Heart of a Texan (4 page)

During the next two hours Nate talked in spurts, sometimes in short angry bursts and other times with a sense of helpless doom. She learned that Caleb was his brother and that he was dead. She couldn’t decide whether Laveau diViere had killed Caleb or had just been responsible for his death. She did know Nate hated diViere with a vehemence that caused his temperature to spike.

Three hours later, Roberta was so tired she could barely stay awake. She was afraid the doctor would arrive in the morning to find Nate suffering from a raging fever while she was asleep in the chair. Her back ached. Her shoulders were in knots. Her hands were shriveled from so much time in water. She barely stifled one yawn before another took hold. She found herself dozing off, the damp cloth slipping from her grasp. Once she nearly let the pan slip off her lap. Despite going through a half dozen pans of water, Nate’s fever didn’t break. If nothing else worked, she’d start pouring basins of water over his whole body.

At first, Nate’s ramblings had helped to keep her awake, but he said the same things so many times she stopped listening. So it was a jolt when she heard him say
fire.
He repeated the word several times without saying anything else. What did he mean? Had he seen a fire? Had he set a fire? Had he been in a fire?

“Got to help Robert.”

Roberta sat bolt upright, all thought of sleep forgotten.

“Got to help Robert.”

There was no mistaking what his words meant. He’d seen the fire and had come to help her father. She had shot an innocent man.

If Roberta hadn’t been on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, she might have been horrified by what she’d done. As it was, she felt little more than the deadening weight of guilt. All she could do now was sit up with Nate until his fever broke. After that, she’d see what she could do about learning to live with herself.

***

“Wake up. What kind of nurse are you?”

Someone was shaking Roberta. She mumbled in protest, hoping they would go away and let her sleep.

“Young woman, I order you to wake up this instant. You’ve got Crazy Joe pulling apart what’s left of your barn, and a sick man in need of his breakfast. There’s no time to sleep in a chair that will probably ruin your back.”

Roberta fought off the deadening weight of sleep that threatened to pull her into unconsciousness once more. She recognized the doctor’s voice. She just couldn’t open her eyes to see him.

“He had a fever,” she managed to say. “I meant to change the sheets, but…” She opened her eyes, and blinked at the doctor. “I must have fallen asleep after his fever broke.”

“How long were you up?”

“I remember it was getting light.”

“Then you can’t have had more than two hours of sleep. Take yourself off to bed. Crazy Joe is working for you.”

“I’ve got to help him.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Your father’s being buried this morning. Give Crazy Joe whatever instructions he needs, then get back in here and eat breakfast before you dress for the funeral. I’ll drive you into town.”

“Why is Joe here? Who told him to come?”

“You’ll have to ask him. I can never get more than two words out of him. Sometimes not that many.”

Roberta struggled to her feet. Most people didn’t understand Joe. He wasn’t crazy. He was just slow. He was also big, powerful, and able to understand when people made fun of him. People had learned to leave him alone.

Roberta dragged herself past the rows of ruined crops until she reached the barn. The men from town had managed to save the roof and two sides. The third side was badly damaged, but the fourth was gone. Joe was pulling down the charred timbers.

“What are you doing?” Roberta asked.

“Miss Prudence told Joe to fix your barn,” Joe replied. “She said everybody else is afraid. Joe is not afraid.”

“I know you’re not, but I want you to do something else.”

“Did Joe do something wrong?”

“Of course not. I just want you to go through the fields and set up the plants that are still alive.”

“Joe is good with plants.”

Joe tended Prudence’s garden. It made other gardens in Slender Creek look like wasteland.

“I have to go to town for my father’s funeral, but I’ll help you when I get back.”

“Joe doesn’t like funerals.”

Joe had been forced to watch both parents and his sister be buried. Whenever there was a funeral in town, Joe would hide. “You don’t have to go. I’ll fix us something to eat when I get back.”

“Miss Annie feeds Joe. He’s not hungry.”

