Comanche Rose

by Anita Mills

  "Lake, I'm telling you that's Hap Walker—you know, Captain Hap Walker! The Texas Ranger! Jesus, Lake, you don't wanna fight him!"

  "Better apologize to 'im, Lake," somebody said. "Looks like he's up and married her. Guess you're out, huh?"

  "A hell of a fighter—kicks real good with that gimp leg of his, Lake. Real quick with that gun, too," Jack pointed out.

  "Shut up!"

  Hap had heard enough. He started for the wagon, feeling an exhilaration he hadn't felt in almost a year. He was Hap Walker, and his name still meant something.

  "My word, whatever...?" Annie gasped when she saw him. "Your hands—"

  He looked down, seeing the blood on them. It looked like he'd slaughtered an animal with his bare hands. He must've done that when he broke Lake Buell's nose. Swinging up onto the seat beside her, he frowned.

  "If you married me, Annie, it'd at least stop the talk."

  "You got into a fight in there, didn't you?"

  "Yeah."

  "Because of me." It was a statement, not a question. He started to deny it, then nodded. "Wasn't much of a fight. I reckon he'll be bringing the stuff out directly."

  "It was Lake Buell, wasn't it?"

  "It didn't amount to much, Annie. I just rearranged his mouth a little, that's all." As he looked up into the sheltering oak leaves, his mouth turned down at the corners. "I could've killed him. Maybe I should've."

  "No. It was just words."

  "You shouldn't have to put up with that." Turning to face her, he regarded her soberly. "I told him you were a Walker now."

  "I see."

  "You know I've never been much of a liar."

  He was the kindest man she knew, and he'd just fought for her honor. As she looked at him, she realized just how lucky she was in that moment. "Then I guess you aren't now," she said quietly. "I'd be honored to be a Walker, Hap."

  "Don't suppose you know where there's a preacher—or a justice of the peace, do you?" he asked, grinning now.

  "Yes, but I don't want him at my wedding." A wry smile lifted one corner of her mouth. "Lake Buell's justice of the peace here."

  "Damn."

  "But there's one over at Baker's Gap."

  "Baptist preacher?"

  "No. A justice of the peace." Now that she'd agreed to marry him, she felt downright relieved. "I never had anything to do with Lake Buell, Hap."

  "I never thought you did."

  The big man came out with a loaded wheelbarrow. He'd taken time to wash himself up some, but there was no mistaking the damage to his face. His nose was flattened and leaning to one side, while his mouth still oozed blood from a cut on his lip. Without a word he went around to the back of the wagon and unloaded Hap's order, then came up front and held out a fistful of bills.

  "You got sixty-five dollars coming back," he said. As Hap took the money, Buell looked up at Annie. "Afternoon, Mrs. Walker," he said somberly. "Captain."

  "Afternoon, Lake," she murmured.

  Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Buell turned and walked back to his store.

  Ralph Baker's house, a fourteen-foot-square adobe structure with a weathered lean-to in front, doubled as his place of business. Sitting in the middle of a flat, dusty, wide spot in the road, it was the only building in Baker's Gap so named because he'd once had hopes the land he owned would become a town with his name on it. A weathered sign with the optimistic designation of land office hung at an angle from a rusting chain. Beneath it, on cardboard, Ralph had added, "Justice of the Peace and Notary Public Available Inside."

  Hap looked around uneasily, wishing he could do it right for her, wishing they were in a church somewhere instead of in this little dirty, squalid, depressing place. He was about to turn around and leave when she put her hand on his arm.

  "It's all right," she murmured. "I don't mind."

  That was all it took. At her touch every fiber of his being became acutely aware of her. And he didn't want to wait, to give her a chance to change her mind. He wanted to be bound to her. That he was giving himself a long road with no more than a chance to win her didn't matter. When he went out into the sun again, he wanted her to have his name. The rest would come later.

  And so, in a dingy, cluttered room, standing between an old desk and a trestle table, with Baker's Mexican wife for witness, Hap Walker held Annie Bryce's hand, pledging himself to her forever.

