by Linda Broday
“Pure silk. Your skin carries the taste of fresh rainwater. You’ve driven me out of my mind ever since I rode into town.” His hoarse declaration sent tremors of gladness through Laurel.
This was undeniable proof he’d lied last night.
Brodie Yates wanted her.
And yet despite everything Laurel couldn’t let him say more. Them being together was painfully wrong. Regardless of his tender embrace, regardless of the dewy flush his kisses brought to her skin, and regardless how very much she wanted to welcome the glorious abandon that tempted her, she must honor one simple promise.
“We can’t do this. I won’t wrong Murphy.”
“Then why does it feel so damn right?” he growled.
“I spent too many years in that hell-hole to throw away what I’ve gained.” Laurel twisted to face him. “Do you know what it’s like to see your reflection in a mirror or a window without turning away in disgust? I don’t want to ruin finding out. One day I’ll remove the black cloths from the mirrors and actually like the woman staring back. I have a chance to hold my head up, look honest, God-fearing folks in the eye, and not feel shame for a single, blessed thing.”
“I reckon we both have a lot of backwater swamp to tread before we reach that point.”
And trying to avoid alligators and evil in every shadow.
“Pushing away what I desperately want to accept is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“The thought of you married to Murph…” Pure torture thickened Brodie’s voice. “I can’t let it happen. You ask too much.”
She twisted in the saddle and traced the crevices around his mouth, fingered the rebellious lock of hair that fell onto his forehead.
“Murphy found something decent in me. I won’t dishonor him. Let me break the engagement first.” She couldn’t help but rub a little salt. “Besides, you gave your blessing, don’t forget.”
“You’re devilish, you know that? It’s a low blow bringing that up. For your information I didn’t mean a word of it. Get one thing clear, little Miss Tease, I won’t let you marry my brother. You’re mine.”
Though a crooked grin accompanied the statement, it brought out her Irish blood. “You won’t let me?”
“You can wipe the war paint off your face. You know what I mean. You belong to me. Always have. Always will.”
Smokey came to a standstill and swung his head around as if sensing a good argument and wanted to catch every word.
“Is that a fact? I think the excitement in town must’ve addled your brain. And should I wish to marry your brother, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m no child to order about.”
Why had she said that? She didn’t wish to wed Murphy.
“Of a certainty, I’ve never found anything but full grown woman.” Snake rattles on the felt hat warned of danger. “Would you ruin three lives merely to prove a point?”
“If you think that, you don’t know me at all.”
“Then why in sweet Jezzie did you cause such a ruckus?”
“I didn’t care for your lordly attitude.”
He noticed at last they weren’t moving and touched the animal’s flanks. “Smokey, you flea-bitten snot bag, what’d you stop for? It’s impolite to eavesdrop on a conversation.”
“You’re doing it again.”
His deep sigh fluttered the top of her hair. “What?”
“Now you’re bossing around your poor horse.”
“He’s used to it. Besides, he has no choice.”
A great blue heron passed over and landed in the boggy marsh.
“Arguing is the last thing I want,” he went on. “In my feeble bumbling I simply tried to make it clear how I feel about you.”
“Me, too. I accept your apology.”
One bit of good came from it all—the sparring had doused the heated passion that had come close to scorching them both.
“I’ll thank you to keep your hands, and your kisses, to yourself for now. Never tempt me into sullying my honor again.”
“Yes, ma’am. When I see how far you’ve come, I can almost buy an acre or two of your dream. Maybe putting down roots can give a man purpose other than staying alive.”
“Like Ollie’s grandpappy told her, ‘If’n you don’t take that first step, you ain’t ever going nowhere.’” Laurel suddenly laughed, realizing what she’d spouted. “That old skinflinty woman’s got me quoting chapter and verse now.”
“Her salty tongue does tend to grow on you, doesn’t it?”
Laurel touched the saddlebag to make sure the elixir rode easy and said a silent prayer it worked.
