The Homecoming

by Raine Cantrell

  Law offered his hand to Matt. “You need us, we’ll come. Or if you run, come to the swamp. You know where.”

  “Law!”

  “Will, who do you think showed me the way? Matt did. He knows this land. Maybe more than most men.”

  Matt felt a warmth for Law’s words as he clasped his hand. “You know there will be room at my fire, cause I don’t run worth a damn.”

  “Law, you reckon those Union Leaguers from Cypress Bend will come looking for us?”

  “I should have told you. We had a bit of shooting when we took that sutter’s wagon.”

  “You’ve never shot a man that didn’t shoot first.” Matt looked at Will Bent. “If they come, they won’t get far. Unless they grew up hunting around here. Even then, there are places they could never find.”

  He could see their weariness. He guessed they had been running and hiding for some time. Again he asked himself what kind of a chance he had if someone like Law with all his family and friends was now hiding. “Those two men I tangled with…”

  “Don’t worry about them. Some men think they’re up to the fight and others join us for what they can get. It will get sorted before any harm is done.”

  Thoughts of what Law told him preyed on his mind as he made his way to the dugout. He dreamt of coming home, planting his crops, maybe finding a woman to marry. The memories of rich soil, lush greenery, the soft stillness of the bayous kept him company across the land he had traveled.

  And there was Laine. Why had she never married?

  A fish splashed, rippling the bayou’s sluggish brown water as he poled his way back to her. He had to keep in mind she was a fine young woman who was not for the likes of him. It was true her father had liked him, but he would never have approved of Matt paying court to Laine. She was meant for someone like Law, a gentleman, educated with fine manners. ‘Course with Law on the run Laine might be in worse straits. Then again, Law had family to help him.

  He should smile, stirring up a pot that never came to the boil. Being back just brought forth things best left forgotten. Or buried.

  But he carried a picture of the carefree, laughing girl, putting up her hair for the first time, that wealth of golden bronze hair caught up with her mama’s combs.

  Laine, flirting with him, and having no idea what she was doing.

  He did. And he’d left.

  Only hearing again her sweet, husky voice made him remember. Like smoke and sweet honey blending into flame, licking over him, through him, softly, so softly burning him.

  Without warning desire raked its claws over him. He took a deep breath, then another, and yet another. Slowly he regained control. A hard lesson to learn. He’d done it once. But the ease and intensity of his arousal over Laine had not left, was not about to leave.

  And she was waiting for him.

  Chapter Four

  The faintest scent of frying fish drew Matt to the landing.

  Tater hopped from one foot to the other while opening a shuttered lantern. “I saw you coming an’ told Laine. Did you find anything? See anyone?”

  “No. I’ll tell the little there is when we’re all together.”

  Swatting at the whine of swarming mosquitoes, he tied up the dugout, lifted his Spencer, and with Tater leading, walked up to the cabin.

  No light shone in welcome. Not a gleam could be seen through a chink in the logs. The two windows were closed with solid wood shutters. But closer, there was the smell of cooking and smoke from the fire.

  From the lean-to came the restless stirring of the horses. Matt murmured softly to Blueboy to settle him down. A warning growl came from the dog on guard in the doorway. A warm spill of light shone out.

  “Hurry up, Tater,” Rachel called, “or the skeeters will get inside.”

  “Wait up, boy,” Matt ordered as Tater raced forward. “Leave me the lantern. I need to wash up.”

  “Oh, Laine’s got water warming inside for you.”

  Matt ducked his head to pass through while Rachel closed and barred the door behind him. His gaze targeted Laine bent over the cast-iron spider with its long legs set into the coals at the edge of the fireplace. The smell, spit and sizzle of frying fish made his mouth water, but it dried up real quick as he stared at the sweet curve of her bottom and the long length of her legs revealed by her father’s cut down pants. There was no sign of her beltgun. The worn shirt was threadbare in spots molding her slender back. It sure didn’t do much to hide the lush roundness of her breasts. He swallowed hard, then set his carbine by the door.

