by Lyn Horner
David ignored him, but Jessie glanced over her shoulder, fearing the two men might follow them. However, they just sat there on their horses, laughing as if they’d heard a tremendously funny joke.
The reason suddenly dawned on her. Catching her breath, she turned to David. “I remember ye saying your father would kill anyone who called him a Yankee. When ye chose to fight for the North, he must have been furious.”
His frown deepened. “He was,” he replied, refusing to look at her.
“And he’s never forgiven ye, has he?”
This time he looked her in the eye. “No.”
“Merciful God!” she blurted, stomach churning. “What have ye led me into, David Taylor?”
He sighed heavily and stared ahead once more. “You’ll know soon enough. The homestead’s over the next rise.”
Within moments, they crested the hill and David halted the wagon again. Jessie gasped at the view that opened up before them. A long valley spread out along a gently curving, tree-lined stream. Colored in dry shades of gold and green, accented by the darker green trees, the valley drifted into the blue-gray haze of distant hills. Here and there clusters of rangy, many-colored long-horned cattle grazed peacefully.
In the foreground, on a gentle rise maybe thirty yards from the creek, sprawled the ranch house. The front portion was built of logs with a covered porch running across the length of it, but behind that a much larger stonework portion stretched out and back. Located a good distance from the house were a barn and a corral with a few horses dozing in the sun. At the moment, two men appeared to be repairing the rail fence that formed the enclosure. On the other side of the barn stood another log building – quarters for the hired help perhaps?
“’Tis beautiful,” Jessie breathed in awe.
“Yeah,” David said quietly. Then he started down the hill, holding the horses and whatever emotions he was feeling in careful check.
The two men who’d been working on the corral fence now paused to watch the wagon approach. A third stepped out of the barn and stared hard for a few seconds. Then he let out a joyous whoop. David laughed and waved, and the other man broke into a stiff-legged trot toward the house, meeting them there as David pulled to a stop.
“Sul, you old reprobate!” David exclaimed, jumping down from the wagon to greet the grinning, leathery-faced man, who was half a head shorter than him and at least twice his age.
“Davey boy, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes! I about gave up on you,” the older man declared.
Jessie watched them embrace and laugh and slap each other on the back. The older man sent her a shy glance, and David finally remembered her presence. Turning to meet her peeved look, he grinned in amusement.
“Jessie, I’d like you to meet Sul Smith, one of the best cowhands in Texas. Sul, this is my wife, Jessie.”
“You don’t say!” A delighted smile crinkled the cowboy’s sun-baked features. “It’s a pure pleasure, ma’am,” he said, yanking off his broad-brimmed hat to reveal thinning gray hair and warm brown eyes.
“I’m happy to meet ye, Mister Smith,” she replied, returning his smile.
He stared at her in fascination for a moment, until he caught David’s grin. Shaking his head, he chuckled at himself. “I’ve got a hunch your pa’s gonna take a shine to this pretty little lady,” he said, giving her a wink.
Jessie laughed and blushed at his compliment.
“Where is he?” David asked, expression sobering.
Smith nodded toward the house. “Inside, I reckon, nursing a glass like usual nowadays.”
“How bad off is he?”
“He gets around with a cane when he’s of a mind to. But since that blamed hoss wrecked his leg, all he wants to do is sit ’n feel sorry for hisself.” The old cowboy shook his head in disgust and mopped his face with a faded red bandanna.
David stared grimly at the house. His father had been hurt in a fall, Jessie recalled him saying. He’d failed to mention it was some sort of riding accident. Just as he’d failed to tell her that his father wasn’t likely to welcome them with open arms. What else hadn’t he told her?
“Did he ask you to write to Aunt Martha?” he inquired.
“Shoot, no! He’d skin me if he knew,” Smith replied.
“Nothing’s changed then.”
“Hard to say. I’ve seen him staring off kinda sad like now and again. Could be he regrets some things.”
David shrugged and adjusted his hat. “Only one way to find out.” He glanced up at Jessie. “Wait here,” he ordered curtly. “Sul, keep an eye on her, will you?”
