He still felt bad for speaking sharply to her about that prayer business. He had reacted before he could stop himself, and now he knew why: she had struck a nerve. That’s why he was so touchy. His conscience had started to jab him… like right now. And he didn’t want to listen.
He had been lying on a lumpy cot in the small room, staring at the cracked ceiling. Now he hauled himself to his feet, reached for his hat, and headed out into the darkness. He mounted Smoky and began to ride, enjoying the feel of the crisp mountain air on his skin.
Carriages and wagons lined the boulevard leading into town. Colorado Springs was a busy place, growing, thriving. Still, his taste ran toward the quiet countryside, a place like the one where the Waters lived. There a man could feast his eyes on a green valley, the only population being his horses.
But that was their home, not his. He was on the verge of becoming attached to the ranch, as he had to the people. He had been eager to ride away before he committed himself to something.
When Amanda Godfrey had wanted to marry him, there had been no way he could imagine committing himself to a woman for life. But now, he felt certain he could do that with Suzanne; he even wanted to do that. But he was scared. He had been like his father in so many ways. “Exactly like your father,” his mother had often said. Maybe he was afraid there was some dark side of his nature that would keep him from staying with a family. And he would never want to hurt anyone the way he and his ma had been hurt.
He tugged on the reins, slowing Smoky down at the corner. Down a side street, piano music and laughter drifted to him. He saw cowboys entering a saloon, and feeling lonely, he headed in that direction.
He turned Smoky in at the hitching rail and climbed down. Adjusting his hat on his head, he wondered why he’d spent the past hour thinking about Suzanne when he was so dirt-poor he had nothing on earth to offer her.
For a while, Hank had become like a father to him, but that wouldn’t work either. He probably couldn’t live up to the Waters’ expectations of him as long as he was wrestling with these demons inside of him.
His boots thudded onto the boardwalk and hesitated before the swinging doors. A cowboy was leaving with one of the saloon girls. Both looked as if they had been at the bar too long. He almost turned away but something drew him inside.
A haze of cigar smoke hung over the saloon as Luke entered the swinging doors, pausing just inside. He was forced to blink and squint, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior after leaving the sunshine outside. The room reeked of liquor and smoke, and he had an urge to bolt.
No, he was going to have a stiff drink. It had been a long time since he’d done that, but he deserved one, didn’t he?
“Well, hello there.”
Cheap perfume touched his senses before he turned to the young woman in the tight, green satin dress. Luke’s eyes swept past the feather in her auburn hair to the uptilted face, heavily rouged.
“Hello,” he replied curtly, then looked away.
He could see more clearly now, and his eyes moved past other women mingling with men around the room. Finally, his gaze settled on the mahogany bar on a side wall. He began to walk in that direction.
“That one ain’t too friendly, is he?” a male voice spoke from behind him.
“Who cares?” He heard the young woman reply.
He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that she was already approaching another customer entering the saloon.
Luke elbowed up to the crowded bar, staring uninterestedly at the array of bottles and glasses reflected in the wall mirror. A rotund bartender with thick mustache and sideburns worked furiously to fill orders. Luke waited, his eyes scanning the smoky haze, when suddenly he wondered how a place like this had ever held any appeal to him.
He squinted at the woman in the green satin dress, thinking how she, too, had nothing to offer him. Nothing whatsoever.
Then the conversation of the cowhand next to him captured his attention.
“Got a real poker game going in the back room. Big Jake’s cleaning out some little fancy pants.”
Luke straightened, glancing through the smoke to the door at the rear. He made his way around the tables, his curiosity mounting. He had no interest in another poker game, but the description of “fancy pants” could fit the little scoundrel who’d ambushed him outside of Bordertown.
Cautiously, he entered and looked around. It was a large room with several games in progress. However, it was easy to figure out where the interest was. Several men had gathered around a table in the back. Luke headed in that direction.
Before he reached the table, one of the men left the circle, and through the opening he spotted the little weasel he had met in Bordertown—the one he felt certain had shot him.
His heart pounded as he drew closer. He wasn’t sure exactly what he should do, but at the very least, he would confront him. Just then, he heard a gasp spread over the crowd.
The little man had leaped to his feet and pulled a derringer.
“You’ve cheated me!” he shouted.
Luke was close enough to see that the big cowboy had won all the money, and now the giant came slowly to his feet.
“Now, look here,” he said. “I won fair and square. Put that gun away.”
The little man was out of control. A sheen of perspiration covered his face; his beady eyes were glazed like a drunk’s. Luke’s eyes dropped to the table. There were no bottles or shot glasses there. He wasn’t drunk; he was crazy.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he said, wild-eyed. He raised the gun and took a step backward, knocking his chair over. The chair banged against the floor, and the crazy man jumped, turning his head toward the noise. In that split second, his opponent whipped out a gun and fired.
Disbelief flickered over the little man’s face before he hit the table.
