Brighter Tomorrows

by Beverly Wells

  Callie saw red. With hands fisted on hips, she glared. “I’ll say it again; a lame leg doesn’t make you any less of a person. All Timothy wanted was a wife who could work his farm from sunup till sundown, and when he realized you couldn’t, he showed his true colors. He wasn’t worth your time.”

  Marianne burst out laughing. “My staunch defender. My guardian angel. My—”

  “Oh, stop,” Callie spat. “I’m just saying it like it was. Howard wanted a rich wife. When he found out you weren’t as rich as he thought, he hightailed it. You’re too good for someone like either of them.”

  Marianne scowled. “If it hadn’t been for my gimp leg—”

  “I’m telling you, your leg shouldn’t make a difference,” Callie snapped.

  “That’s fine for you to say. You don’t want a man. I do. I want love, laughter… and a few cuddles.”

  Callie raised her brows. “Only a few cuddles? Really?” When their gazes met, they started laughing with a spate of shared giggles just as the overhead bell jingled.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “Shucks, Matt, I think we just missed a good joke.” Chase grinned at the two lovely women in the throes of merriment. Callie’s allure robbed his breath, and his desires flamed as hot as a raging camp fire. His growing feelings scared the hell out of him. He hadn’t wanted to care again.

  They jumped and turned. Their mutual rounded-eyed surprise looked as if they had been caught smoking a cigar. “Why…Mr. Tate,” Callie stammered as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of rose. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her eyes sparkled. Pleasure he knew he should not allow crept through him.

  “Met young Tremayne, here, and he wanted to stop and say hello to Miss Grover.”

  “I couldn’t walk past your shop without saying good morning, Marianne,” Matt said, his firm, deep voice once again surprising Chase. Matt had matured ten years before his eyes. After only two days, they were on first-name basis, Matt and Marianne. Chase smiled. The kid had it bad. Who the hell was he to talk?

  “That’s so nice to hear, Matt. I welcome your visits anytime,” Miss Grover said sweetly as she crossed the room.

  Chase noticed her slight limp.

  “Have you met my dear friend, Miss Callie Lynch? She runs the boarding house, Apple Grove Inn.” Miss Grover smiled at Matt.

  “No, I haven’t,” Matt replied. “It’s a pleasure,” he tipped his head in greeting.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tremayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Marianne mentioned she’d met you. Have you seen her animals? If you like cats, dogs, ducks, and rabbits, you’re in for a treat.” She offered a congenial smile, yet Chase noted her eagle eye as she awaited Matt’s reply. Hmm.

  Matt’s eyebrows arched as his eyes went round. He glanced at Marianne. “You never mentioned animals. Are they here?” The minute his grin turned into a wide, open smile, Chase noted Callie’s satisfied smile—a smile that just about completely disarmed him. Get a grip, Matlock!

  Marianne shook her head. “They’re at home. Sometimes, I bring Hunter and Millie, my two dogs, but not too often. They’re happier at home.” She beamed at Matt, and Chase figured the two lovebirds had totally forgotten two other people were present.

  “I love animals. I’d enjoy seeing them sometime,” Matt eagerly offered.

  “You can visit any time,” Marianne returned with equal zeal.

  “Please excuse me, but I need to be on my way.” He nodded. “Miss Grover, Miss Lynch.” He leveled Matt with a scowl he hoped told the young’un to hustle so they could meet the others. As he exited, he heard Matt offer his apology to Marianne for leaving so soon.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “How do you know Mr. Tate? And who is he?” Marianne asked with a curious glint in her eyes as she leaned against the main counter.

  “He’s a land speculator and investor. He’s also a boarder,” Callie answered feeling like a nervous, naughty child. She loved Marianne like a sister, but she didn’t have any answers, and she didn’t want to talk about their relationship— actually, their non-relationship.

  “Oh?” Marianne tapped her chin with her finger. “You mean a boarder like the ones you weren’t accepting until you finished remodeling?” Marianne smiled a knowing smile. Rats!