Roberta had never understood why Joe spoke of himself in the third person. Maybe if he could talk about Joe like he was another person, he didn’t have to feel the pain of
being
Joe.

“I really appreciate your help,” Roberta told Joe, “but you have to work at the saloon.”

“Miss Prudence said Joe was to stay here. She said she didn’t care if the saloon dried up and blew away. Joe doesn’t want the saloon to blow away. Joe likes the saloon.”

“I’ll talk to Prudence when I’m in town.”

“Joe does what Miss Prudence tells Joe to do.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Joe is good with plants.”

Maybe Joe should have been the farmer.

***

Roberta was surprised that nearly everyone in town turned out for her father’s funeral. She was not surprised most of them left without speaking to her.

“Prudence went door to door,” Mrs. Pender explained with one of her rare smiles. “People are more afraid of her than the ranchers.”

Yet it was the ranchers who offered their condolences. Some volunteered to help clear away the remains of the barn. It was hard to accept their false sympathy without saying any of the things that burned on the end of her tongue, but she was determined her revenge would be in deeds rather than words.

“Thanks for your offer, but I’ll worry about the barn later,” she told Frank Porter, a self-important little man who bullied his wife and three daughters. “Joe and I are busy trying to save my crops.”

“I was told everything had been destroyed,” his wife said.

“Not everything. I’m hoping I’ll have enough to feed myself until I can replant.”

“You’re keeping the farm?” Frank Porter asked.

“Of course. It was my father’s dream, and I intend to see it fulfilled.”

“You can’t do that without water.”

“There’s plenty of water in the creek.”

Frank Porter turned red in the face. “Are you saying you plan to rebuild the dam?”

“I’m not saying I
won’t
rebuild it,” she replied.

“Are you crazy?” Frank exclaimed. “You know somebody will just blow it up again.”

That was too much. The tight rein she’d kept on her temper snapped. “My father’s dead. Will you have your men kill me this time?”

Frank’s wife gasped in shock. He turned still redder. “I had nothing to do with your father’s death.”

“My father’s
murder
. Let’s make sure we use the right words.”

“Regardless of how he died, I had nothing to do with it.”

She spun around to face some of the others waiting to speak to her. “How about you, Ches Hale? Was it your men in those masks?” She didn’t wait for an answer before turning to Ezra Kemp. “Are your men good at setting fires, or are they better at trampling crops?” Ezra sputtered with rage, but she turned to Jess Reilly, the man who’d been most outspoken in his objection to her father’s dam. “Are you the one who shot my father?”

Each man furiously denied having any part in the attack.

“So who did kill my father and blow up his dam? I suppose you want me to believe some strangers happened to be wandering by and thought it would be fun to shoot up a farm.” She pointed a finger at Frank Porter then turned in a circle until she’d indicated every rancher present. “You’re the ones who blew up the first dam. You’re the ones who threatened my father when he decided to rebuild it. You’re the ones who tried to drive him out.” She turned on Mead Ryan. “You even tried to get the bank to foreclose on his property. When you found out my father owned his farm outright, you put pressure on Boone Riggins and everyone else in town to stop buying from him.”

“I’m not ashamed to admit it,” Mead blustered. “All of us depend on the water in that creek. Your father had no right to dam it, but I had nothing to do with what happened. I thought your father was a hardheaded fool who would fail if given enough time.”

“So when he didn’t fail soon enough, you decided to do something about it.”

“I didn’t kill your father.”

“I’m going to find out who’s responsible,” Roberta stated. “I don’t care if it’s one or all of you. When I do, I’m going to make sure you hang.”

“You’d better be careful what charges you throw at people,” Mead Ryan said.

Roberta walked up to him, looked him in the eye. “Are you threatening me? Is my house going to mysteriously catch fire one night, or are some more strangers going to wander by looking for someone to shoot?”

Mead backed away a step. “No decent man would lay a hand on a woman, but that don’t mean you can go around saying anything you want.”

