His voice held a slight edge now. “Do you plan to make a scene?”
She peered up at him, her eyes wide as if the mere thought of making a scene was scandalous. “Me? Heavens, no. Why would I make a scene?”
“Strong hunch,” he said, tight-lipped.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. We’re a close-knit community. If any member of the church failed to show up at an event of this magnitude, the neighbors would talk.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw.
She smiled, skimming the room.
“My mother seems to be enjoying herself. She’s eaten at least six petits fours.” Vonnie focused on the fragile-looking woman sitting inside the veranda doorway. Cammy Taylor, a quiet, unassuming lady, sipped punch, giving polite interest to Vera Clark’s endless chatter. Vera appeared to take Cammy’s nodding courtesy for rapt attention, but Vonnie knew better. Her mother wasn’t interested in Vera’s gout. She came tonight to spite P.K. Baldwin.
Adam’s warm breath fanned her ear, and for a giddy moment the room tilted. “I notice your father isn’t worried about proprieties.”
“Father?” She laughed. “A team of wild horses couldn’t have brought him here.”
Coolness shadowed Adam’s eyes.
She tilted a violet glance up at him and clarified, though it wasn’t necessary. “I believe his exact words were, ‘I’d sooner be in a room of rattlers.’”
Chiseled lips parted to reveal a row of perfectly matched teeth as he accepted the lethal thrust. “You’ll be sure to give Teague my best.”
“He’ll be thrilled.”
Lifting a dark brow, Adam appeared to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. When she didn’t respond, he said quietly, “There’s bound to be more you have to say.”
“Yes. I hope you both will be very happy.”
She set the cup aside and quickly walked away. Ignoring the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces, Vonnie swept by them and disappeared onto the veranda. Adam covered the awkward moment by casually threading his way through the crowd, following her.
Acknowledging the various greetings, he trailed close on Vonnie’s heels, pulling the veranda double doors closed behind him for privacy.
“All right,” he accused. “Say what you came here to say.”
“You really want to hear it?”
“Vonnie, don’t make a scene,” he warned.
Whirling, her eyes locked with his in a spirited challenge. “Over you? Don’t make me laugh.”
“What are you really doing here tonight?”
Her brow lifted with mockery. “Who would have a better reason to be here?”
“You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you? I hope we can handle this in a civil manner.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped to a low wall covered in dying bougainvillea. “I’m not sure I can be civil.”
Propping a boot on the flowered garden ledge, he stood silent. Finally he said, “You’re looking good.”
Moving another step away, she surveyed the brilliant sky. The stars looked so close she was sure she could reach up and touch them. She could remember only one other night when they’d been so bright, so perfect.
“You’re not obligated to say that.”
He looked away impatiently. “I wasn’t saying it because I thought I had to say it.”
“Then, thank you.” Her voice was even more unsteady than she’d feared.
Silence stretched between them.
“Why did you come?” he repeated. Grasping her by the shoulders, he shook her gently. “What did you expect?”
What did she expect? Resentment flooded her. What did she expect? Tears burned her eyes and she blinked.
Turning away, he said, “Stop looking at me that way.”
She closed her eyes to keep from seeing him at all.
His voice held quiet desperation now. “I don’t know what you expected.” He struggled for the right words. “You didn’t think it would just go away, did you?”
“I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t expect you to marry Beth.” She heard the hurt in her voice.
For the briefest of moments she thought she saw compassion in his eyes. But then it was gone. She steeled herself against the feelings roiling inside. “Congratulations. With the Baylors’ land and your family’s wealth, the Baldwins will control a sizable chunk of Potter County.”
“I’m not marrying Beth to spite you.”
“Then why are you marrying her?” Vonnie held her breath as she waited for the answer. If you say you love her, I’ll die.
“You know why I’m marrying her.” He refused to meet her eyes.
She averted her gaze. Yes, she knew—his father had arranged the union. P.K. had always wanted the Baylor land.
