Franklin’s eyes grew wide during her outburst. By the end, Corva had shocked even herself. Where had that come from?
No, she knew the answer to that. It came from the pain of seeing a good man—a man who had treated her kindly and changed her life—beating himself up. That kind of beating was worse than anything her uncle dished out.
“I’m sorry,” she said in spite of the growing conviction in her heart that what her husband truly needed was a firm hand to guide him. “I just don’t like to see you punishing yourself.”
“I’m not p—” He stopped and blinked, tilted his head to the side. His eyes lost their focus, as if he was looking deep inside of himself and seeing something new.
He was still deep in thought when Vivian and her sisters came flouncing up to them.
“My, my. Are the two of you having a little newlywed spat?” she said.
“We heard you yell at him from our picnic, right over there,” Melinda added, gesturing to a quilt that looked to be made of silk draped over a table laden with crystal and china.
“Melinda,” the quietest of the four sisters scolded in a whisper.
“Oh, shut up, Honoria. You heard them as much as we did,” Melinda snapped.
“You know it’s rude to interrupt people’s picnics with domestic squabbles,” the youngest sister—who couldn’t have been more than sixteen—added, crossing her arms and turning up her nose.
“Bebe is right,” Vivian said with a toss of her curls. “It’s positively upset my digestion to hear a man like Franklin being treated with such disrespect.”
Corva’s back stiffened and she clenched her jaw. As much as she wanted to defend herself against the groundless accusations, she was loathe to stoop to the Bonneville sisters’ level.
“I’m sorry, Vivian, but anything that is said between my wife and I is none of your business,” Franklin spoke up. More than that, he set his plate aside, reached for his cane, and pushed himself to stand, pain pinching his face.
All four of the Bonneville sisters took a step back.
“We’re sorry,” Honoria muttered, head lowered.
“Hush,” Vivian whispered, then squared her shoulders and faced Franklin with her nose turned up. “I’m only sorry that you let yourself be talked into marrying this nobody from nowhere.”
“Corva is from Nashville, and before that from Atlanta. She is the daughter of a war hero.”
Corva’s throat squeezed at Franklin’s declaration.
Vivian only looked slightly put off. “Well, if you decide you want to get rid of her and marry a woman who can fulfill the social role that is expected of the wife of one of the area’s richest ranchers, Papa has a whole cadre of lawyers standing by who could secure an annulment for you.”
An annulment? Corva’s stomach churned at the thought. If Franklin set her aside, she had nowhere to go, nothing she could do.
But Franklin wouldn’t end their marriage. She drew in a breath and stood firm at his side.
“I wouldn’t think—” Franklin started, only to be interrupted by Rex Bonneville himself.
“My darlings, what seems to be the trouble here?” he boomed as he strode up to them. He escorted a beautiful woman with honey blond hair, wearing a vibrant blue dress that was cut just a shade too low for a church picnic. The woman didn’t look any happier than Corva felt.
“Nothing, Papa,” Vivian, Melinda, and Bebe trilled in unison while Honoria lowered her head further and muttered something no one could hear.
“We just came over to greet Mr. and Mrs. Haskell, only to have Mrs. Haskell snap at us,” Melinda added, a fiendish glint in her eyes.
Bonneville narrowed his eyes at Corva. That stare and the accompanying intimidation was so close to her uncle that Corva backed up into the bench, nearly losing her balance and sitting on her lunch plate. Franklin shifted to the side, half blocking her from Bonneville’s view.
“The conversation is over,” he said, quiet but strong.
Bonneville laughed, long and low, from the depths of his chest. “Oh, the conversation is hardly over.” There was more menace in his words than Corva thought it was possible for a human to possess.
“This conversation is over,” Franklin corrected.
Bonneville narrowed his eyes further before his expression resolved to a wolf-like smile. “Girls, your lunch is getting cold. Whatever problems you have with Mr. and Mrs. Haskell can be solved in a gentlemanlike manner when our two teams meet on the diamond this afternoon.”