  "Yuh got 'er a ring?" Baker asked, interrupting the short ceremony.

  He didn't. Looking down at his own hands, he saw a heavy sterling band with the lone star of Texas carved in an onyx stone. It was about the only thing he had left of his father's belongings, it and an old watch that didn't run.

  "Yeah," he decided, slipping it off. "It'll be a little big," he murmured apologetically to Annie. "Maybe you can wear it on another finger until I can get you something better."

  "All right, yuh put hit on 'er hand, then yuh just say whut I tell yuh," Baker told him.

  Hap had to hold it on her ring finger while he repeated the words. Then, afraid it'd come off when he was done, he moved it to her forefinger. It was still loose. When he got outside, he'd have to tie something around it.

  Annie closed her eyes against the squalor while he repeated his promise to love her forever. This was so different from that other time when she'd been young, when she'd loved Ethan Bryce more than anything. But even as she thought it, a voice within her mind told her she was doing the right thing. She was starting over.

  "Now, Miz Walker," Baker said, intruding on her thoughts, "mebbe yuh'd want tuh say thuh wuds, ennyway, e'en yuh don't have no ring tuh give 'im."

  As Hap shook his head, she made up her mind. "Yes," she said, her voice low. "I think I ought to." Reaching into her bag, she took out her house key, moved it to one side of the ring, then maneuvered it onto his finger. Whispering, "I'll get you one, too," she looked back to Ralph Baker. "I'm ready."

  Her throat ached as she whispered the words; then it was done. Baker looked over a lopsided pair of glasses to announce, "Reckon yuh-all's man and wife now, Mr. Walker. Yuh may embrace thuh bride."

  Hap hesitated, but Mrs. Baker gave him a nudge, then giggled. Feeling utterly awkward, he took a step toward Annie and slid his arms around her. Leaning into her, he brushed her lips with his. Her hands caught his elbows and held on for a moment before he stepped back. He tried to smile but couldn't.

  "Yuh got tuh sign th' papers afore yuh go," the justice of the peace reminded them. "And that'll be three dollahs."

  As Hap counted out the bills, adding one for good measure, Annie signed her place on the certificate, then filled out a line in Baker's record book. While Hap signed his side, Mrs. Baker offered to make them coffee, and Annie politely declined.

  Baker winked. "Reckon yuh's wantin' tuh get on with thuh res o' thuh business, huh?"

  "Come on, Annie, let's get out of here," Hap said tersely.

  The sun was bright, the sky almost white when they emerged from the Baker house. Taking her arm, he walked quickly to the wagon and handed her up. Swinging up beside her, he picked up the traces and slapped them across the team. It was a good five minutes before he could bring himself to speak.

  "I'm sorry," he said finally. "You deserved a lot better than that. We should have gone over to the fort and asked the chaplain to do it right. You'd have had an altar and a preacher, and it'd have felt like you were getting married anyway."

  She looked down at the marriage certificate in her hand. Carefully unfolding it, she smoothed it across her lap. "Everything seems to be in order, Hap. I'm pretty sure it's legal. It's got his seal, anyway."

  "Yeah, but it was a helluva way to do it—no ring, no pretty dress, no preacher. I wish I could do it over."

  Her signature seemed to leap out at her. Anne Elizabeth Allison Bryce Walker. The woman had cautioned her to make sure she put down all of it "just to make it legal, in case anything was to come up." Annie Walker. Annie Walker. It'd take a little while to get used to the s
ound of it.

  Then she noticed that he'd written. Horace R. Walker. "So you were the Horace," she said softly.

  "Yeah. Helluva name to stick on a kid, huh?"

  "Actually, it was a pretty venerable name. I think there were some Roman heroes with it well before the poet."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not Roman, Annie."

  "What does the R stand for?" she asked curiously. "Robert?" she guessed.

  "Worse. Randall. Not much of a choice, huh? Where she came up with it, I don't know. No Randalls in the family that I ever knew of. Hell, maybe it came out of a book, or something."

  "I don't mind it."

  "Yeah, well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a Bob or a Tom or a Bill. Even Claude was better than Horace." He stared out over the dry, dusty road ahead. "You don't have to worry any. I won't be wanting to name any kid of mine Horace—or Randall."

