Raising herself up onto her knees, she drew him against her bosom, her arms encircling him, tears filling her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Jake,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t your fault. When you came out of the barn, the flames were already too high for anyone else to go back in.”
His arms came around her, squeezing tightly. “I didn’t want to like him, Reb. But I did. We were just beginning to know each other, to come to an understanding about the past.”
“How do you think the fire got started?”
“I’d bet my life Ethan started it.”
“Life’s little ironies. He started it to destroy one brother and ended up destroying the other.” She raked her fingers through his hair. “Come to bed, hold me, let me hold you.”
They lay in each other’s arms, mindful not to hurt each other, listening to the soft breathing of their son.
“What do you think I should name him?” Rebecca asked in the stillness of the night.
“Thought you might want to name him after his father.”
“I’d like that,” she said, as tears of happiness mingled with the tears of sadness brought on by Zach’s death. Jake Burnett was the most unselfish man she had ever known. “We’ll call him Jacob. Jacob Burnett.”
Jake was hurting, emotionally and physically, and he was exhausted. He stared at her in wonder.
“You’re going to name him after me?”
“I don’t see any other father in this house.”
Ignoring the pain throbbing in his hands, he drew her close, holding onto her tightly. It was the most precious gift she could have given him.
The meager group of scruffy men looked up from the campfire they were huddled around, the overcast sky adding to the dreariness. Ethan unfolded his body and sauntered confidently over to the rider who had dared to enter their midst.
“Where’s your men? Or did you come to your senses and decide to leave this state?”
Jake studied the man. As much as he disliked him, he took no pleasure in bringing him the news.
“Someone torched our barn last night.”
Ethan gave the man a knowing sneer, pleased to take note of the burns on his hands. “And I guess you came to accuse me of the wrongdoing?”
Jake shook his head and sighed. “No. I came to tell you that Zach died helping me get the livestock out of the barn.”
Ethan stumbled back as though someone had rammed a hardened fist into his chest.
“I’ve set aside some land. Thought we’d bury him there tomorrow. Seemed appropriate since your father bought the land. If you prefer to bury him somewhere else—”
Ethan turned away, walking past his men and the fire, walking until he was surrounded by emptiness. Then he dropped to his knees and railed against the forces that had destroyed the only person left in the world who he had loved.
The small, somber group gathered around the grave, the men standing with their hats in their hands, giving the only thing they had left to give, their deepest respect.
Ethan rode up and without a word dismounted and took his place opposite Jake. His eyes bore into Jake during the minister’s recitation. When the minister closed his Bible, he looked between the two men, wondering who would throw the handful of dirt onto the wooden casket that had been lowered into the cold ground.
“You do it,” Ethan snarled. “You’re the reason he’s dead.”
Before anyone could respond to the accusation, Rebecca stepped forward, picked up a handful of dirt and dropped it on the casket. “Good-bye, Zach,” she whispered. “I’m glad Jake had you.” Then she stepped back and slipped her arm around Jake, leading him away, the other mourners following, leaving Ethan to bear his grief alone beside the gaping hole.
The bunkhouse had been cleared to provide room for all the food the thoughtful neighbors had brought. Rebecca and Jake walked to the house where someone had offered to watch the sleeping babe while they attended the funeral. When they entered, they saw that the woman had been replaced by Carrie. A large smile crossed her face as she turned to them. She immediately trudged over to Jake and threw her arms around him.
“I know this is a sad occasion, but there’s still reason for rejoicing. You done good, boy. You got one handsome son.”
Jake worked his way out of Carrie’s embrace. “We’re proud of him,” he said. “And with good reason.”
Jake left to accept condolences from the mourners, and Rebecca picked up her son. Carrie watched her as she sat down to nurse him.
“So much for your lying-in period,” Carrie said.
“I barely had time to have the baby,” Rebecca said, “much less stay in bed and recover.”
“I never believed in staying in bed myself. Hell, half the peoples of the world go back into the fields right after their babies are born.” She gave Rebecca a knowing look.