“If you’re so all-fired het up on becoming a respectable lady, then quit rubbing the match against the flint.” A groan followed the order. “Remember you still belong to me.”
Laurel squirmed, trying to move from the snug pocket his legs had created.
“You keep doing that and I’m likely to forget about our agreement and your purpose. I’ll sling that made-for-loving body of yours off this horse onto a patch of sweet grass so quick it’ll make you dizzy.”
Heat flooded her face. “I’m only trying to keep from—”
“Hellfire and damnation! Be still.”
She sniffed, kept her back ramrod straight, and hands glued to the saddle horn. He had a lot of nerve blaming her, seeing how he’d insisted she ride with him instead of taking the steamer.
Men.
“Brodie, you never explained why you went to that devil’s den, of all places. You’re a fine one to speak of death wishes. Please say you didn’t do such a dim-witted thing for my benefit.”
“And if I did? What’d be wrong with that?”
The balmy afternoon sun blazed.
“Plenty, Mr. Rebel. You could’ve hired a street crier to advertise your presence and gotten less notice. Now, the Billy Yanks definitely know your whereabouts.”
Guilt would make living with that burden impossible.
“I had a job to do and I did it.”
“For me.”
“Who I happen to care about. Besides, keeping you safe only played a part in my… How did you put it? Dim-witted plan? I needed to get rid of Blanchard. I told Sheriff Roberts how Redemption lacked a lawman. My solution to a problem.”
“You already quit the job?” Her heart sank. Breaking ties to the town, his brother, and her seemed a sure sign he was ready to ride out. Talk about roots and saying she belonged solely to him confused the life out of her. She’d give anything to know what was going on in that head of his.
Did he simply seek another source of amusement?
Or torture?
Old doubts taunted her. Had he really moved that far from tricks and deception?
Yet, he’d ridden into the midst of the enemy and faced a death angel to assure no harm came to her.
“It would appear so, my dear. I’m not cut out to be a lawman. Redemption needs someone who likes low pay and a hard cot.”
Twenty-two
Laurel should’ve blessed the sight of Redemption. Instead, regret and forlorn sadness bound her in a shroud by the time she slid from Brodie’s lap to solid ground.
Ollie’s bandy legs reminded her of the pump handle on a water spout when the woman scrambled through the café door.
“Goldarned it. What happened? I put you aboard the steamer and you come riding in on horseback.”
“Vallens followed me. I’ll give you the full report later.” Laurel turned and got stuck in the anguished stare of a thousand disappointments. “I don’t express gratitude well. They didn’t exactly teach that in charm school. Take care, Brodie.”
He handed her the precious package from Sedberry’s. “Likewise. Promise to keep your guard up.”
Against Vallens or himself? He failed to say. Perhaps both. And he’d not offered to expand further on why he gav
e up the sheriff job. Her suspicions didn’t bode well.
Before he coaxed Smokey toward the stables, he leaned and whispered, “Remember who you belong to, lady.”
The Appaloosa pranced down the street, carrying the tall rider. The fragrance of shaving soap and leather—and the soft hiss of familiar rattles—wafted on the bayou breeze.
Ollie crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “You gonna fiddle-faddle there all day? The Lazy Jane brought a whole passel of meat to do something with.”
“Thank goodness. Glad the trip accomplished something.” Other than twisting her emotions six ways to Sunday.
“Give me the lowdown. I’m about to bust a gut.”
Laurel herded the woman into the café. “Which version do you want, plain or fancy?”
“Pretty sassy, aren’t you?” Ollie perched on the edge of a chair in the kitchen, puffing away on the pipe. “Fancy’ll do.”
The account evoked a longer string of “dadblasteds” and “son of a bluejackets” than Laurel could ever remember in one sitting. Of course, she never breathed a word of the ride home. That was her secret to keep. Had she shared that, it would’ve brought out the “damn scoundrels” and “scalawags” list.
