Kenny was moved by the letter. He flipped it to the bottom of the stack and read the second one. His heart was pounding by the end of it.
Dear Mama,
I don’t know how much longer I can stand living here. I have told Alice this and she wants me to stay with her and her family. But I don’t want to invade their privacy. And I want privacy of my own. But how can I get away from Bruce? Mama, send me an angel. Send me someone who will help me get out of this. God, help me. I don’t want to be here anymore. I would rather be dead than live another day alone in this house. Bruce is here, yes. But he’s not here often and when he is, he is obnoxious and mean. He is a scoundrel in charming clothes. Mama, ask God to send someone to save me. I need a rescuer. I need to live. I don’t think I can take much more. I don’t want to be a slave anymore. Bruce doesn’t love me. I want to be with someone who loves me. Please, Mama, please, God. Help me. Help me escape from this Hell.
By the time he reached the end, Kenny’s tears had risen to his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling and couldn’t help smiling. “You ol’ dog,” he said addressing God affectionately. “You used me, didn’t you?”
In the back of his mind, it was as though he could hear God laughing and saying, “You’ve been asking for a good woman all your life. Don’t scoff now.”
Kenny laughed, wondering if that was really what God would say to him. He scanned the room some more, replacing the letters in the drawer so that if Bruce came back in, he would not see him reading them. He’d probably want to know what they said. There was no way he was going to let Bruce in on Becky’s private thoughts. He shouldn’t have invaded her privacy himself. Bruce would never lay eyes on these letters.
He moved to the closet and opened it. All of her pretty dresses hung on the bar and her shoes were lined up neatly underneath. She had only one pair and one pair of nice-looking sturdy boots. He fingered through her dresses, noticing what kind of skill the woman had at making clothes.
Not skilled? He scoffed that Bruce had convinced Becky she had no skills and couldn’t make it on her own. Why, she could sell her clothes in New York if she wanted to. There were several fashion designers that would be interested, Kenny was sure. He had only been across the country two times, once when he was young and another time when he was a young adult.
The room gave him quite a bit of insight into the lady he had taken into his home. So far, he greatly liked what he saw.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BECKY’S ANIMALS
BECKY’S ANIMALS
When he stepped out of the room and back into the living room, Bruce was laid back on the couch. His eyes were open and staring. For a moment, Kenny panicked, thinking the formula they had put in the vodka had killed the man.
As he walked to check on Bruce’s status, he wondered if he would even care if Bruce had died. It would make him a murderer but no one would care. They would assume Bruce drank himself to death and never even question anyone.
As he got closer, Bruce turned his head and looked at him.
“See what you needed to see?”
“Yes. She was very talented, making those animals. She did make them herself, didn’t she?”
“Yep, and her clothes, too. The only thing she never made is her shoes.”
“I have a feeling if she knew how and had the equipment, she’d do that, too.” Kenny laughed. He was gratified to see a small grin on Bruce’s face, as well.
“Nothing she couldn’t make. Made all my clothes, too, but my jackets. Gotta get them from the market.”
“Yeah. Her hands are so small, I doubt they would be able to handle large bundles of fabric. She probably doesn’t make quilts either.”
Bruce pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at Kenny. “How you know how big her hands are? Thought you never talked to her?”
“Oh, that was easily noticeable when she was hanging laundry.” Kenny was proud of himself for coming up with that explanation so quickly. Bruce looked satisfied and sat back. His eyes were drooped and it was obvious the formula was taking effect. Kenny was glad it was taking its time. He had a few more questions he wanted to ask before the man was completely gone.
“Can you tell me a few things about Becky?” He used a tone that was a bit louder than usual so that he could keep the man’s attention.
“Like what?”
Kenny noticed he was near passing out and it made him more willing to open up. “Tell me what she likes to eat.”
“I don’t know what she likes to eat,” Bruce mumbled.
Kenny leaned forward, speaking even louder. “You must have noticed something over the years. Something you’ve seen her eat a lot of.”
“She picks apples from the tree and eats them every day,” Bruce replied in a voice that showed he was trying to be helpful.
“Okay, so we know she likes apples. Does she like to eat any special recipes? Does she like bread? Sandwiches? What kind of meat does she like?” He was asking the questions in a hurry so that he’d get the answers before Bruce was unable to give them.
He thought it was too late and that Bruce was out of it when Bruce suddenly spoke up. His eyes were closed as he talked. “She likes to eat potatoes. She likes to eat meat. Any kind, I think. She likes fish. She’ll eat trout before anything else. I go fishing a lot. I always make sure to give her some.”
“Does she have any special mementos around the house that represent your parents? Anything she is always drawn to? You might have noticed her polishing or dusting something more often than other things. That’s kind of an indication that she is drawn to that. Have you noticed anything like that.”
