Texas Love Song

by Jodi Thomas

  “You’re the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met. It’s no wonder you never remarried. There’s not enough plots in that little cemetery on your place to hold all the husbands it would take to tame you.”

  “It’s not a problem you need to concern yourself with.”

  She was lifting her chin now the way she always did when she stepped into the high-and-mighty major’s widow role. He’d never seen anyone, man or woman, go from being so wild to being so proper faster than he could blink. She probably murdered her enemies all the time and always got away with it. From looking at her, no one would ever guess the temper inside that body.

  “I’m not concerning myself with your welfare anymore.” Sloan tried to keep his anger under control. “I just wanted to warn you. Now that I’ve done that, I’ll be on my way. I’m getting out of your sight and life as fast as I can.”

  He picked up the horses’ reins and started back across the field. “And you, lady,” he mumbled, “you can go to…”

  “Don’t you swear at me!” she whispered from a foot behind him. “I’m not the one who got us into this mess. I’m not the one who has people trying to kill me because of something I did three years ago. By the way, what exactly did you do that made these Satan’s Seven hate you so much?”

  Sloan stopped and stared at her. “I did what I had to do to stay alive. I took off a gray uniform and put on a blue one. And it’s going to haunt me the rest of my life.”

  “Which may not be long,” she answered as she walked ahead of him, “if you don’t quit following me.”

  Twenty-two

  BRYANT WAS STANDING above the wheel when Sloan walked back over the rise to the stagecoach. The Rogers family members were camped in the shade of a rock cluster and, for once, weren’t screaming at each other or anyone else.

  “Problem?” Sloan asked the obvious.

  Bryant scratched his head. “Wouldn’t you know I broke four oak spokes and I only brought two along. If we had one more I could make do the three more hours into Fort Worth, but it would be risky.”

  “I could probably carve one.” Sloan looked at the long piece of wood. “It wouldn’t take long if I could find a hard enough wood.”

  “No.” Bryant shook his head. “It might not last. Plus the hub’s bent. I think it would be faster if I rode back to Starkie’s place and brought the wagon up for you folks. We’re not more than an hour out of his station. Then I could pull this empty coach into his barn for repair.” He grabbed his hat off the brake lever and added, “I can be back in a few hours, at the most. We’ll get this fixed and start over. It’ll mean driving at night, but I’ll make it.”

  Sloan pulled a horse away from the others. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll ride back to Starkie’s place. That way maybe you can sleep a few hours.”

  Bryant didn’t argue.

  Sloan grabbed the horse’s mane and swung up on the animal’s back. “I won’t be long.” He lowered his hat tight across his forehead.

  “I’m going with you.” McCall didn’t wait for either man to answer. She chose a horse and climbed up as if she’d been riding bareback every day of her life. Her traveling dress hiked to her knees, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Mrs. Rogers stood suddenly, as if she’d been called to counsel, but McCall didn’t give her time to comment. She kicked the animal and was almost out of sight before Sloan managed to get his horse headed in the right direction.

  When he finally reached her, he shouted. “You should have stayed with the others!”

  “And listened to Mrs. Rogers all afternoon? No, thank you!” McCall shouted back. “I’ve spent my life avoiding women like her.”

  She kicked her horse to a faster pace and the ride became a race. Sloan wasn’t able to say another word until they were pulling up at Starkie’s barn.

  “You could have killed yourself, riding like that!” he yelled, jumping from his horse and raising his arms to her.

  She dismounted without his assistance. “But I didn’t,” she answered. “I told you before, I can take care of myself.”

  Starkie shouted a welcome from the corral and broke into a run toward them, ending the fight they both needed to have to clear the air.

  “You come back to sit a spell and watch me whittle?” the man asked in a casual voice, even though his movements were that of a man knowing they brought a problem.

