“I—I was talking with Shep,” she said defensively, like a child caught in a questionable activity.
“What’d he have to say for himself?” Rafe drawled. He and Morgan were like bookends in everything but their coloring. Both long and lean and confidently masculine. He bent down to rub Shep’s head.
“Not a lot,” Christine said.
“You do most of the talking?” Rafe straightened, and his dark eyes zeroed in on hers. It was clear he was taking her mettle.
Christine smiled slightly. “He’s a dog of few words.”
Like Mae, Rafe’s smile took some of the edge off his strong features. Made him seem less fierce. “He’s a good ol’ boy,” Rafe said “Been my buddy for a lot of years. Slowin’ down a bit now. But he’s still a good ol’ boy.”
Christine had run out of things to say to Rafe. He knew everything about her that Mae knew and, like Mae, probably held strong views.
That was why it surprised her when he said, “Shep’s seldom fooled about people. He likes you and he likes your little girl. That should be taken into account.”
Christine looked at him warily. “Into account for what?”
“The eventual outcome of what we’ve been dealing with. Whether your little girl is or isn’t Ira’s, and whether or not you’ve been taken advantage of—or taking advantage yourself. Shannon seems to think it’s you who’s been victimized. That you were sent out here on a wild-goose chase for who knows what reason. Me? I’m not sure. I want to know a little more. But if Shep likes you, there must be somethin’ to you.”
He gave her a slow smile, then settled his hat back on his head and, calling to Shep, set off for his house.
Christine sank back on the upper step and watched them go. He certainly didn’t mince words. You knew where you stood with Rafe Parker. And if there was a question, he told you that, too.
THE GUESTS at the make-believe wedding assembled in Harriet’s backyard at the appointed time. Dub and Delores, along with Rusty and Mindy, Gib and Jodie, LeRoy, Harriet, Mae, Shannon, Christine. The missing men—Rafe and Morgan—would take turns coming in as the afternoon progressed.
The children had worked hard. Stuffed animals and dolls, dressed in their best, had been seated on overturned boxes and chairs. A crayon-drawn stained-glass window was hung on the trellis behind the box representing the altar. Flowers were tied to the hands of some of the dolls.
There was a slight holdup at the beginning. Wesley had to be pushed out from behind the side of the house, LeRoy’s jacket almost swallowing him, a necktie, inexpertly knotted, hanging almost to his knees. Erin followed directly behind him, looking somber and ministerlike in what had to be an old blue robe of Harriet’s. Only no minister would dare wear the amount of lipstick, blush and powder she’d layered on. And this minister carried a flower, instead of a Bible. Wesley, embarrassed by his participation in such a girlish affair, didn’t stop at the altar, forcing Erin to make a grab for him and haul him back.
With Wesley finally in place, Erin mounted the box, then, reaching into the folds of her robe, switched on a portable tape player. The music blared and was quickly lowered—something formal and recognizable, but definitely not Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
In spite of this, Gwen, standing behind the crowd of well-wishers, started forward. She was wearing one of her own fancy dresses, which she’d accessorized with heaps of scarves and jewelry. She, too, had bright cheeks and lips. And as she walked down the aisle, she scattered zinnia petals.
The bride, Jessica, had chosen a frilly pink party dress that undoubtedly had once been worn by Harriet. Because it was sleeveless and scoop-necked, Jessica wore it over her own white blouse. It was caught at the waist by a narrow belt and the extra folds allowed to hang over Jessica’s hips, giving the illusion of a period costume. In back the hem dragged on the ground. A wide-brimmed summer hat almost obscured her face, but a momentary glimpse showed that she’d had just as much fun as the other girls experimenting with makeup.
Jessica milked the moment for all she was worth, moving slowly, enjoying the attention. She held the bouquet of flowers dramatically in front of her, almost like an offering.
The music stopped before she’d finished her entrance, but that was ignored. Everyone had to wait until she was in place.