“That’s right.” Vivian grinned like a snake. “The Bears are ready to thrash your pitiful Hawks and defend my honor.”
She didn’t wait for a response before turning and swishing away, Melinda and Bebe flanking her. Honoria met Corva’s eyes and mouthed the word “sorry” before scurrying off to catch up to them.
“Only a worthless fool breaks a fine young woman’s heart the way you broke Vivian’s,” Bonneville growled, leaning closer to Franklin. “And everyone in this town knows just what kind of a pathetic, cowardly fool you are.”
His eyes flared wide with challenge. Franklin remained motionless, but the spark seemed to have left him. As soon as Bonneville saw that, he grinned, then pivoted to stride off after his daughters, chuckling to himself the whole way.
Chapter 7
If the ground opened up and swallowed him whole, it would be doing Franklin a favor. His heart had already dropped to somewhere near his shoes at Bonneville’s threat, not out of fear, but because Bonneville might have a point. Maybe he should consider granting Corva an annulment so that she would be free to marry a man who was worthy of her.
The shock of that thought snapped him out of the gloom he’d mired himself in. Under no circumstances would he ever consider giving Corva up now. She’d looked him square in the eye and given him the dressing down no one—not even Aunt Ginny—had been willing to give him. Heaven help him, he’d had a physical reaction to her scolding that left him eager to get home where he could explore it more. He needed Corva.
But he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.
He finished his lunch in silence, each bite tasting like ash in his mouth. Corva picked at her food beside him. Not a single citizen of Haskell came forward to bother them, though just about everyone looked on with concern. As likely as not, they had overheard the Bonnevilles’ outburst. More likely than not, they agreed that Corva would be better off getting that annulment.
For the second time in several minutes, Franklin had to exert effort to yank himself out of unhelpful thoughts. But after years of knowing that people looked down on him for the mistakes of his past, it was next to impossible to assume the best. Old habits died hard.
“Hawks, put your plates down, kiss your sweethearts goodbye, and meet at the diamond in five minutes for practice,” Mason Montrose called over the heads of the picnickers.
“Bears, we can beat them to it,” a second, strapping man with a wild moustache stood and shouted as well.
“Who’s that?” Corva asked.
It was such a relief to hear the sweet sound of her voice again that Franklin didn’t hesitate before saying, “Keith Frisk. He’s Bonneville’s foreman and captain of his baseball team. Mason is our captain.”
“Oh.” Corva nodded, watching as more than just the two teams of baseball players stood and packed away their feast. “Looks like everyone is moving. Should we go too?”
Franklin winced, longing like a knife in his heart. He’d known this was coming, but he’d tried to ignore it all morning. “I don’t usually stay to watch the game…”
“Apparently, you don’t usually come to church.” Corva arched a brow at him.
Franklin gave up with a sigh. “If you want to watch it, I’ll come with you.”
She answered with a wide smile, hopping up and taking both of their plates. “I’ve never seen an actual baseball game before.” She twisted, searching. “Where should I take these plates?”
“I’ll get them,” Emma Meyers, whisked f
orward to take both plates, proving that people were keeping an eye on them. “You two hurry over to the diamond.”
An old pain, older than the ache in his legs, gripped Franklin as he reached for his cane and stood. His braces felt particularly heavy as he lurched forward, taking his place by Corva’s side. She slipped her hand into his elbow, and the two of them began the slow walk of a hundred yards or so from the church yard to the benches that surrounded the baseball diamond.
“I’ve got five dollars on the Hawks to win today,” Lex Kline told Herb Waters, the livery owner, as the two of them shot quickly past Franklin and Corva.
“The Hawks?” Herb snorted. “How are they supposed to win against the Bears without extra players on the bench?”
“That’s right.” Lex cursed. “Tony Capponi got that job in Denver and moved on, didn’t he?”
They hurried on, out of earshot.
“How many men are on each side of a baseball game?” Corva asked as more people whisked on past them.
