A Texan's Promise (19 page)

"Yes, but—"

"Don't need no buts. It's done. You're forgiven."

That sounded too easy. "It might be too late for me."

"It's never too late to accept God's mercy. What is bothering you? Can you share some of your burdens? I've got two good ears, well equipped for listening."

Maybe it was because Jacob acted like he really cared.Maybe it was because the closer they got to the Circle Z, the more disturbed Miles got, thinking about his future—or more likely, his lack of a future—at the Circle Z.

Maybe it was because he'd been alone for thirty-six hours.

But most likely, it was because he was too weak to keep his pain to himself. Yes, that flaw shamed him. But Jacob's words gave him hope, a hope he desperately craved.

But no matter the reason, Miles started talking. "It all started when my stepfather was beating my sister and I stood outside the door," he admitted, waiting for Jacob to get up in disgust and walk away.

He didn't. Instead, Jacob's eyes softened, just like he really cared and wanted to listen and understand. "What happened after that?"

"My mother saved her. And then Clayton took my sister Vanessa away."

"Who's Clayton?"

"He's . . . he was the foreman at our ranch. He used to be an officer in the war."

"Ah. He a good man?"

That, Miles could answer without reservation. "He is. He's a very good man. The best man I know."

"So how did you get all out here?"

"I made a promise to Clayton that I'd do my best to keep my stepfather off their trail."

"How did you do?"

To his surprise, Miles said, "Actually, I've been doing okay."

"Faith."

"Excuse me?"

"Clayton's faith in you must feel nice."

"I don't think he had faith in me. He couldn't understand why I didn't run in and protect Vanessa."

"Why didn't you?"

No one had ever asked him that. Not even his mother.Actually, pretty much no one had ever expected him to do much; they just found fault because he didn't. "I was afraid," he said.

"Afraid he'd beat you, too?"

Hesitantly, Miles shook his head. "No. I've . . . I mean, he's hit me before. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop him.That's what I was afraid of. That's why I didn't go in. I was afraid I'd fail, which felt worse than never trying at all."

"Tell me what happened next, son."

With broken words, Miles continued. "I first told the posse the wrong directions, and then Price and I decided to head out."

"The both of you?"

"No. Price wanted to go and I had no choice but to accompany him. That's how things really were." Slowly, Miles continued the story, telling the stranger about the days on horseback and the evenings spent in shantytowns.

Jacob Power asked questions, made Miles rethink his words, rephrase things, and reevaluate his descriptions.

Little by little, he admitted his faults and revealed his sins. Admitted his worries and shortcomings and hopes and dreams.

And after a while, Jacob Power didn't even talk anymore.No, he just sat by his side and listened. The experience was the most freeing moment of Miles's life. Admitting his sins and placing them up to another person who didn't judge, didn't preach.

A sense of love and peace surrounded him. Entered his heart. Gave him hope.

The experience was so earth-shattering, Miles found himself crying. Tears welled up in his eyes, then slid down his cheeks. He felt his body cleansing itself, and cleansing his soul. Because, in the midst of all of it, Miles Grant suddenly realized that he was not the bad, weak-natured man he'd supposed himself to be.

As the sun moved toward the west, as the rattler sought the earth, as a pair of prairie dogs popped out of the earth, looked around, then went back to their homes, Miles realized that he was a man of God, and was worthy in His eyes.

He'd been given Grace.

Finally, as the sun faded to a memory, when the night air was quiet and still and Miles was worn out, Jacob stood up."Something just happened. I've been wandering these plains for years, Miles. I thought I'd experienced most everything. I thought nothing could touch me anymore. Not deep in my heart. You changed that."

Miles could only stare at him, too worn out to say much.

With a ragged sigh, Jacob bent down and grabbed hold of his duffle. "I don't think I'll ever forget this evening," he said, looking oddly humbled. "Not for as long as I live."

After scrounging around in his knapsack, he pulled out a worn Bible. "My uncle carried this with him during the war."He glanced at it fondly, fingering the frayed edges. "See, the thing is, Bibles are a personal thing. Sooner or later, you come in contact with one that suits your needs. Then you don't need another." After rummaging around for a moment, Jacob pulled out another book. This one was a little bigger, a little newer, but just as well used. "This one's mine. I've always had my own; just kept the other as a kind of spare. . . . But I think this old book has found a new owner." Without any more fanfare, Jacob pressed the Bible in his hands. "Here you go."

As soon as Jacob laid the book in his hands, Miles curved his fingers around the spine. "Are you sure? Maybe it should go to another soldier."

"I'm sure. Miles, don't you see? All of us fight our battles.Some men are just given uniforms to do so."

Miles examined the worn book in his hands. Indeed, it was certainly far from new. Markings and folded pages and notations littered the margins. Obviously, it had gotten Jacob's uncle through harder times than the ones Miles was finding himself in.

And that gave him comfort. "Thank you," he said. "I'll take care of it. I promise."

Jacob's eyes lit up. "Oh, son, don't you worry 'bout that. If you read those words and believe, it'll take care of you. All you need is faith."

