She set about quickly packing the remainder of their possessions—folding their clothes, grabbing what was left in the chests of drawers and collecting their things from the bathroom. Fortunately she’d instructed Erin never to leave her toys outside their own rooms. She began packing Erin’s collection of stuffed animals, which sat on her bed.
Erin came slowly into the room, her eyes moving from Christine, who had paused to wipe perspiration from her brow, to the open suitcase.
“Get your things together, honey. We have to leave.”
“Right now?” Erin whispered.
Christine bent down to take her hand. It was cold. “You knew we weren’t going to stay here forever. I told you it might be a year, maybe less. Now it’s time to go.”
“But I like it here, Mommy.”
“I know. I do, too. But we can’t stay any longer. Ira’s son and daughter have other plans for the house.”
Erin thought for a moment. “Are we going to go to Ira’s ranch, Mommy? Because if we are, I won’t mind so much.”
Christine didn’t have the slightest idea where they were going next or what they’d do. She’d been able to save a small amount of money from the generous salary Ira had paid her, but after settling a number of long-standing debts and paying Erin’s school fees. She groaned. In all the upset she’d forgotten about school! It was only the first part of April. Close to two months of the term remained!
Erin stroked her mother’s cheek. “It’s okay, Mommy. We don’t have to go to the ranch. And I don’t need a horse. I already have one. Look!” She ran to get her favorite toy—a miniature palomino with a flowing mane and tail that she was forever combing and brushing. She thrust it forward. “Golden Belle, remember?”
Christine folded the little girl close and smoothed her thick hair. It was like touching black silk—smooth and glossy and finely textured. Christine didn’t know where hair like this had come from. Not Erin’s father, or her own family. Her mother had been a natural blond, and her father—at least, the man she’d deduced was her father-had had reddish-brown hair like her own, and similar hazel eyes.
She was going to do better by her little girl than her mother had done by her. No matter what it took, no matter what she had to do to insure it. She’d already taken a number of steps. She’d gone back to school, earned her high-school equivalency diploma and gone on to business school to learn a profession. She’d moved them out of the trailer park, and Erin didn’t have a procession of “uncles” drifting in and out of her life. The opposite, in fact.
“I think I’ve decided what we’re going to do,” she said, drawing back to look at her daughter. “I think we should get you a real horse and be somewhere you can learn to ride it”
Happiness sparked in Erin’s dark eyes. “Oh, Mommy, that would be wonderful!”
Someone rapped on the door. “Christine!” Mrs. Tobin called tersely. “They’re here!”
Christine straightened. “Put all your things in the suitcase, honey. Quickly.”
Erin hurried to do as she was told, while Christine gave another hasty glance around the room. Then she moved to help Erin close the case. As the last clasp caught, voices could be heard at the top of the stairs, then approaching down the hall. Loud voices, sharp with argument.
The door burst open, Mrs. Tobin backing in and Abigail Parker sweeping forward. Bringing up the rear was Brendan Parker, who seemed to find the whole scene amusing. A smirk tilted the corners of his wellshaped mouth and lit his eyes—the same eyes that ran over Christine with unconcealed sensual interest.
It was a look Christine had known from the time she was twelve, directed her way by some of the men her mother had entertained. Her mother hadn’t liked it—not because she was upset by the unseemly notice, but because she hadn’t wanted to share the attention. Later on Christine had had to deal with such looks in almost every job she’d taken. Until she’d come here.
“You weren’t supposed to let her in!” Abigail Parker shouted at Mrs. Tobin. “She’s probably stolen half the antiques in the house by now!”
“You’re welcome to search my luggage,” Christine invited with icy anger. Erin clung to her side as she threw open the suitcase, spilling some of the stuffed animals onto the bedcover.
“In there, then!” Abigail pointed to the cardboard boxes waiting by the door.
“Mr. Parker’s turning over in his grave,” Mrs. Tobin murmured, shaking her head.
