West Texas Weddings

by Ginger Chambers

  “That he’s on it. He’s working with the sheriff over there.”

  Dub looked thoughtful. “Think the cattlemen’s association will involve you? Since you’re already here?”

  “I hope not. I’m on leave, remember?”

  “I remember. The question is, will they?” He paused. “Not a word to your mother. We don’t want her startin’ to worry. That’s the last thing she needs.”

  “I’m not sayin’ anything.”

  “Grandpa! Grandpa!” a childish voice shrilled as a small towheaded girl of about four bounced onto the porch. “Grandma says you’re to come inside. You’re s’posed to read a story to me before I go to sleep, ‘member?”

  Dub pushed awkwardly to his feet. “The one about the mean ol’ coyote?” he teased.

  “No!” The little girl giggled. “The Vel’teen Rabbit. The Vel’teen Rabbit, Grandpa! That’s my favorite.” She tugged on the arm with the cast.

  Morgan saw his father wince, and to prevent further pain, he swooped down on his niece and swung her high in the air, bringing her legs down on either side of his head, so that she perched on his shoulders. “Nope,” he said, teasing, as well, “I distinctly remember you likin’ that mean ol’ coyote.”

  “No!” the little girl shrieked. “The rabbit! The rabbit!”

  It still amazed Morgan how loud a small child could be—and how strong. Her fingers were curled tightly in his hair and were pulling in excitement.

  They made their way into the house. He lowered Mindy to the floor, and after a quick peck on his cheek, she darted ahead of his father to the bedroom she shared with her older sister, Jessica.

  Because Jessica was nine, she was allowed to stay up later at night. She was in the living room, curled on one end of the couch, while Rusty, her older brother, was sprawled on the rug. Both were watching the last few minutes of a television show.

  Morgan dropped down on the spare end of the couch, and when the show was over, he asked, “Have either of you talked with Erin Grant?”

  “Who?” Jessica asked. Jessica liked to pretend she was far more sophisticated than her years. Especially when she was dealing with adults. She also liked to be the person in charge of whatever game was being played. Because her real life was so out of control? Morgan wondered.

  “Erin Grant. The new little girl at the Parkers.”

  “Oh, her,” Jessica said dismissively.

  “I’ve only seen her the once,” Rusty said. “The day you found ‘em out walking.”

  “She’s stuck up,” Jessica said.

  “Why do you say that?” Morgan asked curiously.

  “Because she doesn’t want to play with us. I asked Gwen, and Gwen said she didn’t want to.”

  “That doesn’t make her stuck up,” Morgan said.

  Jessica shrugged. “All I know is, Gwen asked and she said no.”

  “She’s only been here a few days. Why don’t you ask again? Maybe she was shy about meeting new people.”

  “We could I suppose…”

  “Jessica’s afraid she won’t get to boss Gwen and Wesley around anymore if the new girl comes to play,” Rusty announced. He didn’t mix much with the younger children, preferring, instead, to roam around Little Springs on his own, both on foot and on horseback. He was at that in-between age, when a boy needs to start finding what he’s made of.

  “That’s not so!” Jessica immediately denied, sitting forward, her blue eyes flashing.

  “Is!”

  “Isn’t!”

  “Is!”

  Morgan lifted a hand. “I didn’t intend to start an argument. All I’m asking is for you to invite Erin to play. Do it yourself, Jessica. She’s a nice little girl. You might actually like her.”

  Jessica retreated into her curled position against the arm of the couch. “What’s the use?” she said, suddenly sullen. “We’re going to be moving again soon, anyway.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Morgan asked. “Don’t you want to go live with your dad?

  “Yes,” Jessica replied, but there was little to no enthusiasm.

  Morgan glanced at Rusty, whose gaze slid away.

  Their behavior mimicked the way they’d been when they’d first arrived at Little Springs, according to Morgan’s mother. It had taken six weeks or more for the older two to start coming out of what she termed their “hibernation.”

