Daughters of the Heart (27 page)

Sofia put the gun on the little table next to the bed. “Please, Bubba, I don’t want to stay here by myself.”

He stopped at the door, turned around, then smiled. “Baby, you’re in a fort. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“What about you? What if you don’t come back?”

He held his arms out, and she ran into his embrace. He hugged her tight, kissed the top of her head, then held her at arm’s length. “We’re not going that far. I’ll be back before breakfast.”

She hated it all. Him bringing her to Texas. Old Bull’s horrible plan to kidnap one of Henry’s daughters. “Please let me go. I don’t want to stay here by myself.”

His eyes hardened, and he bit his bottom lip as though thinking about hurting her. “I been nice, but you’re staying. And that’s that. Now if anyone but me comes to this door, you know what to do.”

She nodded, but no way was she going to shoot anyone. They hung slaves first then talked about it later.

“Lock the door behind me and prop that chair under the handle.”

“Yes, Massuh.”

He glared, but instead of the usual backhand her uppity sass-mouth brought, he just shook his head then strolled out the door. She hated him and his father for making him come all that way to ride out and meet a bunch of blood thirsty Comancheros. She locked the door, tilted the chair under the knob, then flopped on the bed. What was she going to do?  

The axe sliced through the chunk
of sawed oak. Clay wiggled its head free from the chop stump then raised it again. His whole life, he’d hated it being his job to keep his mama’s cookstove’s wood box full.

And yet there he was, axe in hand. He swung again. The two pieces flew off the stump.

He retrieved both, split them again, then tossed them into the cart. He raised the axe. A threatening growl pulled him around.

A horse that looked a lot like Henry Buckmeyer’s black stallion pulled a surrey that could pass for the one the man drove to town on a Sunday. The rig approached at a rather brisk pace.

He glanced at the dog. “I see them, boy.”

Clay leaned the axe next to the chopping stump, grabbed his jacket, and strolled toward the porch. The surrey passed the turnoff to Jake’s place. Once it reached the home field, an arm raised and waved.

Why was Henry Buckmeyer all the way out there? Ma said the man had sent his condolences, but only Wallace and Rebecca Rusk had made it to the funeral.

Did he have news of Elijah? Maybe there’d been an accident.

Clay reached the porch and hollered, without taking his eyes off the surrey. “Ma, we have company.”

The surrey passed that field where he could see a little clearer. Henry, alright. The man himself drove, and had to be Miss May sitting next to him.

No! His heart skipped a beat.

Next to her pa sat Gwendolyn Belle. Henry reined the black to a stop, set the brake, jumped down, then helped his daughter out.

“Clay, Gwen would like a word.” The man tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Mis’ess Briggs.”

A glance over his shoulder confirmed his mother stood in the door, wiping her hands on her apron. He looked back. Gwen stood next to the surrey, holding her little clutch, all demure.

Except it probably concealed a dagger inside to finish the job she’d done on his heart.

A smile of sorts appeared to welcome him, but her eyes held concern, no happy sparkle, distorting the almost smile even more. Well, she shouldn’t be. She’d made her choice, and a bad one.

What could have brought her all the way out there? He eased down the steps as Henry passed. The man patted his shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

Clay stopped a respectable distance from her.

“What are you doing here, Gwendolyn?”

Her chin dropped to her chest and her hands fell to her sides, her purse dangling. Though she practiced at least a hundred times what to say, when she looked back up, the pain in his eyes teared her own.

She blinked them back and opened her mouth, but no words came. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I was so wrong, Clay. I don’t love Braxton. Never did.”

“Guess it’s too late to be figuring that out now, Mis’ess Hightower.”

“No, we’re aren’t married. I didn’t love him.”

“Isn’t what your letter claimed.”

“I know, but I was wrong. You’d run off to California and hadn’t written –”

“Wrote you every day.”

“Well…you see…I thought.…” If only she’d known. “Just another thing I was wrong about, but I know the truth now. But Mister Broomfield died and –”

His eyes flashed. “What does that old geezer have to do with anything?”

“Well, a new mail clerk lady put Mary’s package of letters in his slot. Broomfield…Buckmeyer. If he’d been alive, the mistake would have been caught so much sooner. And Braxton, well…his missives arrived every week. Full of lies I know now, but he was supposedly off helping the Sisters of Mercy care for the widows and orphans. He sent gifts….”

Couldn’t he throw her a bone or something? Surely he could tell how hard it was. “And you were –”

“Yes, I went to California. You want to know why?”

She did, but more than that she wanted him to say he still loved her and was willing to court her again. Make her daddy give his blessing to their union. “It doesn’t make any difference now, does it? What I want is you, Clay, and you alone.”

“Why? Hightower scorn you? Turn you down? That why you’re here?”

One hand went to her hip. “No, he lied. Over and over again, he bore false witness. The whole thing was his father’s plan for revenge against Daddy, and Braxton played his puppet. Hightower isn’t even his real name. It’s Glover. He still wanted to marry me, but for all the wrong reasons. Bless God that we found out his true colors.”

