A Texan's Promise (27 page)

Six weeks later, Clayton shook her gently awake. "Vanessa? Are you all right? You went back to sleep after I woke you up."

She struggled to open her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll be up and dressed in a minute."

"No hurry." Concern clouding those brown eyes she knew and loved so much, he said, "Are you sure you're all right? You seem a mite sluggish this morning."

There was no way Vanessa was going to tell Clayton that her sluggishness wasn't a one-time occurrence. Unfortunately, it was happening with more and more regularity—and severity!

From conversations with Corrine, she had a feeling she knew what was happening to her body, but wasn't quite ready to share the news yet. For the moment, she wanted to hold the secret close to her heart and wait for the perfect opportunity to tell Clayton that they were soon to begin a family of their own.

"I'm fine," she ended up saying after he looked at her suspiciously again. "Just a little tired, I guess."

A frown appeared between his eyes. "You're doing too much, sugar." Gesturing toward the pretty calico curtains she'd made with Corrine's help and the feather bed she'd just completed after much hard work with Pearl, he said, "We don't need to be settled right away. We've got time."

"I know; I just like to keep busy."

Engulfing her in a hug, he pressed his lips to her brow. "I know you do. You're a wonderful wife."

The words soothed her as well as the ointment had soothed the marks on her back. For what seemed like forever, she'd wanted to be his wife. Sometimes she felt like pinching herself when she realized that her dreams had become her reality."You're a good husband, too."

Pretend outrage entered his eyes. "Not wonderful?"

"Well, now. Wonderful is a pretty strong description, Clayton."

As she'd hoped, he tossed his hat to the floor and crawled next to her. Next came the kisses and tickles. She laughed, not just because of his fingers to her ribcage, but from the heady feeling that their togetherness brought.

They'd had so much drama in their lives, it was a new experience to just relax and play with him. After everything they'd been through, Vanessa didn't think they could ever relax enough.

Lee's neighing outside their cabin's door brought their playing to a halt.

Clayton pulled himself up and grabbed his hat. "Looks like I just got my reminder call."

Vanessa scrambled up as well, folding her arms over her chest as she watched him grab his worn leather gloves. "Robert E. Lee is the hardest working horse I know."

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "He's a good horse." As he loosened the latch to their home, he said, "I'll be in the far pasture today, counting head and checking calves. I probably won't be back till sundown."

Vanessa fetched him the tin pail that she'd filled with slices of beef and a half a dried apple pie. "I'll be at the main house until you get home. I told Corrine I'd help with the children today."

"I'll look for you then."

He bent to kiss her again. "I'm not anxious to leave. Maybe I can stay a little longer."

Lee neighed again, causing Vanessa to laugh. "Go on now, Clayton, before Lee barges in here. I wouldn't put it past that horse."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat before finally leaving her.

Alone once more, Vanessa sank to one of their table's chairs. If her suspicion was right, one day in their future, Clayton wouldn't be leaving her alone at all. She'd have their baby to care for.

How could things be any better?

Merritt met him near Bent Creek, looking as dusty and weary as Clayton felt himself. Merritt's red handkerchief was a wadded mess around his neck—looking ragged and worn after hours of shielding his mouth and nose from dust and grime.Yet still he had a smile for Clayton. "It is days like this when the memories of tracking Yankees doesn't seem so bad," he said by way of greeting.

"I'd agree, except that all I remember of the war is being scared, hungry, and cold."

Merritt grinned slowly. "I had more holes in my boots than a weevil could drill in hardtack."

Clayton laughed. "I'll take this over fighting Yankees, though I have to admit, it's days like today when I miss Texas.Back on the Circle Z there's most likely a bumper crop of pecans. Me and the boys would grab handfuls while we rode for hours."

"I'd enjoy a handful of pecans right about now," Merritt said. "Supper came and went hours ago."

They dismounted and led the horses to Bent Creek, a shallow ravine that ran along the edge of the property. There, they drank their fill and watered the horses. Clayton dipped his bandana in the cool stream for what he hoped was the last time that day and swiped his face with the cool fabric.The instant relief revived his parched skin and invigorated his senses.

Beside him, Merritt cupped his hands and splashed a good amount across his face. "Much better," he exclaimed as thick rivulets slid down his cheeks and jaw. "Now I think I can finally breathe."

"I counted forty head in the front field," Clayton said as soon as they sat down on the banks. "Three new calves born since last week."

"How're they doing?"

"Fine, as near I can tell. Their mommas look to be doing their job."

"Good. I found one dead calf; looked like it didn't survive the birthing."

Clayton nodded. On a spread the size of Merritt's, life and death were natural occurrences. "Tomorrow, I'll go east. I haven't been out in that direction in a spell."

"I might go with you. Bob Thatcher told me on Sunday he's going to be riding his perimeter this week. I'd like to check in with him. I like to keep in touch with him."

Everything Clayton knew about Merritt's neighbor was positive. "Sounds good."

They spoke for a bit more, then mounted the horses and headed back to the homestead. They rode companionably, so well together that Clayton realized he'd been a fool to even contemplate ignoring his friend's offer of employment. Merritt obviously appreciated his help, and Clayton found he enjoyed working with someone who saw him as an equal.

No matter how well he and Bill Grant had gotten along, there'd always been a fine line between boss and employee. It had been expected and had felt comfortable, especially during those first few months after the war, when sharp noises would spook him. Back then, Clayton had been glad to let someone else bear the brunt of responsibility.

Now, however, he sought a different type of relationship.He appreciated the relaxed give-and-take he and Merritt shared. Instead of maintaining their former chain of command from the days in the war, Merritt respected his ideas and often asked him for advice.

