A Piece of Texas Trilogy

by Peggy Moreland

  The night before I left for ’Nam I was in a bar in Austin with the guys I was traveling with and this man came up to our table and offered to buy us all a drink. We invited him to join us and he told us that he’d had a son who was killed in Vietnam. It happened several years before, but I could tell the man was still grieving. Anyway, he said, now that his son was dead, he didn’t have anybody to leave his ranch to and said he wanted to leave it to us. He wrote out this bill of sale, had each one of us sign it, then tore it into six pieces and gave each one of us a piece. He told us, when we got back from Vietnam, we were to put the pieces together and come claim our ranch.

  Like I said, I don’t know if anything will ever come of this, but I want you to have it, just in case I don’t make it home. Kind of like insurance, I guess.

  I’ve never really thought about dying, but lately it’s been on my mind a lot. Maybe it’s because I’m going to be a daddy. I don’t know. I’ve been worrying how you and the baby would make it if something were to happen to me. You’d get money from the Army. I know that for sure. But what I don’t know is if it would be enough to support you and the baby without you having to work. And I don’t want you to have to worry about working or money or anything like that.

  I want you to be able to devote yourself to being a mommy.

  I hope I haven’t depressed you by telling you all this. My only purpose in writing it all down is so that you can take advantage of this opportunity, if it should ever present itself. If something should happen to me, the other guys will know what to do and they’ll contact you. You can trust them. They’ll see that you get your fair share.

  I’d better go. We’re heading out early in the morning and moving to an area where there’s been some trouble. The guys and I have already decided that we’re going to kick butt and get this war over with so we can come home.

  Love forever and ever,

  Larry

  Blinking back tears, Stephanie carefully refolded the letter, then picked up the torn piece of paper. Insurance, she thought sadly, turning the yellowed and ragged piece of paper between her fingers. Since Stephanie was unaware of her mother ever having received a windfall, she had to believe that her father’s assumption was right. The man who had given him the piece of paper had either been drunk or crazy.

  “You still awake?”

  Stephanie glanced up to find Wade in the doorway. Though she’d agreed to stay in his house, she had refused to sleep in his bedroom with him until they were properly married. With his daughter in the house, she’d thought it only proper.

  Smiling, she patted the spot on the bed beside her. “I was just reading the last of my father’s letters.”

  He hopped up onto the bed and settled beside her, stretching his legs out next to hers. “So? How was it? Any new revelations?”

  She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” She passed the torn piece of paper to him. “Take a look at this. It was inside the letter.”

  He studied first one side, then the other, then shrugged and passed it back. “What is it? Some kind of secret code?”

  She laughed softly. “It looks like it, doesn’t it?” Her smile faded and she shook her head. “He sent it to Mom and told her to keep it someplace safe. Said it was insurance, in case he didn’t make it home.”

  He took the piece of paper back from her to look at it again, then snorted. “Sure doesn’t look like an insurance policy to me.”

  “It’s not. A man gave it to him the night before he left for Vietnam. Him and five other soldiers. It’s like a deed, I guess. Supposedly his son died in Vietnam, and since he didn’t have anyone to leave his ranch to, he wanted my father and his friends to have it.”

  He snorted a laugh. “What man in his right mad would give his ranch to six complete strangers?”

  “My father thought the same thing. He said in the letter that he thought the guy had to be drunk or crazy to do something like that.” Growing thoughtful, she rubbed the torn edge of the paper across her lips. “I wonder what happened to the other five men?” She glanced at Wade. “There’s a chance that some of them, if not all, made it back home.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “You’d think so.”

  “Wade,” she said as an idea begin to form in her mind. “Do you think it would be possible to locate those soldiers? Find out what happened to them? Maybe where they live?”

  “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “That was—what?—thirty-five years ago?”

  “Give or take a few months.” Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to think how to go about locating the men. “I could write a letter to the Army,” she said, thinking aloud. “Find out the names of the men that were in Dad’s unit at the time he was killed.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “That would be a start.”

  “Wonder how many men there were?”

  “In his unit, you mean?” At her nod, he shrugged. “I have no idea. A lot, I’d imagine.”

  She firmed her mouth in determination. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care if I have to write a thousand letters, I’m going to track down the five men who have the other pieces of paper.”

  “You don’t really think it has any value, do you? Even if the guy who gave it to them was serious, that was thirty-five years ago. A lot could have happened in that amount of time.”

  Smiling, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Doesn’t matter. Not to me. The only thing I’m interested in is finding my father’s friends.”

  “Would you mind waiting until after we’re married to start your search?”

  She looked at him curiously. “Why?”

  He curled up close to her and nuzzled her neck. “Because I don’t want anything distracting you from planning this wedding and causing a delay. Having you in my house and not in my bed is driving me crazy.”