  Rachel cleared her throat, calling attention to her fussing with the already set table. A wood bench for two sat on one side with two straight chairs tucked on the other.

  Three candles burned in gleaming holders surrounding a small glass bowl with a pink water hyacinth in the middle on much darned linen.

  “That’s a right pretty sight, Rachel. Especially welcoming to a man long gone to a home cooked meal. Can’t remember my last.”

  Laine shot him a look of disbelief. Surely there had been a woman or two who would have welcomed a man like Matt to her home. The war made a lot of widows.

  “There’s wash water for you.” She motioned to the pail warming on the hearth.

  “Wait up,” Tater called out. “He promised to tell what happened when we’re together.”

  “Tater,” Laine warned.

  “It’s all right. Ain’t much to tell. Met up with Law Emmons and some of his men. They’re going to look for them. Promised.”

  “Law’s a good man.”

  “Can I keep Capt. Tate?”

  “Don’t see why not. Unless your sister …”

  “Laine?”

  “Tater! Don’t fuss.” Instantly, Laine relented from scolding her brother. Even with Billy for company, she knew he was lonely. No school, no family socials, no church, no trips to town. “You can keep him until Billy comes to get him.”

  “You’re the best, Laine. You hear that, Capt. Tate? You’re staying.”

  The dog already took a place on an old rag rug by the side of the door. The bath hadn’t helped much. He still looked like a scruffy mongrel, if a clean one. He lay with his head on his front paws, ears perked, eyes on the boy, tail thumping as if he understood the news he had a home. More important, he had another boy.

  Matt smiled to see the sampler hanging on the wall. Home is where all hearts come. Laine had stitched it. If he looked close he could find the tiny spot of blood where she had pricked her finger. A big cupboard as rough-hewn as the chairs and bench took up most of the far wall of the cabin. A long curtain hung next to it, concealing whatever was behind.

  Laine hoped her face didn’t show the lightning streak of awareness that went through her. The front room shrunk to crowded with Matt near. The shock of seeing him earlier had left little time to note all the minute changes in him. Rachel had taken his buckskin jacket to hang on the peg. Laine kept sneaking looks as he folded his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. His hands and wrists were tanned a deeper shade than his forearms—forearms dusted with dark brown hair. She chided herself for noticing. He bent to wash. The faded blue shirt pulled taut over the masculine wedge of wide shoulders and narrow waist. No motion wasted, neat as a cat, but she sensed a heat seething in him.

  Laine yelped as a hot oil spatter hit her hand.

  Matt was at her side, taking hold her hand before she could move. Lord, the man could move quick. He used his towel to blot the bit of grease. Laine stared up at him when he raised her hand to his lips and gently blew on it.

  He ignored her shiver. “Rachel, get me some …”

  “Here,” she said, holding out a small jar of honey. “How bad did you burn yourself?”

  “Not too much.” Laine’s whisper held a note of breathlessness.

  Matt willed his hands not to shake. Her scent of mint and lavender teased him, shortening his breath. He coul
d barely force air into his lungs. He was grateful for the chance to touch her, whatever the circumstance. Her skin was soft where he gently rubbed honey in. Her grey eyes, the color of smoked crystal, widened. Pale rose lips parted and Matt wanted to taste them so bad he abruptly stopped and stepped back from her, freeing her from his sensual interest.

  Laine felt light-headed. Her heart wove a frantic beat. She dragged in a breath, then another. She had never reacted to anyone like this.

  Then Rachel stepped between them. “Go sit down, Laine. I’ll finish up. Your hand must be smarting.”

  Laine sat, still shaken by her reaction to Matt. She watched him rinse his hand, then finger comb his dark, collar-length hair. He left tiny drops of water behind that glistened in the fire’s light.

  He rubbed his whiskered cheek and chin, then shot her a rueful grin.

  “Wish I had a chance to shave.”