“You’ll be surprised how over the years he’ll come to resemble Jake. He’ll pick up Jake’s mannerisms and no one will ever guess,” Carrie said.
Rebecca’s eyes snapped to Carrie’s, wondering what she meant by that comment. She saw in Carrie’s eyes that she meant exactly what Rebecca was afraid Carrie had meant.
“Takes a special man to accept another’s child as his own,” Carrie said.
Rebecca felt the tears stinging her eyes. Would everyone know?
“Which one of my sons do you think wasn’t fathered by Michael?”
The shock of the question stopped Rebecca’s tears from falling. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she ran all the Reading boys through her mind. “That’s a trick question,” she said. “All of them are Michael’s sons.”
Carrie leaned back. “That’s true enough. But he didn’t plant the seed that brought forth Mark.”
“Does he know that?” Rebecca asked.
Carrie laughed. “Course he knows. He was off fighting the damn Yankees. War was coming to a close, raids were increasing. Men were deserting, taking whatever they could. We had lost everything. All I had left was Matthew and the hope that Michael would return safe. Then one night, five men came on a raid. Only thing to raid was me. Got no idea which one got lucky, and I don’t want to know. I hadn’t seen Michael in a year when he returned, and I was so full of baby that I hid from him.” Carrie smiled at the memory. “But he found me. And we came here to start over. Course, Mark doesn’t know. We never saw any point in telling him.”
“Do you think everyone else will know he’s not Jake’s?”
Carrie stood up and patted Rebecca’s shoulder. “But he is Jake’s. I knew that the minute Jake walked in the door and his eyes focused on the boy.” She touched Jacob’s hair. “No one else will look as closely as I did. I apologize, Rebecca. Since Mark was born, I always wonder.”
“It would be nice if he had Jake’s smile,” Rebecca said. “I’ve always liked his smile.” Her eyes caressed the sleeping child.
It was a week before Jake’s hands were healed enough that he could carve out the marker for Zach’s grave. Rebecca accompanied him on his trek to Zach’s resting place and stood silently watching as Jake worked to set the marker in the ground. She thought of Zach with great fondness, missing him more than she had thought she would. She hoped fervently that he had not been disappointed to find himself embraced by the powerful arms of the Lord. Hell was not the final destination for men like Zach, regardless of his desire to join his father.
His task completed, Jake stood up. When Rebecca moved to stand beside him, he put his arm around her waist.
“Seems like there ought to be something more I can do,” Jake said in a pained whisper.
Rebecca pressed her head against his chest. Turning, they slowly walked away from the marker. The epitaph carved deeply into the wood silently proclaimed what voices had been given no opportunity to declare:
ZACHARY TRUSCOTT
Beloved Brother and Friend
1857–1884
Chapter Twelve
JOHN IRELAND, THE governor of Texas, called the legislature together for a specia
l session. In January, shortly after the fire that took Zach’s life, they passed a law making it illegal to cut a barbed-wire fence.
The Rocking R had experienced less trouble, although Jake was certain that Ethan stopping his troublemaking had nothing to do with the law. He felt the man was simply biding his time and would make one last bid for ownership of his land.
But Jake had more on his mind than worrying about when Ethan would make his move. He set his horse into a gallop, eager to reach the Reading ranch. He was hoping to avoid Carrie’s embrace, but he was willing to endure it if the woman would help him. He had caught Rebecca crying too many times lately not to know something was wrong. But when he’d asked her what was the matter, she’d said she didn’t know. He thought it more likely she didn’t want to admit the truth to him: she regretted marrying him now that the baby was born.
He reined in his horse as Carrie came out the door.
“Land O’Goshen, boy. Did you finally come to your senses and want a hug?”
Blushing, Jake tipped his hat. “No, ma’am. But I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”
“Sure. Come on in.”
Jake dismounted and followed her into the house.
“Pour you some coffee?” Carrie asked, watching as Jake waited for her to sit down. “No, thank you.”
