Adrienne deWolfe (13 page)

Nita passed him a tureen of gravy. "Maybe you could visit your folks before you leave, Mr. Wes."

Her comment caught him off guard. "My folks?"

"Uh-huh. Miss Rorie said they live near the county line."

Wes's humor abruptly ebbed. He avoided Nita's gaze and buttered a slice of bread. "I reckon I did tell her something like that."

Topher who had scrambled to beat Po to the chair at Wes's other side, gulped down cider and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "How much folks've you got?"

Wes fidgeted. He could think of a dozen topics he'd rather discuss. "Two brothers. An aunt. A couple of nephews and a niece."

"What about your ma and pa?"

An unexpected sliver of hurt sliced through him. Childhood memories that he preferred to forget resurfaced. Even though he'd been barely older than Po when his parents had died, certain images were emblazoned on his brain: Cord, at seventeen, looking pale beneath his tan; Uncle Seth, grim and rigid, with his arm around Aunt Lally's quaking shoulders; four-year-old Zack, as confused and frightened as he'd been.

"Boys, we've had some news," Seth had said above Lally's sobs. "Seems like there were a couple of road agents hiding out near Houston. They came across the stage your ma and pa were on, and, well... I'm sorry, boys. Your folks won't be coming home again."

"Mr. Wes?"

He shook himself, realizing that Topher, along with everyone else, was staring at him again.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, Topher. I heard. You see, my folks were mur—" He bit his tongue on the unpleasant, adult truth. "Er, they were killed when I was three."

Rorie's fork clattered against her plate. He glanced up in time to see the shocked look she exchanged with Ginevee.

"You mean you're an orphan? Like us?" Topher asked in awe.

"Reckon I am."

"Topher," Rorie interceded, feeling guilty for letting the boy badger Wes into such a painful confession, "it isn't polite to pry into a person's private affairs."

Wes tossed her a grateful look, and she felt a good deal worse. When she'd decided to let the children's natural curiosity unearth the secrets she'd suspected him of keeping, she'd never dreamed his parents had been murdered, for clearly, that was what he'd intended to say. His haunted expression had confirmed it.

Meanwhile, Shae was studying Wes through narrowed eyes. "Seems like there's a cattle outfit up near the county line. I hear tell it's owned by a couple of Rawlins brothers. You wouldn't be one of those Rawlinses, would you?"

Wes jabbed a fork into his mashed potatoes. "I used to be," he mumbled, filling his mouth. He swallowed and flashed Ginevee a grin. "Mighty fine grub, ma'am. Ol' Two-Step's going to be jealous."

Rorie had seen Wes smile enough times in the last two days to realize his latest one was forced.

"You used to be?" Shae pressed his challenge. "What does that mean?"

Wes reached for his cider. Rorie suspected he was deliberately delaying his answer when he drained the mug dry. Finally, he faced the boy again, the warning in his eyes belying his mocking words.

"It means you make me feel so welcome, Shae, I don't ever plan on going back."

Nita looked delighted. Merrilee smiled, and Topher cheered. Po tried jumping in his seat, and Ginevee's lap was instantly doused with chicken broth.

"Messy!" Po said gaily.

The children all laughed at the comical look of despair on Ginevee's face, and Merrilee jumped up to fetch her a dish towel.

Everyone passed the rest of the meal in relative good humor, except perhaps for Shae. He didn't say another word all the way through dessert, and Rorie sensed he was brooding because Wes had put him in his place. She was grateful Shae had a cool enough head not to cause a scene and frighten the children, especially Merrilee, who was always so sensitive to the moods around her.

But Rorie worried Shae might try to provoke Wes later in private. The minute the meal was over, Shae retired to the front porch with a cleaning rag and his shotgun.

While Gator was alive, the men had traditionally sat outside on rockers while the women and children cleaned the kitchen. Given the tension between Shae and Wes, Rorie expected Wes to make his excuses and ride into town for a poker game or, at the very least, a shot of whiskey. To her surprise, he followed her into the kitchen instead, settling at the cluttered table and asking for a second cup of coffee.