When they were almost back to the homestead, Merritt halted Red, his sorrel gelding. "Riders approaching."

Clayton squinted as he looked to the west. There, across the horizon, right where the sun was setting against the rocky terrain, two puffs of dust flew up. Lee perked his ears in awareness.Under his thighs, the muscles in the horse's powerful frame tensed, ready to charge or flee.

Clayton patted him on the neck. "Be patient, Lee," he murmured. "Let's see what these men want."

The beat of hooves echoed on the rocky soil. Anticipation burned brightly as it became more and more apparent trouble was approaching. Riders didn't approach anyone without first calling out a warning.

Never did they approach at such breakneck speeds.

"Looks like trouble."

"Yep."

Clayton pursed his lips that had suddenly become dry. In contrast, his palms sweated inside his gloves, and his posture, like Lee's beneath him, tightened. "I guess we haven't forgotten everything from the war, have we?"

Merritt pushed his hat back and solemnly watched the two riders come closer. "Nope. I guess we brought back more with us than just memories. I'd know this prickling in the back of my neck anywhere."

Hoping against hope, Clayton glanced his way. "By any chance you expecting anyone, Merritt?"

"Nope. You?"

"No."

Still, the trespassers neared. Soon it became apparent that both riders were experienced, their ease in their saddles relaxed and assured.

"One's a paint," Merritt said.

For a moment, Clayton wondered if Red Cloud had found him, but disregarded that idea as soon as it occurred. For one thing, Red Cloud wouldn't be riding out in the open, especially not if he was with a companion. Secondly, the Indian would have ridden bareback. Finally, Clayton couldn't discern a bit of the distinctive brown markings of the Indian's horse.

These men had saddles, one inlayed with pieces of silver, if the reflection glinting off the leather was what he thought it was.

"The other must be a quarter," Clayton said, as a touch of foreboding trickled through him. "It's got four socks."

"Yep," Merritt said. Red and Lee shifted uneasily. "You armed?"

"I've got my Colt."

Merritt laid his Winchester over his lap. "I've got this, but only a couple of shells." He shook his head in frustration. "It's been a long time since I've had any trouble to speak of on my property. Guess I've gotten lax."

"Let's see what they want. We could be wishing for trouble."

"Maybe. But I doubt it."

Clayton squinted. Two men rode side by side and had obviously spotted Clayton and Merritt, but didn't seem to share their unease. By Clayton's best estimate, their pace hadn't slowed one beat.

Clayton scanned the land to the riders right and left. It looked empty. "I think they're alone."

Merritt grunted. "One's young."

Merritt always did have eyes like a hawk. Clayton narrowed his own eyes and saw slender shoulders, a slight build. The other rider didn't look to be holding his seat quite so well. In fact, on further inspection, he looked to be holding on more tightly. Either he was sick or plumb worn-out.

Once again, he felt the tingling sensation run through him."Other one's sick or old."

"Yep," Merritt said. "I'm tired of being patient. Let's go see what they want," he said, nudging Red forward.

Clayton followed, his Colt now cocked and held loosely in his right hand. To Lee's credit, the horse didn't flinch at the feel of the metal against his shoulder. Looked like they all could be battle-ready in a pinch.

They rode twenty yards, then another fifty.

Then, just as the younger man raised his hand in greeting, Clayton saw the lightning-bolt mark across the chestnut quarter horse's nose. "It's Price," he said, confirming his fears."He found us."

Merritt looked at him quickly. "You sure?"

"Positive. I'd know his horse anywhere by that lightning mark on her face. I broke her."

"Who's the other?"

"It has to be Miles, Vanessa's brother." Clayton fought to stay intent on the situation at hand and not on the hundred questions that were burgeoning forward. How had Miles and Price found them? What did they want? Vanessa? Him? Her money? Something more?

Most important, how could he have let himself forget about Price and Miles? How had he let himself get so lax?

"So . . . what do you want to do?"

Merritt's question was asked quietly and without rancor.Without judgment. Clayton knew that his best friend would now willingly follow his directives without question, whether it was shooting to kill or to put away their weapons and greet them warmly.

Neither seemed like the right choice.

"I don't trust either of them. Let's see what they have to say before we act," Clayton said. "I have to do at least that much.At least for Vanessa."

"Most likely, it's nothing good."

"Probably not."

They'd gone another ten or so paces, when Miles's voice called out. "Clayton Proffitt?"

Clayton raised his arm in response.

Slowly, Miles walked his horse forward. A new maturity that Clayton had never spied before showed in his bearing. In the tense way he held his jaw.

Clayton wondered what was on Miles's mind. Was he about to join his side? Or had he long ago turned to Price and was now waiting to do his bidding?

No one spoke as Miles rode forward, Price a little to his back and left. The older man's his eyes looked sharp and intent. Within another minute, they all stood together, mere yards apart.

To his surprise, Price looked like death warmed over. His eyes were cold, his cheekbones rising starkly. "Proffitt," he finally muttered, his voice as chilling as Clayton had ever heard it.

"Price. Miles. What brings you to Colorado?"

Price glared. "You have something of mine."

"And what would that be?"

"We came . . . we came to see Vanessa," Miles said, his voice calm, his eyes different. Wiser, steadier. Less youthful."Is she here?"

Merritt grunted. "You're not going to see her."

Price grunted. "You're wrong. Go bring her out. Now."

"Never." Louder, Clayton said. "Why are you so intent on seeing her, Price?"

"She was mine. She was going to be mine."

Miles's gaze hardened.

Vanessa had never been Price's. "You're mistaken."

Clayton finally looked at Miles and studied him. To his surprise, the boy no longer looked hesitant or cowed. Instead he sat straight in the saddle, his face rigid.