  “Oh, no!” Tater groaned. “I’m hungry. I don’t wanna wait for supper.” He yanked out his chair, plopped down and plunked his elbows on the table.

  “That’s rude. You apologize or go to bed hungry.”

  “Laine…” Matt started.

  “Don’t take up for him, Matt. We may live in a swamp and not have much left of home, but he knows good manners. He’ll use them, too.”

  “Sorry,” Tater mumbled, sliding his elbows off the table.

  Rachel set the platter of fried fish fillets down with a bowl of beans and rice, then set a pan of corn bread alongside. Then came a dish of dressed greens to complete their meal.

  “We have a real nice kitchen garden out back,” Rachel said brightly. “Laine and I made molasses vinegar for the greens. It’s real tasty.”

  Laine glanced at Matt as he sat next to her brother. She wondered if he noticed the mismatched china plates, the darned napkins and tin cups. She felt flush and had odd shimmering sensations racing through her. Matt looked so right sitting there with the candlelight gilding his very masculine, handsome features.

  She came to with a start, realizing that they were waiting for her.

  “Grace,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “Lord, we thank you for Tater being a great fisherman and Rachel’s skill with baking. We thank you for a good friend to share the blessing of our food and home. We give thanks for the safety of another day and pray you’ll watch over our friends, the Perrys, and keep them all safe, too.”

  “Wait,” Rachel said. “I want to give thanks for a special sister who helped gather cattle to earn money for our food. And for my dress goods,” she added with a mischievous smile.

  Matt had bowed his head and felt humbled to hear Laine speak. Now cold condensed inside him.

  “You did what?”

  “I helped roust cattle in the thicket.”

  Rage quickly burned inside of him. His temper had been triggered. “You damn fool woman. You ain’t got the sense the Lord gave a skeeter.”

  “Just one minute.” Twin flags of color stained her cheeks. Her eyes took on a gunmetal shine.

  “I’ll give you a minute. Just one.” He gripped his fork like a weapon.

  “You’ve no right to yell …”

  “I’m not yelling.”

  The low rumbling sound from the dog echoed Matt’s anger. He got a firm hold of his temper. The last thing he wanted to do was fight the dog. Or fight with Laine.

  “I am not yelling,” he repeated.

  He wasn’t, but for all the softness of his voice, Matt was furious.

  “Matt, you have no right to say one word. I know what I did. I know why I did it. I know how hard I worked. I know how dangerous it was. But I had no choice. You hear me, Matt. There was no choice.”

  “You could’ve taken in sewing.” It lacked something, but he felt better saying it.

  “And who do you think can pay to have sewing done? Some carpetbagger’s fancy woman? Or maybe you think I should’ve cooked for Yankees? Or marry one of them?”

  “No!” His temper hit flashpoint so fast it shocked him. He had to force himself to relax his fingers one by one, and then, very gently, set his fork down on his plate.

  “I apologize to you. And you two.” He barely looked at Rachel and Tater. “I … I feared for you. I know a few things, too. I know those cattle. They’re man hunters. Men are afraid to roust them. I know it’s rough, dirty, hard work. The air is stifling, you can’t breathe, you can’t swallow ’cause your mouth’s drier than parched corn. You can’t drink enough to sweat an’ cool off. You battle tough, ornery critters an’ they ain’t all on the hoof. Skeeter and horseflies big as sparrows. So don’t be telling me what you know. And you don’t even have a decent cutting horse,” he finished in exasperation.

  He couldn’t put aside the fear or anger or a hundred other thoughts her words had conjured. Laine at any man’s mercy wasn’t to be borne. He’d figured her father had left her with enough money to care for the three of them. But then he remembered what she had told him earlier. They’d been raided and burned out.

  He stared blindly at the candlesticks, blinking as they came into focus. For the first time he noticed the dents in the silver.

  Laine’s fingertips touching his forearm roused him as nothing else could. “Thank you for caring so much. But you need to understand I’m not the girl I was. I’ve grown up. I’ll do what I must to care for my family.”