Erin spoke clearly. “Do you, Wesley, take Jessica.” But Wesley had other plans. Instead of waiting to say his line, he flipped Jessica’s hat off, stole one of Gwen’s scarves and plucked the flower out of Erin’s hand. Then he ran away, laughing maniacally.
All three girls were outraged, and after a stunned moment, gave chase, screeching their anger.
The guests couldn’t contain themselves any longer. They all burst out laughing, having enjoyed the spectacle, but most of all, it’s slapstick end.
“I took lots of pictures,” Harriet told everyone. “I’ll have copies made.”
LeRoy said, “Wes isn’t goin’ to thank you for it when he gets older.”
“He isn’t going to thank me now!”
The children made a return sweep around the backyard, Wesley now running for his life.
Mae chuckled. “Boy’s gonna regret it when those girls catch up with him.” Then to everyone at large she said, “Come on. Let’s go see what Axel’s managed to pull from his sleeve for our dinner.”
Christine sidled up to Harriet as the others started off for the courtyard. “I’ll help you clean this up later if you like. After all, Erin—”
Harriet shook her head. “Nope. That’s one of the promises the kids made me. If I let them have their wedding here, they’d have to clean up. And I’m holdin’ ‘em to it.”
Christine nodded. “A good idea.”
By the time everyone arrived at the courtyard, food was already being served at the table. A long white cloth covered the wood planks, and places had been set. Christine saw carrots, fresh green beans, mounds of potato salad, steaming squares of cornbread, a thick chili sauce, green chili peppers and at the foot of the table—with Axel in place holding a sharp-pronged fork and a long knife for carving—the charred chunks of barbecued beef.
“Wonderful!” Mae declared, taking the honored position at the head of the table. Everyone else filed in after her.
Christine looked around for Erin, then saw her and the other two girls walking dejectedly toward them.
“We couldn’t catch him,” Erin complained, edging close to Christine, in need of a hug.
“He went into the barn and we looked and looked,” Gwen contributed, doing the same thing to Harriet—getting close, needing sympathy.
Even Jessica hung on her grandmother’s neck. “Wasn’t he awful? Boys can be so.” Words seemed to fail her.
Delores patted Jessica’s hand. “It was beautiful, anyway. You girls in particular. It looked like a real wedding.”
“Just like Shannon and Rafe’s is gonna be,” Gwen said.
Jodie giggled and Shannon smothered a smile.
“Why don’t you girls go wash up,” Harriet said, “then come back and eat with us. You can clean up the backyard later.”
“Wes has to help us,” Gwen stated firmly. Then not so firmly, “Doesn’t he?”
“Definitely,” Harried agreed. As the girls started to run off, she called after them, “Use lots of soap to get that makeup off. You want to keep your skin pretty.” Then added to the table, “And save my towels.”
“You probably should have your head examined for agreeing to let them do this in the first place,” Mae said. “Especially in your—”
“My condition is fine, Mae. And it wasn’t that hard. The kids enjoyed it.”
Mae shook her head and said no more.
Everything was delicious. Christine decided after her first few bites. Axel truly was a superior cook. In some quarters he’d be referred to as a chef, but this wasn’t one of them, and Christine didn’t think he’d appreciate the title. Camp cook was good enough for him.
There was lots of lively conversatio
n. The children—including Wes, once he’d apologized—were scattered among the adults, and the atmosphere was very relaxed, very comfortable.
Even Christine, talking mostly to Harriet and Shannon and Jodie, found the time enjoyable. She noticed when LeRoy left and Rafe returned to have his meal, then she noticed Rafe leave a short time later as everyone abandoned the table for the lawn chairs. It was only when she saw Morgan’s approach that she felt her insides tighten.
There was something so elemental about him. Other men she’d known paled in comparison. They’d been concerned with things that didn’t seem important. Who they were going to get to go to bed with them. Who they were going to best financially. And, in her younger years, how they could find someone to give them money and do nothing in return. Morgan Hughes wasn’t like that. That must be why it’d be so easy to—
What was she thinking? That that must be why it would be so easy to love him?
