Yellow Rose Bride

by Lori Copeland

  Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “I gave you a better offer than you’ll get from anybody else. More than the land is worth.”

  “I realize that. And I also have to wonder why.”

  “Because you’ve got me over a barrel!”

  She doubted that. Lewis Tanner never let anyone best him. There had to be another, more self-serving, reason.

  “The answer is no. I don’t want to sell.”

  Tanner’s face flushed red-hot. “You’ll be sorry. Real sorry.”

  Lifting her chin a notch, she confronted him icily. “Are you threatening me?”

  Spinning on his heel, Tanner stomped off the porch, mounted and rode off, leaving Vonnie with a knot in her stomach as large as a fist and an even bigger sense of impending doom.

  Slamming the door shut, she sagged weakly against it.

  He is threatening me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eyeing the long plank tables laid on wooden sawhorses in the churchyard for the all-day meeting, Vonnie sighed. Dinner on the grounds was part of the church’s holiday events. Thanksgiving was coming up, and every woman in the community had outdone herself hoping her culinary contributions would outshine her neighbor’s. The weather held; today November sunshine filled the courtyard.

  The tables groaned under a baked turkey, sweet potatoes, cornbread dressing, vegetables and desserts. Amanda Fischer’s Mile-High Buttermilk Coconut Cake with lemon filling occupied the place of honor. No one could outshine Amanda when it came to cakes.

  “Oh, Vonnie.” Beth rushed up, dragging an obviously reluctant Adam behind her. Vonnie averted her gaze, trying not to make eye contact. She sneaked a look only to find Adam staring determinedly at the ground.

  “We still can’t agree on a wedding date,” Beth said. “What do you think? Fall or winter? I’d thought for certain fall, but I’ve changed my mind again. I’m such a picky Annie, I declare.”

  “Whatever season you prefer,” Vonnie said. “That’s a decision you and Adam must make.” She couldn’t listen to this. Her pride hurt too much to set the date for the Baldwin/Baylor wedding. Surely the Lord wouldn’t think less of her if she failed to comply; surely, He understood her reluctance.

  “Winter.” Beth lifted a hand to her forehead. “Winter—yes. A lovely winter wedding. Winters can be dreadful around here. What if there were a snowstorm and no one could come. Or ice? No, winter isn’t good.”

  Or maybe never. Vonnie caught her hateful thoughts. Oh, how she wished she could be more charitable about this—genuinely happy for Adam and Beth. Beth didn’t deserve her envy or her lack of enthusiasm.

  Beth tilted her head to one side. “How do you feel about late fall? That would give you oodles of time to make the dress.”

  “Yes.”

  Beth frowned. “Yes what?”

  “What you said. Late fall.” Anytime, just get this over with.

  “Late fall, a day like today. Hmm. November would be lovely.”

  Vonnie noticed that Adam pretended unusual interest in a neighbor’s rig. She wondered if he was even listening to the conversation.

  “Of course, holidays and a wedding…” Vonnie almost choked on the words.

  “Oh. Yes, the holidays.” Beth pursed her lips. “I’m leaning toward springtime.”

  “That too,” Vonnie said, desperate to escape. She had to get away from Beth before she disgraced herself by bursting into tears. “I’m sorry, but I need to check on Momma.”

  Her eyes met Adam’s for one brief instant before she walked away. She sensed his gaze following her across the churchyard.

  Spring. Summer. Winter. Fall. What did it matter? The event couldn’t be far enough away to suit Vonnie.

  The holidays passed in a blur. Thanksgiving. Then Christmas…a sad day in the Taylor household. No lit candles, no turkey. Vonnie read the Christmas story from Luke, but she didn’t think Cammy heard her.

  They went to bed early. She could hear her mother crying long into the night.

  Straightening his string tie, Adam shrugged into his dress jacket. Dinner with Beth. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. How much longer could he perpetuate this farce? He didn’t love Beth. He’d never loved her.

  “Having supper at the Baylors’?”

  Adam paused at the library door. P.K. was sprawled in front of the wide window that allowed the room a scenic view of snow-covered fields. It was the elder Baldwin’s favorite room.

