Rogues in Texas 01- A Rogue In Texas

by Lorraine Heath

  “Hmmm. Sounds like an intriguing tale.”

  Shaking her head, she smiled with a memory. “He was so happy when he learned I could read. He’d been depending on his ability to judge nature’s signs to determine when to plant his seeds. The first time I read to him from the almanac, you would have thought he was the richest of men.”

  “He was the richest of men, Abbie. He had you. And his wealth has not dwindled.”

  Then, taking the clothes she offered, he walked quietly from the room.

  The wailing rose in tempo. Grayson decided he might be able to relax if he thought the house could withstand the force of the gale. The winds might have had a calming effect if it weren’t for the occasional jarring crash of something outside banging into something else. The shutters on the windows rattled. The wind whistled through the chimney, down through the hearth—even after Grayson had closed the damper. Jessye had doused the fire and cleaned out the hearth. “Just in case we need a place,” was all she’d said when Grayson had asked her about it.

  His mouth dry, he sat in the worn wing-backed chair, Micah snuggled against his side, his tiny body rife with tremors as Grayson haltingly read Ivanhoe.

  Jessye sat on the floor, her legs folded beneath her, her arms around Lydia and Johnny . Despite the bruises and scratches on his face, Johnny seemed to have recovered remarkably well from his ordeal although he did jump every time they heard a clap of thunder.

  But then Grayson jumped, too.

  The door to the bedroom opened and Abbie ambled out, a weariness to her step, a droop to her shoulders.

  Johnny jerked his head around. “How’s Pa?”

  Abbie knelt beside him and hugged him fiercely. “He’s…I don’t know what he is. Sleeping, I guess.”

  “A big ’ol limb from a tree hit him when he was getting me to the rock,” Johnny explained. “I thought he was a goner.”

  “Maybe I oughta go for the doctor,” Jessye said.

  Incredulously Grayson stared at the woman, trying to determine if she was courageous or foolish.

  Abbie shook her head. “No, Jessye, we’ve risked enough lives today. I don’t think the doctor will be able to do anything for him now that he won’t be able to do once the storm passes.”

  “Grayson was a hero,” Johnny announced.

  “Hardly, lad,” he said, much more comfortable when he was he was described as disreputable.

  Holding his gaze, Abbie smiled softly. “Yes, he was.”

  The gratitude in her eyes, directed his way, was almost a painful thing to behold. Gratitude because he’d not only saved her son, but her husband.

  The wind quieted, the rain lessened, the silence echoed more loudly than a storm. Grayson felt the knots in his muscles unwind as he slumped back in the chair. “Thank God, it’s over.”

  “No,” Abbie said quietly. “Not yet.” She rose to her feet. “Come outside with me for a minute.”

  He shifted Micah off his lap and handed the book to him. “Hold my place.”

  The lad beamed as though he’d just been given the responsibility of saving the world.

  Outside the world was an ominous gray. Debris seemed to move with no wind to push it. The silence became oppressive.

  “There’s always an eerie lull like this,” Abbie explained. “It’s like the storm is sitting up there, waiting and watching.”

  “While it’s quiet, I should fetch a physician—”

  “No. You don’t know how long it’ll be before the rest of the storm hits and I don’t want you caught in it.”

  “So we just wait.”

  She nodded.

  She was standing close enough that with the slightest movement, he could have her in his arms. “How have you been feeling?”

  “The sickness isn’t as bad.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. I didn’t like the thought of you being ill…” He allowed his voice to trail off, suddenly at a loss for words. So much remained unsettled between them. She had asked him not to kill her husband—he hadn’t. She’d asked him, to leave—he had.

  She turned her gaze toward the damaged land. “You could have left John where he was. He wouldn’t have survived the storm. You could have come back to shore and told me he was dead and I never would have known differently.” She looked at him then, tears shimmering within her violet eyes. “I think you lied to me, Grayson Rhodes . I don’t think you’re a rogue at all.”

  “Unfortunately, sweetheart, I’m afraid there will be many a lonely night when I shall regret that I wasn’t.”