  Morgan searched for something to say, something that would make the prospect of moving appealing. But they had been burned so often over the past few years, trundled back and forth from mother to father, never having a real home. This would be their last move, though. Russell had finally won full custody. Morgan didn’t want to utter encouraging platitudes. A few home truths in their father’s ear, though, wouldn’t be out of line. Russell needed to give these kids a sense of permanence. Whatever it took.

  “Grandma in the kitchen?” he asked them.

  Both children nodded without speaking.

  Morgan pushed to his feet and went in search of his mother. She was puttering about the room she loved best. She never seemed to tire of cooking. If she wasn’t busy preparing a meal or cleaning up after, she was planning what she would cook the next day. And occasionally, like now, her mind turned to preserving for the future.

  A raft of empty jars covered the tabletop and one counter. “I think we’re going to need to buy more jars this season, Morgan,” she said. “It’s been a hard year for glass in this house.”

  Morgan smiled wryly. Since his arrival home, there’d been something or other break almost every day. He pulled a chair over and sat. “Dad’s spirits seem to be better.”

  “Rafe came by and brought Shannon with him. They talked ranch business for a full hour.” She smiled reflectively. “That Shannon. She’s such a sweet little thing! It wouldn’t hurt you to find someone like her.”

  “Are you sayin’ you want more grandchildren?”

  “I want to see you settled down, Morgan, that’s all. Whether or not you have kids is your business.”

  “You’re whistlin’ in the wind, Mom.”

  His mother smiled. “One day it’s going to happen to you, and when it does, you’re going to be the one whistling a different tune. Some sweet little thing’s going to sashay by and you’re not going to know what hit you.”

  An image of Christine Grant walking away from him flashed into Morgan’s mind. Would she qualify as a sweet little thing under his mother’s definition? He quickly put the thought away. “You have to be lookin’ for somethin’ like that to happen, don’t you?”

  “Not necessarily,” his mother replied.

  Morgan went over to kiss her lined cheek. “I have blinders on.”

  “Ah, but blinders can slip off,” she said.

  Morgan laughed and gave her another kiss before heading off to bed. Even after everything, his mother remained an optimist.

  CHRISTINE TAPPED LIGHTLY on the bedroom door next to hers. After a moment Shannon came to answer it. She was still in her nightgown.

  Christine extended the tray on which she’d placed a carafe of coffee and two cups. “Would you like to share?” she asked.

  She’d caught Shannon completely by surprise. The other woman blinked, then moved out of the way. “I didn’t…I never…”

  Christine stepped past her. “I came to apologize. I was very rude the other day. I’m sorry if I gave offense.” She placed the tray on a low chest of drawers, then turned around. “If you’d rather I leave, I will. I’ll understand.”

  Shannon still seemed slightly stunned. As if the last thing she’d expected was an apology from Christine. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad.”

  Christine poured coffee into the two cups. “Sugar or cream?” she asked.

  “Neither,” Shannon replied. She accepted her cup and perched uneasily on the rumpled sheets. Motioning to a high-backed wooden rocker near her balcony door, she said, “My only chair.”

  Christine went to the rocker. Sipping her coffee, she looked around. The
two rooms were alike, except this one boasted a full-size bed with an intricately carved headboard and low foot posts. It also had more of the imprint of its occupant. Books, magazines, bits of fabric, notebooks, drawings—the debris of wedding preparation littered most available surfaces.

  Shannon said, “It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. There’s barely a month left until the ceremony, and there’s still so much to do. Like the bridesmaids dresses. I thought we were set, then Mae comes up with something else to consider. Honestly, we’re going to be lucky if the bridesmaids don’t come down the aisle in their lingerie!”

  “Mae’s managing your wedding?” Christine asked.

  Shannon grimaced. “I’d say it’s about half and half.

  Rafe and I are holding our own.”

  “Do you ever think of eloping?”

  “All the time! But it’s to the point where we can’t! The wedding’s taken on a life of its own. It’s like this giant monster, devouring everything in its path! If we were to just chuck it in and run off…Ahh, that sounds so good sometimes!”

  Christine smiled.