  “I’m on my way to Beth’s now. Alma taking care of you?”

  “She always has. I’m sure she has some kind of gastric torture planned for my supper. Your brothers are off tonight, too.”

  “Oh? Andrew?”

  “Yes…strange thing. He must have found an interest in town. He’s gone enough, lately.”

  It was unusual for Andrew to be away from the house in January. The weather was too bad. He was more inclined to stay home and bury himself in a selection from his latest book order from back East.

  “Andrew and a woman? She must be amazing to get his attention.”

  “Uh-huh. Say hello to Leighton and Gillian for me,” P.K. said.

  Darkness had fallen when he looped his horse’s reins over the hitching rail in front of the Baylor house. A stiff breeze blew from the north, suggesting snow any minute.

  Leighton Baylor had carved a niche for himself and his family in the community. The shrewd businessman owned the local sawmill. As sole proprietor, he made a healthy profit for himself.

  “Mama was about to give up on you,” Beth scolded when she opened the door.

  “Sorry, as I was leaving, I stopped to talk—”

  “To P.K.?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Adam,” Gillian trilled as she came to the door, wiping her hands on a cloth. “What a delightful pleasure. Let me take your hat.”

  Adam removed his hat and handed it to her. “Good evening, Mrs. Baylor.”

  “For goodness’ sakes, when are you going to call me Gillian. We’re about to be family, dear.”

  “Gillian,” Adam corrected.

  “Make yourself at home. Beth, take Adam—”

  “Into the parlor. I am, Mama.” Looping her arm through his, Beth smiled up at him and escorted him through the doorway. “Daddy, Adam’s here.”

  “I can see that,” Leighton said, getting up to meet them. He winked. “You look like you could use something to warm you. Temperature’s dropping.”

  Adam took the cup of hot coffee and silently saluted Leighton, a man who wore his success with comfortable ease.

  “P.K. sends his best.”

  “How is the ol’ coot?” Leighton chuckled, settling himself in an overstuffed chair and motioning Adam to a matching one.

  “Well. Thank you.”

  “Still favoring that leg of his?”

  “It bothers him from time to time, but he manages.”

  “Stubborn as a donkey. Always was. Wouldn’t admit he isn’t as young as he used to be, even if that leg gave out on him completely.”

  “Dinner is on the table,” Gillian announced from the doorway.

  “Roast beef,” Leighton murmured. “Act like you like it.”

  The dining room, now devoid of Christmas finery, was square, with a rectangular table set with Gillian’s best. Eggshell china with a rim of gold and cups so thin that one could almost see through them. Knives and forks matched with gold plates that gleamed brightly beneath a crystal chandelier that must have cost as much as half the houses in Potter County.

  The table setting did justice to the silk wallpaper that Gillian had ordered from Boston in the spring. Beth made a point of telling Adam that her mother had taken great pleasure in finding a tablecloth and napkins to match the flower pattern, so he was to be sure to comment on the striking design.

  Should he get it over with and comment now, or wait?

  Gillian spared him from the decision. “Leighton, your usual place. Adam, at the other end.” She gestured one way, then another with her hand.

/>   Beth sat on Adam’s left; Gillian sat to his right. Leighton said a perfunctory grace. Adam could see he was uncomfortable with saying prayers aloud, but bent to Gillian’s wish for a dinner blessing.

  After the amen, the women started dishes of roast beef, boiled potatoes, carrots, squash, string beans and cabbage around the table.

  “Has Beth told you she’s chosen rose for her attendants’ dresses?” Gillian asked Adam.

  “Yes, I believe she mentioned it.”

  Gillian slanted him a sly look. “Your favorite color. You mentioned once that your mother was partial to it.”

  He looked up. “I did?”

  “Yes. Do have more carrots, Adam. I made them with that brown-sugar glaze you favor so much,” Gillian urged.

  “Thank you.” Adam spooned more carrots onto his plate.

  “Beth made the rolls. You must have more than one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I thought about white flowers. With some greenery,” Beth said.