  Inwardly, Abbie sighed. She’d adopted some of his bad habits, torn between wanting him to be happy and never wanting anyone to replace her within his heart.

  She stood for long moments, simply gazing out, waiting for the storm, waiting for words that would unburden her heart. The words wouldn’t come. But the storm did. She heard its roaring, its anger. “We need to get back inside.”

  She jerked around. Lydia stood within the doorway, pale as death. “ Lydia , you need to go inside.”

  “But Mama—”

  She nudged her daughter’s shoulder. “No buts. The storm is coming—”

  “Pa went out the back door.”

  “What?” She spun around, a movement catching her attention. A shadow in the fields. “ John !”

  She turned back to Lydia and pushed her through the doorway. “Do not leave this house. Do you understand me?” She looked at Jessye. “ John is in the fields. I have to get him. Keep the children.”

  “Abbie, let him go,” Jessye called after her as she slammed the door shut.

  She saw Grayson running toward the fields, his shirt billowing in the wind like a flag of truce. She leapt off the porch. The wind slapped her and she staggered back. Dear God, the storm had returned so quickly, with such ferocity. “ John !”

  She raced to the fields. She saw Grayson grab John ’s shoulder. John shrugged him off. She watched John snatching up bits of muddied cotton. It was ruined. It was all ruined. Why couldn’t he leave it now?

  By the time she neared them, Grayson and John were yelling at each other, their words tossed about on the wind, indecipherable. She grabbed John ’s arm. “ John , you have to get back into the house.” She tried to pull him, but he jerked free.

  “I’ve got to finish cleaning the fields,” he yelled, looking at the soggy, muddy tufts in his hand. “There’s too much left.”

  “ John , whatever is left is ruined. The picking season is over—”

  “No! It’s not over until I say it’s over.”

  In horror, Abbie watched him turn away, searching for remnants from a dead field. She felt Grayson’s arm come around her. “Let’s get you to the house and I’ll come back for him.”

  With his body as a flimsy shield against the wind and driving rain, he guided her back to the house. The children rushed to her, wrapping their arms around her, their small bodies trembling against hers. She heard the wind howl its rage, the house tremble. A shutter tore from a window. Lydia shrieked.

  “Abbie, you and the children get in the hearth,” Jessye ordered.

  “What about you?”

  “The one in the bedroom will only hold one. I’ll take it.” She jerked her gaze to Grayson. “Lessen you want it.”

  “No, no, not at all,” Grayson said.

  Abbie gathered the children and ushered them toward the hearth while Jessye rushed into the bedroom.

  “Children, crawl into the hearth,” she ordered.

  “Why are you putting them in the hearth?” Grayson asked.

  “We’ve seen many a house fall and the chimney stand.”

  “Thank God, it’s huge.”

  But not huge enough. The children crowded inside and Abbie was able to make her way into the alcove—barely. No room remained for anyone else. When she was tucked inside, Grayson took her hand. “I’ll get Westland .”

  She wrapped her hand around his. “No, I won’t take a chance on losing both of you.”

  She s
aw doubt in his eyes, and her love for him increased tenfold. She squeezed his hand. “He’s bigger. He’ll struggle and you might both get caught out there. Hopefully, he’ll take shelter in the barn.”

  He nodded, as though better able to accept leaving John . He used his body to form a protective barrier over the opening to the hearth.

  The pitch of the wind grew to an ear-splitting shriek. Abbie drew her children around her as much as she was able in the small confines. She felt the ground shaking, the earth trembling, Grayson’s hand seeking hers. She intertwined their fingers just as she heard the deafening crack and the incredible roar that signaled the unleashing of hell’s fury.

  19

  “A bbie, don’t move.”

  She didn’t think she could have if she wanted. She ached everywhere. She struggled to open her eyes and tried to smile at her sister. “ Elizabeth ?”

  “Shhh. You just lie still until I’ve made sure nothing is broken.”