  She slid down until her face was even with his. “Doesn’t Meghan ever have sleepovers with her friends?”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he realized what she was suggesting. “Yeah, she does. Remind me to call Jan tomorrow and set one up.”

  She drew back to peer at him in surprise. “Isn’t that rather bold to ask if your daughter can spend the night at someone’s house? Shouldn’t the invitation come from Jan?”

  He looped an arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Jan’ll understand.” His lips spread across hers in a smile. “She’s a single parent, too.”

  PEGGY MORELAND

  The Texan’s Convenient Marriage

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  To my daughter, Hilary. Thanks for your willingness to read my work, your encouragement when I need it most and for the smile you put in my heart.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Prologue

  War is fear cloaked in courage.

  —William Westmoreland

  Smoke hung in the air cloaking the darkness, its acrid scent burning the noses of the soldiers hiding in the tall grass. Some had taken advantage of the lull in activity and had stretched out, eyes closed, their guns held at the ready across their chests, their packs pillowed beneath their heads. Others were hunkered down, watching…and waiting.

  Antonio Rocci, or Romeo as he was called by his friends, wanted to sleep but couldn’t. Fear kept his eyes open and his ears cocked for any sound of movement in the inky darkness. In the distance, red embers and thin curls of smoke marked where a small village had once stood. Reconnaissance had reported that Vietcong soldiers had infiltrated the village and were using the area to store artillery. Earlier that day, while the sun was still up, an air attack had taken place. Constructed mainly of grasses and bamboo gathered from the surrounding countryside, the hooches that had once form
ed the small village had gone up like dry kindling. All that remained were burning embers and the cloying smell of smoke.

  When morning came, it was the job of Romeo and the other soldiers in his unit to go into the village and search for the cache of artillery and ammunition reportedly hidden there. A side duty was checking for survivors and counting the dead. Bile rose in Romeo’s throat at the thought of what he might face, and he quickly swallowed it down. It’s war, he reminded himself. It’s either us or them, and he’d a hell of a lot rather it be them.

  “Romeo?”

  He jumped at the voice, then forced the tension from his body when he realized it was Pops, their team leader, who had spoken.

  He set his jaw to steady his voice, hide the fear. “Over here.”

  He heard a slight rustle of grass, and angled his head, watching as Pop’s shadowed form moved closer.

  “You okay?” Pops whispered.

  Romeo released his grip on his gun long enough to drag his arm across the nervous perspiration that beaded his forehead, then settled his finger over the trigger again. “Yeah, but I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew we were the only ones out here.”

  “Yeah,” Pops agreed soberly. “I hear you.”

  Silence settled between them, as both continued to watch the darkness.

  Romeo would never admit it, but he felt safer, less vulnerable with Pops at his side. Older than most of the others in the unit, Pops—the nickname given to Larry Blair by the rest of the team—had already completed one tour of duty in Vietnam and was working on his second. Romeo couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly sign on for another tour. From the day he’d arrived in country, he’d felt as if he’d been dropped down into the bowels of hell and couldn’t wait for the day he could board the plane that would carry him home.

  “Pops?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you ever regret signing on for a second tour?”

  “No sense regretting what you can’t change.”

  Romeo angled his head to peer at the man whose opinion he respected as much as he would his father’s. “Do you ever get scared, Pops?”

  “Yeah,” Pops admitted quietly. “It’s the soldier who fears nothing that gets himself killed. If you use fear to your advantage, it’ll keep you alert, on guard, prepared. Give in to it and it’ll make you helpless, weak.”

  Romeo considered that for a moment, but found little comfort in Pop’s advice. He’d always considered himself brave, even cocky. Now he wondered if he had a bright-yellow stripe running down his back.

  “Is being afraid the same as being a coward?” he asked hesitantly.

  “No. A coward runs and hides.”

  “Some of the guys think Preacher’s a coward.”

  “Well, they’re wrong. Preacher just can’t bear the thought of taking a human life. It’s his beliefs he struggles with, not cowardice.”

  Romeo considered that a moment, then shook his head sadly. “Hell, it doesn’t matter if you’re a hero or a coward. We all die just the same.”

  Pop pulled a package of gum from his pocket. “Don’t think about dying,” he warned, and offered a piece to Romeo. He unwrapped one for himself and folded the strip of gum in two, before popping it into his mouth. “Think about living, about what you’re going to do when you get home.”

  Romeo gulped, thinking about what he’d left behind, what would be waiting for him when he returned. “Have I ever told you why I joined the service?”

  “Can’t say as you have.”

  “I got a girl pregnant.”

  He felt Pop’s gaze and, for once, was grateful for the darkness so that Pop couldn’t see his face, his shame. “She was putting pressure on me to marry her. I figured the army was as good a way to get out of it, as any.”

  If Pop had an opinion, he kept it to himself, which Romeo appreciated. He wasn’t looking for absolution…or a lecture. What he wanted was a sounding board, someone who would listen.

