He stepped on the porch, avoiding the buckling board, hearing again the scampering sound underneath. He knocked on the door, then removed his hat, waiting for the slow thudding steps to eventually reach the door. Finally the door creaked open.
“Miss Rogers?”
He had been so stunned by this woman and the story she had told that he had overlooked some important details, like where his father was buried. He had found the town cemetery, however, and the tombstone marked Luke Thomason. He had stood there for a long time, making his peace.
“Hello, Luke,” she said weakly. “Would you like to come in?”
“I can’t stay.” The words he had planned to say now hung in his throat as he twirled his hat in his hands and glanced back down the row of cheap cabins. “I went to my father’s grave,” he said, looking at her again. “The caretaker at the cemetery told me you’ve seen to its upkeep all these years. I really appreciate that.”
She tilted her head and looked at him curiously. Then she smiled faintly. “I’ll be put to rest beside him. I hope you don’t mind.”
It occurred to him he hadn’t told her his mother had died.
“No, I don’t mind,” he said quietly. He felt sure the souls of his father and mother had been reunited. The physical aspects of life didn’t seem to matter that much anymore. “Is there anything I can do before I leave?”
“Yes.”
He waited, wondering what she would ask.
“You can forgive me.”
His lips twitched as he tried to smile. “I couldn’t have done that when I left Kansas. Along the way, I met a beautiful, kind woman. She and her father have taught me a lesson in forgiveness. And I’ve been doing some soul-searching myself these past days.” He took a deep breath and his smile widened. “I forgive you,” he said at last. “Try to find some peace now in the time you have left.”
Tears streamed down the wrinkled cheeks, and for the first time the dark eyes held an expression of hope.
“Thank you, Luke. And I do hope that you and your young woman find the love that”—she paused, then continued—“your parents had for each other.”
He swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
At noon, he cantered Smoky up Tejon to Miss Martha’s Boardinghouse. He spotted Hank, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. Luke sensed Hank’s restlessness from the way the rocker was moving back and forth in swift, almost frantic, motions.
When Hank glanced toward Luke, spotting horse and rider, his face lit up. He bolted out of the rocking chair and hurried down the porch steps to greet him.
“The medicine worked,” he called to Luke.
Luke swung down from his horse and shook Hank’s hand. “That’s real good news, Mr. Waters. I had a feeling everything was going to turn out just fine for you.”
Hank nodded. “And what about you? We were anxious to hear, but we thought maybe you’d left town.”
Luke looked into Hank’s eyes and shook his head. “I’d never do that without coming to see you first.” Luke squared his shoulders. “My father died fourteen years ago. It’ll take a long time to tell the story, so we’ll have plenty to talk about in the wagon.” Luke took a deep breath and spoke the words he had thought about long and hard. “I’ll be accompanying you home,” he said.
Home, did he say? Hank grinned. “Be mighty glad to have you,” he said. “And I’m anxious to hear that story.”
Luke hesitated. “If you have no objection, I’ll be staying on.”
Hank’s brawny hand fumbled absently with the breast pocket of his shirt. “Keep forgetting I’ve given up my pipe. Luke, that’s the second dose of good news I’ve had. My old ticker may get out of rhythm again!” Hank stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Luke?”
Luke was looking toward the house, and Hank figured from the wistful expression on his face, he might be hankering to see Suzanne. Still, Hank wanted to speak his piece.
“Yes, sir?” Luke looked back at him.
“There’s no strings attached at my ranch. I’d never let my daughter talk me out of keeping my word like that lowdown Godfrey fellow did.”
Luke grinned. “Mr. Waters, I never thought of you as an eavesdropper.”
“Nobody said that conversation was confidential, as I recollect.”
“Well, sir, back to the subject of the ranch. What I had in mind was a partnership with you. I have some money now.”
Hank looked surprised. “You don’t say? Well, sure. That’s something else we can jaw on in the wagon.”
