An Endless Love to Remember: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Lorelei Brogan

  “Are you terribly unhappy, here at the Star?”

  A heavy sigh, and a shake of the golden head. “I wasn’t. I love this place. I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else. At least, I did love it, until—”

  “As I thought.” Another silence, “Vickie, I’ve been thinking this over for a while, and I have a proposition for you.”

  “Yes, Auntie?”

  “I need a traveling companion, to return east with me to Boston. Would you be interested in coming along?”

  She sucked in a breath. This possibility had never occurred to her. “For how long?”

  “Well, for as long as you like. I believe it would be beneficial for you and Jess to be separated for a while.”

  “That part is certainly true.”

  “Yes, you and I are in agreement there. At any rate, Boston is a lovely city, and I imagine you’d enjoy the change in surroundings and in climate. Once there, I plan to buy a house and settle in, reacquaint myself with old friends, re-establish my old routine. You would be welcome to stay with me until you decided upon another path.”

  “Leave here? Make the ranch—and Papa—part of my past?” Turning the idea over in her mind, she began considering the pros and cons of such a move. The advantages. The disadvantages. The doors that would open. The chance for a new beginning.

  Sophie smiled, watching all the conflicting emotions chase themselves around across her niece’s vulnerable face.

  “Oh! But, Auntie, I can’t go! No!”

  “Any reason in particular?”

  “All my animals, Auntie! They depend on me for love and care. I can’t just blithely waltz away, and leave them to fend for themselves.”

  Of course she couldn’t. Not Vickie. Not with her overworked sense of responsibility.

  “Loath as I am to mention a painful subject,” Sophie murmured, “I must remind you that your sister will be remaining here, with your father, and then there’s the wedding to take place next spring. You might ask Jessie—or even Sam—to watch over all your critters. However, this will be your decision, my dear, and we both have time to gather our thoughts. Why don’t you sleep on the idea?”

  “That makes sense,” said Vickie, relieved. “It’s always best to take time to see both sides when it’s something so important, instead of rushing into a venture that might prove disastrous. Don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely.” Rising, her aunt bent slightly to kiss the girl on the forehead. “We’ll talk again, Vickie, whenever you’re ready. Now, you get to bed. Good night, dear, and pleasant dreams.”

  * * * * *

  “You look like you’d been pulled through a knothole, forward and backward, son. Rough trip?”

  Sam had arrived at the Marsden farm in a state of dazed awareness, unsaddling Blackjack and turning him loose in the pasture, climbing up the cabin’s steps—all by rote. It would be a relief to find that Buckley had taken himself to town, which might mean peace and quiet—no heckling, or harassing— until whatever hour he returned.

  When he walked into the kitchen, Mariah was in the middle of preparing supper—ham hock and navy beans, by the good rich smell emanating from the soup pot—and Matthew was sitting at the table, enjoying a cup of coffee and casual comments scattered here and there.

  “Well, Sam, welcome home,” his brother greeted him. “Pull up a chair and take a load off.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” After a kiss on his mother’s cheek, and then a side trip for a mug, he suited action to words with a sigh.

  “Thought your backside mighta had enough sittin’,” observed Matthew, chuckling. “Not to mention so much time spent with future in-laws.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t so bad. Glad to be back, though. Big city life ain’t for me. Too much rushin’ around, too much noise.”

  At the thought of that big city life, apparently so yearned for by his intended, he grimaced. Another discussion already stalled, to be had, with the outcome uncertain. Well, this time he’d put his sizable boot down. No way in Hades was he about to move from his favorite place in the whole world. Not after what he’d already gone through. He was here, and he meant to stay put.

  “Here, Sam. This’ll hold you over till supper.”

  Thoughtful as always, Mariah put a plate at his elbow.

  “Ah. My favorite, Ma. Thanks.” Brightening somewhat, he gave her a smile. Two thick-cut slices of bread, spread with butter and strawberry jam—a childhood staple.

  “So, what’s it like, San Antonio?” Matthew wanted to know.

  Stretching tired legs, Sam sprawled carefully out of his mother’s way and began chomping.

  In between mouthfuls, he described the journey, the good-sized town he had visited and left behind without a qualm, the stores and the sites.

  “You’n me could go there sometime, y’ know. Take Ma with us.”

  Matthew raised one dark heavy brow, so like his brother’s, with a snort of derision. “Yeah? And who’d run the farm, meantime? Don’t have the luxury of hired help, y’ know. And Paw is next to bein’ worthless.”

  “Speakin’ of—I guessed he was away. Is he?”

