Brazos Bride (2 page)

As the eldest brother, Joel was the most serious of the brothers, yet still hadn’t decided when or where he wanted to settle or if he’d choose politics. He smiled less than Micah or Zach, but a better man than Joel had never been born. Joel had led Micah’s defense in the dark hours Micah had been falsely accused and jailed for killing Alfredo Montoya.

Whatever people thought about the Stone family, Micah admitted he’d have been lost without his brothers’ help these past few months. Though Micah loved this land, he was close to surrender. He’d filed on his section and bought an adjoining section from a man pulling out. Exhaustion erased the pleasure of owning his own spread. Micah wondered if he should have left too. Would he outlast this drought? Would his cattle survive?

Scrub oaks and mesquite trees dotted acres of dried up grass. An occasional stand of live oaks offered more substantial shade but not much relief from the dust. High, wooded hills of the Palo Pinto Mountains were visible on the western and northern horizons. The nearest large peak was Stone Mountain, the location of Zach’s ranch. Ravines held nothing but cedars and sand, and there was no water hereabouts until the Brazos River. Montoya’s five strands of barbed wire denied Micah’s cattle access to that river.

At the other side of the current excavation, Joel ceased digging and flexed his shoulders. “With this much mud, we’re sure to hit water soon.” He took a swig from his canteen and cast a glance at the endless blue overhead. “Not a dad-blamed cloud in sight. Hellfire and damnation, is it ever gonna rain?”

"Nothing here but dust and heat. Even a good breeze would help." Against his will, Micah followed his brother’s glare at the relentless summer sky, but movement caught his attention. “Rider coming. Lord, I hope it’s not more trouble.” He’d already had his fill and then some, more than enough to last this lifetime.

He soon recognized John Henderson, owner of the local newspaper. Micah leaned on his shovel and watched John gallop across the parched range. When John reined in near the brothers, he took off his hat and swiped his handkerchief across his forehead.

“
Scorcher again today. Found water yet?”

Micah shook his head. “Nope, nothing but mud. Gotta be water under it somewhere.” Micah tugged his hat brim lower to shade his eyes while he looked up. He assessed John's business clothes then met his friend’s gaze.

Joel spoke before Micah could. “You here for the newspaper or being sociable?”

In spite of the fact that most locals still considered Micah guilty of Alfredo Montoya’s murder, the Henderson family’s friendship had won them Micah’s undying loyalty. John was among the few locals who’d publicly defended Micah’s innocence and had offered support before the acquittal two months ago.

John tucked his handkerchief into his pocket. “Delivering a message for you from Hope Montoya.”

Micah’s gut clenched. “For me? From...from Hope Montoya?” He never thought he’d see the day she contacted him.

Her name fit her, and hope fit his part of their relationship. Not that Hope knew they had one. Micah cursed himself for pining after a woman he could never have, but he couldn’t help longing for the graceful, elegant beauty.

“
Yep. Hope’s in town visiting Theresa. Waiting for you at our place.”

“
Waiting for me
?” Micah knew he sounded like a damn fool, repeating everything John said. “What for? I haven't seen her since the trial."

John shook his head. “Don’t know. I’ve been married to Theresa long enough to give up trying to figure out women.” He fished an envelope out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Micah. “Reckon it says in here.”

“
Dang, John, this thing’s so sweaty the ink’s likely run together.” In spite of his comment to his friend, irrational joy spread through Micah.
Hope had written him a letter.
He opened it and took out a single sheet of damp paper. He read the delicately formed script.

Mr. Stone,

I know you are desperate for water. It is urgent that we meet today. I await you at the Henderson home. Please return to town with John so we may discuss a solution to your water problem and to a problem of my own. Please come! Urgency and discretion are essential.

Hope Montoya

Urgency essential
? That damn sure described his need for water, but what kind of problem could she have?

Micah lowered the letter and looked at his brothers. A glimmer of light blossomed in his heart, but he didn’t dare relax his guard. Disappointment had pummeled him too many times.