Luke grinned and glanced toward the house. “Where’s your daughter?”
“She went out back with Miss Martha to see that flower garden one last time before we go.”
“I’d like to talk with her,” Luke said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He turned and walked around the side of the house, his head bent, his brow furrowed.
He spotted Suzanne in the rear of the yard, bending over a rose-bush. The funny-looking little woman had gone trotting back to the house for something, and Luke quickened his steps, seizing the opportunity.
“Hello,” he called.
She whirled, and the thoughtful expression on her face turned quickly to one of radiance.
“Luke, I’m so glad to see you.” She came forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Are you okay?”
Surprised and pleased, he hugged her back.
“I’m okay. More than okay.” He reached down, tilting her head back. Adoring gray eyes shone up into his face. “I have a lot to tell you, but the most important thing is what I need to ask you.”
She looked puzzled. He reached into his pocket and removed the gold wedding band. “I’d like to give this back again. This time, I hope you’ll agree to wear it—as my wife.”
Suzanne gasped. Her eyes dropped to the ring, then returned to his face. She smiled, raising her hand so that he could slip the ring on her finger.
“We’ll need a ceremony to make it official,” he said, looking nervous.
She smiled. “I think that can be arranged when we return to Morning Mountain.”
His lips came down, brushing over hers gently. Then, as her arms went around him again, he pulled her against his chest, kissing her as he had longed to do since the day he’d met her.
When they broke apart, breathless, Luke began to chuckle. “I think we’d better plan that wedding pretty soon. Suzanne, I have so much to tell you.”
“I want to hear! You have no idea how anxious I’ve been, how I’ve watched the window, hoping you’d come back.”
“I’m a better man now,” he said, looking with pride at this woman who had agreed to be his wife. “I have something to offer you…”
“You’ve always had something to offer me,” she said, reaching up to caress his cheek. “You’re all I could want in a man. There’s just one thing,” she said, trying to think how to broach the subject.
“Suzanne, I’ve made my peace with God,” he said quietly.
She looked at him for a moment, saying nothing, adoring him with her eyes.
“Then there’s nothing more to say,” she said, linking her arm through his.
“Morning Mountain.” Luke rolled the words over on his tongue. “That sounds like a great place to begin a new life.”
He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “For all the mornings of our lives…”
Peggy Darty authored more than 30 novels before she passed away in 2011. She worked in film, researched for CBS, and taught in writing workshops around the country. She was a wife, mother, and grandmother who most recently made her home in Alabama.
A Bride’s Rogue in Roma, Texas
by Darlene Franklin
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated with many grateful thanks to Julie Jarnagin for helping me make changes to the copyedit while I was in the hospital and for allowing me to be a grandmother to her son. (Because a boy can never have too many grandmothers.)
CHAPTER 1
Roma, Texas, 1897
Salt residu
e marked the trail of Blanche Lamar’s tears down the front of her black twill suit. “At least I didn’t need to buy new clothes for the funeral.” A hiccup interrupted her sobs.
Dipping a washcloth in a basin of cool water, she blotted away the evidence of tears from her face and dress. She raised her face to look in the mirror. Mama always said that a lady should present a neat appearance, no matter what.
Hollow brown eyes stared out of her pale face, whiter than usual beneath her always bright auburn hair. Her black hat would cover the chignon, hiding the riot of color that had irritated Mama so.
“Oh Mama.” Blanche rubbed her eyes, but nothing stemmed the flood of tears.
A gentle knock fell on the door, and Mrs. Davenport, the pastor’s wife, slipped in. “It’s time.” Clucking, she put her arms around Blanche’s shoulders. Mama would be mortified by Blanche’s puffy eyes. She sniffed the tears… and grief… inside.
“Take this, dear.” Mrs. Davenport handed her a lace-edged handkerchief. “Are you ready?”