  Broken. Broken. Images flashed through her mind. The blackness of the hearth, the sound of splintering wood, the rumble, Grayson’s groan, the children’s screams.

  She bolted upright.

  “Abbie,” Elizabeth scolded.

  “Where are the children?” Her gaze fell on the remains of her house, wood strewn about and scattered.

  “The children are fine. Jessye’s fine.”

  She clutched her sister’s hand. “Grayson?”

  “You need to stay calm—”

  “Oh, God.”

  Elizabeth pulled her close. “He wasn’t as sheltered as you were.”

  “Dear God.” She broke free of Elizabeth ’s hold and scrambled to her knees. “Where is he? Where’s John ?” She felt as though a hurricane was spinning inside her head, throwing out questions, demanding answers. She worked her way to her feet. “Where are they?” Her voice sounded like the shrieking wind. She turned to her sister. “ Elizabeth , where are my children? I need to see my children.”

  With Elizabeth to support her, her legs shaking badly, she stepped over the rubble. Her gaze darted over the area, looking for Grayson, for John , for evidence that the unspoken truth she heard in her sister’s voice was a lie.

  She found the children with blankets wrapped around them, huddled in the back of a wagon, eating cookies taken from a plate that Amy was holding. She hugged each one fiercely, the tears streaming down her face. They were safe. Her babies were safe.

  She walked a distance away from the wagon before she dared to ask, “Where’s John ?”

  Silence…

  She stumbled to a stop and glared at her sister. “ Elizabeth , not telling me is not going to change the truth.”

  She pointed toward the fields. “He’s over there.”

  Abbie was surprised by the calmness that settled over her as she walked toward the ruined, beaten fields because her heart knew—knew—what she would find in the middle of the group of kneeling men.

  James stood and held out his hands imploringly. “You don’t want to see this, Abbie.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want, James . If that’s my husband lying there, then I, by God, want to see him.”

  With a brusque nod, James stepped aside. When she knelt beside John , the other men quietly moved away, leaving her alone with a man who had given her as much as he could. She took his hand, fisted around bolls of cotton, and brought it to her lips. “You were a good husband, John Westland , a good man.” The tears welled in her eyes, rolled over onto her cheeks. “I couldn’t cry before, but I am now. This time, John , you died with someone loving you, not as powerful a love as you probably deserved, but love all the same.” With a deep sigh, she gently placed his hand on his chest, tucking the cotton more securely into his grasp. “You and your cotton.”

  Rising unsteadily, she faced her brother and sister. “Where’s Grayson?”

  “Other side of the house,” Elizabeth said. “We thought it best that the children not see—”

  She didn’t wait for her sister to finish. With a purpose, she strode across the yard. She saw Harry and Jessye standing a short distance away, each scolding the other. They were alive. What was there to argue about?

  Just beyond the rubble that surrounded her chimney, she saw the amber gold of Kit ’s hair. Dear God, but she wanted to see wheat. She rounded the corner of the crumpled building that had once been her home. With her heart curling into an aching ball, she approached the man sitting on the ground, his back against one of the chimneys that had stood intact during the ordeal.

  Heavy bandages were wrapped around his bare chest. His shockingly white bone was protruding through the torn and ragged flesh of his right arm. She had held his right hand during the tempest. Why hadn’t he released his hold on her? Would it have made a difference?

  He gave her an achingly sweet smile that nearly ripped her heart in two.

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  She dropped to her knees beside him, the tears swimming within her eyes. “You’re all broken.”

  “The body is. The spirit might be all right. The doctor’s gone in search of something he can use as a splint. I don’t think he’ll have any trouble finding something.” With his good hand, he cradled her face and brought her head into the nook of his shoulder. “Dear God, Abbie, I’ve never been so terrified. Are you truly all right?”

  “Yes. And the children. They’re shaken, but fine. John … John —”

  “I know, sweetheart. I heard. I’m sorry.”

  His voice carried the true measure of his sorrow, and she thought she might never love him more than she did at this moment. She moved around him so she could have his whole arm holding her instead of only his hand.