“Glad to,” the cowboy responded.
Jessie’s temper soared. She wasn’t a child. She didn’t need anyone to ‘keep an eye on her’. Nor did she like being ordered to wait while David and his father hashed out their differences. What happened between them affected her, too, after all.
She glared daggers at her husband’s back as he mounted the steps, crossed the porch, and entered the house. Arrogant tyrant, she fumed, patting her damp forehead uselessly with her wet handkerchief. Couldn’t he at least ask her to wait inside, out of the blistering sun, while he confronted his father?
“Warm day, ain’t it, ma’am,” her watchdog observed.
“Aye, it certainly is,” she angrily agreed.
* * *
Walking into the parlor from the front entry, David noted its musty odor and shabby looking furnishings. The sofa and two wingback chairs had been shipped up from New Orleans to please his French Creole mother when he was a young boy. Later, his aunt had kept the pieces covered to preserve them, but time and neglect had taken its toll since she’d left the ranch. Once a rich gold, the brocade upholstery was now faded and worn. The deep red damask drapes at the windows – concealing heavy shutters designed to be closed in case of an Indian attack – were also faded and streaked with gray. Underfoot, the aged Turkey carpet showed numerous threadbare patches.
His father wasn’t in the parlor. Not bothering to check the dining room across the hall, David headed back to where the main hall intersected a narrower passage leading to the new part of the house: two wings added a year before his mother’s death. The wings formed a wide u-shape, and their thick outer walls, built of native sandstone, extended back from the house, enclosing a large courtyard. The whole thing had been another useless attempt by his father to please David’s mother. Paying for it had damn near cost them the ranch.
David turned left toward the east wing. The first room on his right along the dimly lighted hall was the study. Around the corner from that lay the master bedroom with its attached bathing alcove and sitting room. He expected his father to be in the study. Finding the door closed, he pulled his hat off, steeled himself and knocked. He heard only silence at first. Then a gruff, familiar voice rumbled from the far side of the house.
“That you, Sul? I’m back here. Come on back.”
David pivoted in surprise. What was his father doing over in the west wing? Backtracking, he passed the main hall. The first room he came to was his old one, and he couldn’t resist trying the door. It was locked. Following the hall around the far corner, he saw light coming from the doorway of Aunt Martha’s room, or what used to be her room. His father had to be in there. The cook’s quarters and a small storeroom lay farther down the hall, but no light came from back there.
“Don’t dawdle out there, Sul,” came another, sharper command. “Get on in here.”
Steps dragging, David approached the open doorway. He halted just outside the room, noting its lived-in appearance and registering shock at how his father had aged. He looked shrunken, although perhaps that was an illusion caused by the way he sat hunched in his leather-bound chair. His hair, which David recalled as dark with streaks of gray, had gone completely gray over the past seven years, and his face bore a lot more wrinkles than before. His crooked right leg lay propped on a hassock. In his hand, as Sul had predicted, he held a half-full glass of whiskey.
“Something c
ome up you can’t handle?” he asked, staring absently at the amber liquid. Then he looked up. His eyes widened and the glass slipped from his hand, spilling its contents on the horsehair rug beneath him. “You!” he croaked, the color draining from his face.
“Hello, Pa,” David said quietly.
Blood rushed back into his father’s face, and his bushy gray brows slammed together. “Don’t call me that! You’re no son of mine!” he roared, grabbing the hickory cane that leaned against his chair.
David restrained an urge to go to him as he pushed laboriously to his feet. His help wasn’t wanted. “Still feeding your hate, are you?”
“Hate’s all you deserve, you traitorous whelp!” The old man’s eyes glittered with rage.
His condemnation still cut deep, David found. Bending his head, he fingered his hatband. “Maybe I was a traitor . . . to you,” he said thickly. Then he met that damning glare. “But not to my country. I fought to hold it together and I won’t beg any man’s forgiveness for that.”
“Well, you damn sure won’t get any from me! And you can save your speeches. It was your place to stand by your kin.”