Nodding, Blanche followed her down the hall to the sanctuary. If only she had some other family member to accompany her—a father, brother, sister, aunt, grandparent—but she and Mama had been a tight family of two. Did one person constitute a family? I’m alone. Reverend Davenport and his wife were kind, but they couldn’t tuck her in at night or tell her stories about the past. Tell her about the father Blanche had never known and now never would.
Organ music streamed through the open door of the sanctuary. “Rock of Ages.” Mama loved that hymn. Blanche bit on her bottom lip against renewed tears.
“There’s a good turnout. People admired your mother. You’re not alone.” Mrs. Davenport gestured at the sanctuary, three-quarters full of people, men and women, dressed in the same somber black as Blanche.
Except for one blot of color. A lone man, his hair nearly as red as her own, sat by himself on the back pew. His dove-gray suit glowed in the sea of black that made up the congregation. She searched her memory but couldn’t place him. What was a stranger doing at her mother’s funeral?
Pushing the man to the back of her mind, she took a seat on the front pew. After Mrs. Davenport sat beside her, her husband began his remarks.
Blanche struggled to pay attention to the pastor’s words of comfort, about the promise of eternal life, his words of praise for her mother’s good works among widows and orphans. Mrs. Davenport sang “The Old Rugged Cross,” another one of Mama’s favorite hymns.
At the end of the service, the pastor motioned Blanche forward. She forced herself to look down into her mother’s face, prematurely white hair pulled back in a neat bun, wearing her favorite mauve silk dress, Bible placed between her hands. The mortician’s blush on her cheeks looked unnatural. Mama didn’t approve of cosmetics of any kind.
“Are you ready? Come, let’s go,” Mrs. Davenport whispered in her ear. At Blanche’s nod, she cupped her elbow and led her to the church’s fellowship hall. The scents of ham, beans, and potato salad greeted them, cloying her nose.
A long line of deacons and church matrons filed past Blanche, each one with a kind word to share about her mother. Their comments fell into a predictable pattern. With every repetition of “she’s in a better place now,” a silent scream built in Blanche’s throat.
What would Mama make of the mansion God had prepared for her? She might insist it was much too fancy, that she only needed a room or two. God would have to change her mind; no one else had ever been able to.
No one acknowledged Blanche’s pain, an almost physical ache. Not that she wished her mother back, not now that she had entered a place of peace and joy. No, Blanche’s grief was for herself, her loneliness, and her final loss of any ties to her past.
Ruth Fairfax, Mama’s best friend, came toward the end of the line. “You know you have a home with me, as long as you need it.”
Blanche’s heart swelled, and once again she blinked back tears. “Thank you, Ruth.”
“I’ll wait until you are ready to leave, so I can take you home.”
“I appreciate that.” Truth was, Blanche didn’t know what the future held for her. Mama left a little money, enough to keep her going for a few weeks, but not much more.
The man in the dove-gray suit came last in line. Upon a closer inspection, Blanche confirmed her first impression that she had never seen him before. What a dandy, with his three-piece suit, stiff collar and shirt studs, and curling mustache. What this man was doing at her mother’s funeral, she couldn’t guess.
Despite his fancy suit, the man’s features settled in somber lines, his blue eyes solemn and serious. “Miss Lamar, I know we haven’t met before, but first let me express my condolences on the loss of your mother.”
“Umm… thank you.” The appearance of this stranger troubled her in ways no one should have to endure at her mother’s funeral.
“I know this must be a difficult time for you, but if I could have a few words with you in private either today or tomorrow, I would be most appreciative. Whatever time is convenient for you.”
Blanche blinked. “I’m not in the habit of meeting gentlemen alone.” She heard the asperity in her tone and chided herself for it.
“Of course not. But… away from all these people. Perhaps with the pastor?” The solid muscles beneath the well-fitting suit testified to his familiarity with getting his own way. Perhaps he was an attorney of some kind, with news of an unexpected will dispersing Mama’s few worldly goods?