  Adam glanced up. “White flowers?”

  “For the wedding.”

  “Oh.”

  “Butter for your potatoes? Though I’m not sure that’s the best choice.” Adam knew Gillian was Beth’s stepmother but they acted alike and talked incessantly. How did Leighton stand this constant chatter?

  “No, butter’s fine,” Adam said.

  “No, I’m talking about the flowers.”

  “More roast?” Gillian asked, extending the plate toward him.

  Adam’s head started to throb. He couldn’t keep up with the changing topics.

  Vonnie. How restful she could be when she wasn’t angry at him.

  His attention moved to Beth then Gillian. Could he face a life with these two chattering magpies?

  Beth buttered a roll for him. “What day was it that we drove out to Paul Sandler’s place to look at that team you were thinking about buying?”

  “I don’t know…Thursday, maybe.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been Thursday. That’s when I went to see Carolyn. Tuesday. It was definitely Tuesday. Anyway, did you notice the house? It was so homey, so impressive. Could we think about building one like it?”

  “I suppose we can think about anything we want.”

  “No, silly, I’m serious. Didn’t you just love the Sandlers’ house?”

  Later, Beth sat by Adam and poured coffee while her mother settled herself opposite them, armed with a barrage of dinnerware catalogs.

  “I thought this one was quite nice.” Gillian spread a gazette on the footrest. “And this one, though I like the first just a little better, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…it’s nice, but…oh, what do you think, Adam?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Care for it, either,” Beth inserted. “He doesn’t like it, Mother. How about this one?”

  Adam conscientiously studied the choices. Flowers and leaves, flowers alone, flowers on top of flowers, flowers mingled with flowers, or a small clump of flowers on a plain white plate?

  “Or this one. I rather prefer it, don’t you?”

  He studied the picture. “Grapes and leaves?”

  “It’s different. It would surely set a fine table. What do you think, Mother?”

  “I rather like it,” Gillian observed. “And this silver pattern would go quite well with it.”

  Hours passed. “Rose or pink?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Well, rose is soft and pink’s a little harsher, but if you like rose, then rose it will be. Don’t you agree, Mother. Pink is a little harsh.”

  “What does Adam think?”

  Setting his glass aside, Adam smiled wanly at his bride-to-be. “I’m sorry, Beth, Leighton, Gillian, but I have to be going. There’re a couple of strays that need my attention.

  When the door closed behind him he shut his eyes, thanking God for the relief. And silence. Blessed silence.

  The cold night bit through his heavy coat. He headed for the ranch in an easy lope, enjoying the falling snow. He hadn’t gotten a moment alone with Beth…a moment to tell her, to ask her forgiveness. He should have never conceded to P.K.’s wishes. The day was coming when he had to break off the engagement. Couldn’t Beth sense his feelings? How was he going to do it without hurting her deeply and causing her shame? He didn’t know.

  He’d ridden for several minutes when the sound of an approaching conveyance caught his attention. Drawing his horse to a walk, he turned to look over his shoulder to see who might be out for an evening ride. He frowned when he recognized the horse.

  The sled whizzed around him and he got only a brief look at Andrew, finger to his hat in mock salute as he passed with Vonnie at his side.

  Adam stared after the couple. Where had they been? And what was Andrew doing with Vonnie at this time of night?

  Had she waved at him as the sled bowled on down the road?

  Turning off the main road, he kicked the horse into a gallop, taking a shortcut to the ranch. He was in a rare foul mood by the time he reached Cabeza del Lobo.

  Leaving the saddle before the horse came to a complete halt, he strode toward the house and immediately went to the library. Several cups of coffee later, he sat down at the desk and waited for Andrew’s return.

  Two hours passed before he heard his brother’s uneven gait crossing the porch. The clock in the hall struck eleven.

  Andrew paused, crossing the foyer, casually assessing Adam. “Where’s Father?”

  Adam ignored the question. “What were you doing with Vonnie Taylor tonight?”

  Andrew’s brow lifted curiously. “Doing with her? Enjoying an evening ride. Why?”

  “Leave Vonnie alone.”