  “He…he wasn’t comfortable staying at the hotel, and I had nearly finished most of the painting and messy things.” She avoided eye contact.

  Marianne actually laughed aloud! Callie cringed at Marianne’s hilarity her friend gasped for breath. “Oh, this is too good to be true.”

  “Get whatever thoughts are plaguing that nutty brain of yours out of there. I gave him a room.” She regretted she had to lie to protect Chase and the others. Yet, she also knew she fibbed about her developing feelings.

  “All right, just because he’s gorgeous and nice why should I think anything of it? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Marianne, I love you dearly, but I have a hundred things to do. Yes, he’s gorgeous, and I’m fighting my attraction with every ounce of strength I have. He’s my boarder. If you’re truly my friend, you won’t nag. I don’t want more from him than his board.”

  Callie hugged her, kissed her cheek and stepped back. “I like your Matt. Just don’t set your cap to high for him until you know him better.” Dear God, how she wished she could warn her friend not to invest her time in Matt. His life would be in jeopardy every day as a marshal. He would be gone soon. Her heart curled into a tight ball. Chase would be leaving, too.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Saturday morning arrived with Chase explaining he would not be back until supper, and after they had eaten, he’d join a poker game at the saloon to glean new information and touch base with a few of his team. Although he failed to go into details, he did say he planned to check with a few scouts that were tracking the outlaws’ progress. He would also be making arrangements for various people to play their parts.

  She laughed as he described several lawmen that had the right physique and with some added stuffing here and there and wigs would portray lovely ladies. Throughout the day they would be in and out of the bank, or meander throughout the shops close by. When he informed her he’d mostly be inside the bank, she hid the anxiety that lanced her chest as her stomach clenched tight.

  Surprisingly, she found herself downhearted. When he left, she would miss their talks, their banter, and his nearness. In four short days, she had become more than fond of him. She longed for so much more. Yet, she realized a relationship would be beyond any dream. Dreams were meant for children, not sinners. No matter how much she now longed to trust, she wasn’t sure she dared.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  The mid-afternoon temperature outside the Thirsty Goat Saloon neared ninety, but the sun’s extreme brilliance threatened to ignite a fire. Chase knew about fire; he played with it every time he flirted with Callie. Alone at a table in the far corner, he leaned back in the chair, welcomed another cool sip of beer, then pretended to be engrossed in the newspaper. No sense in drawing attention of the other two patrons at the bar while he waited for what he hoped to be a positive report from Henry Boll.

  He knew he should resist toying with Callie; yet, he was drawn to her. And to add to his foolishness, he had, a few times, recognized her reciprocal response. How her big, brown eyes would glaze over with a soft dreaminess, or sparkle with a hint of desire she so obviously and desperately fought to resist.

  He longed to ask what had happened to her. If he did, she’d rant and rave until the roof blew off, then throw him out on his rude and mettlesome ass. He wanted to help her. The next best thing would be to force her hand. She needed to deal with her haunts.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He found himself wanting something from her that he had never in a hundred years thought he would feel again. He desired her friendship as a start, but if what had wormed its way into his blood, his mind, and had started to burrow its way into his heart was meant to be—he couldn’t afford to spook her.

  She tried so hard to a
ct as if she was a cool cucumber when she was as skittish as a hen with a fox nippin’ at her tail feathers, ready to run as fast as she could or jump ten feet in the air.

  The saloon door squeaked, and booted footfalls scuffed across planks to the bar. Without turning, he folded the newspaper and laid it across from him on the table. He heard a triple whiskey ordered, then steps draw near. Henry might be a good twenty years older than his thirty-two, but the man had the stamina of a young mule.

  “If yur done with that there paper, mister, might I take a gander at what’s happenin’ around here?” Henry’s voice brought music to his ears. If he carried good news, within the next two or three days, all hell would break loose. He was more than ready.

  “You’re welcome to it. Have a seat if you want. Name’s John Tate.”