Blanche’s pulse raced as another possibility occurred to her. Perhaps he knew something about her father. Perhaps Mama had broken her silence from the grave and arranged for the truth to be revealed in the event of her death. Her heart sped. “Tomorrow, here, at the same time?”
“I’ll be here. Oh, and my name is Ike Gallagher.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed her a card. Ike Gallagher, purser, Lamar Industries, Ltd.
Lamar Industries. Blanche’s hopes rose another notch.
Ike Gallagher gazed across the church hall, filled with well-meaning people and tables laden with food. From his spot at the door, he had sensed at least half a dozen glances flick over him and dismiss him as not their kind.
Give them the benefit of the doubt, Captain Lamar had urged him. They mean well. Even if they only wanted to protect young Miss Lamar, why didn’t they practice the love Christ preached? He’d rather grab a bite to eat at the saloon down the street.
Thinking of Blanche Lamar, he couldn’t believe that straitlaced woman could be the offspring of Captain J.O. Lamar. Until last week, when the captain had pointed out the obituary of Cordelia Lamar, Ike didn’t even know the captain had ever married. In the ten years Ike had known him, he had never mentioned one word about family.
The captain flirted with female passengers but never entertained any serious relationships. Ike attributed that to the captain’s desire to avoid attachments—one of the ways they were alike.
The captain never would have revealed his secret, if not for the death of his wife. “Cordelia and me, we knew pretty quick that we weren’t suited to each other. I didn’t discover the news about the baby until after I had gone back to the River. And when I sent her money, she said she wouldn’t accept money from me if she had to beg on the streets. I respected her wishes and stayed away. But now that she’s gone… my girl. She’s all alone in the world. I’ve got to be sure she’s provided for.”
After the study he’d made of Miss Blanche Marie Lamar during the funeral, Ike suspected she wouldn’t be any more agreeable to Lamar’s lifestyle than her mother had been all those years ago. The young lady might have only lived nineteen years, from what the captain had told Ike, but she dressed like an old maid already. He doubted she would agree to the offer he would make on behalf of the captain.
But then again… there was the set of her features, the flash in her eyes, the tilt to her chin when she’d challenged him about meeting men alone. Oh, he’d seen that tilt before, many times—when the captain wanted to ma
ke a point. Blanche Lamar might follow the rules, but she knew how to fight for what she wanted. For the sake of the captain, he would make his best effort to carry out his wishes.
Whistling, Ike flipped a coin. Heads, he’d go to the saloon. Tails, he’d go back to the hotel for the evening. Performing somersaults in the air, the quarter landed tails-up. He’d see what action he could find at the hotel. He was good at ferreting it out.
After all, Captain Lamar would expect no less.
Ike headed straight for the bar until the bartender had chased him and his companions out shortly after midnight. A few hands in Ike’s suite turned into an all-night affair, leaving him about a hundred dollars richer. Pale streaks of gray relieved the black sky when the last of Ike’s guests left his room. He hefted the bag of coins and cash in his hand. No matter what Miss Blanche Lamar had to say later today, he’d had a successful trip.
A quick glance at the bedside clock reminded him that only four hours remained until his meeting with Miss Lamar. He would sleep while he could, he decided. After stripping down, he stretched out on top of the sheets, set his mind to wake up in a couple of hours, and closed his eyes.
When he awoke, he put on a fresh shirt—this one deep blue with mother-of-pearl studs. He reached for a red bow tie but decided against it. After all, they were meeting at a church; he should show proper restraint. Comb and pomade restored his hair to its usual perfection. Tugging on the lapels of his suit, he grinned at his image. Blanche Lamar didn’t stand a chance against his charm.
Whistling “Oh Promise Me,” he ventured down the stairs and into the bright sunshine of a summer day. With money in his pocket, time away from the river, and a pretty girl to see, he looked forward to the day. Even with her dull mourning clothes and grief-stricken face, the captain’s daughter couldn’t hide her beauty or the sparks that flew from her fiery hair.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 15