  “The land always came first with him,” she said softly. “It’s only fitting, I guess, that he should die within its arms.”

  She pressed her face against his shoulder, not caring who saw her weep as he held her close.

  “Snakes! You gotta watch out for the snakes,” Johnny warned.

  Grayson glanced around, not liking the sound of that at all. “Snakes?” he repeated, wanting verification that the fanged serpents existed.

  “They was here before, but usually they’re afraid of us so they stay hidden. But the ground shakes during a storm and out they come.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “And the ants, too. It’s the craziest thing. There’ll be hordes of ’em in the water so you don’t want to stand in water long.”

  “Ants.”

  “Yep. Come next summer, the mosquitoes will be awful on account of they’ll be laying their eggs on all this water.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Ezra Jones told me.”

  “Ah, yes, the lad with the weapons.”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe he could take his gun and kill the snakes.”

  Johnny laughed as only a child could. Grayson was grateful someone found humor in this dreadful situation. The house was gone. Somehow the barn had remained intact—for the most part. It had a board missing here or there, but still it stood. He supposed the wind had simply whistled through the structure that was open at each end. The rain had beat the crops into the ground which probably wasn’t a bad thing since most of the cotton had been picked. And Grayson couldn’t help but feel that the soil would be richer for all the water the tempest had dumped on the land.

  But still—snakes?

  They had laid John Westland out at Elizabeth ’s. Abbie was there now, sleeping. Grayson had come to see what, if anything, could be salvaged.

  “My pa’s dead,” Johnny blurted out of the blue.

  Grayson jerked his gaze to the boy. “Yes, lad, he is.”

  “You reckon he’ll stay dead this time?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid this time he won’t be returning.”

  Johnny nodded. “ Lydia says he came outside to try and stop the storm. You think he mighta done that?”

  So much hope was reflected in the boy’s eyes that Grayson couldn’t tell him t
he truth. His father had come outside to save the cotton, not his children. “He might have tried to stop the storm.”

  “Then he was mighty brave, wasn’t he?”

  Grayson smiled warmly. “Mighty brave.”

  Johnny raced off toward the barn, no doubt needing a few moments alone to ponder the magnitude of the loss he’d suffered yesterday.

  Grayson crouched in the fields and stared at the muddy mess. He felt as uprooted as some of the plants lying about. A respectable period of mourning was in order for Abbie. Otherwise tongues would wag. But if they were to get married right away, he could claim his baby and the child would never know the disgrace of being called a bastard.

  He closed his eyes. If Abbie would consent to marry him. Yesterday, storms had raged within as well as without. That Abbie cared about him, he did not doubt. But did she still love him?

  A wet, smelly substance landed with a smack against his cheek. His eyes flew open as he brought the sticky mud away from his face. Another round hit him.

  Anger burning through him, he surged to his feet. Abbie stood a short distance away, her hand coated with the thick matter, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing.

  “The land,” she spat. “The land always has to come first, doesn’t it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I went through hell yesterday, and this morning I wake up and find out you’ve come to check on the land.”

  He held out his hands. “Because you were asleep. You had no need of me while you were sleeping.”

  “You want the land? Then, by God, you can have it.” She scooped up another handful of mud and slung it at him. Too stunned by her actions, he felt it splatter across the center of his chest.

  “The land always came first with John . And it comes first with you, doesn’t it?” She flung another handful of mud at him, but it fell short of its mark as she sank to the wet earth. “I want to be loved for me, not for the land.”

  He crossed the space separating them and dropped to his knees before her. “I do love you for you.”

  “When I asked, you didn’t deny it. You wanted the land!”

  He swallowed hard, trying to think of a way to explain. “Yes, I can’t deny that, but you have to understand. In England , if a man possesses land, he can gain a measure of respectability that is often granted only to the titled. When we were traveling here and I saw the abundance of land, I wanted it as I had never wanted anything…until I met you. That you had land was an unexpected bounty. But I would have loved you without it…and I still would have wanted you for my wife.”