Heart of Stone

by Jill Marie Landis

  “I heard that you went out with Amelia this afternoon and returned upset,” Brand said.

  Had Amelia spoken to him already? What exactly did he know?

  She knew that he must have heard it from Jesse when he asked, “Did that have anything to do with that man, Holloway?”

  She nearly lost her footing but then caught herself. “Of course not.”

  “He seemed to be playing loose with your feelings, Laura. As if he had the right.”

  “He has absolutely no rights where I’m concerned,” she said a bit too harshly. “Not anymore.”

  Brand stopped walking. He wanted to say more, she could tell, but he didn’t. They had nearly reached her drive. The sun was hurrying toward the horizon. She’d missed tea. It would soon be time to dine with her guests.

  “So you do know him.”

  Afraid of saying too much, she said absolutely nothing.

  “What is it, Laura? Please, let me help you.”

  She shook her head.

  Tell him.

  She let go of his arm, prepared to walk away. He had enough worries of his own. “Everything is fine,” she said.

  He reached for her hand, kept her there with the merest touch.

  “I’d do anything for you. I hope you know that.”

  She tried to don a carefree smile. An image of the Ellenberg family gathered together in their humble sitting room earlier came to her—a vignette of a life that was but a distant, faded memory for her. Thinking about the scene she’d witnessed, their shared laughter and joy, caused her smile to waver. It was the kind of life that was as out of reach for her as the moon.

  Unable to deny herself, she reached up, patted the lapel of his coat, and smoothed her hand along the black fabric.

  “Go home to your children and hold them close, Brand. And don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Brand waited until she disappeared into the house before he mounted up and headed back down Main Street. He slowed his horse to a walk as he rode by the Silver Slipper, but he didn’t see any sign of Collier Holloway. Until he had more information, he wasn’t about to make another scene. That was the last thing his battered reputation needed right now.

  There was something Laura wasn’t telling him; he was sure of it. She’d tried to reassure him that everything was fine, but she couldn’t disguise the haunted look in her eyes.

  She was anything but fine.

  He was tempted to go back and demand she tell him what was wrong, but with a woman as headstrong as Laura, he figured that would be the worst thing he could do. He hated leaving her, hated not being there to help.

  He rode past the Gazette building. It was dark inside and there was no sign of Hank. Amelia had been with Laura earlier. If anyone could tell him what was wrong, it was her.

  He nudged his horse into a trot and headed toward the Larson house. When he arrived, Hank and Amelia were just finishing up their evening meal. He sat down at the table and unable to resist sweets, opted for a piece of apple cobbler.

  “So what brings you here, Brand?” Hank hooked his arm around the back of his chair. “Some good news for a change, I hope.”

  “Jesse ended up having supper with us today.” He went on to explain how Jesse came to be at the house—how Janie and Sam had “run away” to Laura’s and how she’d sent them all home together.

  “Good for her,” Hank said. “She’s not one to shy away from anything.”

  “How is Charity?” Amelia asked. Brand noticed she seemed quieter than usual and often lost in thought.

  “She invited Jesse to stay to supper. She let him know he was welcome any time.”

  They chatted awhile longer as he finished off his apple cobbler and complemented Amelia.

  “Would you like more coffee?” she offered.

  “No, thanks. I’ve got to be going.” He stood up, collected his hat. “Before I leave, I’d like to speak to you about Laura. If I may?”

  Amelia seemed so hesitant that Brand became certain something had, indeed, happened on their outing. Something Laura wasn’t willing to tell him. His gut twisted. Amelia glanced over at Hank and smiled.

  “Excuse us, would you, dear? I’ll walk Brand out alone.”

  “Should I be jealous?” Hank teased.

  “Only if I’m not back within the hour.” She walked Brand to the door and they stepped out onto the porch.

  Brand thought he’d have to initiate the conversation, but Amelia surprised him.

  “Have you spoken to Laura this afternoon?” she asked.

  “I just left her,” he admitted.

  “And?”

  “Jesse mentioned he thought she was upset earlier, so I was intent on seeing her. I was on my way to her place when I ran into her on the street talking to a man named Collier Holloway outside the Silver Slipper. It was such an unlikely place to find her—”

  Amelia couldn’t hide her alarm. “Did she say why she was there?”

  “She said she’d been out looking for Jesse, that she wanted to make certain he’d brought the children home.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then,” Amelia didn’t look at all relieved.

  “If she’s in danger, I need to know, Amelia.”

  “You need to talk to Laura, Brand, not me.”

  “So she is in danger.”

  “I don’t think so. At least, she’s not worried about anyone harming her.”

  “But she’s worried about something.”

  “I really can’t say.”

  “Harrison Barker said she has been corresponding with a man in New Orleans—”

  Amelia stopped him. “I know how much you care about her, but there’s really nothing I am at liberty to tell you. You need to talk to Laura.”

  “I’ve been hesitant to lay my troubles at her doorstep.”