“I’ll blame myself, and rightly so, if harm befalls Hannah.”
“Cain’t help what that mealy-mouthed swamp rat does.” Ollie cocked her head to the side and squinted. “Did you tell your sister who you are?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You should’ve. The girl deserves the truth.”
“Peace serves my family better than shame and disgrace.” Both had become regular visitors and neither made the pillow any softer at night.
“You have pretty odd thinking for a smart gal.” Ollie put the teakettle on to boil. “You think they rest easy? Your sister’s so broken-hearted she cain’t bear to speak of you, your brothers have taken to drowning their guilt in a bottle, and your poor mama and daddy, Lord only knows what they lug around day in and day out. Don’t sound like any peace I ever saw.”
Laurel evaded Ollie’s look that declared she’d been nesting with a gaggle of loons all afternoon.
“After what occurred, it’s simply not safe for Hannah or them.”
“A limp, sorry answer. Ever heard of secret visiting? There’s ways, should you want to. Not knowing whether you’re dead or alive will eat a hole clean through. Give ’em an end to the grieving. Let ’em bury the past, dadblasted.”
“Even if I could, I don’t know how or where to start.”
Ollie’s callused palms rubbed hers, the dear face becoming lost in a teary blur.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
When did the rightness of it become merged with what she’d have to sacrifice? The loathing in her parents’ eyes would destroy what remained of the part William Taft had left.
“I think of them each morning, and their faces are the last thing I see at night. I die a little more inside each day,” Laurel whispered in agony.
“Then do it. Go see them. Set the past straight.”
“And if they spit in disgust and turn away? What then?”
“Being scared is as natural as breathing. The longer you hold off the harder it is to suck in air. Take it from an old sourdough, find a speck of happiness. Give ’em a chance, girl.”
Doubts churned some of that Georgia clay Brodie spoke of into hard cement. How great were the odds they’d forgive and forget?
“I promise to give it some thought.”
Evidently that satisfied Ollie. At least for the time being. “Now, what’s in the package you brought from Jefferson? Too small for a dress or a new hat.” Ollie rubbed her hands together. “Let me see.”
“It’s something for you. Tincture of hawthorn berries.”
“Well, you can guzzle it yourself ’cause I ain’t putting a drop of that stuff in my mouth. Nope. One of those carpetbagging leeches talked you into parting with good money, did they?”
Laurel sighed. This might be harder than she thought.
* * *
Beating the sun up the next morning, she decided Murphy would hear the truth, the whole, sordid, unvarnished truth.
He’d thank her for releasing him from scandal.
In a few hours, she’d breathe freely without laboring under the heavy weight of lies. She hopped from bed.
Ollie’s open door and absence in the kitchen raised a few concerns, which she reasoned away. Probably spent the night with Curley, doing what lovers did. Color rose in her cheeks. She didn’t care for such thoughts. Not that Ollie didn’t deserve the full measure of happiness. Laurel merely preferred to not think of a parent figure finding sexual joy.
Like it or not, the woman had assumed a motherly role.
Still, Ollie hadn’t appeared at a den of sin like the Black Garter looking for salvation. And she had spent a goodly amount of time in the cardsharp Frenchie Devereaux’s company.
A hot cup of tea during the wait for appropriate calling hours helped clear her unsettling thoughts.
To say what she had put off too long would take every ounce of courage. Ollie had yet to make an appearance when the clock landed on eight and she grabbed her shawl.
“My lands, child. Come on in.” Etta wiped the flour off her hands with the apron and took Laurel’s wrap.
“Perhaps I’ve arrived too early.”
“Not in this house. Mr. Murphy is raring to go. Now Mr. Brodie, he’s another story. That one hasn’t bothered to rouse for breakfast.”
Even better. After narrowly averting disaster yesterday, she’d prefer to skip another encounter at the moment.