Nita obliged him because Rorie had to collar Topher. As usual, the boy had been trying to avoid his chores, and she'd been forced to thrust a broom into his hand before he could sneak outside after Shae.

"I reckon sweeping is better than reading some stupid history book," Topher grumbled.

Wes looked inordinately amused. "What's wrong with history?"

Topher gave him an exasperated look. "It's about old dead people."

Rorie hid her smile. "I'm sure Abraham is studying for the history test tomorrow. He told me he's going to be the one who wins that bottle of cherry sarsaparilla."

Topher scowled, giving a vicious sweep with his broom. "I hate history."

The back door banged, and Merrilee teetered inside, carefully carrying a brimming pail of water. Rorie watched the concern flicker across Wes's features. He started to rise, but Ginevee, who had been waiting for the child, hurried forward to help Merrilee with the pail.

"History's not so bad," Wes said to Topher. His thoughtful gaze followed Merrilee as she pulled her rag doll from her skirt pocket and limped to the corner to play. "After all, it's just a big, long string of yarns."

"Yeah?" Topher sounded doubtful.

"Sure. Take the story of Pocahontas and Captain John Smith."

"Who's Po-co-harness?"

"Pocahontas," Wes corrected him gently, "was a beautiful Indian princess."

"Oh."

Wes's answer may have disappointed Topher, but Merrilee raised her head, momentarily losing interest in her doll.

While Po scrambled up on Wes's knee, Nita edged closer, drying a plate with her towel. "Was Pocahontas a Comanche?"

Wes cast another sidelong glance at Merrilee. "I don't rightly know. She could have been, because she was strong and brave, and full of spirit like all Comanche squaws."

Merrilee smiled at his words, and Rorie felt her heart warm. She had opened her mouth to tell them that Pocahontas had been a Powhatan Indian, but thought better of it when she saw the pleasure Wes's words gave Merrilee.

Wes winked at her before smoothing his features into solemn lines. "Gather 'round your ol' Uncle Wes, children, and I'll tell you a little history."

"Uncle
Wes?" Rorie paused in midreach for her sewing basket.

"Sure. Just like Uncle Remus."

Ginevee chuckled, and Rorie shook her head, settling at the table with yet another pair of Topher's ripped blue jeans. She suspected this would be one history lesson the children would never forget.

"A long time ago," Wes began, "in a land called Virginny, there was a beautiful Indian princess named Pocahontas. Her daddy was the mighty Indian chief, Powhatan, and her sweetheart was our hero, Captain John Smith."

"What did he look like?" Nita asked.

"Hmm." Wes cocked his head. "As I recall, Captain John was a tall, long-limbed man. He was strong, too, but gentle, and all the ladies liked him. They used to want to dance with him at the hoedowns and fandangos because they thought him such a handsome man. And..." Wes's eyes twinkled. "They'd never seen anyone with a finer head of red hair."

"Red
hair?" Topher gaped in disbelief. "You mean like yours?"

Wes nodded, and Merrilee, who was kneeling at his feet with her doll, raised her hand.

"Did he have freckles like yours, Uncle Wes?"

Wes made a great show of considering this question. "Yes, he did," he answered with an impossibly straight face. He raised his eyes to Rorie. "And that's why Pocahontas loved him so much."

Ginevee hooted, and Rorie blushed.

"Anyway"—Wes was smirking now—"that mean old Indian chief didn't like Captain John very much. Powhatan was jealous 'cause Captain John could outwrassle any puma, tiger, or bear in Virginny."

"What's a tiger?"

Wes turned his attention to Merrilee. "Why, that's a big striped cat with fangs out to here."

He made an exaggerated gesture down to his chest, and Topher folded his arms in a huff.

"There's no such thing."

A traitorous smile tugged at Rorie's lips. Shameless flirt, gunfighting rogue, and now Wes was proving himself a natural-born storyteller. Enthusiasm was etched into every line of his frame. His animation was magnetic, making the small room seem cozier. As she watched the show, she couldn't decide who was more entertaining: Wes, spinning his outlandish yarn, or the children, listening with such eagerness to his every glib word.