And with that, he patted Miles on the shoulder and then moved on. Moments later he was gone, absorbed into the night air like a memory.

Miles built a fire and thought about Jacob's parting words long into the night. Long after Price arrived and fell asleep on the other side of the fire. Hours after the coyotes trotted by in the distance, their mournful howls bringing chills along Miles's spine. For the first time in his life, Miles knew he was a Christian. Knew he'd found himself.

Knew he'd finally become a man.

Clayton folded Vanessa's latest letter and tried not to admit how much he liked receiving them. But he did; oh how he missed her.

Though only a few weeks had passed since he'd left Vanessa and sought work and an easier peace of mind, it might have been two years. After forwarding his whereabouts in case he was urgently needed, he visited a few local sheriffs and asked if they'd heard of Price Venture.

Whenever Clayton shared his reasons why he was looking for the man, the lawmen always turned grim-faced and promised to assist in any way they could.

Then Clayton focused on his other goal—earning money.

He joined an outfit up in Wyoming to help with a roundup.There, he buckled down and got to work.

Convincing cows to go where they didn't want to had never been his favorite part of ranching. He liked the companionship of the other men, finding it strangely like managing soldiers in the war. He also was at ease with only Lee for company. He, his Bible, and his horse had been through many a night with only one another. He found their companionship to be more than sufficient.

Well, almost. More often than not, he found himself thinking about a pretty young thing with green eyes who looked at him so closely he was sure she could read his mind. Who'd cried when she'd admitted to being ravished and had clung to him while she dreamed.

Little by little, the pain of her secret didn't feel so raw.Soon after he arrived at the ranch, he received two letters from Vanessa. A week later, the foreman passed on a third note, written so painstakingly that Clayton felt guilty all over again. That didn't stop him from reading her correspondence over and over until he'd memorized every word. Finally, he gave in. After waking up in the middle of one night missing her, Clayton broke down and wrote her back.

Another week passed. He did well enough that the foreman and owner had asked him to stay, but Clayton wasn't eager to spend any more time with ornery cows. He'd clipped enough ears and branded enough backsides to practically do the job in his sleep.

There was another reason as well. Hours alone in the saddle had meant hours with nothing to do but think about his trip west with Vanessa and think about how eager he was to see her again.

Before his time was over, he realized he'd written her another four notes.

At that rate, Clayton knew he'd never make it apart from her for long. That wouldn't do, because he knew she was still hurting.

Yet sometimes, when the night was long, he'd read her letters and forget about everything that had happened. He'd forget about Price and her attack and her scars and his weaknesses.

And when that happened, she'd take him back to another time. A time of sweet longing. Innocent memories would come rushing forth, bringing to mind years ago, when she used to sit with him in the barn and they'd trade stories about their days.Back then, he'd treasured her simple problems and his ability to easily solve them. It hadn't taken more than a reassuring word or a quick hug to make her smile again.

And each one of those smiles would make all the memories of the war fade just a little bit more.

Yes, he missed her. He longed to see her again. And, short of going back on his word, there was nothing he could do.

Instead, he pocketed his wages, sent half to Merritt with a request to set up an account for him in the nearby bank, and told them he'd be returning to the Addison in Colorado Springs before heading to Denver. On the way, a farmer had asked him to help clear a section of woods for spring planting.Clayton took the job without hesitation. Days passed like lightning as he strained his muscles and sweated, chopping down pine trees and half-freezing to death.

Clayton did his best to not think about what he was missing.Tried not to think about his sister's home or a warm fire with Vanessa sitting near it, her skin glowing and soft, her eyes beckoning him closer.

Three days later, he left the farm with another pocketful of cash and a blister on his right hand the size of a silver dollar and headed into Colorado Springs.

Upon arriving at the Addison, he'd been greeted with six letters from Vanessa, each one a breath of fresh air to his burdened heart. One had been especially sweet.

Because no one else was around, he pulled it out of his coat pocket and read it again.

He, too, had looked at the stars and remembered sitting on the ground outside her house with their heads tilted back.Once again, he thanked Vanessa for writing the letters and thanked the Lord for leading him to a woman who could make him remember how to feel again.

He loved how open she was with her feelings, enjoyed her stories about life with Corrine and their children. He smiled at her silly prattle about cooking and sewing baby garments and how she yearned to see the bulbs she'd planted outside flower in the spring.

He worried over her burn, wished he'd been there to doctor her. And because he couldn't deny her a thing, he wrote her back and tried not think about what their correspondence meant. Was the Lord guiding them both? Helping them find their way through words instead of just actions? It sure seemed like it.

He'd thought long and hard before deciding not to say anymore about his feelings. After all, wasn't that why he'd decided to leave—so they could have some time to reflect on what had happened between them? Just in case her feelings changed? And Vanessa, being Vanessa, wouldn't turn him away if she felt he'd be hurting.

But as he lay awake that night, listening to the banjo player in the bar and raucous laughter from the lobby, Clayton knew he was fooling no one. Not himself, not Merritt and Corrine.Not Vanessa. He'd fallen in love with his wife. He wanted her, and he wanted a real marriage. If he let himself, Clayton knew he could start counting the days until they would be together again just as much as she was, though he'd feel embarrassed for admitting such a thing.