The intimate scene inside Murphy’s room stopped her short. Nora bent over the patient, giving him a shave. The Indian woman’s long braids snaked down each bosom and rested on Murphy’s bare chest. Several seconds elapsed in which Laurel debated on leaving. But when she backed out, he saw her.
“Don’t go,” he called. “You’re in time to watch Nora shear the sheep. I had hoped to surprise you.”
Laurel took the empty chair and clasped her hands to stop their nervous twitching. “I’ll enjoy your helplessness,” she said, eying the sharp straight razor Nora held.
“No mercy. A man in his sickbed and can’t get a lick of respect from any of you females.”
“Pay price for pretty smile and winsome ways.” Nora scraped rough whiskers from a section of jaw.
Murphy winked. “I got Nora fooled. And here she thought I had the charm of a potato-digger.”
“Better watch it. Remember who’s holding the razor.”
“Lady right.” Nora’s mischievous eyes glistened. “Ever hear them say the only good Injun is a dead one?”
Abruptly, Murphy’s face darkened. “I warned you. Never say that again. Doesn’t matter what your origin. Not to me. There are more important things in life.”
Would he think differently when Laurel revealed her scarlet past? He appeared quite willing to overlook other things.
Nora shrugged. “I hear worse. Not deaf.”
Uncomfortable silence lay in the wake of the exchange when at last Murphy’s mood lightened. “Besides, Nora’s worked too hard snatching me from the jaws of death. She’ll not ruin her handiwork by slitting my throat now.”
“Keep talking, yellow eyes, and we see.”
Nora finished the task without further banter, gathered the utensils, and left.
“Come here, love. See how a clean-shaven face kisses.”
How could she do the right thing when it sought to begin so wrong? Kissing wouldn’t help the telling come easier. He noticed her hesitation and patted the bed.
Laurel’s knees trembled when she stood. “We must talk.”
“After you come and perform your pre-wifely duty first.”
So much for doing the right thing.
; He pulled her into his arms once she sank onto the mattress. Hope for averting close contact fled.
Desperate though she was to get things in the open, she had no heart for kicking a man flat on his back.
“Now, what pressing business do you have on the agenda?”
Strands of guilt twisted around her soul like ivy encircling a tree trunk—poison ivy. If only he knew she’d already changed her mind and given her heart to another. And worse, what would it do to him, how would he feel to discover his own brother occupied the place he once held?
Dear God, what a mess I’ve made of things.
* * *
Brodie wiped the shaving residue off and listened to voices from the next room. The early hour seemed a bit strange for Laurel to visit. He dressed quickly and opened the door.
“I want out of this bed and I won’t argue about it!” Murphy’s thunder echoed in the hall.
“Nora thinks it’s too soon and I happen to agree.”
Laurel’s throaty voice made Brodie reconsider. He could do without another dose of the misery their encounters left. The last lingered in his mind like the frenzied cacophony of a flock of grackles.
Before he could move swiftly past, Laurel sped from the room and into his chest.
He lunged to break her fall, the contact jarring the breath from him in more ways than one. Warning bells clanged when he found himself floating in smoky lavender pools staring upward.
Her pink, open mouth drew him and every rational thought vanished. Brodie savored the taste of her on his tongue very gently and with extreme laziness. Her stiff body relaxed under his caress as if it, too, had grown weary of fighting forbidden sin. She melted into his embrace, leaving him one wish—to hold her until each tomorrow faded.
Someone clearing their throat startled him back to awareness. Nora stood with arms folded. Laurel pushed away.
Sweet Bessie. The woman had bad timing.
“Mr. Brodie, what beautiful day.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” He caught a twinkle in the dark gaze.
“I come look for you. Please to help Mr. Murphy from bed. If crazy man insists on pulling wound open, we help him.”
He shot Laurel a contrite apology which she ignored, choosing instead to turn away and smooth back the sides of her hair. Never would he deliberately embarrass her; she had to know that.