Luke backed against the wall and closed his eyes. He hated to see a man killed, even when that man had invited it. Luke knew if there was ever any hope of recovering his money, his last hope had died with the man. Stunned, he stumbled back to the bar as someone ran for the sheriff.
Above the roar, the bartender’s voice reached him. “What’ll you have?”
Luke looked from the bartender to the bottles lined up on the counter. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
He stalked out of the saloon and stood on the boardwalk, breathing deeply of the fresh air. He had hoped a shot of bourbon would calm his nerves, but now it occurred to him he was looking in the wrong place for strength. He wouldn’t find strength in a bottle; he’d have to reach down deep in his soul for that.
He walked stiff-legged toward Smoky. If the hour weren’t so late, he would go to visit Suzanne. Saloons and everything within held no appeal to him, probably never would again.
As he walked Smoky from the noisy street, he realized it was not just the poker game, the bullet in his shoulder, and his stolen wallet that had changed him. Meeting Suzanne and Hank Waters had changed him more dramatically than anything else.
For some reason, the verse framed in their house rose up in his memory. All things work together for good…. If he’d not gotten himself shot and ended up in their valley, he never would have met them. What if he had missed knowing her, if only for a short while?
As he reached the quiet outskirts of Colorado Springs, he found himself thinking about another person: his father. What kind of woman had he found here? What kind of life had he lived all these years? And what had happened to him?
He waited until the next day to visit Suzanne and her father, and now his spirits lifted as he spotted them seated on the front porch, rocking, listening to the little woman who stood before them, her lips moving rapidly. He saw the happy expression on Suzanne’s face when he halted Smoky and swung down.
“Hello,” Hank called to Luke as he approached the front porch.
“Good afternoon.” Suzanne was smiling, too. He could sense that they had really forgiven him. They weren’t holding a grudge about the rude words
he had spoken yesterday.
Suzanne got up out of the rocker and came to stand beside him on the porch steps. “Have you found out anything?”
He nodded. “I went to the address. The people who live there never heard of him. Nor had any of the neighbors.”
The disappointment was obvious on his face. No matter how hard he tried to pretend he didn’t care about finding his father, it mattered more than anything to him now.
She touched his arm. “Don’t give up. Someone in this town is bound to have known him.”
He shrugged, unconvinced. His eyes moved on to Hank as he climbed the steps.
“Last night I saw the man who robbed me, or rather the man I suspected of robbing me.”
Hank bolted out of the rocker, then pressed his chest. “You did? Where? What did you do?”
Luke sighed. “I didn’t have a chance to do anything. He was killed after a poker game—accused someone of cheating.” He glanced back at Suzanne. “I wasn’t in the game.”
Luke sank into a rocking chair; Hank followed, still gaping at him.
“That’s all there is to tell,” he said, looking from Hank to Suzanne. “I didn’t find one man, but I found another. Guess I was too late both ways.”
Suzanne frowned, following Miss Martha into the house, back to the kitchen.
“What’ll you people want for supper this evening?” Miss Martha asked.
Suzanne glanced around the kitchen, her eyes lighting on a platter of chicken left from lunch. The cabbage salad that had gone with it had been tasty as well.
“Would you mind,” she asked impulsively, “if I packed some of that chicken for a picnic supper? Luke is feeling low, and he probably hasn’t eaten. I think a picnic would perk him up.”
Miss Martha beamed. “Great idea. Take him over to the park. It’s not far from here. The walk would probably calm your nerves, too, young lady. You look a bit overwrought.”
She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“I’ll entertain your father,” Miss Martha offered quickly, smiling to herself as she bounced around the kitchen, gathering up containers. “Just leave it to me,” she called over her shoulder, then began humming.
Suzanne sauntered back to the porch, wondering if Luke would like the idea. It occurred to her that her father’s nerves were overwrought as well; he could use a walk and a picnic lunch. No, this time she had to think about Luke. Pa would understand.
The afternoon sunshine spilled over the small grassy park where couples strolled together and children played.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as they reached a bench and sat down.
“Not just yet.”
Across from the park stood a steepled building—a church with white clapboard and stained-glass windows. He glanced away, his eyes resting on two elderly gentlemen seated at the next bench.
“Seeing that man who shot you,” Suzanne said, “must have been awful.”
Luke leaned back, staring up at the sky. “I felt a terrible rage come over me. Then, when I saw him get shot…” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I just want to forget it. I learned something important last night. I don’t ever care to go in a saloon again, and there won’t be any more poker games.”
The elderly men were getting up to leave. Their conversation drifted into the silence that had fallen between Suzanne and Luke.
“Well, enough about the war. That was a long time ago,” one man was saying.
Suzanne cleared her throat. “Was your father in the war?”
“Yes. Apparently, he felt a strong responsibility to serve his country. I don’t know what changed him from a loyal soldier to a coward who abandoned his family twelve years later!”
Suzanne caught her breath. It hurt her to hear him speak such bitterness, but she supposed it was good for him to talk about it, much better than keeping all the anger and hurt shoved down deep to fester in his heart. At the same time, she understood his reserve with her. At times he looked at her as though he really cared—he had told her private things about his family. Still, she was never sure when to ask questions or when to keep silent for fear of upsetting him.