Bruce opened his eyes just enough for them to roll around in his sockets as he looked around the room. He lifted one arm, which swayed in the air as he pointed. “That picture my mom had made of us. It took us a couple hours to get that done. I know Becky likes it. It’s over there.”
Kenny got up and walked to the picture. It was in a silver frame. It had the two parents seated and two children were standing near each other. None of them were smiling. They were dressed very nice. Becky looked like she was probably around the age of ten.
“That was made right before they died,” Bruce said, bluntly. “She can’t keep her hands off it.”
Kenny ran one finger over the very young, pretty face of Becky. He had given her his heart. There was no way he was going to get it back now. He gently set the picture back where it was.
“Anything else you can think of?” he asked in a loud voice.
Bruce seemed to come back to reality once more but Kenny figured there wasn’t much more time before the drunken man wouldn't be able to help in any significant way.
“Bowl…” Bruce murmured. Kenny wanted to look away when drool came from the side of Bruce’s mouth. The man lifted one hand and swiped his wrist over it. “There’s a bowl, a crystal bowl my mom wanted her to have. It’s in the cupboard. And a couple of other little things here and there. But… I never paid attention to her. Not to what she liked anyway. I… I just wanted to…”
He passed out and Kenny never got to hear what he wanted to do. What could that have been? Make Becky happy? No. Make her comfortable and feel loved? No. What could he possibly have wanted to do?
Kenny stared at the passed out drunk for a moment, shaking his head. Even if he hadn’t drugged the vodka, Bruce would have ended up this way eventually. At least this way it was quicker and there was no chance for Bruce to figure out who he was or get violent in any way.
The first thing he did was pick up the bottle of vodka. He went to the back door on the other side of the kitchen and went through to the side deck. He took the cap from the bottle and dumped the remaining drugged liquor into a long shrubbery. Then he took the bottle back in the house and found a small burlap bag that he stuffed it into. He went out to his horse and put the bottle in one of his saddlebags.
He went around his horse and opened up the other saddlebag, pulling out several larger burlap bags than the one he ha
d put the bottle in. He would dispose of the bottle later. Right now, he was ready to put his plan into action.
He returned to the house and went directly to Becky’s room, after taking a look at Bruce to make sure he was still out. One by one, he picked up the stuffed animals and put them in one of the bags. He acted carefully, as if each one was a living thing, something that needed to be treasured and handled with kid gloves.
When he was finished, he turned and scanned the room. She would need everything from here. The stuffed animals meant the most, but he wanted to make sure he got all of her property. One by one, he put her shoes in a bag, topped them with the dresses, folding them as nicely as he could.
He heard Bruce stirring in the other room and froze for a moment, his hand halfway in the bag. He slowly drew it out and went to the door as quietly as he could. Bruce had turned over on his side and was snoring loudly.
With a breath of relief, Kenny resumed what he was doing. He gathered as many things as he could and didn’t forget to pick up the bowl – the only one that looked like it could remotely have been left behind as a family heirloom. It was crystal and oval, with ridged edges and designs etched all through it. He carefully wrapped it in paper and lowered it into the same bag as the dresses, covering it with more dresses to give it a cushion.
As he was walking toward the front door with two of the bags in his hands, he spotted something he knew he had to take. There was a set of ceramic praying hands in the corner of the table by the door.
He glanced at Bruce one more time. The man was out of it. He scooped up the praying hands and lowered them into the same bag as the clothes, resting it gently on top of the bowl he could feel.
As quietly as he could, he opened the front door and took the bags out to his horse. He approached the horse and tied the burlap sacks to the saddlebags. He patted his horse on the neck and whispered, “I know this might get a bit heavy, my lady. But I know you can handle it. It’s for a good cause.”
He wrapped one hand around the horse’s neck and squeezed her close. “You’re a good girl. Proud of you.”
He turned back and returned to the room, where he picked up the third bag and looked around one more time. The quilt on Becky’s bed caught his attention. He knew he had very little room left on his horse. It was already getting quite heavy for the horse as it was. However, he would carry it over his own shoulder to take some of the burden from the horse if he had to. He carefully folded up the quilt and stuffed it into the last bag.
He didn’t need to be quiet on his way out but he was anyway. He quickened his pace instinctively once he reached the horse, loosened the reins, lifted himself up into the saddle, slinging the bag over his shoulder and kicked his horse into motion.
He left the house behind, going directly over to the Lewinsky’s. He went around the back of the house and dismounted, tying the horse to the post. He unloaded the bags, just to give the horse a rest while he was checking the house.
The inside of the Lewinsky’s house was immaculate, as always. Since he had returned to his cabin and was now only checking on the house, all he had to do was get some of the dust off the furnishings, tables and counter tops. He swept and did what he needed to do to keep the house running while the couple was gone.