  Shannon continued, “And the family history is due to go to the publisher in a couple of months-Mae wants to be sure to have it printed by Christmas. She intends to send everyone a copy.”

  “A family history?” Christine repeated.

  “That’s the way Mae got me to come here. I was…well, I’d been hurt in an accident and she asked me to help her compile the Parker-family story. The family truly does have an interesting history. Two brothers, Virgil and Gibson, founded the ranch in the mid-nineteenth century, fighting off indians and bandits and the ravages of nature. It goes through the Civil War and the cattle drives to Kansas. They have wonderful photographs and letters, all kinds of records.” She paused, frowning. “I still have so much to do I’m not sure…” She brightened. “Would you like to help? Can you type? Mae’s put in some corrections that I just don’t have the time to—”

  “Do you think Mae would approve?” Christine interrupted her.

  Shannon blinked again. “No, I suppose you’re right. She wouldn’t. Not now, at any rate.” She gave a deep regretful sigh.

  Christine spoke quietly. “Harriet told me who you are. About your accident. I remember seeing you on the news. Being airlifted away from the crash site on a stretcher, being taken from one hospital to another.” She paused. “I’m sorry,” she said inadequately.

  Shannon rubbed her left knee. “That wasn’t a very happy time,” she said softly.

  Christine finished her coffee and stood. “Well,” she murmured, “I’d better get back to Erin. I think I hear her moving around. I left her a note, but she might not see it.”

  “Thank you,” Shannon said, standing up, too. “For the coffee…and for listening to me complain.”

  Christine shrugged. She’d wanted to dislike the Parkers. They didn’t like her, so she wouldn’t like them. Only, it was hard to maintain that attitude in the face of such seemingly genuine kindness. Shannon, Harriet, Jodie…LeRoy working so industriously to repair her car.

  She smiled tightly. “Sure,” she said, and left the room.

  ERIN HAD VISITORS later that morning as she played outside in the courtyard. Gwen, and a little blond girl Christine had never seen before, but knew instantly which family she belonged to.

  “You wanna come play with us?” the blonde asked Erin. “Gwen and I are having a wedding. I’m the bride and Wesley’s the groom and—”

  “And I’m the flower girl!” Gwen announced.

  “You can be a bridesmaid, if you want. Or the minister. We really need a minister.”

  Erin declined shyly.

  “Gwen’s mom is letting us use some of her old clothes and stuff,” the little girl went on. “And makeup—lipstick and blush and powder. She’s gonna take pictures!”

  “We’re gonna have invitations just like Shannon and Rafe’s!” Gwen said.

  “That sounds like fun,” Christine said. She was becoming more and more concerned about Erin’s withdrawal. The girl was reverting to the behavior of a far younger child—upset when Christine was out of sight, clinging when she wasn’t.

  As Erin yet again shook her head, the blond girl spun around and, catching hold of Gwen, started to stalk off. “The only reason we asked was because Uncle Morgan said we should,” she grumbled. “I told him you wouldn’t play, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Morgan’s your uncle?” Erin asked.

  The little girl swung around. “Yes.”

  Erin moved uncomfortably. She looked at Christine, then back at the two girls. A battle seemed to take place within her, then she said, “He asked you to ask me?”

  “Yes.”

  Erin’s troubled expression cleared. “Then I’ll play,” she said, and stepped away from Christine.

  The other two little girls looked at each other, decided between them that this was okay and came back to collect her.

  “I’m Jessica,” the blonde said. “I’m nine. I’m gonna be in the fifth grade next year.”

  “I’m six!” Gwen piped up. “Well, almost.”

  “I’m eight,” Erin joined in, “and I’ll be in. I’ll be in fourth!”

  Erin’s hesitation told Christine that her daughter, too, was worried about her progress in school. Which meant she, Christine, would have to talk to someone.

  She thought Erin wasn’t going to look back as she moved off with the two girls, but as the trio reached the curved gravel drive, heading toward Harriet’s house, she glanced around, then ran back.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Mommy?” she asked earnestly.