“You shut up!” Abigail ordered. “It’s all your fault that we’re in this mess! If you’d helped our daddy a little more, he wouldn’t have needed to hire this—”
“Me?” the housekeeper protested, her voice rising. “What about the two of you? Why didn’t you give him a little help? Saints preserve us! It’s you who should be ashamed. Not—”
“You’re fired!” Abigail shouted. “Get out. Right now! Get out!”
“Abby,” her brother cautioned, “you might be letting your temper get just the tiniest bit the better of you. What are we going to do about preparing the house for the sale? We’ll need someone to—”
“I’ll hire a cleaning service!” his sister snapped. “I’ve had enough of her prune face to last me a lifetime. Every time we come over she looks at us as if we’re worms. As if we—”
Brendan Parker chuckled at her vehemence. “Well, in that case…”
Christine pushed the stuffed animals back into the suitcase, except for the toy horse, which she put into Erin’s hands. “I think it’s an insult to compare you to worms,” she said. “An insult to the worms. Maggots are more like it.”
Abigail lunged at her, but Brendan quickly caught hold of her arms. “Ah-ah, sister dear,” he said. “No more violence. You promised the judge, remember?”
At mention of the judge—had the woman been in some kind of trouble that Christine hadn’t heard about?—Abigail deflated and looked at Christine with suddenly dead eyes. “Just get out of here,” she said flatly. “Take everything you’ve got packed and go!”
“I want you to check for theft,” Christine said firmly.
“Just go!”
Christine held her ground. “Mrs. Tobin is witness to my request. I want you to inspect our things and see if you find anything that shouldn’t be there.”
Abigail broke her brother’s hold and taking a step forward, hissed menacingly, “Stop playing the sainted martyr! If you’ve managed to squirrel something away, more power to you. You probably earned it being at our father’s beck and call all day. Not to mention having to share his bed at night!”
Christine was very aware of Erin’s presence. She wanted to say something equally scathing, something that would singe the other woman’s pampered skin, but she kept silent, except for a brusquely murmured, “We’ll be out of the house in five minutes.”
THE CAR STARTED on first try. As the engine rumbled and grumbled, Christine spoke to the housekeeper, who stood nearby. “Can we take you anywhere?” she offered.
Mrs. Tobin shook her head. “Ahh, no. I’ll be fine. I’ve lived in this house for over sixteen years. It’s going to take me more than a few minutes to pack. Two weeks is what my contract says. Either way-me giving notice to them, or them giving it to me. And I intend to use every second, just to annoy them.” She laughed “Maggots! I like that! Wish I’d thought of it.”
Erin waved as they backed out of the long drive, and Christine smiled, though she didn’t feel like it.
Upon awakening, she’d had no idea what the day would bring. That by evening their car would be packed with everything they owned, and they would be on their way to a ranch in far West Texas. A large successful ranch, she’d been assured—one in which she was now part owner.
Somehow it didn’t seem real.
CHAPTER TWO
“I WOULDN’T TRY IT it if I were you.”
The auto mechanic’s words were to haunt every mile Christine and Erin covered during the next three and a half days, the time it took them to complete the nearly six-hundred-mile
journey across Texas. Ignoring the mechanic’s advice, they limped along the interstate in the slow lane, holding their breaths on some long climbs and laughing delightedly when they coasted down the other side. They stopped frequently to let the engine cool and to make sure that they had enough gas and water. Their worry increased as the towns grew fewer and farther between, until there were long expanses of nothing, not even a service station. At that point Christine’s fingers dug into the steering wheel, as if by force of will she could make the engine continue to perform.
Only when Erin slept did Christine question whether what they were doing was wise. Would Ira’s relatives truly welcome them with open arms? How would she feel if someone showed up unannounced on her doorstep, demanding a place to stay and a part of the action? What if instead of being kind and generous as Ira had been, they were like Abigail and Brendan? What would she and Erin do then? The answer was go back to Houston. But could the car make the return trip?