“I’m saying someone killed my father. It wasn’t an accident. I saw it. I’m saying the ranchers are the only ones I know who had a reason to want the farm and the dam destroyed. I’m saying I intend to find out who’s responsible. If you know of any reason why I shouldn’t say those things, now would be a good time to tell me.”

“My husband couldn’t have had anything to do with it,” Mrs. Kemp said. “Our hands were at the ranch that night.”

“So were mine,” Ches Hale insisted. “I didn’t let them go into town because I wanted them up early the next morning.”

Alibis came at her from every direction, but Roberta didn’t back down. “The fact remains that someone
didn’t
stay home that night. Someone
did
attack our farm.”

“You don’t believe me?” Mrs. Kemp asked.

“Would you believe me if you were in my position?”

Mrs. Kemp paused. “No, I guess I wouldn’t, but our men were at the ranch that evening. We had a party for my son’s birthday.”

“Did you check to see that they were still at the ranch three hours after midnight?” Roberta asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then you don’t know they weren’t involved.”

***

Roberta had gotten through the funeral service without breaking down. Prudence had arranged everything beautifully, even telling the preacher what to say. Listening to the litany of praise from the pulpit made her quite proud to be his daughter. But her emotions took a sharp turn when she watched them lower her father’s casket into the ground. The finality of death was indisputable. He had ceased to exist in the only form in which she could know him.

With tears running down her cheeks, she endured the final words spoken at the graveside. She was shaken but stalwart when the first shovel of dirt hit her father’s coffin, but when a little girl dropped a single daisy into the open grave, she couldn’t hold back any longer. All the grief and loneliness came pouring out. She didn’t know when Prudence took her by the shoulders and led her to a chair. She didn’t know when the men finished filling in the grave. She was relieved when, after refusing several offers to rest in a home or accept a ride back to the farm, everyone except Prudence had left. It wasn’t easy to convince Prudence she wanted to walk the half mile to the farm by herself, but she was so insistent Prudence finally give in.

It had been one of those rare springs in south Texas when the rains had come in sufficient quantities and at regular intervals. With the scorching heat of summer held at bay, the earth was green, the skies clear, and the breeze soft and gentle. On such a day, in such a season, how was such tragedy possible?

She wouldn’t forget her father any more than she had forgotten her mother, but she couldn’t let his death weigh her down until she became mired in self-pity or in useless railing against his murderers. She had to rebuild the farm, and she had to find out who killed him. Only then could she decide what to do with the rest of her life.

The walk had been a good idea. The clear skies and warm sun helped to lighten the load of sadness that threatened to engulf her. The green of the prairie stretching around her on all sides held out the promise of new life. She had to begin again, acquire new skills, learn new lessons, but she wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t give up. If she did, they would win. By the time she reached the turn in the lane that brought her house into view, she was ready and eager to tackle the work ahead.

She was startled to see a man on horseback dismounting in front of her house. She was too far away to recognize, but he didn’t look like anyone she knew. Rather than climb the steps and knock on the door, he disappeared around the far side of the house. His movements gave the impression of stealth. That was odd. What was he looking for? Why did he feel he couldn’t approach the front door?

She didn’t like the feeling that was creeping along her spine. Nate was in the house alone and asleep. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would be looking for him, or why a man would be sneaking behind the house. Now she wished she’d accepted the sheriff’s offer to see her home, but it was too late for regrets.

She increased her pace. The longer the man remained out of sight, the more apprehensive she became. When he did reappear—looking through the window of the bedroom where Nate slept—she wasn’t reassured. He looked too long, his interest too riveted.

Now she was walking so fast she was almost running. The man was so focused on what he was doing, he didn’t appear to be aware that she was approaching. He left the window and walked around to the front of the house. As he ascended the steps, she saw him push back his coat to reveal a holstered pistol.

He was going into the house to kill Nate!

She wasn’t close enough to stop him, so she called out, “Can I help you?”