  Within ten minutes Sloan hitched a team to Starkie’s wagon, Starkie collected the needed tools, and McCall packed day-old potato pancakes she swore Mrs. Rogers would love to have.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Starkie looked at McCall. “You take care and rest. A night trip will wear you out before you get to Fort Worth.”

  McCall nodded, then waved until Starkie was out of sight. Suddenly the realization that she was alone with Sloan struck her. Truly alone.

  Looking around, she discovered he was nowhere in sight. He obviously didn’t want to be any nearer her than she did him. She guessed he’d wait until the others got back, then leave her as he’d planned. Now that he’d warned her, there was no use in him following her all the way to Fort Worth.

  She rationalized that it didn’t matter to her and went into the empty house. The breakfast dishes were still on the table as they’d left them. Starkie’d told her and Sloan that he’d been trying to save one of the wild mustangs he’d roped. He’d said the horse’s leg was bleeding and coyotes were already following the animal by the time Starkie had spotted her, just after the stage left. He’d had his gun drawn to put the animal out of her misery when he heard them coming. Starkie had asked Sloan to do the job while he was gone.

  McCall didn’t want to watch or think about what Sloan had to do, so she rolled up her sleeves and went to work on the kitchen. It took three tubs of water to clean all the dishes and another to wipe everything down. She decided there were layers of grime from a hundred meals on the cookstove and almost as many on the table. It was no wonder Starkie had never married. With his lack of order and the dribbling of wood shavings everywhere he sat long enough to put a knife to wood, he showed the markings of a man hard to live with.

  When she finally finished, she walked out into the sunshine and stretched her back. This probably wasn’t what Starkie had meant by relaxing, but it made her feel good. She never wanted a house to clean, with meals to cook and beds to make. She’d never had one. All her adult life she’d lived on the move, eating her meals around campfires and in restaurants. Bed had been everything from fine down mattresses in the cities to hard rock when they were in the field. She wasn’t sure she’d know how to run a house alone, even if she wanted to.

  McCall glanced over at the barn and realized she hadn’t heard the shot. Sloan must have ended the horse’s suffering. As much as he seemed to care for horses, he could have never allowed the animal to be in more pain. Maybe he wrapped the gun so that she didn’t have to hear the shot?

  Walking toward the barn, she decided to find out. If for some reason he hadn’t been able to give the animal peace, she would. Her father had made her put down a horse when she was no more than ten, explaining all the while that it was the only kind thing to do.

  The barn was empty.

  McCall walked around in the shadows, trying to guess what had happened. Maybe Sloan walked the animal out to the corral so that he wouldn’t have to drag it so far to bury it.

  The corral was empty.

  She stepped up on the first rung of the fence and looked around. Nothing.

  He’d left her, she decided. He somehow took the lame horse and left her. McCall straightened. “Good,” she said aloud. “Go.”

  Just as she turned to go back to the cabin, she caught movement out of the corner of her vision. Curiosity drew her to the back of the corral and over the fence, where Sloan had left his coat, hat, and the new shirt she’d bought him.

  As she moved toward the plowed field, her boots became caked in mud, but the sight before her pushed her on.

  Sloan stood calf-deep
in mud, leaning over the mustang’s front leg.

  As she neared, the horse tried to pull away to run, but the mud was too deep. Sloan’s low voice came slow and easy, calming the wild animal. After a few tries, the horse stopped jerking at the rope around her neck.

  “If you’re going to come out here, keep your voice low and your movements slow,” Sloan ordered in the same easy tone he’d used to calm the horse.

  She moved around the animal. “What do you think you’re doing? In this mud the horse will break the three good legs she has.”

  Sloan rubbed his muddy fingers along the horse’s neck. “But if she doesn’t, maybe I’ve got a chance to keep her calm enough so that I can pack this cut and wrap the wound.”