“Glover? Why did he lie about his name?”

“Bull Glover is his father.”

Realization came to his eyes. “Oh.” He backed away a step. “I need to think about all this.”

“Come back with us, please. Elijah’s at the house. He’s the one told me you were here and didn’t get my second letter.”

“No, I promised Jake I’d help around here until he and the brothers get the plowing done. Only reason I haven’t already left.”

She closed her eyes. Proved hard to even look at him, wanted him to hold her so much. Couldn’t he tell her that everything would be peaches and cream now and confirm that he still loved her?

Filling her lungs, she opened them again. “Keeping your word is good, but just as soon as you can come see to me, will you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I love you, Clay Briggs. If I wasn’t such a ninny, I’d have known it all along.”

For too long, he just stood there staring at her like he couldn’t get past the pain she’d inflicted on him—even enough to tell her his heart.

If only she could make him understand what a horrible mistake it had all been…and that the one little kiss she’d given Braxton didn’t mean anything.

“Gwen, you get in here right this minute to help me with supper. Your daddy’s getting hungry. Clay, you see to Mister Henry’s horse and buggy. And bring me in some more wood for the stove.”

He turned around. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned back, his face softer. “Best do as she says, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Gwen knew Clay’s mother’s reputation—sort of—never spent much time around her except at church and in town now and again over the years, but she bossed everyone like she was queen of the Red River County.

One of the church ladies caused a big hullabaloo at one dinner on the grounds over not being her slave, then never came back.

Bossy might not be a strong enough word.

Even tried to tell Henry Buckmeyer how things were going to be—to Clay’s obvious horror.

After supper, Gwen could sleep with the lady of the house, and her father could pick any room he wanted, except Clay’s because that bed fit the boy. But she wouldn’t hear a word about them going the twelve miles back to Rebecca and Wallace’s.

Far as she was concerned, it was settled, and that was that. Pride swelled her heart at how well Daddy handled her.

After dishes, staying over did allow her and Clay a bit of time together in the old lady’s sewing room.

Of course with the door open, and her daddy and Mis’ess Briggs right in the next room, out of earshot but with four eyes on them hard. She couldn’t have been better chaperoned if all the deacons from church sat the Briggs’ supper table.

Clay only sat, obviously conflicted over his thoughts and what to say. He remained silent.

She glanced at the old folks then leaned in a bit. “Why did you run off to California?”

Cut his eyes first toward her then his mother, he shrugged. “Would you want to live in this house with her?”

“No. I see, but I’ve already picked out where I want our house to be built.”

“Oh, you have?” He stifled a chuckle.

“Well, if you agree, that is. But what’s wrong with that? Why’s it funny? It’s one of my favorite spots on the place.”

“Thing is, I am going back to San Francisco. I have a great job there waiting, and I love the state, the Pacific. It’s beautiful there.”

What? She never dreamed he would want to live anywhere but Texas. “But…why?”

“Same reason I went in the first place. Never wanted to farm or ranch or log. For sure I’m sick of being the baby. What else is there here?”

“Me, I’m here. I don’t know what else, but California is the other side of the world.”

“Not really. There’s talk of running the stage across the mountains, might cut a week off the trip. But traveling by steamer isn’t half bad.” He grinned then looked over her head like he remembered something—or someone—pleasant.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Jake and Clovey are moving back in once he gets the plowing down, then I’m gone back. No matter what. I’ve already got my ticket and never unpacked my bags.”

She didn’t know what to say. Live in California? What about Cecelia, and Crockett and the new baby? But then Mary Rachel lived there. The thought of him leaving again without her tore at her heart.

Could she really live so far away from home? She hated it all to pieces, all the while contemplating the change in him.

Tickled her some. She liked it though. He wasn’t a boy anymore.

She liked the grown up Clay. “I saw Jasper at church right after you left. He’s getting so big. Had to look twice, your nephew looks so much like you did the first time I noticed your handsome self.”

“Coming fourteen this summer. You were…what? Seven when I was his age?”

“Sounds about right. I remember Jake only had eyes for Rebecca, and of course that made Clover see red. Mary Rachel and I pestered Rebecca something fierce until she explained what was going on. Nothing, she assured us. Your big brother just didn’t measure up to Daddy. Pure and simple. Not that anyone really ever did.”

“I think Jake still has feelings for her, probably always will. He’s happy enough with Clover. She’s made him a good wife. But don’t tell Mary Rachel I said that.”

“She knows it. Half the valley came to her wedding heartsick that she’d agreed to marry Wallace and left Jake out in the cold. I think the other half let out a big sigh of relief that she’d finally fallen in love.”

He grinned then stood and extended his hand. “Best call it a night, Ma will be up with the chickens and wanting something from us all.”

True to her son’s words, the woman did want something from her, but it wasn’t scrambling eggs or stirring the gravy. The elder wanted a promise Gwen couldn’t give.

“I don’t know if I could change his mind.”

“Oh, sure you can. Pretty as you are?”

“He says he’s going back, no matter what.”