  “Since when do I need your permission to court a woman?”

  Adam curbed his anger and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Just leave her alone.”

  Andrew’s laugh was short. “My dear brother, must I remind you that you’re engaged to Beth? What I choose to do with Vonnie, or she with me, is our choice and frankly none of your business.”

  Adam hated to admit it, but his brother was right. He had absolutely no right to tell Andrew who to see. But Vonnie? He couldn’t take that.

  Beth should be his first concern, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Vonnie. God forgive him, he couldn’t stand seeing Andrew with her.

  “You know how P.K. feels about the Taylors.”

  “Yes. It didn’t make sense when we were children and it doesn’t make sense now. Whatever was between Teague and P.K. is six feet under now.”

  “Just stay away from her, Andrew. She’s off-limits. There’s no use upsetting P.K.”

  “Adam? Andrew?” P.K. descended the stairs, his hair standing on end as if he had been roused from a sound sleep. “What are you two doing up so late?”

  Adam sat at the desk again. “Sorry we woke you, Dad.”

  “Do my ears serve me right? Are you two arguing over the Taylor girl?” He stood in the library door.

  Neither Adam nor Andrew answered.

  “Of all the women in the county, you’ve picked a fight over Vonnie Taylor? Can’t you boys control yourselves? Like the serpent in the garden, one little gal you can’t have, and I’ll be a fool if that’s not the one you want!”

  “Dad—” Adam began.

  “Do you think I’m blind? Do you? Don’t you think I saw you making eyes at her all those years, mooning around like a lovesick calf?” P.K. fixed Andrew with a tyrannical look that allowed no discussion. “I warned you then, and I’m warning you now, leave Vonnie Taylor alone!” His voice shattered the quiet night.

  He pointed at Adam with the cane he seldom surrendered to using.

  “You’ve got Beth Baylor halfway down the aisle. Get that Taylor woman out of your head! You, Andrew, don’t let me catch you with her again. Don’t even look in her direction. I won’t have it. You hear me? I won’t have it! Now, both of you, get to bed!”

  Andrew turned, shuffling into
the hallway.

  “Get to bed!” P.K. ordered Adam, before turning and following Andrew up the stairway.

  Adam remained seated, resentment burning like a live coal in his stomach.

  He was a grown man. A man with the responsibility of a ranch of more than 73,000 acres, controlling more than a million acres surrounding Amarillo and keeping three brothers in line; still his father persisted in running his life. When was it going to end?

  This marriage to Beth hadn’t been his idea. P.K. had even chosen his wife. The coal in his stomach burned hotter. Being the firstborn son of P.K. Baldwin carried great responsibility. He had a duty to perform: marry Beth and make the best of it. But could he do it? Could he sacrifice a woman he loved for duty? God would not shine on the marriage, Adam knew it.

  “Son?”

  Adam looked up to see P.K. framed in the doorway. He suddenly looked old. Old, disappointed and beaten.

  “Yes, Dad?” P.K. turned repentant, almost childishly so. “I’m sorry I have to come down so rough on you. You’ll understand when you have sons of your own.”

  Even P.K.’s voice sounded tired, defeated, sad.

  “I only want what’s best for my boys. Ceilia said I was too hard on my boys. Maybe I am, but I love you, son. I love all my boys. It may not seem that way to you, but I do.”

  The show of affection was uncharacteristic for P.K. and, Adam knew, difficult.

  Silence prevailed, then Adam said, “What really happened to make you hate Teague Taylor so vehemently?”

  For a long moment it appeared P.K. was going to ignore the question. Walking back into the room, he moved to the window, looking out over the falling snow.

  He began slowly. “It was a long time ago. During the war, Teague and I served together, warmed at the same fire, ate from the same plate, rubbed each other’s feet to keep them from freezing. Closer than brothers, we were.”

  Adam waited, tense with anticipation, aware the mystery was about to unfold.

  “We were on our way home—worn out, sick at heart. Our uniforms, such as they were, were in rags. We’d gone twenty-four hours without sleep and a decent meal, and that had been only what we could scavenge from a few farmhouses.