Lord, how can I bear this? I love him beyond words. How can I let him go to another woman—even to Beth, who would make him a devoted wife? Calm me, Lord, help me be strong, and help me veil how this is tearing me apart.
This time he was the one who looked away. “What does love have to do with it?”
“Are you saying you’re not in love with her?”
His voice turned harsh again. “I’m marrying Beth, understand?”
Oh, she understood. She understood only too well. He was like his father: headstrong and brash. She shivered, drawing the tulle-and-lace scarf closer over her shoulders. She suddenly felt chilled to the bone, though the night was hot. Hadn’t she known it would come to this? Hadn’t she told herself a million times it would end this way? He would never tell Beth. Nor would she. Ever.
“I assume you want my cooperation?”
He avoided her eyes. “Yes.”
She vowed she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Tears were already spilling from the corners of her eyes. “I’m supposed to keep quiet? Never tell Beth we were married?”
“It was just a ceremony. Annulled as soon as we came to our senses. We never had a chance to be married—not in the Biblical sense.”
Just a ceremony. She swallowed against the painful knot suddenly impeding the back of her throat.
“There’s no use in Beth ever knowing. It would hurt her pointlessly.”
“I’d want to know,” she said, turning back to confront him.
“Well, you’re not Beth.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not Beth. Silly me, I was only your wife.”
“Briefly,” he reminded.
“Too long,” she said, knowing it was a lie.
Stepping off the veranda, she disappeared into the darkness.
“Lord, I know I don’t have a right to him. He was never really mine. We were too young, but I love him.”
Tears blurred her sight. Her steps faltered and she searched the sky. God was there; He was beside her no matter how foolish her actions, yet she didn’t believe in her heart that He could help her face this. It was too hurtful, too unthinkable, yet so true—Adam belonged to another.
Chapter Two
It was impetuous…daring…stupid, they’d decided in the dawn of reality.
Propping his booted foot against the windowsill, Adam tipped his chair back and focused on the rain pattering against the study window. They had been so young. Young and crazy.
Steepling his fingers to his forehead, he relived the summer of ’91. What a pair they’d been. Innocence mixed with the foolish cup of youth.
It had started with puppy love that steadily blossomed from the time Adam had first seen pretty little Vonnie Taylor at the First Freewill Church’s annual Fourth of July picnic. Add a summer night and a full moon and you had trouble. He’d grown from a barefoot show-off into a seventeen-year-old man. Vonnie Taylor had sprouted from an impish tease into a fifteen-year-old woman, who, with the glance of an eye, could reduce him to a bashful kid.
Add the forbidden—neither was supposed to speak to the other—and you had the seeds of a budding rebellion.
In those days neither one of them un
derstood the bitter feud that raged between the two families. They knew there was bad blood between P.K. Baldwin and Teague Taylor, but at nine and seven, they didn’t attempt to understand the origin of the dispute. The hatred between P.K. and Teague had happened long before Adam and Vonnie were born.
Adam was piling potato salad on his plate that hot July afternoon. Vonnie had sidled up beside him, dressed in a lavender calico dress and matching bonnet. She’d sipped a cup of cool lemonade, tilted a dangerous look up at him and read him his future. “I am going to marry you someday, Adam Baldwin. We’re going to be man and wife. Forever.”
He’d about dumped his plate of food in Flossy Norman’s lap.
“You don’t even know what that means,” he accused, feeling a red blush crawl up his neck. He didn’t either…exactly. Forever. He didn’t think so.
Tilting her chin haughtily, she glared at him in challenge. “Do too.”
From that moment on, Vonnie Taylor hadn’t been far from his thoughts.
Adam slid further down in the chair, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth when he recalled the sassy little girl she’d been. They’d been too naive, and too caught up in teasing each other, to care that P.K. Baldwin had forbidden his boys to associate with the Taylor girl. Consequently, the Baldwin brothers went out of their way to plague her. And she returned it in kind.