Wearily, he pulled out his Bible and fingered the soft worn leather cover. Needing an old friend, he opened the pages to the book of Luke and found himself reading the verses aloud, just as he used to do by his mother's side. Like a gift, the words leapt out to him, calling to him, giving him comfort and easing his loneliness.

"So I say to you . . . Ask and it will be given to you. Seek and you will find; Knock and the door will be opened to you."

Clayton pondered the words and their deeper meaning."Have I done everything completely wrong, Lord?" he said aloud, staring at the blurred words on the page in front of him."I tried my best to save her. Yet I didn't save her at all. I tried to heal her and help her needs. But I had no knowledge of the places she hurt the most. When she asked for time, I gave it to her. But now that she wants me, I find I am the one who needs time."

Closing his eyes, he spoke again from his heart. "Years ago, during the war, all my plans seemed so clear. I felt Your presence beside me, helping me, guiding me. But now, sitting here in Colorado, waiting for each day to slip by, I feel confused and unworthy. I should have asked You for guidance. I'm asking now. Please, Lord, help me find the way. Help me follow Your will."

With that, Clayton closed the book and rested his eyes, glad for the sense of peace that washed over him. Glad for the gentle reminder that he was never truly alone.

And then, before he lost his nerve, he finally picked up a quill, and wrote Vanessa back.

Was it too tender? Too sweet? Did he sound weak?

He wasn't sure. But as he imagined how Vanessa would feel if he never wrote her back, he bundled up his nerve, folded the letter into thirds, then took it to the front lobby where they postmarked it and mailed it off.

He felt better already.

The following morning, he spied Lacy across the fancy dining room eating breakfast. She came over just as he was finishing his second cup of coffee.

"How's your greenhorn?" he asked, recalling the naive cowboy she'd flirted with the evening they'd sat together.

It took her a moment to catch who he spoke of. "Oh. Him?" She waved a hand. "Oh, Clay. He was worthless. Didn't make it out here in the Rockies a week. Last I heard he boarded a train back to St. Louis. And good riddance, too, I say. I found out he was all show and no go. He hardly had a plug nickel to his name."

"That's a shame. Well, I guess he got what he came for, huh? Tales to tell about the wild west?"

"Mercy me, he did get that." Lacy laughed. "He was a sweet thing, by the by. I do hope he one day finds what he's looking for."

Clayton studied her a little more closely, taking note of what he saw. Lacy had on less paint, and her dress was a plain calico, its neckline cut modestly. She looked like any rancher's wife he might see in town. He was just figuring out how to ask about her transformation when she grinned at his expression.

"Your sister wrote me," she said by way of explanation. "I do believe, Clayton Proffitt, you lied to me."

He coughed. "Pardon?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about. You told your sister the truth about how I've been living, even though I asked you not to."

"You're right, I did," he said, remembering how interested Corrine had been in Lacy. She'd genuinely missed her friend and wanted to stay in touch with her. "She cares about you, Lacy. Besides, no good comes from living lies."

She rolled her eyes. "You're a fine one to talk. You're lying to everyone and anyone who will listen about your lot in life."

It was so uncomfortably true, he felt his cheeks heat up."Hold on, there."

"You hold on, I'm telling you my news. Anyway . . . Corrine wrote me right back and spoke of many, many things. The war, her man Merritt. The girls . . . and about Jesus' birth and the many blessings of the season." Softly, she said, "Corrine's words encouraged me do some thinking about myself."

"What did you decide to do?"

She swallowed hard. "Move on."

Without judgment, he said gently, "Lacy, are you done being a ladybird?"

She smiled at his descriptor. "Maybe. This life I've chosen, it's been a hard one. For a while I didn't think I had a choice, but now I'm thinking maybe it's not too late to start over again. I want to be done, though." Looking at her hands, Lacy added, "Corrine spoke about forgiveness. Not finding it from others, but of finding it from myself. I reckon she's right. All these years, I've been hurting myself and my memories, hoping if I did bad things to myself, I wouldn't have to remember the past. I wouldn't have to fear others treating me bad."

He knew what she spoke of. Remembered hearing about the deserters who'd broken into her home and had ruined both her life and her mother's. "The past always comes back, doesn't it?"

"It does." With a shrug, she said, "I tried to be a different person. I tried to pretend all that mattered to me was money in my pocket, a pretty dress and a line of kohl around my eyes, but that weren't the truth. I'd still lie awake at four in the morning, wishing I could sleep."

Clayton knew exactly what she meant. Nights were hard when the days were filled with regrets.

"Yeah, well . . . it occurred to me that maybe I don't need to work so hard being someone my parents never intended me to be." Sitting up a little straighter, she brightened. "Guess what? There's a couple of men who've offered me marriage."

Truly pleased for her, he smiled. "Congratulations."Her eyes widened. "Don't get out the champagne yet, Clayton. These men aren't the love and cherish kind, not even a little bit. But they do seem decent."