forehead. “I was, and oh, mercy, I was a spoiled little thing. Why, I had a pony with its own tiny carriage by the time I was—”

  “How long ago?” Vince’s voice had fallen, but it was still impossible to miss.

  Melissa responded too quietly for Tina to hear, then Vince stalked out of the house.

  Melissa came up to sit across from Tina.
She had a sheen of tears in her eyes. Tina opened her mouth to ask what had happened.

  Melissa met Tina’s eyes and shook her head to stave off any inquiry. She then took Mrs. Yates’s other hand and without comment listened to Mrs. Yates tell of her early life of privilege and ease in a gracious, gentle world built on the backs of an enslaved people. A world that was gone with the wind.

  Chapter 11

  Vince had never gotten along with his father. The man was a tyrant with never a kind word to say to Vince or his mother. There was no denying Julius Yates had a knack for making money, but he had no knack for inspiring love. Nor did he consider that a failing. There was no failing allowed in Father’s world.

  Which was why Vince had delighted in it. He’d gone to private schools and delighted in getting expelled. Father would rage at Vince, then get him into another exclusive school, and Vince would get himself tossed out of the new one. And so it was that a boy with all the financial advantages in the world grew up with almost no schooling. Later, when his mother’s mother died and left him a fortune all his own that meant Vince never had to work a day in his life, it was even easier to defy Father.

  But even with the antagonism between himself and his father, honestly the whole world and his father, Vince had never imagined this.

  Father was gone.

  He wasn’t just gone from the diner or the boardinghouse. He was gone from Broken Wheel, and all his things had gone with him. The carriage he came in was gone too, along with the driver. He’d come halfway across the country just so he could dump his unwanted problems—namely his mad wife and his illegitimate daughter—on his troublemaker son.

  There was more.

  Asa was moving out of the boardinghouse, and he was the one who gave Vince the news that Father had bought it and paid a ridiculous price for it. Asa showed Vince the bag of gold double eagle coins that made Asa one of the richest men in the territory. Although that wasn’t saying that much, Asa was mighty pleased all the same.