  McCall stood very still and watched as Sloan slowly worked with the wounded leg. The animal’s eyes were wild with fright, but she didn’t try to bolt. She was a shade darker brown than the mud, a horse of little beauty. Sloan’s white undershirt contrasted with the horse as he leaned his shoulder against her, examining her leg. McCall had never realized how broad his shoulders were—as powerful as the wild animal he calmed.

  “It took me almost an hour to get her to trust me enough to get a rope on her. The trip from the barn cost her dearly in blood. If I can stop the bleeding and pack the cut with crushed yarrow, she just might recover.” His words were meant for McCall but his soft voice soothed the animal.

  “She’s a mustang,” McCall whispered, trying to guess why Sloan was fighting so hard. Most men she knew would do as Starkie suggested and put the horse out of pain. “A horse like her is of little value. Even tame she’s not worth ten dollars. If she does live, she’ll probably go wild again and run away.”

  “No,” he answered calmly. “This one’s a keeper. She may be small, but she’s got a wild heart. Had to…to have made it this long. I’m guessing she’s smart, too, coming so close to the cabin in hopes the coyotes wouldn’t follow. If she were strong and well, she’d outrun them all.”

  Slowly, McCall moved closer as she caught her skirt hem in one hand and folded the material over her belt. The horse watched her and snorted loudly, as if not approving of her skirt now being almost to her knees.

  “I could hold the rope if you like,” McCall offered. “That would free your hand.”

  Sloan moved behind her, giving her the rope as he passed. “She likes you to rub her neck with mud. I think it must feel good on the rope burns she suffered from Starkie trying to get her here.”

  McCall leaned and lifted a handful of mud. She touched the animal gently as Sloan crushed the tiny flowers in his hand and began applying them on the mustang’s leg.

  “We’ll leave the mud caking the bandage. It won’t be much protection, but by the time the burlap wrap rots enough to fall off, the cut should be healed.”

  Watching his fingers moving slowly over the bandaging, McCall could almost feel his touch on her body as well. He’d had the lightest touch. Almost as though he were afraid of hurting her. Hesitant. Caressing. Exploring.

  She forced herself to look away. It would do no good to think of the night they’d spent together. She was only taking a fool’s ride to heartache by reliving it in her mind.

  Finally, he stood and touched McCall’s shoulder with his dirty hand. “Pull the rope off her neck.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s got to walk out of this mud at her own pace. It’s the only thing that will keep her from falling. With the amount of blood she’s lost, she’ll be heading right toward that trough of water.”

  As they watched, the mustang moved one leg at a time through the field. She hesitated each time she put weight on the injured leg.

  Sloan slid his hand over McCall’s and pulled her toward the barn. McCall jerked away and tried to walk. The mud sucked at her boots. After a few steps, she twisted wrong and almost fell face first in the mud.

  Sloan caught her but his laughter was cut short when he almost stumbled.

  To McCall’s shock, he laughed as if he wouldn’t have minded greatly and these weren’t the only clothes he owned.

  “You’re insane.” She tried to walk but slipped again. His arm steadied her once more. “We’ll look like two escaped gingerbread men if we don’t get out of here soon. If I fall, I’ve nothing to change into, for my bag is still on the stage.”

  “I was just thinking about what Mrs. Rogers would say if she could see you now.” Sloan laughed deep and hard. “The daughter’s eyes would probably bounce right out of her head. The great Widow Harrison, strolling in the mud.”

  “What about you?” McCall laughed. “You’re off the list as eligible husbands.” She patted his cheek, leaving her muddy handprint.

  When she stumbled a third time, Sloan lifted her in his arms. “I’m not husband material. Even Mrs. Rogers should see that.” He waded through the mud with McCall. “I had a friend named Pete once. We had a lot of time to set about, talking. He used to say that before a man marries a girl he should decide if he’d want her mother moving under his roof, for it’s sure to happen.”

  “You’d turn down sweet Pearl because of her mother?” McCall acted shocked.

  “Among other things,” he answered as he reached the back of the corral. “If you’ve no more questions, I need to check on our horse.”