Despite her misgivings, Christine pressed on. If Ira said his people were the salt of the earth, then they were. And if you believe that, I have a nice bridge…
As directed, they turned off the interstate onto a narrow two-lane blacktop that seemed to go on forever. Then, also as directed, Christine made two more turns, each to a lesser roadway. The first was graded, the second proved to be little more than a rutted path. Until finally, near an old windmill, even that ran out.
“This can’t be it!” Christine muttered, careful not to wake the sleeping Erin. She didn’t want her to be alarmed at how truly out in the wilds they were. As far as the eye could see in any direction, there was nothing but mile upon mile of dry rocky land, low scrub and distant mountains. “Something definitely is wrong.”
An X indicated the Parker Ranch on Ira’s map. An X that was just as squiggly as his hand-drawn lines. But his placement was definite. The ranch and ranch house was supposed to be here. Christine looked around again. Could she somehow have missed a turnoff?
There was only one thing to do. They had to go back to the blacktop and try again. But as she began to put her plan into action, the engine wheezed pathetically, gave a violent shake, then died. Steam began to billow from beneath the hood.
“What’s the matter, Mommy? What’s wrong?” Erin sat up, startled by Christine’s dismayed cry. “Where are we?” she asked, then became fascinated by the steam curling into the air like smoke. “Did the car finally break?”
“I’m afraid so,” Christine confirmed.
“What are we going to do?”
Christine forced herself to think. She let her gaze sweep the arid landscape. The empty arid landscape. What else could they do? They’d walk. If they waited for rescue, all that eventually would be found of them was their bones! No one was expecting them. And no one with the exception of Eugene Hernandez, Mrs. Tobin and the garage mechanic even knew they were planning the trip. No one would check to see that they’d arrived.
The question was, which way should they walk? Back to the blacktop where cars had been infrequent, but at least there? If Christine had been on her own, she might have opted for an extended search of the area, but with Erin along, she wasn’t about to take any chances. “It looks like we walk,” she said. “But it could take a while. Are you up to it?”
“Can I bring Golden Belle?” Erin held the toy horse close to her chest.
They would probably be better off if Erin carried something else—something to drink or eat or cover themselves with if they had to spend the night under the stars. Christine quelled a shiver. In the city a person had to be careful about human predators. Out here, it was the four-legged kind.
“Of course Golden Belle can come,” she said, giving way to her daughter’s need for emotional support.
She gathered a few things, then, arms filled, pushed open her door and stepped outside.
Erin scrambled out after her, her eyes huge as she took in the windmill and the vastness of the territory surrounding them. “But, Mommy,” she said, glancing back at the car, “what about the rest of our things?”
“We’ll have to leave them for now.”
“But—?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll come back for our stuff.”
Christine placed a baseball cap on her daughter’s head, positioning the visor forward for protection from the sun, and adjusted her own matching cap. Both were keepsakes from Astro World amusement park where they’d celebrated Erin’s last birthday. Knowing they would need to carry as much water as they could, she placed the two remaining bottles, along with some cookies, into the center of an old cotton scarf. Then she brought the corners together, tied them in a knot and slung the bundle over her shoulder.
She couldn’t be sure they would return, but her answer had appeared to satisfy Erin, and the little girl set off willingly at her side.
The first half hour gave Christine better insight into the difficulties they faced. She had no idea how far they’d come from the blacktop. Ten miles? Fifteen? Distance took on greater significance when a person was walking. Were they going to have the stamina to make it?
At the next gentle rise she paused to gauge the distance they’d come. It was depressing to find that she could still see the car. As she continued to look at it, a flash of light bounced off something near the windmill.
“Mommy, can I have a drink?” Erin asked.
Christine’s gaze remained fixed on what she saw now was a slow-moving object. Was it an animal—a cow? So far, they’d seen few.
“Mommy?” Erin prodded again.
Christine slid the makeshift pack to the ground and dug inside. “Only take a few sips,” she cautioned. “We have to make this last.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes.”