“
She wants me to meet her at the Hendersons’ right away and discuss a plan to get water for the cattle. Maybe she’s convinced her uncle to honor her father’s agreement after all.”

Joel stomped on his shovel and dug into the muck. “Lord, I hope so. Get going and see what she has to say.”

Zach looked up and winked at Micah.

Accustomed to their eldest brother giving orders, Micah let Joel’s advice slide off him. Micah looked down at his mud-caked clothes, took in his body’s reek. “Don’t reckon the lady would approve of me tromping in looking and smelling like I do.”

John shook his head. “Neither Theresa nor Mama would appreciate you showing up in the parlor like that. Best knock off at least some of that mud.”

“
Yeah, I’ll go to the cabin before I ride into town.” Micah set his spade against a scrub oak. His weary muscles protested the extra weight of the mire hugging his boots. He beat at his denim britches and stomped a few clods off his feet, then climbed onto his horse. He reined in near his brothers. ”You two coming?”

Joel shook his head. “You’re the one who’s been mooning after her. Besides, she didn’t invite us. I’ll stay here and keep at this. Slim and Bert’ll be back from Zach’s place soon with the water barrels. No, wait.” Joel paused in his digging and turned to Zach. “You ought to go along in case this is one of her uncle’s tricks.”

Zach rubbed his chin while he thought it over, slapped Joel on the back. "Hate to interrupt this much fun, but it couldn't hurt to cover Micah’s back. Some of his good neighbors might take him being alone as a gift." He leaned his shovel near Micah’s and mounted his horse.

Micah and Zach rode off, with John trailing them. Back at the cabin, Micah peeled off his shirt and dunked his head, shoulders, and arms into the horse trough. Zach did the same. After a hasty change of clothes, they followed John into town.

In his mind Micah went over the words of her note.
Urgency and discretion are essential
.
Again he wondered what new problem had arisen that forced Hope to contact him. Not anything financial. She’d inherited one of the largest ranches in North Texas and the fat cattle that grazed there. Probably had a bank full of cash, too. He tried to think of something else serious enough to trouble her.

The Good Lord knew he had a desperate need for water. Even with his brothers’ help, how much longer could they hold out? Seeing his cattle die daily from thirst when the river lay only a quarter of a mile across Montoya land ate holes in his heart.

Shaking his head, he concentrated on weaving his way through other riders and wagons on Radford Crossing’s main street. The town was growing, and boasted boardwalks in front of the few stores. The Mercantile looked busy with two wagons being loaded with supplies. As they passed the saloon, Micah heard someone pounding out a cheerful tune on the piano.

No one called a friendly greeting to him and Zach, or even smiled. Sheriff Ryan, who stood talking to another man, watched with narrowed eyes as the two Stone brothers rode by. No doubt the sheriff still believed Micah guilty of Alfredo Montoya’s murder, regardless of the trial’s verdict.

Micah ignored the glares of several people they passed. Instead, he wondered what it’d be like seeing Hope again. Did she believe he’d killed her father? Had she listened to all the talk against him? By the time they arrived at the house where John and his wife Theresa lived with John’s parents, Judge and Mrs. Tom Henderson, Micah’s misgivings almost outweighed his curiosity. Although a circuit judge had ruled at Micah’s trial, Judge Henderson packed plenty of influence hereabouts and had spoken in his defense.

John rode around to the Henderson barn, but Micah and Zach stopped at the hitching post near the front gate. Micah dismounted, then took off his hat and slicked back his hair with his fingers. Dang, he wished he’d made time to shave. Both he and Zach looked more like they’d come to rob the bank than visit a fine lady in Judge Henderson’s home. He stood staring at the gray frame house, wondering why Hope needed his help. He registered the white gingerbread trim across the porch’s roof, the white rail across the front, the two chairs near a wooden swing, the bowed window on the house’s other side.

