Texas Twilight

by Caroline Fyffe

  There was a light knock, then the door opened slowly. Brandon stood there for a moment, then came in and shut the door. John stood and Charity looked from one man to the other.

  “I’m okay. I mean, they didn’t have their way with me.”

  The relief on Brandon’s face mirrored what he was feeling. “Thank God,” John said. “I think I’ve aged about twenty years since Tucker came running into the office to tell us you’d been kidnapped.”

  “Is that how you found out?”

  John nodded. “Did the Comanchero take you from your room at the hotel?”

  Charity looked away, breaking eye contact. John could tell she was hiding something. “What? Where were you, Charity?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. He knew her stalling tactics all too well. Finally she said, “I was outside. On Main Street.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Brandon’s expression darkened. “In your underwear?”

  She nodded, watching him closely. Despite her tough demeanor, her cheeks pinked.

  John didn’t want the wall between the two of them to go back up. “Why?” he asked hurriedly, wanting to get to the bottom of it before Brandon did. “Why would you go out by yourself in a town like Rio Wells?”

  “Because…” A look of consternation crossed her face. She glanced up at Brandon, then stood, boldly letting her covers fall away. Stepping close, she had to tip her chin up to look Brandon in the eyes. “Because I saw you riding down the street, Brandon,” she whispered, inches from his face. She reached out and laid her open palm on his chest. “I wanted to talk to you, tell you everything, before you got away again.”

  “That was foolish,” Brandon replied softly, with no trace of his usual sternness.

  “I agree,” she said. She inched forward.

  John cleared his throat. “That explains it, then.” He took Brandon by the shoulder, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Let’s go. Little sister, I’ll have someone bring you up some warm water and clothes.”

  “Wait.” Charity turned so fast she almost lost her balance. Brandon steadied her, leaving his hand possessively on the small of her back.

  “I almost forgot. Shellston,” she said, looking from one man to the other, the spell broken, “he had the stagecoach attacked.”

  “Are you sure?” John asked. “What else did you learn?”

  “It’s something about a letter somewhere. The Comancheros were supposed to stop the stage and get a letter, then take it to Shellston.” In her excitement she was talking with her hands, waving this way and that. Her eyes, opened wide, sparkled with the passion of youth, and every time she looked in Brandon’s direction, her lips curled just a tiny bit, pleased to be able to help in Brandon’s occupation of crime fighting.

  “But, they failed,” she went on. “The banker hasn’t paid what he promised, and that’s why the Comanchero kidnapped me. He thought Shellston would pay to get me back.” She laughed. “He didn’t know Shellston could care less if I was dead or alive. That’s when the Comanchero said he’d kill Harland next, then Mr. Shellston himself. He’s paying the Comanchero today.”

  John exchanged a heated look with Brandon.

  “I’ll take the deputy and go arrest him,” Brandon said.

  Charity grabbed his arm. “Just so you know, Shellston told the Comanchero to make sure I never made it back to town.”

  John tamped back his temper, feeling the urge to reload his Colt 45 and take murdering banker down himself. “I know what letter they’re after.”

  Both Brandon and Charity’s heads snapped around to look at him.

  “At least I think I do. Jeremiah Post had a letter for the sheriff in his breast pocket the day he and his brother were killed. I put it with his belongings, which I hope are still at the Wells Fargo office waiting to be shipped to his next of kin. I’ll go get it while you go arrest Shellston.”

  “Can I go with you, Brandon?” Charity asked with solemn urgency.

  “No,” both men said in unison.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Jeremiah Post’s letter was still at the Wells Fargo office in the duffle with the rest of the murdered brothers’ belongings. With a little persuasion—specifically, informing the clerk the sheriff was dead—they let John take the letter in question. He assured them that as soon as it had been shown to the circuit judge, it would go back to its rightful place. For now, it was needed for important business, John said, and he’d lock it in his safe until that time.

  Brandon apprehended Shellston with no problems and the banker was now locked in the cell next to his son. He’d been on his way out of town with a travel bag filled with a bag filled with hundred dollar bills, confirming Charity’s story. Brandon had also told John that he’d not found out too much about the gem, but did learn that Boone was known in the East for his murderous ways. He was an outlaw and wanted for more than one crime. John had yet to speak with Lily about it, but intended to as soon as everything settled down.

  When John returned to the doctor’s office, Lily was there with the rest of the women around Chaim. Dustin was by her side.

  “He all locked up?” Dustin asked.

  John came in and looked Chaim over, then put a thermometer into his mouth. “Yeah. He won’t have long to wait for the judge. Pete Miller said he’s due next week. I wouldn’t want to be in Shellston’s shoes.” John was addressing Dustin but his gaze kept drifting to Lily. “This will interest you, Lily. The letter was from Mr. Bartlett.”

  “Owner of the shop on Spring Street?”

  He nodded. “One and the same. The shop that you and Harriett were on your way to Rio Wells to lease.”

  She smiled at his reply. “What did it say? How ironic that everything comes full circle to the person who brought us here in the first place. John, that seems like so long ago, does it not? In reality, it has only been two months. So much has happened since then.”