Oh, God, no, she thought wildly. Not that! She didn’t want to feel that deeply for anyone again!
He greeted some of those present, had a word with his parents, sent a long look toward her—which she evaded as best she could—and settled at the table.
Erin, seeing he was alone, went to join him.
Christine couldn’t move. She could barely breathe!
WHAT NOW? Morgan wondered. She’d seen him looking at her and quickly turned away. The last time they’d been together he’d thought they’d made some progress. At least, moved away from being sworn enemies. Now this!
Erin popped up at his side.
“Hi, Morgan!” she chirped.
“Hi, little lady,” he responded, smiling.
“You’ve come in to eat lunch?” she asked him, more as a conversation starter than as a true question.
“I’m the cow’s tail,” he teased. “Last one in.”
“Do you mind if I sit beside you?”
“I’d be honored.”
“You want more to eat, honey?” Marie asked, hovering nearby, ready to bring out another plate.
Erin giggled, shaking her head. “I’m stuffed!”
A short time could make a huge difference in a little girl, Morgan noted. Erin was starting to bloom here. It would be too bad if she had to be uprooted. If she and her mother had to leave the ranch.
He glanced up and caught Christine looking at him again. At him, not at Erin. Something deep inside him shifted, but before he could identify what it was, Christine looked away.
He helped himself to almost everything at the table. It had been a long time since breakfast. He tried not to shovel it in, conscious of Erin watching him with shining, almost worshipful eyes.
If only her mother would look at him like that, he thought, then immediately pushed the thought away. He didn’t want to be worshiped by Christine. Just—
“—until Wes decided to be silly.” Erin was earnestly trying to tell him something, but he hadn’t absorbed a word.
“That’s awful,” Morgan said, gambling that it would be an appropriate response.
Erin sighed heavily. “It was. Why do boys have to be like that, Morgan? Why can’t boys be more like girls?”
Morgan had to smile. “Aw, you wouldn’t really want ‘em to. Just think how much fun you had gettin’ mad at him.”
Erin giggled. “We did have fun. We chased him to the barn, then when we couldn’t find him, we came back here and he showed up.”
Morgan nodded.
Erin sighed again, and this time it was a little longer before she spoke again. “Did you know Ira?” she asked.
“I met him, but I didn’t know him.”
“He was nice. He used to tell me stories about the ranch. About how when he was a boy he used to help with the cattle, and how there’s a treasure of gold coins buried somewhere on the ranch and he used to dig with a little girl cousin of his to try to find it.”
Morgan nodded. “It’s supposed to be here, all right. One of the old-time Parkers buried it during an Indian attack, only he couldn’t remember later where he buried it.” Morgan looked at her. “Do you know who that little girl cousin was?” he asked and when Erin shook her head, he motioned to the lawn chairs. “Mae,” he said.
“Mae?” Erin echoed, as if it didn’t seem possible to her that Mae had ever been anything but what she was now—an old woman.
“Uh-huh.”
Erin considered the revelation for a moment, then said, “She’s a lot older than my grandma. My grandma’s dead, too. Did you know that?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “My grandma didn’t like us very much, either. She was grumpy and fussed a lot. She slept a lot, too. And she smelled funny. Mommy said it was Grandma’s favorite perfume, but I didn’t like it. We didn’t see her very often, just every once in a while.”
Knowing the truth behind the tale Erin was telling him made giving a reply difficult. Morgan settled for a safe “That’s too bad.”
“Mommy said Grandma loved us, she just didn’t know how to show it. Is that the way it is with Mae, too?”
Another thing about children, Morgan reflected, they sometimes had the uncanny ability to cut straight to the heart of a situation. Mae wouldn’t like it if she heard him agree, but he did. “I suppose,” he murmured.
“Ira wasn’t like that at all,” Erin said, smiling in remembrance. “He was nice to Mommy and me. After school, he let me play in the room where he and Mommy worked. He played games with me, read to me. And when he got sicker, he let me listen when Mommy read to him. He liked funny stories. I do, too.” Her smile wavered, disappeared. “I liked him a lot,” she added simply.
