Adrienne deWolfe (55 page)

The day after the burial, he announced that he would sell the farm and put the money toward his schooling at Prairie View Negro College.

Creed, too, was anxious to leave behind Elodea and its heartbreaking memories. Although he planned to return for his father's trial, Creed confided when he retrieved his brother from Rorie's care that he still had an aunt and a couple of cousins in Louisiana. He planned to see that Danny got a proper upbringing—and a couple more years in a schoolhouse.

Danny hadn't been too happy with that plan, but he had gotten excited when Creed mentioned the prospect of hunting alligators to earn a living.

As for Merrilee, she seemed a little sad to see Danny go, even though he still pulled her braids, called her feather duster, and goaded Topher into a brawling fit at least once every hour.

"Mama," she'd said, and it warmed Rorie's insides whenever Merrilee called her that, "do you think Danny and Topher will ever be friends?"

Rorie hid her smile from the child, who snuggled beside her on the bed with her drawing papers and pen.

"Well, sweetheart, stranger things have happened."

Merrilee seemed to consider this for a moment, then sighed and shook her head.

"Danny should stay away from alligators. They have too many teeth."

She proceeded to draw a ferocious, reptilian jaw beneath small, beady eyes. Rorie was a little surprised by the accuracy of the child's drawing. To her knowledge, Merrilee had never seen a live alligator, and Rorie was certain none of her books had pictures of one.

Before she could ask the child from where she'd gotten her inspiration, Merrilee turned the page over and began drawing something new. A likeness of the magnolia in Rorie's vase began to appear beneath the child's pen.

"I'm glad you talked to Mama before she went away," Merrilee said solemnly.

Rorie started. Merrilee's mama had gone away? The poor child, she must have finally accepted her parents' deaths. No doubt Ethan's browbeating had weighed more heavily on Merrilee's thoughts than Rorie had first imagined.

She brushed a stray hair from the child's brow, which was furrowed in deep concentration as she sketched the flower.

"Do you... miss your mama, Merrilee?"

She shook her head, her expression turning wistful as she drew. "Mama—I mean, my old mama"—she smiled shyly up at Rorie—"says I don't need her anymore. She says I have you now to teach me things, and Uncle Wes too. But Mama says she'll come back to help me, if I ever need her again."

A lump filled Rorie's throat. She didn't want to replace the child's mother, and yet, was it wrong of her to be pleased that Merrilee had finally accepted her as something more than a caretaker?

"I'm sure your mama will always stay close so she can watch over you, Merrilee. That's what angels do."

Merrilee nodded happily. "I know. I like angels. Does your baby have an angel to watch over him too?"

Rorie's jaw dropped. If the child had asked her about the birds and the bees, Rorie couldn't have been more stunned. No one knew about her baby except Fancy and Ginevee, and she'd sworn them to secrecy. They'd seemed to understand her need for circumspection, her reluctance to celebrate a miracle that might have been lost, so she couldn't imagine that either woman had discussed her condition in front of the men or the children.

"Merrilee," she asked hesitantly, "how did you know about my baby?"

The child smiled softly, gazing up at her with that older-than-her-years wisdom that never failed to mystify Rorie.

"My old mama told me before she said good-bye."

* * *

"Rider coming!"

Rorie's heart still jolted every time Topher bellowed the warning cry. Now, as she watched him leap off the fence, his face starbright with elation, her stomach did a somersault.

"It's Uncle Wes!"

With a wave and a whoop, Topher charged off to intercept Two-Step almost as fast as Rorie's pulse was racing. She heard the front door slam as Fancy and Ginevee came outside with Po; Merrilee and Nita dropped their dolls to run for the drive; the men all set aside their guns and strolled from the porch into the yard.

Rorie drew a shaky breath. Kneeling in the twilight beneath Maggie's cooling shade, she gazed down at her gloves, stained with damp, fertile earth, and the bucket of seed pods she'd been gathering. The minute Shae had announced his intention to sell the farm, she knew she had to collect every flower the tree dropped. Magnolia saplings weren't likely to thrive on a dusty cattle ranch, but she would plant hundreds of them and hope that one—at least one—would prove as hearty as Mrs. Boudreau's sweetheart tree.

Of course, Rorie had concocted this plan based on the premise that Wes still wished to marry her. "I need to work Rangering out of my blood," he'd once told her. Had arresting Hannibal Dukker cooled Wes's gunfighter's passion, or had the old thrill fired up again?

Two weeks. She'd waited two nerve-racking weeks to know. In that time, her cuts and bruises had healed. She and Merrilee had, miraculously, suffered nothing more debilitating than head colds from their trauma in the storm.

Spared from fever, or worse, pneumonia, Rorie had been acutely lucid, which meant that she hadn't been able to escape a plague of worry. Breathlessly, anxiously, she'd waited every day for the dreaded contractions, the spotting, the evidence of her miscarriage.

But after fourteen days without her woman's courses, she'd dared to conclude her baby was healthy.

She was healthy, too, except for an occasional bout of nausea. Rather than fretting, though, she rejoiced in those episodes now. She just prayed Wes would.

Marrying a woman with four children and a fifth child on the way would surely be daunting to a young man who'd spent as much time as he had on the roam. She'd consider herself fortunate when she broke the news if he didn't vault back into the saddle and gallop to the nearest saloon.

Rising nervously, she shook the mud clots from her knees, pulled off her gloves, and waited with twined fingers for him to finish greeting the others and come to her.

She didn't have to wait long. Excusing himself from his family, he covered the ground between them with long, purposeful strides. A rope was slung over his shoulder. The no-nonsense determination on his face made her stomach flutter. She lost some of her nerve.