  “You’ve both been trying to protect each other when what you need is to lean on each other.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Love is the strongest thing there is, Brand. You know that. I’ve heard you preach that over and over. Love and forgiveness.” She took his hands, gave them a squeeze, and then let go. “Go see Laura tomorrow. Take her somewhere where you can talk in private. Tell her how you feel—”

  “But with everything that’s happening—”

  “None of that matters. She needs to know how much you care about her.”

  “Of course, but what are you hiding, Amelia? What has you so upset?”

  “Laura is my friend, Brand. I can’t say any more. The rest is up to the two of you.”

  NINETEEN

  Laura awoke long before dawn the next day feeling completely out of sorts. By the time breakfast was cleared, she had the urge to hit something.

  She bid the Hernandez men carry the dining room carpet out back and hang it wrong side out on the clotheslines behind the carriage house, out of view of the guestroom windows. There, she felt free to take out her pent-up anxiety on the Peshawar rug without anyone watching.

  A good ten minutes went by as she whacked and pounded, wielding the carpet beater against the hand-knotted threads, taking great satisfaction in each muffled thump.

  She finally rested for a second, rolled her head to stretch her neck and shoulders, and then drew her arm back to start again.

  “Is it dead yet?”

  With all her weight behind her swing, she nearly toppled head first into the carpet when Jesse appeared without warning. He chuckled when she spun around and pushed her hair back out of her eyes.

  “That’s not funny,” she grumbled. “You frightened me.”

  “You look all right to me.”

  Though his coloring was darker than his father’s, his wide, confident smile reminded her so much of Brand’s she had to look away.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good, because you’ve got company.” He jerked his head toward the carriage house. “The preacher is coming up the drive.”

&n
bsp; She didn’t want to see Brand. Not now. Not after yesterday afternoon and certainly not while she was looking like a fishwife in a simple cotton gown fit only for dirty work. There was dust in her hair and no doubt all over her face.

  “Tell him I’m not here.”

  “You want me to lie to him for you?”

  “Tell him I’m not seeing anyone right now. Tell him I’m too busy. Tell him it’s impossible. Tell him—”

  “Tell me yourself.”

  Brand came around the corner of the carriage house, leading not only his horse but also a brown mare with a star on her forehead. As he paused to give her a lingering look, Laura blew a stray curl out of her right eye. She lifted the carpet beater and shrugged.

  “As you can see, I’m busy.”

  Beside her, Jesse said, “Busy beating a carpet to death.”

  When he walked away whistling, Laura wished she could escape as easily.

  Undaunted by her excuses, Brand came toward her. His eyes never left her face.

  “It’s far too beautiful a day to be working so hard. I came to see if you’d spend an hour or so with me. Charity packed us a picnic. I thought we could take a ride south of town. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  He was tempting. She’d give him that. Too tempting now that he’d shed his usual black coat and was wearing a butternut-colored jacket and a light-blue shirt. Without his clerical collar, it was easy to forget what he was, forget who they were. She reminded herself to hold fast to her resolve.

  She glanced at the horses behind him.

  “I don’t ride.”

  “You’re a Texas woman now. It’s high time you learned. We’ll take it slow. It’s not far.”

  “Really, Brand, I can’t.”

  She expected him to say something witty. To try and cajole her with a smile. Instead, without warning, he reached for her hand. The shock of his touch still disturbed her more than anything he could say.

  “Please, Laura. Come with me.”

  “Please. Come with me.” Such a simple request.

  She remembered Amelia saying, “He needs you more now than ever.”

  Brand McCormick needed more than she could ever give. He needed someone he could love who loved him in return without reservation. A woman whose past was as spotless as new fallen snow.

  Once they were alone, away from the house and any interruptions, she’d have no excuse not to tell him the truth.

  “All right,” she said, suddenly nervous. “I’ll go. But I can only spare an hour or so.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Just let me run inside and get a hat.” She turned and he walked beside her toward the house.

  “A pair of old gloves, too, if you have them,” he suggested.

  “I’m not certain I can do this.” She caught herself thinking aloud and quickly glanced up to see if he had heard.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” Obviously he thought she was talking about riding.

  I already have, Brand. I’ve already fallen.

  She expected riding to be more difficult, but the hardest part was mounting the horse. Brand had rented a mare from the livery and asked for a side saddle. He told her that Big Mick Robinson, the smithy, had rolled his eyes at the request.

  “Any female worth her salt doesn’t ride sidesaddle. At least that’s what Big Mick claims.” Brand made certain the horse didn’t move as Laura tried to mount from the chopping block near the woodpile.

  Getting her left foot up into the stirrup while keeping her skirt hem and petticoats down was more of a challenge than actually settling into the saddle. Once she was there, she grabbed the pommel with both hands and held tight.

  “From up here, the ground looks very far away. And hard.” She was afraid to move.

  Brand walked around the horse. Before he slipped her right foot into the stirrup, he adjusted a series of straps and buckles while Laura concentrated on keeping her balance. Brand then walked Laura’s horse around the yard so that she could get the feel of the saddle and the sway of the animal beneath her. He gave her cursory instruction and then turned the reins over.

  Finally they were off, walking the horses across the open plain. When she felt more comfortable, Brand tried a slow trot and Laura bobbed up and down until her hat almost flew off. She was afraid to let go of the reins to hold it down.