  “Sure is. Off likkerin’ up at the Redeye, like as not. What else does he have to do?” Matthew’s voice was beyond bitterness. This sort of behavior had formed the tenor of their lives for so long that it was hardly worth commenting on.

  The evening repast was now ready, which pleased Sam no end. He had quickly wearied of fancy meals no more substantial than a butterfly might sip at, dished up in fancy restaurants on fancy plates, and was hankering for the solid, plain fare to which he was accustomed. While Mariah dished up the soup into bowls each the size of a milk pail, he helped serve, added the loaf of bread, poured more coffee all around, and seated his mother at the table.

  “See you learned you some fine manners,” joshed Matthew. “Must be from that dressy little woman you plan to marry.”

  “Now, you just hush, Matt. There’s nothing wrong with manners; you could stand to have a few yourself. Sam, will you say grace, please?”

  Meals in the Marsden house were meant for eating, not talking. Other than a compliment for Mariah as to the tastiness of the soup, and another one or two asking for a plate to be passed, conversation was held to a minimum. It wasn’t until after, once hunger had been satisfied and the diners could relax with a second or third refill to the coffee cups, that a lull allowed some dialogue.

  Mariah opened the subject by asking if any changes had been made in wedding plans.

  “No.” Clearly Sam had little interest in any sort of wedding plans. “Oh, that reminds me. Matt, you wanna stand up at the altar with me?”

  “Why? I ain’t gettin’ hitched.”

  “To be my best man, you lunkhead. Doncha know nothin’?”

  “Not much.” Matthew dipped a fork into the luscious rhubarb cobbler set in front of him. “So you’re goin’ ahead with it, huh?”

  Sam laid one ankle across the other thigh and leaned back in his chair. “Looks like I got no choice.”

  “Oh, hey, you always got a choice, man. If this ain’t what ya want, then you better duck out now, b’fore it’s too late.”

  “Yeah? With the Clark family and the whole town ready to have my head if I don’t marry this gal. Sure.”

  “Sam, we had this talk earlier,” intervened Mariah, concerned. “If it isn’t right—”

  “Well, there it is, Ma. How do I know it ain’t right? Did you, with Paw?”

  Silence for a moment, as if she were considering how best to respond. “Yes,” she finally, grimly, admitted. “I knew it wasn’t right. But I went ahead anyway. I had no other option.”

  Both sons exchanged a surprised glance. It was left for Sam to ask, “Whaddya mean?”

  She gave them an affectionate yet exasperated look, as if she’d like to bop their curly pates together and then kiss them afterward. “Surely you two can count. I was already expecting Matthew, here, when Buckley dragged me off to the preacher.”

  Ho
w embarrassing for children to even contemplate, let alone scrutinize, the sex lives of their parents! Sam might have suddenly transformed himself into Blackjack, pawing a self-conscious hoof into the dust before backing away entirely. “Well. Uh. Yeah. We sorta had the idea that—”

  “He pursued me for months,” said Mariah, pausing for a couple sips of restorative coffee. “I kept telling him no. So he carried me off into the woods and forced me.”

  Matthew dropped his fork in shock. “Ma. D’ you mean—?”

  “After that,” she went on, with a flinty smile, “it was only a matter of time, once I realized that I was— Well. To save my reputation, I agreed to be his wife. As I say, Sam, I had no other option. You do. You must think this through, and decide what will make you happiest, and never mind the consequences.”

  Swallowing whatever he’d been about to say, he shifted. “Ma. I’m—I’m so sorry…”

  “Long gone and over with, son. Water under the bridge. No use crying over spilled milk. And all those other clichés people like to use. Now. Tell me what you’re thinking about this marriage.”

  “Still all mixed-up.” Sam’s lean brown hand was idly turning over his spoon, handle to bowl, bowl to handle. “Things aren’t right, Ma; you know that. But I can’t figure what. Seems like the wrong match for me. For the life of me, I dunno why.”

  She studied him with sympathy and tenderness. “I always wondered how you ended up with Jessie. You two don’t seem to fit together at all. Seemed to me, even from when you were kids, that you and Vickie would become a couple someday.”

  “Really, Ma? Why?”

  “Jessie’s too high-falutin’ for one thing,” Matthew put in his two cents’ worth. “Too good for the likes of you, my man.”

  Sam grimaced. “Thanks, Matt. Makes me feel a lot better about this whole mess.”

  A long reach across the table allowed Matthew to slap his brother resoundingly upon the shoulder. “That’s what I’m here for, kid—just to make you feel better.”

  “Anyway. Whaddya mean, Ma? What did you see that I’m missin’?”