Losing his temper as he’d sworn not to do, David fired back, “If that’s the case, why didn’t you stand by yours? Or have you conveniently forgotten where you were born and on which side of the fence your kin stood?”
“Why, you insolent pup! Get out of here! And get off my property before I have you whipped off of it!” his father threatened. Red with fury, he started toward David as if meaning to carry out the threat himself. He halted when a feminine shriek echoed through the house, astonishment sweeping over his face.
Almost as startled, David pivoted toward the sound.
“Move aside, Mister Smith! I’ll not wait out there a minute longer,” Jessie shouted furiously from up front.
Unable to make out Sul’s hushed reply, David swore under his breath. He threw a quick glance at his father, who appeared torn between fury and curiosity, then clapped his hat on and strode out to the main hall. He found Jessie attempting to dodge around Sul as he frantically tried to keep her from getting past the front entrance without laying hands on her.
“Ma’am, you really oughta wait outside like Davey, uh, I mean your husband said,” the old cowhand pleaded.
Jessie snapped her fingers in his face. “So much for what he said! Get out of my way this instant!”
David stepped forward, thinking he didn’t dare touch her at that moment because he might throttle her if he did. “It’s all right, Sul. I’ll deal with my wife.”
Sul threw him a grateful look. “Yes sir!” He wasted no time in escaping out the door.
Fists on his hips, David locked glares with Jessie. “I told you to wait outside,” he gritted.
She defiantly crossed her arms and laid into him, her brogue thick as molasses. “Ye’re not in the army now, Captain. And I’m not a lowly private to be jumpin’ at yer orders. I’m yer wife, sir, and I won’t be left sittin’ like a piece o’ forgotten baggage!” Tossing her head, she added peevishly, “Besides, ’tis hot out there, ye blitherin’ idiot!”
Acutely aware that his father was hearing every word of her tantrum, David wanted to drag her from the house. But her last remark made him see how overheated she looked. Her face was brightly flushed, and beads of perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, feeling his anger dissipate.
“Sorry. I didn’t think,” he admitted in a clipped tone.
Jessie wasn’t greatly appeased by his terse apology. “Obviously,” she snapped, struggling with her anger. “I suppose ’twould be askin’ too much for ye to offer me a wee drink o’ water.”
“Not at all, young lady,” a gravelly voice replied from behind David.
When he swiveled to look at the speaker, Jessie saw an older, gray-haired man standing a few feet away. Tall, with a slight paunch, he leaned heavily on his cane. His features were timeworn but still handsome, and his resemblance to David was unmistakable.
“You can have all the water you want, cold from the well,” he said. “Or, if you prefer, my cook makes the best mustang grape wine in these parts. Care to try some?”
Wishing he hadn’t heard her tirade, Jessie shook her head. “Water will do me fine, sir.”
“As you like. While your inconsiderate husband fetches it, why don’t we go into the parlor and sit a spell, hmm?”
Jessie nodded mutely, then glanced at David. He stared at his father, jaw locked, temper plainly simmering.
The older man glowered at him impatiently. “Well, what are you waiting for? You know where the well is.”
David threw Jessie a hawkish glance, and she thought sure his anger would erupt, but he controlled it. Stepping past his father, he strode down the hall to the back door.
“No need for that bonnet in here, missy,” Jessie’s father-in-law said as David slammed out the door. “You’ll be cooler without the infernal thing. Take it off.”
She obeyed, thinking David’s aunt had been right; father and son were much alike, both in looks and in their high-handed ways.
By the time David returned, she was seated on the faded sofa in the parlor. Across from her, Reece Taylor sat in one of two wing-backed chairs flanking the room’s massive stone fireplace. He watched and listened closely as she answered his latest question.
“Nay, I wasn’t born in the old country myself, although my brother was. I was born in New York City, but Da moved us to Chicago a short time later.”