“Luke, don’t you have any good memories of him?” she asked in a kind, caring voice.
He closed his eyes, passing his hand over his forehead.
“Sure. He taught me how to track a squirrel, how to sit a horse, how to fish the stream down behind our cabin. Those are good memories, and that’s why it took me a long time to understand how he could just ride off and never look back.”
“When you find him, he may have an explanation for you.”
“Oh, he’ll have an explanation. The other woman. She even wrote to my mother.” He glanced at Suzanne, his eyes glazed with bitterness. “That was after a short note from him. She said Pa was living with her, that they loved each other, but he didn’t have the heart to write and tell us. In her letter, she claimed she wanted to tell us so we wouldn’t worry that something had happened to him when we never heard from him again.”
Suzanne swallowed. “What did your mother do?”
“She wrote back immediately, asking to hear those words from him, rather than her. He never answered. She wrote a couple more times, but we never heard anything.”
“Perhaps the letters didn’t reach him?”
“They were never returned to us, so he got the letters, all right. I guess he just lost his head over the woman.” His eyes slipped over Suzanne’s features, and he thought about how pretty she was. Since he had met her, he could better understand how a man could lose his head over a woman.
“Luke, what was the woman’s name? Do you remember?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what Ma did with the letters, threw them away, I guess. I never saw them again. I do remember”—he frowned—“it was a name I’d never heard before. Don’t guess I’ve heard it since.”
“What kind of name? Try to remember.”
He stared into space, his eyes narrowed. “I remember; Ma saying something about a flower. The woman had the name of a flower; something unusual.”
“What kind of flower? Rose? No, that’s not unusual. A pretty flower? Was it a flower that grew in Kansas?”
He shook his head slowly as his eyes returned to her. “I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”
She tried to conceal her disappointment. If only he could remember the woman’s name! It could be more important than his father’s name, she believed, if the woman had lived here long enough to make friends. But then, they must have left town, since nobody knew his father.
She tried to suppress a sigh of frustration. There was no point in pressing him. That could only make matters worse for him.
“Well,” she said, reaching for the picnic basket, “I don’t know about you, but my stomach tells me it’s time for supper.”
“Good idea,” Luke said. “Where do you want to picnic?”
“How about here?” She led the way to a private area beneath a large cottonwood.
“Perfect,” he said, sinking down on the grass and removing his hat.
His dark hair tumbled about his forehead, and as his eyes began to soften, Suzanne looked at him, for the first time imagining him as a boy with tousled dark hair and glowing eyes. That would have been before his father had left. She suspected Luke had turned into a man overnight, trying to protect his mother and help put food on the table.
Luke tilted his head, looking at her. “When are you going to open that basket?” he asked teasingly.
“Right now,” Suzanne said, turning her mind back to the present. She opened the basket and spread the cloth Miss Martha had thoughtfully included. Then she put out the chicken and cabbage salad, the plates and utensils.
“Oh no.” She looked at Luke. “I forgot the tea.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He smiled at her. “This is a real treat.”
They ate heartily. Suzanne thought the chicken tasted even better cold. She was glad Miss Martha had packed plenty of it, for Luke kept reaching for
more.
A contented silence flowed between them as they enjoyed the food and the picturesque setting. Suzanne looked up from the church across the way to the dry goods store on the corner, and on to a hardware store down the block.
“This is a nice town,” she said, “but I miss our peaceful little valley and our own special mountain.”
“Morning Mountain,” Luke mused. “That sounds nice. Who gave the mountain that name?”
“Mattie says the first settler into the valley named it. She didn’t say why, but I can guess. That mountain is beautiful in the morning… looking at it helps to start my day off right.”
Her eyes returned to the church and she glanced at Luke. He had followed her gaze there and was solemnly studying the steeple.
“Suzanne”—he turned to her—“since we’re sitting here in the shadow of the church, I need to explain something to you.”
She was dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. “Go ahead.”
“Well—” He broke off, folding his napkin.
“Please, go on. Say whatever you’re thinking. I won’t be offended.”
He looked at her sadly. “Oh, I don’t think it would offend you to know how much I admire you and your father. You’re so strong in your faith. My mother was that way, and—believe it or not—I used to read the Bible and pray with Ma. But then… I got mad at God. I guess I tried to believe He didn’t exist; otherwise, He’d have heard me begging Him, night after night, to bring back my father.”
Now, as he spoke of God, new hope filled her heart.
“Luke”—she reached across to squeeze his hand—“you’ve had a very difficult time, and I don’t have any answers. Sometimes things just happen, and we never understand why.”
“You haven’t had an easy time of it, either,” he said, holding her hand, “but your heart hasn’t turned hard the way mine has.”
He looked at her tenderly. Suzanne saw his expression and she found herself hoping, desperately hoping, that he loved her. But would he ever admit it to himself? To her?
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 12