  Another pause for more coffee, as she considered. “You just had so much in common, Sam. Both of you teasing each other, and laughing—always a lot of laughter—liking the same things, such as being out close to nature, taking care of the critters you found and adopted…and so on.”

  He took some time to think about her comments. “You’re right. Any particular—incidents—that might bring back my memory of those days?”

  “Oh, Sam, dear. Are you still having those terrible headaches?”

  Brushing that aside, he got up to fetch the coffeepot, still hot from its tenure on the stove’s back burner, so everyone could refill their cups. “Not so bad any more, Ma. Nor so often. I’d just like to know—well, what is buried in the back of my brain that I can’t pull up. You got any clue?”

  “I wish I could help you. There must be some way…”

  He shrugged. “Well, enough of that for now. What went on here whilst I was gone?”

  His mother sent a playful glance across the table. “It seems that Matthew has gotten himself a nice lady friend.”

  “Who, this Matthew? My stick-in-the-mud brother? You sure you got the right man?”

  Matthew was blushing to the tips of his ears. “Leave be, you young puppy. Have a little respect for your elders.”

  “Respect!” Sam hooted and stomped one heavy boot on the floor. Then he leaned forward, pushing aside plate and cup and cutlery, to rest both arms akimbo on the table. “G’wan, tell me all about it. Who is she, and where’dja meet?”

  “I said, leave be. Ain’t about to get made fun of for somethin’ that ain’t none of your business.”

  “Boys, play nice,” adjured Mariah, but with a twinkle of good humor. “I have no hope that you two will ever grow up. You’re as bad now as when you were just shavers.” She looked from one to the other, smiling; the smile held deep poignancy. “It’s good to have you both home,” she said softly. “At least two of you are here.”

  Just that specific instant felt far too emotional. Much more of this, and Sam would break down in tears, like a green-eared kid. “We come home for your cookin’, Ma,” he solemnly assured her. “Now, you’ve both listened to my whinin’; it’s time I get more information. C’mon, Matt, tell me all about this lady friend of yours.”

  Pulling a lopsided grin, Matthew finally surrendered. Either he realized he would be forced to, eventually, anyway, or he actually did want to share his news.

  “Pretty as a painted wagon,” he enthusiastically began his description. “Her name is Abigail Dunlap, and she just started workin’ at the Hotel Dupree—helps cook and serve up meals. That’s where I first run into her.”

  “Poor girl.”

  “No, for fact. She was carryin’ a tray, in a hurry, and I come around the corner without watchin’, and—crash! Everything all over the floor.”

  “So while you helped clean up, you bared your souls to each other and made a lifetime commitment?”

  Somewhat deflated, Matthew bared his teeth. “Can’tcha take anything for gospel?”

  Sam was immediately chastened. And apologetic. He reached over to tousle his brother’s hair. “Sorry. Reckon I’m just a little jealous. You seen her more’n the once?”

  “Yeah, four days in a row. She’s a widow woman, lost her husband in the War. Even got a kid, a little girl about three. Brought ’em out here to the farm yesterday.”

  Brows arched in surprise at these uncharacteristic actions of his reticent brother, Sam marveled at the speed with which he was moving. “Man. You gettin’ serious this quick?”

  Mariah had risen to begin clearing away the leftovers. “She’s awfully sweet, Sam. You’d like her. And her daughter, Rosalie, is just about the cutest thing in pinafores.”

  Leaning back once more, with long legs crossed at the ankle, Sam was shaking his head. “Well, I’ll be goldarned. A lot sure did happen in a short time. Good for you, brother. By the looks of you, this is a mighty good thing you got goin’ on.”

  “Yup. Reckon it was meant to be. So, you’ll get settled, and maybe me. Now all we need is to have stuff goin’ right for Ma. Somethin’ happy.”

  She was already at the sink, pouring hot water into a basin, adding soap, piling dishes. “Don’t you two go worrying about me. You take care of yourselves, and that will make me happy.”

  A mother’s fondest wish for her children, anywhere and everywhere.

  Chapter 18

  Vickie needed one last supportive consultation with her friend and mentor, Valentine DeMarco. She needed the opinion of someone who not only knew her almost inside and out, but who also had much more experience with the world than did she. Someone who was not intimately involved in the final outcome.

  But did she dare seek him out again, after that disastrous meeting of a mere few days ago?

  Would seeing him just be pouring salt into the wounds with which they had both been afflicted?

  Once upon a time, she had been lucky enough to share her confidences with Sam. When Sam disappeared, and that outlet was ripped away, she had found Val a willing and eager substitute.

  Now she had no one.

  She certainly couldn’t go to Aunt Sophie for advice, since she was an interested party.