  Christine smiled. “Not in the least, sweetheart. Enjoy yourself.”

  Erin nodded and rejoined her companions.

  As Christine left the courtyard her emotions bordered on bittersweet. Morgan Hughes seemed to save the day each time Erin was in danger. When they were lost, the encounter with the snake, the trotting horseand now helping her from becoming too isolated. His name had acted like a talisman, spurring Erin on.

  Should she be grateful? Or should she be worried?

  One thing seemed apparent. He had a definite effect on both the Grant women.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MORGAN SHIFTED position unhappily, wishing he could be anywhere but where he was. Mae had called a meeting in the ranch office, and the tiny room was packed with Parker men. She’d specifically asked that he be present.

  “The first report from our investigator is in,” Mae said. “I’ll read it. ‘Subject, Christine Patricia Grant, age twenty-five. Born prematurely on December 28 at Pasadena General Hospital, Pasadena, Texas. Mother, Jeannette Grant. Father, unknown. Address, the Happy Trails Trailer Park in Pasadena. Mother was a dancer and a bar maid at a succession of mostly low-rate establishments, frequently on public assistance. Subject went through the public-school system in Pasadena until the eleventh grade, when she dropped out due to pregnancy. She gave birth to a daughter, Erin Margaret, now eight. Father, unknown. Subject worked as a waitress, earned her GED certificate, then went to secretarial school. Jeannette Grant died sixteen months ago from cirrhosis of the liver. Subject’s work record is spotty, mostly short term. She moved into Ira Parker’s house last September as his secretary/assistant. Erin was enrolled in St. Cecilia’s elementary school. The girl is quiet and very smart, winning several awards in the short time she attended. Withdrawn abruptly April 8. Eugene Hernandez is a respected attorney-at-law in Houston, who did represent the late Ira Parker. Mr. Hernandez refused to be of further assistance, except to confirm the bequest.’“

  Mae looked up from the sheet of paper. “That’s it. Not a lot, but at least it’s something. And, thanks to a little pressure from me, we managed to get a copy of the will, which is with our lawyer.”

  “Has he had a chance to look it over yet?” Rafe asked.

  Mae shook her head. “No, but at first glance he says it seems aboveboard.”

  Gib removed the foil from around a stick of
gum and popped it into his mouth. “Aunt Mae, you knew Ira better than the rest of us. What do you think he was up to?”

  Mae shot her nephew a sharp glance. “If I knew the answer to that, Gib, I wouldn’t be sittin’ here wastin’ my time. Or any of yours. Though in your case—”

  “It’s a good question, Aunt Mae,” Rafe said, coming to his uncle’s defense. “You did know Ira best.”

  “I didn’t know him all that well,” she replied irritably. “We played together when we were kids, when his parents came to visit. They used to skip the family meeting and come, instead, for a month every summer. We weren’t all that close after they quit visiting regular.”

  “But you knew him as an adult, too, didn’t you?” Rafe persisted.

  “Not enough to know what he was thinking! Ira kept a lot of things to himself. We’d get together once in a while when I was in Austin or Houston on business, but we never talked about anything personal. Except later, after his kids were born. I think he was at a loss with them. They took after their mother more than they took after him. Still, he didn’t say much. He was more…quietly concerned.”

  LeRoy snorted. “With Abigail and Brendan for offspring, I can see why. Do you know what Abigail told Harriet the last time they got together? She told her she should have stopped havin’ babies after she had one. That if every Parker did that, then everyone’s share of the ranch’s profits would be greater!”

  Gib whistled and Mae ground her teeth.

  “That must have gone over well with Harriet,” Rafe murmured.

  “She wanted to skin her. Right on the spot!” LeRoy smiled.

  Rafe reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a letter. It was written on high-quality paper in a neat yet flowery hand. “I guess this is as good a time as any to bring this up,” he said. “It’s a letter from Abigail.”

  Mae snatched it out of his hands, then let it fall to the desk after reading it. “How long have you had this?” she demanded.

  “A couple of days.”