“Nine,” Franklin answered, “but we usually keep one or two on the bench as relief pitchers, or, when we’re playing the Bears, in case of accidents.”
“Accidents?” Her eyebrows lifted to her hairline.
Franklin’s lips twitched close to a smirk. “The Bears play dirty.” He shot her a sideways look. “Are you surprised?”
For a few more steps, Corva blinked, mouth open. Then she loosened her shoulders. “I suppose I’m not. How do they get away with it?”
He huffed. “Chances are, you’re about to see.”
They reached the edge of the benches. Already, they were crowded with townspeople. Haskell didn’t have a large population—“yet,” as Howard always said—but practically everyone was climbing through the stands, finding what they thought was the best spot to cheer on their team. It would have been nice if everyone supported the Hawks, but Bonneville had his friends too, and plenty of people from town liked to cheer for winners, no matter how they won.
Franklin steered Corva toward the back benches at the far end of the Hawk’s side.
“Franklin! Corva! Come sit over here.”
The surprise of hearing Mason call his name caused Franklin to stumble. Mason stood out on the field, in front of the team bench. He waved to them, pointing at the bench where the Hawk players were tying their shoes and fixing their caps in final preparation for the game.
Searing tension shot down Franklin’s spine. It seemed to make the pain from his braces sharper than ever.
“That’s okay,” he called back, waving them off.
“Come on.” Mason started marching toward them. “The team sits together.”
Franklin clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt.
“Are you on the team?” Corva blinked at him.
With a wince that accentuated the dull ache in his chest, Franklin confessed, “Technically, yes.”
“Oh.” Corva brightened. “Then you should sit with them.”
“The team sits together,” Mason echoed as he reached them. “You can sit with him and keep him company. Husbands and wives count as one,” he added with a wink.
Corva’s cheeks splashed pink, and for a moment Franklin wasn’t sure if she had taken offense to the comment or not.
“It’s a league rule,” he quickly explained. “Remember how I mentioned my sister Lucy playing in a game once? It was because Gideon was injured and they needed a replacement.”
“We were playing the East End Eagles that time,” Mason went on, eyes dancing with mirth. “They agreed to let her play, but, of course, Bonneville balked at the precedent. So the league voted to change the rules so that husbands and wives counted as the same person, in case we ever needed another last minute ‘substitution.’”
“I see.” Corva relaxed into a smile. “What an interesting rule.”
Mason turned to Franklin. “The team sits together. Your spot is right over there.”
So much for the diversion of the Haskell League’s crazy rules. He wasn’t going to get out of sitting in the “place of honor.” There was no point in arguing, so with jerky steps, he escorted Corva along the front of the stands to the far end of the team bench.
Several people on the Hawk’s side applauded and cheered as they passed.
“What a lovely vote of confidence,” Corva commented.
Franklin swallowed his urge to say it was more of a vote of pity.
They took their seats. Franklin did his best not to look like a complete idiot who couldn’t keep his balance as he sat. Corva perched by his side, looking this way and that at players and spectators alike.
“I still have so many people to meet and so many names to learn,” she murmured.
Behind them, a group of older children started singing a silly baseball song that Katie Murphy had invented based on an old Irish melody. Charlie and Olivia Garrett and their children arrived and made far more noise than was necessary as they found seats on the bench behind the Hawks. The entire Strong clan—eight children and widower Athos Strong, his long-suffering sister, Piper, with them—claimed the far end of the benches, raising the cacophony to deafening levels.
“I get to play for the West End Wolves next year,” Seventeen-year-old Freddy Chance told his friends as they found seats on the bench directly behind the Hawks’ team bench.
“I want to play baseball,” Franklin’s nine-year-old niece Minnie declared, wedging her way between Freddy and Noah Kline, gazing up at Freddy in adoration.
“Girls can’t play baseball,” Noah growled at her.
“I can.” Minnie crossed her arms with a huff, chin tilting up.
“Get out of here, kid,” James Plover snapped from Freddy’s other side.