The man froze. His hand dropped to his side. When he turned to face Roberta, he was like a different person. He came down the steps with the easy stride of a man confident of his welcome.

“This is my house.” Roberta wheezed, while trying to catch her breath. “What do you want?”

The man came toward her, flashing a genial smile, and with outstretched hand. “You must be Miss Roberta Tryon,” he said. “I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”

Roberta ignored the outstretched hand. “Then why weren’t you at his funeral?” She thought she saw a flash of something deep in his black eyes, but it was gone too quickly for her to be sure.

“I didn’t know your father personally. I didn’t feel it was appropriate for me to attend the funeral.”

“That doesn’t matter in Texas. Everybody goes to funerals.”

“I was not brought up to do that.”

There was something about him that was foreign. It wasn’t his English, which was perfect. It wasn’t his clothes, though they were too dandified for anybody outside of San Antonio. It wasn’t even his features. There were too many different nationalities represented in Texas for there to be a typical look. Yet there was something about him that set him apart.

“Why were you sneaking into my house?”

“I heard about the attack and your father’s death. Being an unmarried woman with no family close by, I thought you might be interested in selling your farm. I’m interested in buying it.”

“I’m not interested in selling, and I still want to know why you were trying to sneak into my house.”

“I heard a noise inside the house. Or I thought I did. I circled around hoping to locate and identify the sound, but failed to do so. Unable to tolerate the thought that someone might be robbing you while you were seeing your father into the next world, I was preparing to enter the house to make certain there was no thief inside.”

It was a perfectly acceptable explanation, but Roberta couldn’t forget the change that had come over him when she called out. His posture was too practiced, his bearing too formal, his explanation too high-handed. He watched her with eyes that seemed never to blink. It was as though he was trying to overwhelm her with the force of his personality. But Roberta couldn’t be unsettled by a penetrating gaze or an aloof, aristocratic attitude.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m certain there’s no thief in the house. Since I have no intention of selling my farm, we have nothing to talk about.”

“You haven’t heard my offer. Maybe we could go inside, have a cup of coffee, and talk it over.”

“Mister… I don’t even know your name.”

“Gilbert Travis at your service.” He made a bow, which seemed ridiculously out of place in the middle of a Texas farm.

“Mr. Travis, I’ve just come from my father’s funeral. I’ve had to be polite and control my emotions in front of a lot of people. Right now I’m perilously close to being rude. I need to go inside, close the door, and spend the next several hours trying to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

“If you will accept my offer, you will have a lot more choices.”

“I’m sure I would, but I’m not going to. Now please leave.”

She didn’t give him time to object. She walked up the steps, through the door, and closed it. Only then did the tension in her shoulders ease. Who was that man and what did he really want? She had no reason to doubt anything he said, but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that something was amiss. She looked through the window and was relieved to see him mount his horse and ride away. She tensed when he stopped at the head of the lane. She locked the door when it looked like he might turn back, but after a moment, he rode away.

She had a sudden need to assure herself that Nate was all right. She didn’t stop to take her hat off, but went straight to the bedroom. He awoke when he heard her enter.

“You’re back.”

She was relieved to see him just as she had left him. Nate must have had a dream that caused him to make the sound Mr. Travis heard. If they were as terrible as the dreams that haunted her, she wasn’t surprised he had cried out. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better until I had a dream that woke me up.”

She removed her hat and set it on the dresser. “Was it about the attack?”

“No. I dreamed I saw Laveau diViere looking in the window.”

She had several things to tell him—that she’d fix him some broth as soon as she could heat it, that she had decided he hadn’t been one of the men who’d attacked the farm—but she couldn’t get the unusual behavior of Mr. Travis out of her mind. “What does Laveau diViere look like?”

Nate’s mouth clamped down until his lips almost disappeared. His brows bunched over eyes that narrowed and turned as hard as blue ice. His hands clawed the sheets like a hawk impaling its prey. Even his lank, brown hair seemed to recoil at the mention of the hated name. “He looks like the Devil himself.”