  Without thinking, she yelled, “Help!”

  When she saw Brand’s face, she laughed.

  “Very funny, Mrs. Foster,” he said. “You just took a year off my life.”

  She hadn’t realized how completely vulnerable they were out in the open until she saw him recover from his concern. Suddenly the grove of trees ahead wasn’t as inviting.

  “Are we in any danger of running into Indians?” she asked.

  “The Comanche haven’t raided this area for a couple of summers now. This time of year, the renegades start heading back to the reservation to let the government feed them for the winter.”

  “You don’t wear a gun.”

  “No.”

  “Do you carry one in your saddle bag?”

  “No.”

  She wondered if he thought he could look a renegade Comanche in the eye and pray him to death. She’d brought along a hat but not her reticule. Now she found herself wishing she’d brought it and her derringer along.

  “I wouldn’t have brought you out here if I thought it would put you in harm’s way.”

  “I know, but—” She quickly realized she was only looking for an excuse to turn back and put off the inevitable.

  “Laura, don’t worry.”

  “I won’t.” She figured it would be easier to face a whole tribe of Comanche than to do what had to be done.

  The land seemed to roll on forever, unbroken except where trees crowded around water sources. She spent most of the ride staring straight ahead, holding tight to the reins, but now and again Laura braved a look at Brand. He seemed to have relaxed once they left Glory behind. Now and again, his eyes met hers and he smiled.

  “Where exactly are we going?” In many ways, she hoped they never reached the mysterious destination. If she hadn’t been so uncomfortable and in need of a stretch, she’d have been content to ride beside him forever.

  “We’re almost there.” Brand pointed to a spot where cottonwoods and mesquite lined a meandering stream.

  He dismounted and helped her down. For a moment she didn’t think she could take a step on her own. He gently held her arm and started to lead her to a rock so she could sit in the shade.

  “Oh, no,” she shook her head. “From that saddle to a rock? I prefer to walk around a bit first.”

  “Stretch your legs while I unpack the picnic.”

  As he began to pull a surprising amount of carefully wrapped food items out of his saddle bags, Laura strolled along the stream. The water level was low, more than a trickle, less than a rushing waterway. She marveled at the crystal clarity of the water. It shimmered with glints of sunlight as it rippled over multicolored stones.

  She walked down into the bare rocky section of the streambed, then moved closer to the center where the water ran two feet wide and six inches deep at the most. Careful to keep the hem of her skirt out of the water, she knelt on the rocks and dipped her fingers into the stream.

  The water was cooler than she expected. She thought it would have been warmed by the rocks. She lifted her fingers to her lips, smelled, and then tasted the moisture there.

  Footsteps crunched on the rocks behind her. Brand’s shadow merged with hers. She looked up, saw him silhouetted against the sun.

  He handed her a tin cup. “Thirsty?”

  “Thank you.”

  There had been streams, rivers, dense forests of green near her cottage in the Irish countryside, but her life in New Orleans had been that of a city dweller. The act of dipping a tin cup into a trickling stream had become a novelty.

  “What are you thinking about?” Brand had hunkered down beside he
r, watched as she took long swallows of water until the cup was empty.

  “About how long it’s been since I’ve had fresh water directly from a stream.”

  “How long?” He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear.

  It was a spontaneous gesture. She could tell he was as surprised by it as she and so she didn’t step away.

  “A very, very long time.” She tried to keep the sadness from her tone. Soon enough, she told herself. There will be enough time for regret and sorrow after he learned of her past. For now, she would enjoy their picnic and the stunning fall day.

  “Everything’s ready.” He rose and offered his hand, ever the perfect gentleman.

  She let him help her up, stifled a groan, and tried not to think of the ride back to town.

  He had spread a plaid-wool blanket on the ground in the shade. Assorted packages were stacked in the center. There was another cup and a bottle of sarsaparilla. Laura stood at the edge of the blanket taking in every detail, tucking the memory deep in her heart so that whenever loneliness crept up on her she could take it out and remember this moment.

  “Is something wrong?” he wanted to know.

  “I’ve never been on a picnic before,” she said softly.

  “Never?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  “Then I’m happy that you’re sharing your first with me. Charity will be pleased too. She wanted to make certain everything was perfect. If it was up to her, she’d have packed the good china.”

  He knelt on the edge of the blanket and began unwrapping the bundles tied in butcher paper. “She sent along some cold beef, bread, cheese, and some apples.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank her.” Laura lowered herself to the opposite side of the blanket, untied her hat, and set it down beside her. As the sun bathed her face, she leaned back on her hands. Suddenly she was starving. “It looks wonderful. Being outdoors has whetted my appetite.”

  “No doubt attacking that rug the way you did helped too,” he laughed.

  “No doubt.”

  She ate slowly, aware of his nearness, as well as the fact that they were completely alone. There was no need to remind herself that she was safe in his company. She had nothing to fear from this man. Each time he passed her a hunk of bread, a piece of cheese or beef, she waited in anticipation for the touch of his hand.