  A child. She froze momentarily. Of course he'd want a child. It was to be expected—every man wanted to leave something of himself behind when he left the world.

  He glanced her way and caught the stricken look on her face. Guessing the reason, he sought to reassure her. "Look, I'm not expecting it to happen right away, Annie. I figure we got some things to work out between us first. I've got time to wait until you're ready."

  But even while he was saying it, he was taking in the beauty of her hair, her face, her woman's body, and he knew he didn't want to wait. She was his wife, and he wanted her. More than anything.

  CHAPTER 20

  The sun was slipping below the softly rounded hills above her farm when he turned the wagon down the narrow lane to the house. "Mr. Willett has been here," she said suddenly. "Henry's gone." Sighing, she sat back. "I guess he's taken the cats, too. Spider's a pest, but I'll miss Twain terribly."

  "Yeah, well, I never was much for cats myself," he admitted, "but I expect they were a lot of company for you."

  "Yes. Twain especially. At night when I'd be reading, he'd climb onto my lap and snuggle next to the book. I named him after the writer, you know. I was reading Innocents Abroad the night after Mary brought him, and I guess because I was laughing, he had to investigate."

  "And Spider? Odd name for a cat, I'd think."

  "Not if you ever saw him with a ball of yarn. He tends to drape it around things. He's a terrible mischief maker."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry about 'em. I expect they'll be waiting for you when you come back."

  "I hope so. I'll hate it if they forget me."

  "I had a dog like that—left him at home when I ran off to join the rangers the first time. Came home a year later, and the damned thing growled at me," he recalled. "Took him a week to remember me."

  "That's what I mean. And they're not very old."

  But as he set her down, then took the team to the barn, she had another concern. Jim Willett had left a scrawled note for her on her front door.

  "Cudnt find nowt but th wite-towed un," she read.

  That was Twain. He'd taken Twain but not Spider. Hurrying inside, she began calling, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! Spider! Kitty, kitty, kitty!" Nothing. Not so much as an answering squeak. Knowing Jim, he'd probably let the kitten outside, and something had gotten it. He had the notion that if something didn't survive, God hadn't meant it to, anyway. That explained the order of things to him. And to him God never meant for man to have a cat in the house.

  "Hap, Spider's missing!" she said as he came in the door. "Mr. Willett didn't take him."

  "He'll turn up."

  "Would you check the barn?"

  "I was just down there."

  "Oh, yes, I hadn't thought of that."

  "He'll turn up," he told her again. "Probably after supper."

  It occurred to her then that they hadn't eaten anything but bread and jam sandwiches since breakfast, and it was nearly six-thirty now. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

  "I could probably eat something," he allowed.

  "I don't know what to do about Spider. I don't let him out except to take care of his business, and then he comes right back in."

  "After supper, if you don't find him, I'll take the lantern out and look," he promised. "But right now I'd kinda like to wash up."

  "Yes, of course," she murmured, still distracted. Recovering, she decided, "Maybe he's out hunting."

  "Probably."

  "When he smells supper, he'll come in," she decided.

  "What is it?"

  "Well, since we were leaving in the morning, I hadn't planned on making a big mess of anything. I thought maybe I'd heat the beans I put down the well last night, maybe fry some greens and make some cornbread to go with it. You like wilted greens, don't you?"

  "With bacon?" he asked hopefully.

  "Yes."

  "And vinegar?"

  "Yes."

  "Yeah, my ma used to fix 'em like that."

  "So did Ethan's mother." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. She didn't suppose he'd want to hear much about Ethan anymore. "My mother wasn't much of a cook," she added lamely.

  "It's all right, Annie, I don't mind," he said. "It's not like we were a couple of kids. We both lived a long time before we crossed paths." He forced a twisted smile. "Your face gives you away, you know."

  "Does it?"

  "Yeah. You're wondering if I'm expecting you to put your memories away somewhere, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I'd think there was something wrong if you hadn't loved him, Annie. I'm just wanting to be part of the rest of your life, that's all."