Morgan met her dark gaze. It was so much like a Parker’s it almost took his breath away. He’d met this same look all his life—from Rafe. This little girl had to be a Parker. But the way she spoke about Ira, the way she spoke about her mother’s relationship with
Ira…well, it didn’t add up. Something was off center.
Something—
“—do you?” Erin asked, breaking into his thoughts again.
“Do I what? I missed what you said.” There was no way he could pull himself out of that one, not with such a direct question.
“Do you think that when people die they go to heaven? That’s what the nuns at my school said. If the people are good, of course. But what if they’re good and bad? Do you think my grandma was good enough to go to heaven? And Ira—was he? Do you think they’re in heaven together right now this very minute? And that they can look down and see us sitting here? See you and me talking? See—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Morgan said soothingly, just as he would to a highly strung colt. He smiled. “You’re takin’ on quite a lot for such a nice quiet Sunday.”
“But do you? Could they?”
She wasn’t going to let the subject go, not until she had an answer. He took a breath and said, “I look at it like this. People should do the best they can with what they’re given, and if they do, they should end up with something good in the end. If that’s heaven, great. And if while they’re up there they want to look down on the rest of us and eavesdrop once in a while…well, I guess they’ve earned the privilege.”
Erin sat very still, thinking about what he’d said, then her face broke into in a huge grin and she pressed her head against his arm, hugging it tightly. “I like you, Morgan,” she said happily. “I really like you!”
For a second Morgan pulled her closer. “I like you, too,” he returned. “You’re a pretty special kid.”
And while he ate peach cobbler for dessert, she sat beside him, continuing to chatter lightly about this and that, until Jessica and Gwen came to get her and they went off to play.
CHRISTINE HAD KEPT a surreptitious eye on Morgan and Erin as they sat together. She’d seen how deep in conversation they were. She’d recognized the expression Erin got when she had hold of something she was determined to get an answer to. She saw how, when Morgan had obviously come up with a satisfactory answer, Erin had reacted. And how Morgan had responded to her. It was
unsettling to see them growing so close. She worried how Erin would be affected if, yet again, they were forced to leave the place—and the people—she was starting to feel a connection to.
At this point, though, Christine didn’t know what she could do about any of it. About Erin and Morgan, or Morgan and herself. She couldn’t be thinking in terms of love. She’d sworn it would never happen to her again. The vulnerability associated with love was too dangerous. And yet, here she was.
She stood up. She’d rather be alone and miserable than miserable in a crowd. Especially a crowd of Parkers. But Harriet stopped her, Harriet who was sitting next to Delores Hughes.
“Christine, just a minute. There’s something.”
Christine smiled and stepped over to Harriet, who immediately launched into a subject she’d touched on before.
“Delores and I were talking,” she said, “about Erin and school. This couldn’t have come at a better time, you know. The kids are just coming off spring break. If you want her to, I’m sure Erin could enroll.”
As Harriet spoke, Erin, Jessica and Gwen came running up. Christine couldn’t help glancing toward the table where Morgan and Erin had been sitting. Sure enough, he was gone. Had he already left for the range?
Jessica had overheard. “School?” she asked. “Erin’s gonna come to school with us? Oh, that’d be great!” She turned to Erin. “I could show you—”
“Quiet, Jessica.” Delores tried to quell some of her granddaughter’s excitement. “It hasn’t been decided yet.”
Erin looked from her new friend to her mother. “Could I, Mommy? Could I?”
The only one disappointed was Gwen, until she thought of a solution. “Could I go, too?” she begged. “Mom, could I? Please?”
Harriet shook her head slowly. “Not yet, honey. It’s not time for you. You have to wait until next year.or maybe the year after.”
Christine gazed into her daughter’s still-upturned expectant face and knew that this was a problem she could do something about. Erin enjoyed school and got good grades. “Well, I don’t see why—”
West Texas Weddings Page 17