Every Sunday Adam and Andrew stared a hole through Vonnie the whole time they sat across the aisle from her in the First Freewill Church.
The diminutive black-haired charmer stared right back—singling out the eldest, Adam, to unleash her flirtations upon. He’d poke out his tongue, cross his eyes, push up his nose in preposterous faces in hopes of making her laugh out loud. But she’d look right back at him over her hymnbook and never crack a smile. Though he’d do his best to stare her down, she wouldn’t budge an inch.
The years passed and the Sunday-morning glances became less hostile. Liquid, clear-blue eyes searched sleepy lavender ones with mild curiosity. Shy Sunday-morning smiles replaced silly faces, and his efforts to attract her attention grew more bold.
He tied Beth Baylor’s braid to the church pew.
He silently, but no less earnestly, rolled his eyes while emphatically mouthing Ilda Freeman’s soprano solos along with her.
At fourteen, he responded to the preacher’s request for hymn suggestions by shooting his hand into the air and waving it for attention. He’d requested that they sing “Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear.”
Vonnie had refused to look at him as the congregation dutifully turned to page thirty-six in their hymnals and sang “Gladly, The Cross I Bear.”
Adolescence evolved into mid teens. Young, lithe bodies filled out. His narrow shoulders broadened, legs lengthened, muscles grew hard, and the peach fuzz on his jaw became a real beard that confronted him daily. Her oval face matured into a puzzle of tilted violet eyes, pert nose and narrow chin. Her quick, thin body softened and rounded. The silent interest between the oldest Baldwin boy and the Taylor girl flourished.
By his seventeenth birthday he’d developed a full-blown case of puppy love for her. That was the summer they’d started sneaking away to Liken’s Pond. Things were starting to get out of hand. They both knew they were courting danger, but that made their secret meetings even more fascinating.
The pond, one of the few that survived the hot summers, was tucked behind scraggly creosote bushes that lined the bank. A few yards out, yuccas pointed white flowers toward the clear blue sky, their green spiny leaves contrasting with the sandy soil. Piñon and cypress trees crept close to shade the banks after noon. Juniper trees mingled with mesquite bush. But where Adam and Vonnie sought privacy, the sycamore shaded them in the summer, and floated its leaves like boats on the water in the fall. It was a special place, a place of wonder.
It was Saturday. Chores were done. A shimmering sun beat down on the scorched earth. The fragrance of grass baking in the heat-saturated air.
The pond was a good two miles from George Liken’s house. Only an occasional, wandering Hereford intruded upon their privacy.
Treading water, they faced each other, arms looped over shoulders, savoring the stolen moments. If P.K. or Teague ever got wind of the secret meetings, their budding relationship would stop.
“What did you tell your father?”
“Told him I’d be with Tate Morgan shoeing a horse. He’ll say I was if anyone asks. What about you?”
“Doing needlepoint with the new neighbor, Nettie Donaldson. I asked God for forgiveness.”
Even now, years later, Adam could smell the sweetness of her skin, still see the silken curtain of her hair floating in the water—
“Am I interrupting, son?”
Adam brought the chair legs to the floor with a thump, sat up straight and forced himself to focus on his father, who stood framed in the doorway. Still a commanding figure, at fifty-two, his snow-white hair was the only external evidence that time was passing. But Adam knew his father’s health had not been good of late.
“No, come in, Dad.” P.K. entered the study, carrying a foul-looking herbal tonic. He caught Adam’s glance at the glass and shrugged. “Rain has my knee acting up.”
Sinking into the oversize leather wingback chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him, balancing the glass on his thigh.
“Nice party last night.”
Laying a stack of papers aside, Adam reached for the grain report he’d been reading earlier.
“Yes, Alma knows how to throw a party.”
“Mmm-hmm,” P.K. mused. “Don’t know what we’d do without Alma. Fine woman. Beth have a good time?”
“Seemed to.”