  She could feel a lump rise in her throat, and her eyes felt hot with unshed tears. "Thank you," she managed.

  To cover the awkwardness he felt, he decided, "Well, I'd better get washed up." He held up his hands. Lake Buell's blood had been rinsed off at Ralph Baker's pump, but his knuckles were raw and swollen. "Don't suppose you got anything for this, do you?"

  "Yes. It's horse balm, but E—but we used it for everything. It heals cuts and sores." She took a step closer to inspect his knuckles. "That hurts, doesn't it?"

  "Not bad. I've done a lot more damage to 'em before," he assured her.

  "Lake looked pretty beat up."

  "I wanted to kill him."

  "Yes, well, I'm glad you didn't." Moving away, she rummaged in a cupboard and found the jar of balm. "I keep it in here for cuts and burns," she explained, coming back with it. "I burned my hand a couple of months ago putting wood in the stove, and after I stuck it in some snow, I put a little of this on it. It was healed in less than a week."

  "Good. We better take some of it with us."

  "Yes." She looked up at him. "Sit down, and I'll work on those."

  "You don't need to."

  "But I want to."

  He sank into a chair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the checked tablecloth, his hands up in the air. She filled a pan of water from the bucket and brought it to the table. Sitting down across from him, she reached out to feel of his knuckles. He winced.

  "This could be broken, you know," she said.

  "No. I can move my fingers." To demonstrate, he flexed his sore hands. "Fellow had a damned hard jaw, though."

  "He's quite a respected fighter in these parts," she murmured, dipping a washcloth into the water. "This may sting," she told him, rubbing lye soap on it. "I thought I'd get everything good and clean, put a little iodine on it, then rub the balm in."

  "Big men move slower and fall harder. I reckon we won't..."

  But as she took his hand in hers, he lost his train of thought entirely. She had her head bent so he was looking at the shining crown of hair beneath the kerosene lantern. He had to close his eyes lest she look up and see the naked desire there. All he could think of was how close she was. All he could feel was the warmth of her fingers against his.

  "Fight again?" she finished for him. "I wouldn't bet on it. He's got a mean temper and a real high opinion of himself. But you shouldn't have let him pick a fight with you, you know. I've always heard he was a
dirty fighter."

  "I guess I got lucky. I picked the fight with him," he managed, trying not to look at her.

  "The skin's split here. I probably ought to bind it."

  "No."

  "No?" She looked up at that.

  "Just let the air heal it," he muttered. "And the balm."

  "You're sure?"

  He wanted to go across that table, to gather her up and hold her, but he'd promised her time. Instead, he pulled his hands away and stood up. "You've done enough," he said harshly. "I'll finish up." Then, knowing how gruff he sounded, he added, "I don't want to put you out doing something I can do for myself. You just go ahead with supper." Reaching out, he grabbed the jar of balm and headed for the door. "I'd better look in on the team," he said lamely.

  "You just put them up."

  "Yeah, but I didn't look to see if there was any water."

  "Would you bring the beans in from the well when you come back?"

  "Sure." Out of the corner of his eye he could see her taking down the lantern. "Where are you going?"

  "To pick the greens. There's some just out the back door."

  "Oh."

  He went around to the front of the house and sat on the stoop to rub the soothing ointment over his knuckles. Then he walked slowly to the barn, where he knew he'd already done everything. Inside, he leaned against the door to old Red's stall, talking to the big roan, trying to take his mind off Annie.

  "Guess we'll be leaving in the morning," he told the horse. "It's not going to be just you and me anymore, you know." Red snorted, then moved closer to the door, hanging his head over it. Hap scratched the area between his eyes. "Yeah, I know, you're thinking I'm an old fool, aren't you? You figure if I was to get this far, I could have made it the rest of the way without a wife, don't you? Here I've been telling myself I was too restless to stay at the Ybarra with Clay, and now I'm wanting to settle down on this little farm. Don't make much sense, huh?"

  In answer the big animal bumped his hand with its nose, trying to get him to keep scratching. Hap ran his hand down the bone, caressing the short, stiff hairs.