Zach started through the gate, then stopped and turned. “You rethinking this, or you going inside?”

Micah gathered his courage. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see what she has to say.” He strode up the walk, onto the porch, and knocked.

Chapter Three

Theresa Henderson opened the door. Inside the house, Micah’s heart hit his boots when he saw Hope. One of the first things he’d noticed the day they met was her thick, glossy black hair that shone with red and gold in the light. Now it looked dull even in the sunshine pouring through the window.

Her robust beauty had reminded him of a china doll with rosy cheeks, full pink lips, and smooth-as-satin skin. Today she offered him a thin smile that failed to light her wide eyes. Dark circles shadowed her cheeks beneath her sad gaze. The rose colored chair she sat in contrasted to her skin, creating an effect that more resembled a death mask than the vibrant woman he recalled.

Remembering her striking figure, he thought she had lost at least twenty pounds. He reckoned he did a poor job of hiding his shock because, when she met his gaze, her sherry brown eyes shone with what he took for understanding tinged with sadness.

His dirty hat clutched to his chest, he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Miss Montoya, you sent for me?”

“
Thank you for coming, Mr. Stone.”

Back straight and head high, she sat with her delicate hands folded on her lap. Whatever was on her mind didn't stop her from conducting herself like a queen. But then, she'd always been an elegant lady. Too good for a man like him.

Theresa indicated the rose velvet sofa. “Please, won’t you gentlemen sit down? Mother Henderson asked you to excuse her absence, but she's supervising something in the kitchen.”

Micah nodded. That explained the tempting aromas that reminded him that he and his brothers had hardly taken time for breakfast before sunup. "John said he needed to get back to the newspaper office. He'll work through until the paper's ready to print."

Theresa laughed. “As I expected. He lives there more than here.”

Zach perched on one end of the fancy sofa as if he feared it would break. Micah took the other end with as much caution. He and his brother were each big men packed with plenty of muscle. When he didn’t hear cracking wood, he exhaled and eased back.

Though Hope’s eyes no longer sparkled, she smiled at him. His heartbeat increased and he offered her a grin. Damn, he probably looked like a sappy schoolboy. He sure as hell felt like one. His heart beat a tattoo and a tornado twirled through his stomach simply from being in the same room as Hope Montoya.

He hadn’t seen her since the horror of his court trial. “Your note—“

She held up her hand to stay further conversation. "Theresa and her mother-in-law have offered the judge's study to allow us privacy. Mr. Stone"—she glanced from Micah to his brother—“Mr. Micah Stone, perhaps you will offer your arm?"

Micah leapt up while Hope rose slowly and looped her hand around his arm. Her slight weight tugged when she leaned on him for support. He slowed his steps to match hers and she led him down a wide hall to the side of the house.

After they entered the judge's study, she sank onto a cushioned chair by the hearth. “Would you close the door, please?”

Micah complied then sat across from her.

“
First, please allow me to tell you why I am here.” As if she shared his tension, she toyed with the folds of a silky skirt the color of spring lilacs. Her fingers made nervous little pleats in the fabric and then smoothed them out.

"My friend Ramona, my aunt and uncle, and the doctor say I have the same sickness that took my mother's life, but I disagree to a point." Her gaze met his. “Someone has been poisoning me. I think whatever the killer used was put in my food or medicine for several months. But then, perhaps the same thing happened to my mother." She paused, breathing heavily from the exertion of talking.

Micah raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s poison?”

“
Lying in bed all day, one has a lot of time to mull over things." She offered a sad smile. "But in case I only wished it to be poison instead of a fatal illness, I tested my theory.”

“
You have proof?" He pushed down his anger at the idea of anyone evil enough to poison a fine lady like her.

She shrugged. “Of sorts.” Pausing frequently to rest, she explained how she’d secretly tested her theory by replacing her food and medicine. Finally, she rested her head against the back of the chair and pressed her lips together. The little color left in her skin had faded to greenish-gray.