She plopped down in the unvarnished wooden chair. He sat down at a right angle to her, laying his hat on the table.
Jake’s eyes left hers as he contemplated how much to say. He decided to begin with as little as possible.
Carrie reached over, placing her plump hand over Jake’s forearm. “Tell me what’s bothering you,” she said warmly.
Jake returned his gaze to her. “It’s Reb. Lately … lately she’s been crying a lot. I ask her what’s wrong, and she says she don’t know. How can a woman not know why she’s crying?”
“How old’s that boy of yours?”
“Little over two months.”
“Then that’s the problem,” Carrie said confidently, leaning back in the chair, her arms crossed under her full bosom.
Jake eyed her warily, wondering what he was missing. It couldn’t be that simple, whatever the hell it was. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s natural for a woman to cry after a baby is born, to get all sad and not know why. A woman’s body spends nine months changing to make a baby and then bam!”—she slammed her hand down on the table and Jake jumped—“All of a sudden she’s done making the baby and her body says what the hell do I do now. And it gets confused trying to be like it was before.”
“What do I do to help her? I don’t like to see her crying.”
Carrie leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Do something special. Take her on a picnic.” “A picnic?”
“Certainly. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Do it then. Give her a change of scenery. A beautiful spring day, flowers in bloom, bees a-buzzin’. It’ll do her a world of good.”
“Sounds too simple.”
She patted his arm. “Most things in life are just that simple, and we work like the devil trying to make them hard.”
All the commotion in the house brought Rebecca out of bed. She padded across the floor, hands on her hips, and glared at her husband.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked harshly.
Jake turned, his face beaming, and she regretted the harshness of her words.
“Working on a surprise.”
Smiling, she ambled over to his side, peering down at his busy hands. “What are you working on this time?” “A picnic.” “A picnic?”
“I found a real pretty spot I want to take you and Jacob to this morning. Thought we’d just be lazy and watch the clouds roll by.”
“What can I do to help?” Rebecca asked with an enthusiasm she hadn’t shown in weeks, and Jake promised himself to find a way to thank Carrie Reading properly.
It didn’t take them long to pack everything they needed into the wagon and set off. They drove slowly up a small hill. At the top Rebecca gasped, squeezing Jake’s arm. The hill, coated in blue flowers, swept down to a tiny pond. Near the pond, a giant oak tree, its opulent branches majestically spread, offered the perfect shade for a picnic. The hill wasn’t steep and Jake guided the wagon cautiously down the slight incline.
Jake jumped down and helped Rebecca out of the wagon, then reached back to pick up the basket holding Jacob. He handed the bundle of food to Rebecca and brought out a frayed quilt. He spread the quilt in the shade and set Jacob’s basket down. Rebecca turned slowly, admiring the view.
Jake headed back towards the wagon and returned with ropes and a tiny cradle. He hung it from a low branch of the towering oak.
“Thought we could swing Jacob,” he explained.
Rebecca smiled. He had been true to his word, treating Jacob as though he were his own flesh and blood. Jake held him every evening, sometimes getting up in the middle of the night to bring Jacob to her when he was hungry. She knew his feelings for the boy weren’t false. One night she had been so exhausted that she didn’t hear Jacob until he was contentedly suckling at her barely exposed breast. Jake was looking down on the boy with such love that tears had sprung to Rebecca’s eyes. Tears were becoming an everyday occurrence in her life lately and she didn’t know why. She’d think she was pregnant again if she didn’t know that was an absolute impossibility. She gasped as Jake began to climb the tree.
“What are you doing?”
“Gotta hang this,” he called down.
She watched, holding her breath as he inched out on a bulky tree limb and began tying a rope to the branch overhead. When he was done, he shoved a plank of wood off the bough and a swing fell down.
Her hands flew to her mouth. “I haven’t sat in a swing since I was a child.”
Jake dropped to the ground and strode towards the quilt. “Let’s eat first, then I’ll push you.”