"What happened next?" Nita asked.

"Well, Captain John tried to be friends with the Indians, mostly 'cause he liked kissing Pocahontas, but Powhatan wouldn't hear of it. He sent his Indian braves out to capture poor John. When the braves brought John back, all trussed up like a turkey, Powhatan got a hankering for some of John's red hair, so he pulled out his scalping knife.

"But Pocahontas wouldn't let her father steal Captain John's hair. She threw her arms around John's neck and cried, 'Oh no, Daddy, you mustn't hurt my sweetheart!' "

Wes was speaking now in a high, squeaky voice. Nita and Merrilee both giggled. Topher rolled his eyes.

" 'I love him, and I want to marry him! We will hunt you many tigers and make you many grandbabies.'

"So Powhatan thought about that," Wes drawled. "He thought about getting a striped tigerskin every month and bouncing a new freckled grandbaby on his knee every year. He decided that would be a pretty fair trade. So he let Captain John keep his hair, and he let Pocahontas marry John. And that's why, to this day, you can still find a freckled Indian or two living in Virginny."

He grinned at the end of his tale, and all the children clapped and cheered except for Topher.

"I liked it better when Captain John was wrassling tigers," the boy said.

"Me too," Po said, jumping up and down on Wes's knee. "More stories, Unca Wes."

Chuckling, Ginevee hung up her apron. "It's bedtime for you, young man."

She deftly scooped up the toddler in midbounce. Po's look of astonishment quickly vanished, and his wail drowned out Nita and Merrilee as they thanked Wes and said their good-nights.

"I'll tuck you all in after I help Topher study," Rorie said, not missing a single, sneaking footstep the boy was taking toward the back door.

He muttered an oath and stalked into the dining room.

Wes had been thoroughly enjoying himself, and he felt a pang of disappointment to see his audience go. He looked hopefully at Rorie, thinking she might linger over her half-finished coffee, but she was gathering up her sewing in preparation to leave the room.

His earlier wistfulness struck him full force as he imagined returning to the solitude of that big lonely barn. Especially after Rorie's tender ministrations to his bee sting earlier that afternoon.

"So what did you think of my story?" he asked, trying to hold on to that sweet, homey feeling for just a few minutes longer.

She cast him a sideways glance, her lashes fanning down over the mirth in her eyes. "Well, it was certainly interesting. But that's not exactly the way the historians tell it."

"It's not?"

"No, it's not. Tigers in Virginia. Really. And Pocahontas was only twelve years old when she met John Smith. I assure you they never got married. It was a bunch of romantic nonsense, and I'll thank you not to fill the children's heads with it."

Wes chuckled. "So romance is nonsense, eh?" When she looked back down at her sewing, obviously discomfited by his teasing, he added, "You have to admit Captain John knew how to spin a yarn. Take that bit about Pocahontas throwing herself in front of the tomahawk that was meant for him. Chances are that Captain John Smith fella filled the history books with a whole lot more nonsense than that."

Rorie glanced up from her basket, one eyebrow raised in amused challenge. "Oh? Don't you think a woman is capable of saving a man's life?"

"Sure I do. A woman saved my life once." His heart beat a little irregularly at the memory. "Never one to rest on her laurels, though, Fancy went on and saved Cord's and Zack's lives too. Thanking her didn't hardly seem like enough after that, not when a lady as smart and brave as Fancy was on the loose, so we decided one of us should marry her. We elected Cord."

Rorie's astute, curious eyes met his own. "So Fancy's your sister-in-law?"

"Yeah, that's right." In spite of his best efforts, his voice thickened with the old hurt. "Fancy's family now." He hastily donned a cocksure grin to throw Rorie off track. "I reckon you'd like Fancy. She's always been fond of drawing her gun on a man, same as you."

Rorie made a wry face. "I suppose you won't let me live that down any time soon."

She rose, and he rose with her, pleased to see she hadn't flown into one of her prim-and-proper snits at his jest. Now more than ever, he was reluctant to let her slip away when they finally seemed to be on civil terms. After all, he had a hundred questions that needed answers—and a loneliness that ached for relief.