"How was your trip?" she asked, reluctant to broach her news until she could better gauge his mood.

He halted, and the hint of a smile softened the businesslike gleam in his eyes. "It got a whole lot better once I rode up the drive."

"I suppose Dukker was a lot of trouble."

"I'm used to prisoners bellowing and cursing."

"Oh." She blushed. She didn't know why, but she sensed his comment had a double meaning, especially when he let a coil of rope slide to the ground.

She cleared her throat. "Creed said he would be back for the trial. After everything he and Danny have been through, I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's torn between testifying for Gator's and Lorelei's sakes, and keeping his father from hanging for Danny's. Dukker might have been the worst kind of villain, but he's still the boys' father."

Wes's jaw hardened the tiniest bit. "With Lorelei's and Faraday's affidavits, a jury won't need Creed's testimony to convict Dukker of murder."

He took another step closer, abruptly changing the subject. "Now that all the excitement's over, I've been meaning to ask you..."

Rorie caught her breath, her heart leaping. She'd been waiting for this moment, this question, for weeks.

"Just what did you write about me to my sister-in-law?"

She blinked, momentarily stunned. "You mean, the letter?" Air rushed back into her lungs, but she still felt deflated. Laughing weakly, she waved his question away. "I just told her you wanted to make amends, but that you didn't know how. And I said you would probably never forgive me for telling her so, but I couldn't bear to see you go on hurting."

She bit her lip, searching his face for signs of an impending explosion. "Does that make you angry?"

He folded his arms across his chest. In the fading light, with his hat's shadow falling cross his chiseled jaw, she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"If it did make me angry, would you sneak off with me to the shower bath tonight so we could make up?"

Her face heated a couple hundred degrees. Glancing over his shoulder, she spied his brothers and sister-in-law watching in unabashed amusement.

"You're joking, right?"

"Hell no. I don't ever joke about keeping the peace."

She grew even warmer, if that was possible.

"All right, woman, enough of this chitchat. Are you, or are you not, going to marry me?"

Her heart bumped. For a moment, she was so happy to hear him propose again that she couldn't even think.

"Before I say yes—" she swallowed, blinking hard so she wouldn't embarrass herself, "I have a confession to make."

"And what might that be?" he asked silkily, fingering the coils of his rope.

"Well, it seems that I'm... er..." She gulped a bolstering breath. "I'm not quite as barren as I once thought."

She waited anxiously, her heart in her hands, and watched the dawning of his realization. He stiffened, his eyes widened, and his chest rose with a huge breath and held. Grabbing her shoulders, he searched her face wildly for confirmation.

"You mean—?"

She nodded. "I'm having your baby, Wes."

The widest grin she'd ever seen slowly split his face. "When?"

"In about seven months."

His whoop startled her. He picked her up and spun her around. She gasped, then laughed, her feet flying out from under her. Her pulse was soaring when he set her back on the ground, and he kissed her hungrily, making her dizzy and breathless all over again.

"You know what this means?" he asked, nibbling on her ear.

She was tingling from head to toe. "No, what?"

"I don't fire any blanks."

"Wes!"

He laughed and spun her around again. She giggled, clinging to his neck, too happy to heed the conventions. For once, her heart was in control, and when he hugged her closer, she couldn't imagine why she'd ever let logic guide her instead of love.

"Boys," he shouted, pulling off his hat and waving it at his brothers, "there're going to be five new additions to the Rawlins family." He grinned, tossing her a sideways glance. "Make that six."

She pressed her palms to her face, and Topher, racing ahead of the others, joined them beneath the magnolia tree.

"What's going on?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Well, son—" Wes squatted, gathering all of the children around him, "seems like you, Nita, Merrilee, and Po—and Shae and Ginevee too, if they're of the same mind—are going to come live with me and Miss Rorie. Only I reckon you can't call her ' 'Miss' anymore. I reckon you'll have to call her 'Mama.' "

Merrilee tugged shyly on his jeans. "Does that mean we can call you 'Papa'?"

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't have it any other way."

He hugged them all, winked at Cord, then rose to slap Zack on the shoulder.

"Son, it looks like you're gonna have some catching up to do."

Zack laughed good naturedly, congratulating her on the engagement. Cord and Fancy took their turns, then Shae and Ginevee hugged her.

Wes didn't let his family monopolize her for long, though. Taking her by the hand, he hurried her back to Two-Step as if he were a renegade running from the law. She laughed at him as he boosted her into the saddle.

"You aren't afraid I'll change my mind, are you?"

"Nope." He vaulted up behind her, his mustache tickling her ear. "It's the shivaree," he whispered in mock dread. "After the things I did to Cord on his wedding night, those boys are going to hound us but good."

"But we're not even married yet!"

"Yeah? Try telling them that."

He wrapped his arm around her waist, and a delicious shiver gusted down her spine. "Besides," he drawled, "I have a surprise waiting for my sweetheart by the blackberry bush."

She knew she'd reddened at the earthy promise in his voice, but she was too elated to care. He loved her, he wanted her, and he'd given her everything she'd ever dreamed of having.

Since he'd come into her life with his devilish laugh, his wicked flirtations, and his fallen-angel's smile, her days had been a series of miracles, one right after the other. She was a woman who counted her blessings. She would cherish him until the end of her days, and if he chose to continue Rangering, she would find some way to accept his decision. After all, she understood the importance of having dreams and making them come true.

As if reading her thoughts, he slipped a hand behind her, fishing in the pocket of his vest.

"Hey, Topher!"

"Yeah, Pa?"

"I've got something for you."

A flash of metal tumbled in the fading light, and Topher caught the object in his hand. His eyes grew as round as silver dollars when he gazed down at his palm.