In her excitement, Rebecca had eaten very little. Jake watched as she strolled through the tall grasses and among the flowers. She had regained her slender figure, and her rounded hips swayed back and forth as she walked. Her breasts were fuller than they’d been before because she was nursing her son. She bent over to pick up a flower and Jake groaned, beginning to wonder at the wisdom of having this picnic. He had been a fool to marry her and tell her he’d never touch her, to knowingly make his life a living hell. Had he thought he was a saint for Christ’s sake?
It had been difficult enough to restrain himself while she was pregnant. Her expanding girth should have been a deterrent, but instead he’d found her waddling adorable. It had warmed him to the roots of his soul to watch her unconsciously rest her hand on her stomach and smile. But now that she was once again shaped like a delicate hourglass, he ached to do more than hold her in his arms. The few times he had allowed himself the privilege of kissing her, he had hoped he would awaken feelings in her, feelings that would make her want him just half as much as he wanted her. But he hadn’t stirred anything within her. He had little doubt she had been kissed by the best. And Jake Burnett was not the best.
“Do you know what they call these?” she asked, dropping her lithe body down beside him.
“Carrie says they’re bluebonnets. See”—he pointed—“they’re shaped like that white bonnet she wears.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. “Will you push me now?”
He knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t touch her. Why had he made the damn swing? “Sure,” he said.
She jumped up and ran to sit on the swing. He moved around behind her. Her back was so narrow, so tapered. He lowered his eyes and cursed under his breath. He had made the swing too small and she was sitting too far back, leaving none of the wood exposed. He’d have to place his hands on her backside. Gaining a temporary reprieve, he grabbed the rope just above her hands. He pulled the swing back as far as he could and released it, hoping her weight would give her the height she wanted.
“Higher!” she called out, giving him no choice but to set his
large hands on her small, firm buttocks. She squealed and leaned back, her hair almost brushing the ground. God, she looked radiant. She returned to him and he pushed again. Damn Carrie and her ideas.
“That’s enough!” she called down and gratefully he moved back, unable to tear his eyes off of her.
The swing slowed and she ran around and grabbed Jake’s hands. Pulling him after her, she charged halfway up the hill. She twirled them in a circle until she lost her balance and stumbled, falling to the ground, bringing Jake with her.
She was nestled among the bluebonnets, her dark features highlighted by their blueness, a blueness that almost matched her eyes. Her eyes were alight with joy, her lips parted as she drew in deep breaths, and he was lost. God help him but he was lost.
His mouth came down on hers, his tongue delving deeply into the succulent area between her parted lips. He allowed his hand to cup her breast, feeling the taut nipple through her dress, rubbing his palm over it and pressing down. He shoved his knee between hers, pressing the hardness between his loins against her thighs, imitating the movements he would be making if he were buried deep inside her.
Suddenly, the wailing, painful cry of a baby broke through to Jake’s consciousness, and he hauled his disappointed body off her. She jumped up and ran to the child. He buried his head among the flowers, gulping great breaths of air as he sought to control his quaking. She hadn’t fought him, but then he had to admit he hadn’t given her a chance.
Jake pulled himself to his feet, and walked over to where Rebecca stood. She was lightly shaking Jacob up and down, cooing to him. Her face crimson, she averted her eyes as he approached.
“He got stung by a bee,” she explained softly.
“We’d best get him home then.”
Jake packed up the picnic. They rode home in silence. When they arrived, Rebecca assured Jake she could tend to the boy’s needs and took Jacob into the house. Jake saddled his horse and rode out.
Drawing the shawl over her white cotton nightgown, Rebecca stepped out into the cool night breeze, to wait on the porch for Jake to come out of the barn. She hadn’t been at all surprised that he’d returned so late in the evening. She had noticed it was his habit to ride out when he was burdened, the heavier the burden, the farther he traveled, not so much to escape his troubles, but to face them.
Lorraine Heath Page 15