“Now there’s a woman you can be proud of, son. Beth’s an excellent choice for a wife. Comes from good stock. None finer than Leighton and Gillian Baylor. You’ll be starting a family right away?”
Adam shook his head, negative.
“Have you discussed kids?” P.K. asked. “You’re not getting any younger.”
Adam focused on the grain report. “What’s age got to do with it? I know many a man that’s fathered a child late in life.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Two young people in love—I’d have thought the subject might have come up. Thought maybe new ways had changed the idea of not discussing it until after the marriage, but apparently it hasn’t.” P.K. sipped his tonic. “You want children, don’t you? None of us is getting any younger, you know—”
“Actually, Dad, I haven’t thought about it.” Children were the last thing on his mind. He had to get through the wedding first.
“I wouldn’t put it off too long,” P.K. said. “Time passes quickly.”
“I know, Dad. You want grandchildren.”
“I do, and I’m not apologizing for it. Should have a houseful by now.”
Adam quieted his irritation. What was this talk of love and grandkids? P.K. Baldwin didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. He tossed the grain report onto the desk. “I guess we’re pretending this isn’t an arranged marriage. If Beth didn’t bring a dowry of five hundred acres of prime land you wouldn’t be so eager to have her become a Baldwin.”
P.K. lifted his glass, staring at the murky liquid. “That’s a little cold, isn’t it?”
“But true.” Adam’s tone hardened. “The town’s abuzz with the Baylors’ daughter marrying into the family.”
“She’ll make you a good wife.”
“And the Baylors’ land doesn’t hurt a thing. That right?” P.K.’s features remained as bland as Alma’s bread pudding. “Son. It’s only land, and we have all we need. I’m thinking of your future happiness.”
Alma bustled in, bearing a tray with cups and a silver pot of fresh coffee. The Hispanic woman was more than a housekeeper—she was a vital part of the Baldwin family. She had single-handedly raised Andrew, Pat and Joey after Ceilia Baldwin’s death when Adam was ten.
“I thought you gentlemen might enjoy coffee.”
“None for me, thanks,” P
.K. said as Alma set the tray on the corner of the desk.
“Then you would like one of the nice cinnamon rolls I just took out of the oven, sí?”
Adam smiled. “Just coffee, Alma.”
She bent to pat his lean cheek. “You should eat. You will need all your strength to make many niños for your father, no?” Picking up the silver pot, she smiled at P.K. “Señor Baldwin?”
P.K. toasted her with his glass. “I’m drinking my pain tonic.”
She sent a cautious look at him before shuffling out on slippered feet.
When the door closed behind her, P.K. pushed himself up and stepped to the window. Tugging the curtain aside, he focused on the rain rolling off the roof of the hacienda and splashing onto the rock veranda.
Adam bent over another report, but he didn’t see it. He heard the rain drumming on the roof, but his mind had returned to that hot summer day seven years earlier.
“Adam, this is crazy!” Vonnie giggled as they raced through the small grove of trees, hand in hand. The orange sky was in the midst of another spectacular sunset.
Flinging his arms wide, Adam let out a joyous whoop, causing her to break into laughter. She tried to clamp her hand over his mouth, but their feet tangled and they toppled to the ground, laughing. Between short, raspy breaths, they hugged each other so tightly he thought their ribs would crack.
He could hardly believe it! He’d convinced Vonnie to marry him!
Sitting up, he looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Vonnie Taylor.”
He could see in her eyes that she believed him, to the very depths of her soul.
“You know we’re going to be in trouble when they find out.”
“Trouble” wouldn’t cover it. His father would horse-whip him. “They can tie me to the stake and burn me alive,” he vowed. “We’re going to do it.”
“But how do we even know the judge will travel this road—”
His hand covered her mouth, stifling her protests.
“I overheard the men talking at the feed store, yesterday,” he whispered. “They said a judge from Lubbock was coming through here today. All we have to do is watch for him, Vonnie. He’ll ride through here.”
Yellow Rose Bride Page 2