  He met the intense grey of her eyes.

  “You could’ve been killed. Then who would take care of them?”

  Cold snaked up her spine. She wouldn’t admit to him now how scared she had been. Not even if the good Lord dried up the swamp tomorrow.

  “You have no right to question me. Rachel, pass the dishes.”

  And that was that.

  Matt could almost hear her say those words.

  What’s more, she foolishly believed it.

  Well, while she was shoving changes down his throat faster than he could swallow, Laine had a few more things to learn.

  She had yet to learn that he could teach stubborn to a mule.

  Chapter Five

  When the dishes were cleared, Rachel brought a peach pie to the table. For all Matt tasted, he could have been eating hardtack and jerky.

  “I made this from peaches from your orchard, Matt. I hope you don’t mind we went over to pick them. We canned quite a lot. We can give you some.”

  He made murmurs of appreciation.

  “Truly, you don’t mind?” Rachel prodded, wanting an end to the tense silence.

  “Truly, Rachel. Glad to know you made use of the fruit. My ma did the same.” He accepted the large slice she plated for him. He wanted to ask how the old place stood in his absence, but couldn’t. Some things were best seen for yourself.

  He dug in with more appetite than he had shown thus far and made short work of the pie. To Rachel’s delight he scraped up the few crumbs of crust.

  “Would you like another piece?”

  “I would, but I couldn’t eat another. That had to be the best pie ever.”

  His compliment won him a bright smile. “Laine said if we ever have church socials again I’d likely win a ribbon.”

  “Sure would have my vote.” She had a wistful look that he wanted to dispel. “Tell you what. Maybe I could manage a sliver more.”

  Once Rachel served him, Laine nudged her so she could push back the bench.

  “Leave the dishes to soak. I’ll do them later.”

  She had her jacket on, the lantern lit, and was out the door before Matt could move.

  Tater piped up, “Could you tell me about where you’ve been? Did you fight Indians?”

  “Later, Tater.”

  “Later? Later. Everything is later. I’m gettin’ older by the minute. Time later comes ’round, I’ll be using a cane.”

  “Quit your griping. Come help me with the dishes. Laine’s had a long day,” Rachel said.

  Matt closed
the door behind him on their good-natured bickering. He waited in the night’s stillness for Laine to come back. The moon was a quarter in the night sky hiding beneath lacy clouds like a flirting woman wielding her fan. The sounds were soothing in their familiarity.

  And he ran out of patience to wait.

  He looked around the clearing for the lantern light and found he was standing near the horses in the lean-to. He heard her whispering to the animals as each one received a small scoop of grain.

  “Stop being greedy, Sassafras. I swear, mule, you have no manners. Apple, finish up. It’s been a long day. Goober, you’re a sweetheart. All done and without a fuss. Just like Blueboy, a gentleman.”

  He came forward to lean against a roof post to watch her quick moves. Scoop in the grain bin, a piece of leather to tie it closed, pails collected and stacked. Watching her was a pleasure he didn’t want to end.

  When she turned around and saw him, he still didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling. He wondered if she was nursing her anger. He thought long and hard about what he’d say.

  She spoke first. “I hope you don’t mind I included your horse in our nightly ritual.”

  “No, Laine, I don’t mind. Blueboy takes to spoiling by a pretty woman. He’s still watching you.”

  She wondered if there had been many pretty women who had the same chance. But she wouldn’t ask. She had no right. After all, Matt was the one who left her without a word. He never asked her to wait for him. He never wrote to her. A woman might have feelings for a man, but that didn’t mean he felt the same. She would be friendly and nothing more. Why then, did that sound reasoning hurt a little too much?

  “If you’re looking for your saddlebags and bedroll, I had Tater put them in his room. Well, it’s not exactly a full room, but there’s two beds and …”

  “Laine, I didn’t come looking for saddlebags or my bedroll. I don’t care where you put them.”