“She’s okay,” Freddy dismissed him. “Let her be.”
Corva met Franklin’s eyes with a questioning grin.
Franklin leaned closer to whisper. “My niece, Minnie. She takes after Lucy in every way. And she’s been following Freddy Chance around like a puppy for years now.”
“I see.” Corva giggled.
“Practice is over,” Rev. Pickering shouted from home plate, fitting an umpire’s mask over his head. “Bears, take the field.”
The spectators settled and the practicing teams hustled to their respective benches. Keith Frisk pulled the Bears into a huddle for some sort of pep-talk that involved a lot of shouting and pounding his fist into his other hand. Instead of being intimidated by the obvious declaration of mayhem to come, a lump formed in Franklin’s throat. It only grew as the Montrose brothers, Luke Chance, Gideon, and the other Hawk players—his father’s ranch hands, the men he supervised every day—gathered around the bench.
“We’re in for a tough fight today, men.” Mason delivered his speech. “We all know the Bears play dirty. Let’s be gentlemen, but warriors. Stay clear of them when you can, and swing for the fences.”
“Yes, sir,” the Hawks answered.
“Now get in there and show them how the game is played.”
Franklin’s whole body ached with the effort of staying still on the bench as the rest of the team darted around gathering up equipment from practice, sitting in batting order, and as Cody grabbed a bat and approached the plate to lead off. He didn’t realize he was gripping the edge of the bench until Corva leaned closer and asked, “Is something wrong? You look like you’re in pain.”
Franklin forced himself to let out the breath he was holding and sit back. He shook his head. A moment later, the crack of leather hitting wood sounded, and Cody dashed to first base. Lawson Pratt got up to take his turn at bat.
“You used to play, didn’t you?” Corva murmured at his side, so close and so soft and so full of pity that Franklin’s stomach turned.
He swallowed to keep the pain from overwhelming him. “A long time ago.”
The crack of Lawson hitting the ball echoed through the air. All eyes watched it sail into right field, where one of Bonneville’s men easily caught it. The Hawk fans groaned in disappointment
as the Bear fans cheered.
“Before your accident,” Corva said, as though none of it were as important as the two of them sitting still on the bench.
He kept his eyes forward, watching as Lawson marched back, shaking his head, and as Mason slapped him on the back with a few encouraging words. Travis strode in to take his turn at bat. His first ball was a strike.
Everyone around them focused on the game, so Franklin peeked at Corva, chest and throat squeezing with regret, and said, “I was good once. Really good.”
“I’m sorry.” Corva rested a hand on his arm.
Franklin swallowed hard, caught between the pleasure of her touch and the pain of his past. “We only had two teams back then, but we still played whenever we could. The game was brand new. Boys who had gone off to fight in the war brought it back when the army deployed soldiers out here to manage the Indians. I was only fifteen and as bull-headed and arrogant as any kid, but I could run fast and steal bases better than anyone. I wasn’t a half bad hitter either.”
“You miss it.” She squeezed his arm.
All he could do was nod. Anything more and he would have risked turning into a watering pot in front of the men who worked for him. That would humiliate him beyond belief.
The sound of the ball being hit drew him back into the game. Travis sprinted on to first and rounded to second while Cody put all his effort into getting to third. Franklin rolled his shoulders and took a few deep breaths, pushing his misery as far back into his soul as it would go.
The Hawks managed to get one run before Travis was tagged out and Gideon fouled out. The Bears came up to bat, and true to form, they tried every nasty trick in the book. By the time the fifth inning was over, the score stood at 3 to 2 in favor of the Hawks, but Lawson was limping after one of the Bears stomped on his foot as he was rounding second, and Cody was nursing some bruised ribs after being hit by the pitcher and walked.
“Crush them,” Vivian shouted in a horrifically unladylike voice from the other side of the diamond as Ted Harvey lumbered up to the plate for the Bears. “Rip their heads off!”
Wild Western Women Spring Into Love: A Western Historical Romance Box Set Page 43