  “It was wrong,” he admitted with regret. “Running away, I mean. Even if I didn’t want to marry her, I should’ve at least agreed to share responsibility for the kid. It’s mine, a part of me. I shouldn’t have left her to deal with it alone.” He glanced over at Pops. “Do you think it’s too late?”

  Pop frowned in confusion. “For what?”

  “To provide for the kid. I was thinking maybe I could send her some money.”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate it,” Pop replied.

  “Yeah,” Romeo said, warming to the idea. “And when I get home and get a real job, I could send her a set amount every month. Kinda like the child support my dad had to pay my mom after they divorced.”

  “Sounds fair,” Pops agreed. “A man should take care of what’s his.”

  Romeo frowned, as a new thought rose. “But what happens if I don’t make it home?” He glanced over at Pops. “Who’ll take care of my kid then?”

  Pops clasped Romeo’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to make it home. We all are.”

  Though Romeo appreciated the reassurance, he knew Pops was blowing smoke. There were no guarantees. Not for any of them. And if he did get killed, what would happen to the baby he’d fathered? He didn’t have anything of value to leave behind. No savings, no property. Hell, he didn’t even own a car. He’d sold his old heap to his cousin, before he’d left for ’Nam.

  “Pops?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember the deed that rancher tore up and gave to us the day before we shipped out?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “The old man said he was going to give us his ranch when we got home. My portion of the deed is in my footlocker back at camp. If something happens to me, would you see that my kid gets it?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Pop maintained stubbornly.

  “But if something does, promise me you’ll send it to Mary Claire Richards. Tell her it’s for the baby.”

  There was a long pause of silence, before Pop said quietly, “Consider it done.”

  One

  Addy pressed the heel of her hand against the ache building between her eyes. Another five minutes on the phone with her mother and it would surpass the one that had throbbed low in her back all day.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she searched for patience.

  “I know you don’t like to talk about my father,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “But this is important. A lady called. Stephanie Parker. She said her father served with mine in Vietnam.”

  “So what if he did?” her mother snapped. “Thousands of American soldiers went to Vietnam.”

  Ignoring her mother’s bitterness, Addy forged on, determined to get through this conversation without screaming. “Stephanie told me that her father sent her mother a letter from Vietnam with a torn piece of paper inside. She thinks Tony might have had a similar piece and sent it to you.”

  “The only thing Antonio Rocci ever gave me was you and that was an accident.”

  Addy didn’t flinch at the jab at her illegitimacy. She’d had the circumstances surrounding her birth thrown in her face so often over the years that hearing it no longer had the power to sting.

  “This paper may be valuable,” she persisted. “Do you remember Tony sending you anything like that?”

  “That was over thirty years ago! How am I supposed to remember something that happened that long ago? I don’t even remember what was in yesterday’s mail.”

  “A torn piece of paper, Mom. That’s odd enough that you should remember.”

  “If you called to talk about him, I’m hanging up. I’m missing my shows.”

  Before Addy could say anything more, the dial tone buzzed in her ear.

  “The baby and I are doing fine, but thanks for asking.”

  Scowling, she slammed down the phone, furious with herself for letting her mother’s lack of concern get to her. Mary Claire Richards-Smith-Carlton-Sullivan was a neurotic, self-centered woman who rac
ed from one bad marriage to the next, fueled by a bitterness she’d clung to for more than thirty years and oblivious to anyone else’s needs, including her daughter’s.

  With a sigh Addy swept a stray lock of hair from her face and told herself it didn’t matter. She’d survived thirty-three years of her mother’s disregard. Why should she expect her to show any concern now?

  She stooped to untie her shoelaces but froze when she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the patio door. Straightening slowly, she stared, barely recognizing the woman who stared back. Her stomach looked as if she’d swallowed a soccer ball, her feet and ankles so swollen they looked like an elephant’s, and her long, black hair—which she usually considered her best feature—was wadded up in a frizzy knot on top of her head. Add to that lovely image nurses’ scrubs in a putrid shade of green and a well-worn pair of Reeboks and she was almost glad Ty wasn’t around to see her now.

  Grimacing, she reached to untie her shoelaces again. “As if I’d let him past the front door,” she muttered under her breath. Ty Bodean was a lying snake and she was better off without him, even if it did mean she’d be raising her baby alone.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she eased the shoe off her swollen foot, thinking what all that meant, what lay ahead of her. Money was going to be a problem. Eighteen months ago, she’d bought the house, which had depleted her savings and shackled her to a mortgage payment that already stretched her monthly budget to the limit. At the time she’d made the purchase, it had seemed a wise investment. She’d always wanted to have her own home, and the previous owner had offered it to her at a ridiculously low price. Of course, when she’d agreed to buy the property, she hadn’t been pregnant and had no plans of becoming pregnant in the near future. An unforgettable—albeit brief—affair with Ty Bodean had changed all that.