His reaction was so intense, she was sorry she’d asked. “Don’t try to sit up. You’re not strong enough yet.”

Ignoring her, Nate struggled until he’d raised his body from the bed.

Roberta pushed two pillows behind him. “If the doctor were to come in now, he’d have a fit.”

Nate collapsed against the pillows. “Thinking about diViere would raise me from my death bed. What made you ask what he looks like?”

“When I got back, there was a man here who said he was Gilbert Travis.”

“I don’t know anybody by that name.”

“I don’t either, but he was looking in your window. It was probably him you saw.”

Nate tensed. “What did he look like?”

“I’m not very good at describing people.”

“Try.”

“He had black hair parted in the middle and was clean-shaven except for a small mustache. His skin was almost white, his face kind of pinched, like someone had put their hands on either side of his head and squeezed. Still, I imagine he is quite handsome when he smiles.”

“What color were his eyes?”

“Black.”

“Did they blink?”

“They must have, but I felt like they never did—just stared at me like he was trying to see inside my head.”

“How was he dressed? Was he short or tall?”

Nate was becoming so agitated Roberta was uneasy. “I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sure he was—” She was about to turn away when Nate grabbed her wrist.

“How was he dressed?” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

“He was about as tall as you, about your build, and dressed like he had just stepped out of a hotel in San Antonio.” She pried his fingers loose from her wrist. “Why are you so upset?”

“I wasn’t dreaming. You’ve just described Laveau diViere.”

“But he said he was Gilbert Travis.”

“That’s probably one of the names he uses when he’s putting together one of his schemes to cheat people. What was he doing?”

“He said he wanted to buy my farm.”

“I don’t care what he
said
. What was he
doing
?”

Roberta wished she didn’t have to tell Nate what she’d seen. It would only upset him more.

“Are you sure he was reaching for a gun?” Nate asked after she’d described diViere’s movements.

“That’s what it looked like.”

“He was here to kill me. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot me through the window.”

“Why would he do something like that?”

“I’ve been following him for two years. I’ve busted up some of his schemes. I tell every law officer I meet that he’s wanted for murder in Overlin. The Reconstruction government is about to go. Once we elect men of honor, Laveau will lose his protection. He knows an honest Texas jury would hang him.”

Roberta wasn’t thinking about a jury. She was thinking about Nate being alone in the house while she worked in the fields, of both of them being vulnerable while they slept.

“I need a gun,” Nate said.

“You need to rest. You’re far from well.”

“I’ll be even further from well if Laveau shoots me. I want a gun, and I want something over that window. Can you lock your door?”

“Yes.”

“Make sure you lock it every time you leave, even if it’s only to feed the chickens or pick up the eggs.”

A few chickens had returned to roost in a peach tree her father had planted, but she had no idea where they might be laying their eggs. “I can’t leave you.”

“If you do what I ask, you can go anywhere you want. I’ve got enough cowhands to watch the place around the clock, but you’ve got to be careful. Laveau won’t hesitate to kill you if that’s what he has to do to get to me.”

“Does he hate you that much?”

“Yes.”

Roberta found it hard to believe anyone could be that evil, but she couldn’t forget the feeling she got before she called out to diViere.

“You look surprised,” Nate said.

“Wouldn’t you be if someone had just told you that you could be shot in your own home?”

“I’ve always known Laveau would kill me if he got the chance.”

“Then why did you keep following him?”

“I lost my brother and twenty-three friends because Laveau was determined to be on the winning side. One man who survived got half his face shot off. I’ll never stop until one of us is dead. Could you?”

Roberta opened her mouth to deny that she could ever pursue such a goal. She closed it when she realized she couldn’t say that about the man who’d killed her father. “I don’t know. I shot you because, at the time, I felt as you do.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

She wanted to look away, but she didn’t. “I changed it about you.”

Nate’s expression showed surprise. “Why?”

“You talked in your sleep when you were feverish.”