  “Why thanks, Tate, that’s mighty obligin,” he tipped his head in greeting. “Henry Boll. Don’t mind joinin’ ya. Been travelin’ all day, and need to sit my sorry ass.” Henry set his glass down, pulled out a chair across from him and plunked into it.

  They lowered their voices as Henry talked in coded language that only Chase would how to interpret. When Henry finished, Chase stood and slapped Henry on the back

  “I’ll do that and buy you a whiskey to celebrate, ol’ man.” Chase nodded, then sauntered out of the saloon one happy man. Let the fireworks begin. And he wasn’t thinking about the Fourth, but the day before—or, more likely, the day after—depending on tomorrow’s ride.

  Henry had let him know the gang en route consisted of four, and would arrive to camp outside Hallings in one day; two, at the most. Not only did he ascertain he would be available for the duration, but when the time came, there would also be six more armed lawmen dressed as women. Three would hover in or by the bank while three would mill around town. Others would stand by.

  If the gang made good time, they’d arrive tomorrow; but more than likely, they’d arrive on the fourth and attack on the fifth. With their very own fireworks—far more deadly.

  Chapter Six

  Sunday morning arrived with Callie dressed and ready to attend church. Chase bowed out, stating he preferred not being cornered when everyone lingered afterward. He expected the gang to be camped right outside the town by tomorrow night—or, if running ahead of schedule, by nightfall; he needed to do some more checking.

  When she asked why he didn’t attack them at their camp instead of having them come into town, he explained three previous attempts to do exactly that had resulted in them hightailing away. Two of their members had been killed, but the other four scurried away like a pack of rats. Their plan involved having them away from their horses. And this time, they wouldn’t fail.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  “That was one of the best ham dinners I’ve ever had, Callie,” Chase said, carrying a stack of dishes into the kitchen. “Since I’ve stuffed myself on applesauce and you’ve told me how neglected the orchard had become, I’d love to see it. If I help you finish up here, would you have time for a tour before dark?”

  Callie poured hot water from the kettle into the dish pan. “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. I thought maybe I bored you with all the details of the orchard. When I get started about pruning, protecting against diseases, bugs, and simply maintaining them, I guess my mouth runs away with itself.”

  He took the washed plate from her and rinsed it in the rinse basin. “You could never bore me. Will you walk with me?” Standing so close, her scent of lavender tantalized him until he thought he would go mad. He longed to lean down and kiss the tempting curve of her neck.

  “I’d love to. They’re not only pretty trees that bear the sweetest apples, but when you’re in the orchard it’s like another world; peaceful, pleasant, pure nature.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  She led him through the small back mud room, passed a wall of shelves lined with canned goods, boxes and sacks of dry goods. Along the other wall sat two wash tubs, a laundry basket and a long, flat table. Everything was neat and orderly; especially her narrow waist and obviously nubile fine hips that gently swayed under her gingham dress. He pictured those long legs, shapely and taut as they wrapped…Whoa boy. Down, down.

  As they exited the back door, he pulled his gaze from the sweet temptation to suppress his rising desire and his breath hitched at viewing such a picturesque sight. Four straight rows of apple trees, a twelve-foot wide grassy path between each, seemed to go on forever and mirrored an artist’s exquisite creation.

  Standing twenty-some feet tall, their crooked branches resembled twisted, outstretched arms, lush with rich green leaves glistening under the descending sun. Sheltered by those leaves were an amazing abundance of small developing fruits, each splashed with various shades of green, yellow and rose. Down the length of the middle path, four black wrought-iron garden benches had been strategically placed. He pictured Callie relaxing on one in any given evening.

  “You were right, it’s fantastic. From what you described when you bought the place, I applaud you on the remarkable revival to such a healthy and productive state,” he said, as he eyed her with a calculating expression. Callie felt as though she had missed something.

  He held out his right hand. “Let’s take a stroll down that middle path so I can see more.”