Straightening, Christine once again narrowed her eyes as she stared into the distance. She didn’t see any movement now. She turned to Erin. “How’s Golden Belle holding up?” If there was only some way to make the ordeal easier.
“She’s not thirsty yet,” Erin said.
Christine nodded, put away the bottle and they started off again.
Adjusting to the dry heat was difficult. Perspiration evaporated almost as quickly as it formed. No wonder the earth was so unyielding here. Moisture was something to be prized, protected, fought for. Even the few plants displaying spring flowers seemed to do so grudgingly, guarding their blossoms with wickedlooking thorns.
When Erin skipped on ahead, Christine realized her daughter was enjoying this. It was a big adventure to her, something out of the ordinary.
Laughing, the little girl darted even farther ahead, wanting to be the first across a shallow wash.
“Erin!” Christine called, uncomfortable with the distance between them.
Two things happened at once. Erin stopped dead in her tracks to give a strangled shriek, and a loud clopping, breathing, thumping sound came up fast behind them on the other side of the rise. Christine didn’t know what to do first—rush to Erin, or face down whatever it was that was coming after them. Somehow she managed to do a bit of both, and snatching up a rock, waited for what was about to appear.
Was it a mountain lion? A coyote? A wolf?
A huge dark form burst into view. It had lean powerful legs and a long face, which it shook at her. When it snorted, a flash of sunlight struck something at its mouth. It was a horse!
For a split second Christine relaxed, then she saw the rider. Dressed in traditional cowboy garb—boots, chaps, faded Western shirt, a hat pulled low over his forehead—he looked rough, uncouth, untamed. And she realized they could still be in danger.
The rider barely spared her a glance. He reached to his side, pulled a rifle from its mount, lifted it, aimed and was about to pull the trigger when Christine broke from her frozen state. He was going to shoot Erin!
With a bloodcurdling yell, Christine threw her rock at him—the same instant as the shot exploded. The cowboy gave a surprised yelp when the rock hit his arm, but he didn�
��t lower the weapon.
Christine’s gaze jerked to Erin. The little girl’s face was as white as her blouse, but she was still standing.
“Run!” Christine shouted, her ears ringing from the rifle’s report. She bent for another rock. “Run, Erin! Run!” she urged again.
Her daughter didn’t budge.
“Stop!” Christine cried, waving her arms at the horseman. “You…you big bully! Leave her alone!” She threw her second rock.
A light touch of the cowboy’s heels, a slight tug on the reins, and the big horse skittered sideways. The rock landed ineffectually on the ground.
Someone pulled on her arm. An accomplice? Christine whirled around, her eyes fierce, and discovered that the person she thought was an accomplice was Erin.
“Don’t!” the little girl pleaded. “He shot it! He shot the snake! He’s not a bully. He.”
The words slowly filtered into Christine’s brain. “Snake?” she repeated blankly.
The man set the rifle back into place, slid off the horse and, keeping hold of the reins, walked over near to where Erin had been standing and lifted a rattler that was at least three feet long. “Here’s your bully,” he drawled His voice was low, melodic—not at all what Christine had expected. “You want the rattle?” he asked the little girl.
“I thought you were going to kill her!” Christine burst out.
“You thought wrong,” he replied.
“Can I?” Erin asked, excited. “Can I have the rattle?”
It had taken only seconds for Erin to forget her fright, but Christine’s nerves were still twanging. And when she saw the cowboy pull a knife from his pocket and start to unfold the blade, it was all she could do not to cry out again. “I-I don’t think.” She stammered to a halt when blue eyes, the same color as the sky, met hers.
He’d pushed his old dusty black Stetson to the back of his head, and as she looked at him Christine suffered another shock to her preconceived notions. He was really quite handsome, and far younger than she’d thought—in his midthirties? He had a shock of thick blond hair, lean even features bronzed by the sun and a long lithe body that looked born to the land. And those eyes! Not only a vivid blue, but penetrating. They seemed to see straight through to her soul.
West Texas Weddings Page 2