He tried to hurry. He didn’t want Bruce to wake up suddenly while he was still in the area. There was no way he would be able to find Kenny’s cabin. He already planned to instruct the Lewinsky’s not to mention where he lived. He’d tell them to say that he was a friend from another state, if Bruce even remembered that he was watching the house.
He doubted Bruce would remember a thing.
As he hefted the bags back up on the horse and pulled himself up into the saddle, he felt a strange nervousness cover him. He wanted to get back to Becky as quickly as possible. He had the sudden feeling she could be in danger.
He calmed himself as he rode around the house and past the Duponts'. He was no longer concerned whether Bruce might see him. At this point, all he wanted to do was to get back to Becky. He hoped she was okay. He pictured all the things that might happen to her while he was gone. She could have gotten injured in any number of ways. She hadn’t been on her own before. She wouldn’t know what to do.
He hurried the horse along, praying that Becky was safe.
Of course, she’s safe, he chided himself. Would she decide to leave the cabin? Would she run away from him, too?
He shook his head at his own foolishness.
“Of course not,” he growled. He wasn’t concerned about her running away. He had a feeling she wouldn’t.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling anxious. He had taken her from the comforts of her home. Bruce might be a brutal violent brother, but he was still her brother. There was no telling how she really felt about him. Did she feel obligated? Would she feel sorry for him and go back?
He pulled in a deep breath and began to pray even harder.
He didn’t want to rush the horse. There was enough weight on her as it was. He took his time, despite the fact that his heart was pounding hard and he felt short of breath. He gripped the reins as hard as he possibly could.
It would take nearly half an hour to get to his cabin. He knew the shortcuts through the woods to get there quickly and without being seen. He was glad the sun was not yet down, as he had not brought a lantern with him. Once he got out into the deeper parts of the woods, he would not be able to see a thing. The trees above him always blocked the sun and made the woods about as dark as they could get. He didn’t want to get caught in there at night with no lantern. It might prove to be a tragedy for him. He could be wandering all night.
The sun was in the west and ready to go down, but he had plenty of time to get to the cabin. He moved along as slowly as he could allow himself. His horse was not in any big hurry. He didn’t want to be, but his heart told him to go, go, go.
“She’s fine, she’s fine.” He said the words out loud to himself, while at the same time picturing his cabin burning down with her inside.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KENNY COMES HOME
KENNY COMES HOME
The closer Kenny got to the cabin, the better he felt. There were no smoke plumes coming up from the trees and he didn’t smell anything awkward. He eventually smiled at himself, knowing he was being paranoid because he’d never had a woman in his house before. He’d never had anyone in his cabin. He had always been alone. Other than talking to his male friends in Wickenburg, he’d never felt the desire to find a woman to be a companion to him. He’d met a few women who were interesting, but there was always something about them that turned him away.
He tried not to consider himself picky. At this point, he was willing to believe that God was simply telling him to hold out until the right one came along. That had to be Becky. As soon as he saw her, he knew. This woman was different. She was beautiful, both inside and out. When he finally had the chance to talk to her, he knew there was something special about her.
The treatment he’d seen coming from Bruce had sent him into an angry frenzy of thought. He’d spent night after night trying to come up with some way to get the girl away from her vile brother.
Now that he had her in his cabin, and she was proving to be everything he thought she was, he felt like God had sent him on a mission. He wasn’t about to go against what he felt God wanted him to do. The woman needed to be saved, and so he was there for her.
The cabin looked quiet as he approached. The sun was not set and he was starting to feel a little hungry. As he got closer to the cabin, he lifted his nose, breathing in the scent of cooked ham, corn, and what had to be some kind of greens. Lima beans, maybe. Or spinach. There was something in the aroma that made him want to hurry.
She hadn’t burned the house down.
He chuckled as he approached the house.
Becky didn’t know that he’d gone to her brother’s house to retrieve her things. He wondered what would be the best way to confess this to her. First of
all, he wasn’t going to keep her things from her, so the fact that he’d gone there was obvious. Second, he would need to approach her in the gentlest way, so that she would not become anxious or hysterical. He’d heard women became hysterical when things were confusing to them.
Becky didn’t seem like that kind of woman. He had a strong feeling the true woman that she was had been suppressed because of the way she was raised. He wanted to bring out her true self. He wanted her to know who exactly she was and what would make her happy in life. He didn’t want her waiting on him, as nice as it was to have someone there for him that way.
He got to the front porch and dismounted, tethering his horse to the post and removing the bags from his horse. He took them up to the porch and set them down just outside the door. He pulled in a deep breath, excited to see how Becky would react to having her things brought to her.
He opened the door and stepped into the cabin. Becky was at the counter, slicing a piece of bread from a loaf. She had just baked it, he could tell by the scent in the air.
“Hello, there,” he said with a smile. She stood up straight and looked at him.
“You have a strange look on your face,” she said.
Snatching The Bride (Family of Love Series) (A Western Romance Story) Page 12