  Dustin stepped closer to Lily’s side, as if feeling the sudden connection between John and her. “From what we can gather,” John said, “Mr. Bartlett had taken a loan from Shellston. Then the banker raised the rate making it hard for Bartlett to fulfill the contract. Mr. Bartlett spelled out how Shellston had been acquiring property unlawfully by using his position at the bank. It sounded like he wasn’t going to go along nicely, like others here in Rio Wells had, and so Shellston had him beaten to death and put in the river. Thing was, he didn’t die. Jeremiah and Cyrus Post were his attorneys, on their way here with proof of a document signed between the two of them, and testimony from others he had done the same thing to. Without the letter, Mr. Bartlett wouldn’t have a case.”

  “What will happen to Mr. Shellston and Harland?” Becky asked.

  John shrugged. “Only time will tell. But as the facts come out, and in light of the fact he ordered Charity’s demise, I think he’ll feel the full extent of his crimes. The boy, I don’t know. Seems he was after Charity for her standing up to him in school. I’ll bet he’s never been told no.”

  Bixby hadn’t said more than a handful of words since John had returned. The old man sat in a chair by the window, gazing out. John went over and looked at the lump on the back of his head, then palpated the area gently. “How you feeling, ol’ timer?” His tone was soft although he was trying to elicit a response. “Come on,” John said. “I thought you were tougher than being put down by one conk on the noggin.”

  Bixby shrugged. “Just feel like a damn fool. That man Boone could have killed Lily and Harriett. What really makes me mad is that he was smarter than I was.” Bixby sucked in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly, rocking his body. “No fool like an old fool.”

  “You were just doing your job,” John said, although he’d been utterly terrified when he’d heard about what happened with the gunfighter. Lily hadn’t been hurt, and now she was here, in the room, beautiful as ever. “You couldn’t know he was playing possum. I’d have done the same thing,” John finished.

  Bixby shrugged again and John patted him
on the shoulder. “Okay, everyone, I think Chaim is due some rest from all this attention.” John said, gesturing to his aunt, female cousins, Dustin, Emmeline, and Lily. “Unless you all think I’m wrong.” Chaim rolled his head and gave him a thankful look. “Come on, out with you.”

  “You’re right,” Aunt Winnie agreed. “It’s time we all went home and got some rest. I’m about ready to fall over.” She looked at John. “That is, if you think it’s a good idea.”

  “I do. Chaim’s made a remarkable recovery so far. His fever is about gone and his coloring is almost back to normal. It’s amazing considering how much blood he lost yesterday.”

  “It’s a miracle,” Emmeline said, nodding at John. “As was your saving his life like you did.” She was the only one still close to Chaim’s side. She bent down and kissed him on his cheek, then blushed profusely when she realized everyone had seen her. Chaim held her hand in his own.

  “I guess you’re wondering about us,” Chaim said softly. “Well, Emmy and me, well…we’re a couple.” Everyone smiled as if this was news to anyone. “And, we intend to get married as soon as I’m able. John knows and has given us his blessing.”

  “Chaim’s right,” John said. “Some things are just meant to be.” He looked up and found Lily looking at him. Boldly, he winked at her, then continued. “Congratulations, Chaim. You’re getting a good woman.”

  Now it was Lily’s turn to blush. Didn’t John know everyone had seen that wink? Her cheeks burning, she turned, heading for the door. She’d left Tante Harriett alone for as long as she felt comfortable and needed to get back to her store.

  “Not so fast,” John whispered close to her side. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “I need to—”

  “I know. Check on Harriett. I’ll go with you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  “Thought I’d find you here.”

  Brandon looked up at the sound of Charity’s voice. She saw the mask descend over his expression, his eyes go dark. She walked into the livery with poise, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. Welcoming scents of hay and leather bolstered her spirit. But mostly the sight of the man who’d been her every thought since their kiss. They’d shared chaste little pecks before, and a touch here and there, and longing gazes. But mostly they’d been the best of friends. Steadfast. During the kiss she felt consumed, desired and loved. And, she wanted more.

  “Charity.” He tossed the brush he was holding into a box of grooming tools and met her at his horse’s stall door.

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “I’m busy right now,” he said, turning and closing the gate. He latched it slowly, methodically, rattled it, checked its strength, as if he was fearful his steed would escape, taking so much time Charity almost laughed.

  “I’m on my way over to the jail,” he said. “I don’t put too much stock in Deputy Miller.”

  Her heart sank. He hadn’t forgiven her. He was still brooding over her running off. She wished she could make things right, do it over, but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. She took one step closer, until they were almost face to face.

  “I thought you’d forgiven me. Today upstairs in John’s room it felt like you had. I guess I was wrong.”

  Brandon shrugged his large shoulders and looked out the livery doors, avoiding her gaze. “It’s just—” His mouth was a straight line.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “No, you weren’t wrong—I have forgiven you. I’m thankful we got you back alive.”

  She had to do something before he talked his way right back into his anger. He looked so unhappy. Miserable. Just like she felt. Warmth pooled inside at her close proximity to him. She reached out and ran her hand down his chest, amazed at the strength she felt beneath his shirt. His expressive eyes had a hint of vulnerability, his lips enticing. “What are you, then?”