  McCall watched as he slowly moved toward the mustang standing at the corner of the fence. The animal didn’t have the energy left to run away. Sloan laced the rope over the mustang’s neck and led her through the gate to the trough at the front of the barn. He let the horse drink, then released her in the corral.

  McCall watched in disbelief as Sloan turned back to the trough and began pulling off his undershirt. He washed it, then himself, in the ever-dirtying water. As he turned to spread it out to dry on the fence, he noticed her watching him.

  “Open your eyes any wider and they’ll start calling you Pearl Ann,” Sloan teased.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” As before, his bare chest fascinated her, with its finely carved muscles and thin white scars.

  “Cleaning up,” he answered as he pulled off his pants and shook the clods of mud from them.

  “Out here?”

  “I don’t see any other place. I’d be willing to bet Starkie doesn’t have a bathtub, and the stream’s too cold. This way I can do my laundry at the same time.”

  “I can’t believe you’re stripping out here in front of God and everybody.”

  Sloan looked around. “God has seen me. As for everyone else, you appear to be the only everybody around. You’ve seen me bare-chested before.”

  McCall walked to the gate, a few feet from where he was hanging his clothes. There she propped her arms on the top rail and smiled at the sight of him standing in the bottom half of his long johns.

  “What are you doing?” He eyed her carefully.

  “I’m going to watch,” she answered, as if irritated that he had asked. “If Mrs. Rogers makes it back soon, she’ll see more of you than I’ll bet she’s ever seen of the reverend. I wouldn’t want to miss the screaming.”

  Sloan turned his back and splashed water on his bare chest. He’d started this and he planned to finish, whether she watched or not. The air was chilly, the water even cooler, but with McCall so close, he felt a warmth that needed cooling if he planned to keep his senses.

  When he finished, he grabbed a rag towel hanging from the pump.

  “Where’d you get that scar?” McCall startled him. She’d been so quiet he’d almost fooled himself into believing she wasn’t watching.

  “What scar?” he answered without looking.

  “The one across your shoulder.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You mean you want to forget,” she countered.

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  Sloan looked at her then, unable to ignore her any longer. “I could tell you, but it wouldn’t matter. Folks spend too much time remembering when and
where they were hurt.” He took a step toward her. “The scars are a part of me. Some people have them on the outside, some on the inside, but they don’t go away by telling about them.”

  “They don’t need to go away,” she answered, thinking that in a strange way they made him more attractive.

  For a long moment they stood five feet apart, staring at one another.

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  She was afraid she’d say too much if she spoke at all. He’d think her stump-witted if she told him she found the scars added character and emotion to his body the way twists in a tree add interest.

  Finally, he slung his damp hair out of his eyes and lifted his shirt from the fence. “My undershirt will be dry in an hour, long before they get back. If you like I’ll clean some of that mud off your boots.” He pulled his shirt on without buttoning it.

  “Oh, no, I can—” Before she could finish, he lifted her atop the fence. For a moment, he studied her as she looked down from a few inches above him. He grabbed a handful of straw and began rubbing the mud off her boots.

  “I don’t suppose you’d want to take them off?”

  “No,” she answered, just imagining what the others would say if they came back and found him nude to the waist and her barefooted.

  She felt a warmth climb up her neck as he continued to rub the dirt from her leather boots. His act was meant only as a kindness, but there was something very intimate about him touching her.

  “Why didn’t you come back into the cabin?” she asked, finally realizing that he’d been avoiding her since Starkie left.

  “I didn’t want to start another fight,” he answered as his hand cupped her calf to keep her boot still while he finished. “In a few hours we’ll be on our way. You’ll never have to see me again. I don’t want the last words I say to you to be said yelling.”

  “That was kind of you.” She tried to say the words without emotion, but his fingers moved up over her boot lacings to the thin cotton of her stockings. Lightly, she felt his hands begin to caress the inside of her leg, just below her knee.