When David walked in, she glanced over at him. He carried an earthenware jug. The sour look he gave her raised her hackles again. Did he resent being made to fetch water for her? Well, that was just too bad! She wasn’t enjoying this either. Moreover, she was still furious with him for leaving her outside, for not introducing her to his father – she’d had to do it herself – and for bringing her into this intolerable situation.
He crossed to a liquor cabinet standing in a corner and poured water into a glass from the jug. Then he marched over and held the glass out to her without saying a word. Snatching it from his hand, she sloshed water onto his boot, winning a narrow-eyed glare from him. She returned it mutinously then shifted her gaze back to his father. Seeing Reece’s smug expression, she realized he’d enjoyed her silent battle of wills with David.
“That water will make your teeth ache,” he warned. “I had the well dug deep.”
She took a sip, finding it as cold as he’d promised. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.” She longed to gulp it down, but conscious of his watching eyes, she took ladylike sips.
Meanwhile, David planted himself at the window beside her, with his back to his father. She wondered what harsh words the pair had exchanged before she stormed into the house – and whether she and David were to stay or go. Seeing Reece glare holes in his son’s back, she cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her.
“Texas is a long way from Chicago, Jessie,” he remarked.
“Aye, it surely is.” Sensing the questions he would not ask in front of David, she explained, “I was traveling west with my brother – he’s a prospector, well, a miner really – and I, um, met your son along the way.” Skipping the details, she added, “We were married in Salt Lake City a few weeks ago. David had decided to leave the army because –”
“Enough!” David exploded, causing her to jump as he turned to glower at her. “You don’t need to go into all that.”
She gripped her glass of water tighter, wishing she could pour what remained of the icy liquid over his head. “I’ll thank ye not to bellow at me. I was only explaining –”
“Jessie, no more.” His eyes warned her not to argue.
“Quit hollering at the girl,” Reece barked, “and go make yourself useful. Put your things in the east wing. Then tell Anna there’ll be two more for supper.”
David stared at him in angry silence for a moment, then shook his head. “A while ago you ordered me off the ranch. Now you’re giving m
e the east wing?”
“Hell no! I’m not giving you a damn thing! But even a fool like you oughta be able to see this little gal needs a rest.”
“Your concern for Jessie is truly touching,” David said sarcastically.
“Save your sass, boy, or you’ll be sleeping in the barn!” Reece threatened.
David cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’d have Jessie bed down with the horses?”
“She can stay in the house. But since you bray like a lop-eared jackass, you can keep your relatives company.”
“Where I go, she goes, old man!” David roared, bending toward Jessie as if to jerk her off the sofa and drag her out.
Avoiding his hand, she jumped to her feet. “Stop it!” she cried. “I won’t have ye fighting over me like dogs over a bone! I’m dirty and tired. All I want is to wash up and lie down. Bed or hayloft, I don’t care which.”
David glared at her. Then he pivoted to face the window again, rubbing his neck and muttering angrily under his breath.
Reece looked away, wearing a disgruntled frown. “No need to sleep in any hay,” he rumbled cantankerously. “East wing’s been collecting dust for years. Too big for me. You might as well put the confounded place to use.” With a sullen shrug, he jerked his thumb at David. “Him too.”
Noting the iron set of David’s jaw when he swung around, Jessie held her breath.
“We’ll stay just long enough for Jessie to rest up,” he said through his teeth. With that he stalked out to get their luggage.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stripped to her skin in the master bedroom, Jessie padded over to the wash stand located next to a window that looked out on the patio. She had thrown open the window in hopes of clearing out some of the musty odor in the room. A pair of dusty curtains billowed on the warm breeze, shielding her from sight as she poured water into the wash basin.
While scrubbing away the grime of travel, she cast wistful glances at the screened bathing alcove at the back of the room. Behind the screen stood a majestic copper tub that she longed to use, but it first needed a thorough cleaning. That, plus toting water from the well and heating it for a bath, would require more energy than she possessed right now. Perhaps if David were here to help, but he had stomped out again after depositing her trunk at the foot of the room’s massive four-poster bed, saying he’d be back in a while. Left alone, Jessie felt like an invader in what had obviously been his parents’ quarters.