  She stared at the hand, longing to take it; every fiber in her body warned her against it. It had been too long. “Take my hand, Callie. I told you, I don’t bite. Whoever hurt you, I can go after him when I finish here.”

  She glanced up wanting to laugh, yet too distrustful of him and afraid of her own fortitude. Their gazes locked, the blue depths questioning and full of concern. Her heart raced.

  “I’m going to take your hand. No more than that…at least, for now,” he reassured. “I’d never hurt you, Callie.” Instead of cupping her palm, he laced his fingers through hers and gently pressed palms together. The potent intimacy fired through her like a flash of lightning. Her breath caught. For sure, he had to have felt her quake and probably believed it from fright.

  “Let’s walk,” he said as he guided her across the small lawn and casually down the middle pathway. As they past each tree, he seemed to marvel at it.

  “How do you pick all these before they rot?”

  “Reverend Fields and his two teenage sons help during picking time. Actually, they prune, care for the trees, anything that needs to be done throughout the year. I could never do it without them. The reverend doesn’t make much from donations, so they benefit, quite well.”

  They passed the first bench on the left. “Can you sell all of them?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

  She relaxed and realized she enjoyed holding hands, of breathing in the scent of his light, spicy aftershave, horse and his own masculinity. Her pulse danced.

  “I sell quite a bit to Harper’s as well to two stores in two towns close by. Laura buys for pies and breads. Marianne buys some for candles, potions and lotions. Three families, each with a passel of children that live quite a ways out north, barely have enough to survive. Periodically, I send a bushel to each. As an added payment, the reverend and his family have all they can eat. Then there’s me. I love eating apples and I can put up apple butter, applesauce, and slices for desserts. There’s a large underground fruit cellar built into the side of a knoll by the barn.”

  “The two business are a little goldmine,” he said, passing the second bench.

  “It’s not just the income, but the challenge and the enjoyment from both. Oh, I almost forgot,” she added, content to have his warm hand linked with hers, “there are the badly bruised apples. The grass around the trees and on the pathways is to soften their fall, but half the time they fall hard. A good heavy wind or rainstorm takes more down. If I can’t cut the bruises out, I put them aside for Freedom or take them to the livery.”

  “Lucky horses,” he winked, and he surprised her as his expressive face changed and became almost somber. “Why’d you name her Freedom?”

  He caught her off guard with the c
hange of subject, and she halted. He followed suit and their gazes met. She had never been much for lying.

  “Mr. Talley said it nearly drove him crazy to see her so neglected and beaten by her drunken owner. So he bought her and nursed her back to good health as well as restoring her spirit. He had her for sale when I arrived. Since I was starting a new life— a freedom of sorts—I figured she was, too.”

  She should not have included herself in that story. She read his multitude of questions as well as genuine concern in his now-cobalt eyes. Her skin heated and tingled as he gently rubbed his thumb back and forth across her hand.

  “He really hurt you.”

  She realized when he spoke those words that she had to disclose more truthful facts so he would understand nothing could ever develop between them. That thought ripped through her heart until she thought she might scream.

  She felt the need to move, and started to walk. “Yes, he hurt me, but not physically. Without going into nasty details, I never want another man in my life. He took my heart and threw it in the dirt like garbage, then stomped on my soul until it was battered beyond repair.” Regret swamped her. She had not cried in five years, she would not start now.

  “Give me his name.” His grip tightened. “You can’t judge others by what he did. Don’t throw your life away just because of one horse’s ass.”

  At the third bench, he stirred her toward it. “Let’s sit.” When he released her hand, she sat, peering at the ground. He joined her

  His thumb and forefinger cupped her chin and raised it. She trembled, thrilled by his mere touch. When their gazes locked, despair washed over her at seeing his smolder. “Callie, I’ve only known you five days, and it might be because we’ve spent hours together every day, but I’ve come to care very much for you.”

  Her voice quivered. “I vowed to never trust another man with my heart. And I most certainly would never, ever again, pin my hopes on a man who pined for another woman.”