“What did I say?”

“That you saw a fire. That you had to help Robert.”

“Was that all you needed to convince you I wasn’t one of the attackers?”

“You weren’t wearing a mask like the others.” She glanced away. “I always thought you were dumb for spending all your time following that man, but you never threatened Papa.”

“Did I say anything else?”

“You talked about someone named Caleb. Was that your brother?”

Nate’s look softened, turned sad. “He was a year younger, twice as good-looking, and full of fun. Everybody loved him. My mother worshipped him. I used to get jealous, but Caleb would put his arm around my shoulder and tell me he loved me enough to make up for two mothers. Maybe he did because he wouldn’t let me go off to war without him. We joined the Night Riders together. Our captain was so successful at keeping everybody safe I couldn’t make Caleb understand we weren’t playing a game. He didn’t want to kill anybody or steal anything. He would get so excited after a successful raid that it was all I could do to keep him from giving away our position. He would
sing
. Can you believe that? Always some stupid song Ma had taught him when he was a kid. I swear half the troop thought he was nuts, but whenever there was any fun to be had, Caleb was part of it.”

“He sounds like a good brother.”

“He was spoiled and often careless, but I loved him more than myself. Hearing of his death killed Ma. Pa followed not long after.”

“Do you have other family?”

“Nobody close enough to make me go back to Arkansas.”

Roberta would have wanted to go back to Virginia even if her closest relative had been a second cousin. She gave herself a mental shake. “I almost forgot. You need to eat.”

“Give me something besides that flavored water.”

“Not until the doctor says I can.”

“Can I bribe you?”

There was something about the way he looked at her that gave Roberta’s spirits a lift. “What have you got to offer?”

“What will get me soup with beef and vegetables? I’ll settle for stewed chicken. How about eggs and sausage? Milk?”

“Both milk cows are gone, the chickens are running loose, and I don’t have any sausage. If I give you beef and your fever comes back, your foreman will swear I’m trying to kill you.”

“I’ll talk to Russ. I’m his boss so he’ll do anything I say.”

“Sorry. I’m more afraid of the doctor than of you. I’ll be back as soon as I change my clothes and heat the broth.”

“I’ll agree to swallow the broth if you’ll bring me my gun.”

Roberta walked over to the bureau, opened the top drawer, took out a holster and gun, and handed them to Nate. “Russ took your rifle and saddlebags when he took your horse.”

“Put it next to me so I can reach it.”

Roberta reached across Nate to slide the gun under the sheet. “I figure it needs to be where no one can see it.”

“You’re a smart woman. Now I’d appreciate it if you would bring me that broth. I am kinda hungry.”

“I was hoping you’d have a change of heart,” Nate said when she returned and placed the bowl before him.

“Your bribe wasn’t good enough.”

Nate eyed the broth with disfavor. “I’ll have to work on that.” He grimaced. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have to be fed by a woman?”

“Would you rather Russ do it?”

Nate looked aghast. “I’d never be able to face my men.”

“Then stop complaining and eat.”

“I’m only doing this for fear that if I don’t you’ll shoot me again.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Much to her surprise, they both laughed. “That’s really not funny.”

“I know. I’m the one being fed broth.”

“I mean about me shooting you again. I’d never have shot you if I hadn’t been in shock.”

“If I could have found Laveau after Caleb died, I’d have stabbed him, strangled him, and mutilated his body.”

“That would have stained your soul, and it wouldn’t have brought your brother back.”

The look Nate directed toward her was so full of bottled fury she nearly moved back.

“I wouldn’t have cared.”

Roberta hoped Nate didn’t mean what he said, but she had no reason to believe he wasn’t serious. “You’d better eat. I have to help Joe. If I don’t save some of my crops, I’ll have to accept Boone Riggins’s offer to work in his saloon.”

Nate nearly choked in his rush to say, “Don’t.”

She fed him another spoonful of broth. “It’s not something I’m looking forward to, but neither is starvation.”