  “Resigned. I’ve known you for way too long to think you’ll ever change. For me.”

  His last two words gave her courage. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Charity. A damn…long…time. I’ve given you every opportunity to let me know how you felt, but you didn’t. Not really. You’ve strung me along. I’m done. Tired of it. I’m a new man.”

  She sucked in a breath, not expecting the words he’d just flung at her. “But, what about the kiss?”

  “Didn’t mean anything. Just a reaction to a tense situation.”

  Charity squared her shoulders and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe you!”

  He tipped her chin up with his finger and came so close she would swear his lips were on hers. “Believe it. I’m just a plaything to you. Not good enough for a McCutcheon. It’s true I don’t come from some blue-blood lineage, but I’m honest and I’ve loved you more than anyone ever could.”

  Charity was overcome with emotion at his proclamation. She leaned forward, needing desperately to feel his lips on hers, but he pulled away, just out of reach. Hurt, she shook her head. “That’s not true. I just thought you wanted to be part of our family. Any part. I imagined you’d do anything to make that happen. Even so far as to marry me. I never believed you wanted me just for me.”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed for a brief second, then he laughed long and loud. Finally finished, he wiped the moisture from his eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, not quite knowing what to make of him. His expression, a mixture of bedeviled annoyance and little-boy mischievousness was one she’d never seen before. Before she had time to say anything else he scooped her up and flung her over his shoulder, heading for the ladder leading up to the hayloft. Charity screeched, then beat her fists against his back. She kicked her feet wildly, but there was no way out of his strong grip.

  Before she could let out a gasp, he laid her back in the hay, took her face between his palms, and crushed her lips with his own. She squirmed and pushed at his chest, twisting her head. “Stop it,” she tried to say, but she was pinned tight beneath his chest.

  This kiss was nothing like the tender kiss earlier, that kiss had been filled with passion and wonder, promise and meaning. This kiss was angry, filled with questions. Her heart lurched at what it might mean.

  All at once, he stopped. He pressed his forehead to hers but didn’t open his eyes. He rolled onto his back and slung his arm over his face. Long moments passed. She had no idea what he was thinking. She looked over at his profile in the darkened rafters of the barn. Strong jaw and chiseled face, so handsome, so alone. She thought about what it must be like not to have any family to call your own. Her heart shuddered painfully inside her chest. She was his family. She had been all those years ago, and she still was now.

  “Brandon,” she whispered, snuggling deeper into his side and walking her fingers across his chest. She leaned forward and kissed his earlobe lightly, unsure, taking liberties she’d never dared before. Picking up his arm, she placed it over her side, and tugged softly.

  He turned a little and gazed into her eyes. Then he rolled, taking her into his arms. He kissed her again, this time so gently it stole her breath, her heart, everything that she was. Oh, how she loved him. Every confusing part of him. He rolled farther until he was above her once again, breaking the kiss and moving his lips to her ear, then proceed down her neck, branding her skin with the fire of desire.

  Charity’s breathing was heavy, her thoughts disjointed. This was Brandon. This was her love. Never in her wildest dreams had she known it would feel like this to be his woman.

  “Charity.” Her name came out gruff and endearing.

  “Shhhh.” She struggled to open her eyes, feeling as if she’d been drugged. He was intoxicating. His touch, magic. His face, everything that heaven must be made of. “Let’s not talk. I want to keep kissing.”

  “No. We need to talk. All these years you thought I just wanted to be part of your family? So much so that the feelings we have—” He stopped. His expression now brought her excruciating pa
in as he struggled to say the words. “That I thought we had. That I had… Really?”

  She wished she could just tell him a little lie to make it sound better, save his feelings, but she couldn’t. Never again to Brandon. “Sometimes I did. But not all the time. I’m sorry. I’d get so confused I’d get angry with you, or put distance between us, or some such silly thing. Everyone in my family is so significant. All my brothers are smart and successful and…”

  There was a long pause before Brandon nudged her, “Go on.”

  “They’re loved by everyone. I can see why you’d like being a part of that, Brandon. But, when I get married, I want to be loved for just being me. Charity.” She searched his face to see if he understood what she was trying to say. “Without the McCutcheon name, the ranch, or all the fanfare that comes with it. I know that sounds really horrible because I love my family—and everyone in it. I do. But, I can’t help it. It’s how I feel.”

  He gathered her closer and Charity thought she’d die from the joy of finally being in his arms. “I do love you for just for being you. If you don’t know that by now then I don’t know how else to prove it to you. Even as aggravating, headstrong, outspoken and downright—”

  She stiffened. “Okay, I get it.”

  “—infuriating as you are sometimes,” he whispered next to her ear, then chuckled. “I do love you. God help me, I do. You think I’d tangle with a monster-sized rattlesnake for just anyone?”

  His eyes darkened and he pressed closer, taking her lips again with his, kissing her slowly, showing her just how much he wanted her. She was drowning in desire when he whispered, “I’d go anywhere with you, darling. Just name the place. We don’t have to go back to Montana. If that is what it’ll take to prove my love, then so be it.”