Authors: Brenda Joyce
Innocent Fire (33 page)
The war party of Comanche, numbering five hundred, swept past San Antonio to obliterate Victorio, then proceeded to destroy the coastal town of Linnville. The Comanche then headed back to their plains with two thousand stolen horses, leaving twenty-four Texans dead.
Every able-bodied male Texan rallied, including Derek. At Plum Creek the Texans avenged their dead, killing fifty Comanche, not losing a single man. Derek returned home to the JB, but some ninety Texans pressed their advantage, riding deep into Comanche territory. In October they launched a surprise attack, killing some one hundred and thirty Comanche, including women and children. The policy for dealing with the Comanche became settled, one of aggressive obliteration. It was the end of the Comanche heyday.
On New Year’s Eve, Miranda went into labor. It was a long and difficult labor, twenty-two hours, but she delivered a squalling boy into Elena’s waiting hands, with Derek white-faced at her side, encouraging her. The baby instantly howled his protest at entering the world. Miranda collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Derek closed his eyes, just as fatigued. Elena began speaking excitedly in Spanish as she washed off the child’s afterbirth, praising all his attributes.
“Derek?”
“I’m here,” he said hoarsely. Never, ever did he want to go through this again. Never. He held her hand. Never in his life had he been so helpless, able to do nothing but encourage his wife while she suffered in agony. He was thoroughly shaken.
“A boy?”
“Yes, princess, a boy.” He bent and brushed his mouth across her wet temple. He was ready to collapse. Watching his wife give birth had been worse than running seventy miles a day for days on end!
“Señor,” Elena cried, and before Derek knew it, she had handed him the squalling red-faced infant, swathed in a thick white towel.
He stared, stunned, at the baby in his arms. Just what in hell was he supposed to do? “Elena, I can’t…let me do that,” he said. Elena was cleaning up Miranda, but he wasn’t watching. Instead, he found himself staring at the tiny baby, who was still howling. Tiny fingers moved on tiny hands. Incredible. Had his own son been this small when he was born? He couldn’t remember. He found himself rocking the child—he couldn’t just let it cry. But the baby still howled. “I think he’s hungry,” he said in a soft voice. At the sound of his voice, the baby stopped crying, looking at him out of blue eyes. Derek smiled.
“Derek,” Miranda whispered, too exhausted to speak any louder.
He responded, moving quickly to her side, carefully handing her the infant, afraid that he might drop him, afraid the child would break by mere transferral. He watched Miranda take him into her arms, her eyes shining.
“He’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Personally, Derek thought he was rather unattractive, but he kept his opinion to himself. He looked at his wife’s face, then stared at her son, fascinated. The infant was making sucking motions with his mouth. “He’s hungry,” Derek said, somewhat awed.
Miranda shifted her baby, and he found her breast and began to suck greedily.
Derek watched and thought about his son, wondered where he was, if he was all right. He felt grief trying to raise itself from deep inside, and he was surprised. He
thought he had conquered his loss a long time ago. Suddenly he felt a surge of protective warmth for this tiny, vulnerable baby.
Miranda cooed to him, making motherly noises. The baby finished nursing, but he didn’t sleep. His little fists flayed against his mother’s breasts.
“What does he want now?” Derek asked, sitting by her side, unable to stop staring at the child.
“I don’t know,” Miranda said, looking at her husband and seeing both the pain and the warmth there. Her heart turned over. She had known Derek would love little Nicholas.
“Nick,” Derek said, and he took his finger and touched the boy’s hand. Nick immediately grabbed the proffered finger, his tiny hand wrapping around it. Derek laughed, trying to move his hand away, but the baby wouldn’t let go. “Look at that! He’s a strong little fella.”
Miranda smiled.
“I think he likes me,” Derek said, his pleasure showing on his face as Nick still clutched his finger.
Miranda had no intention of informing Derek that she’d been told that all infants seemed to have this grasping instinct. She just smiled, never having felt more serene in her life.
“How are you feeling?” Derek asked, transferring his attention to his wife. He saw that her eyes were closed, and she had already fallen asleep. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, then paused to study the baby. He, too, had fallen asleep. He smiled, glanced at the door to make sure that Elena wasn’t about to burst in, and kissed Nick’s forehead. Then he crawled into bed on the other side of his wife and collapsed into a deep sleep.
The D&M
West Texas, 1850
“Pa, she’s following us!”
Derek smiled. “And making enough noise to stampede a herd of buffalo,” he said softly. But he was exaggerating, and he was very proud of his daughter. Storm was barely making a sound as she followed Derek and Nick through the woods. Not only was she as silent as a deer, she was also as fast as one. Why, she was almost as capable as her brother. Even little Rathe moved like an Apache. Derek was filled with pride.
“Pa,” Nick whispered tersely, his brown, gold-flecked eyes flashing. They both stood motionless, peering through the forest at the grizzly, which was standing very still—squatting, actually, and sniffing. He had sensed them.
Derek touched Nick’s shoulder in unspoken communication, well aware of Storm’s precise location. He should punish her for disobeying his orders and following them while they hunted the killer bear, but he didn’t have it in his heart. At least Rathe was too young to be up to such mischief—but the instant he thought that, he knew it wasn’t true. That boy was always in trouble.
Nick and Derek crept forward for a clear shot, both holding their rifles ready. The bear stood, growling, and saw them. Nick stood side by side with Derek, both raising and cocking their rifles automatically. The bear gave a vicious cry of attack and lumbered toward them.
Neither the man nor his son moved, or even flinched. The bear came into range. Nick’s bronzed face was sculpted with grim concentration. He sighted between the beast’s eyes. He fired.
The beast gave a death roar and took two more steps before falling.
“Great shot!” Derek cried, clapping Nick on his back. “Right between the eyes. Nick, I’m proud of you!”
Nick grinned, flushed with his father’s praise, tossing a wave of black hair out of his eyes.
“I could have done better,” Storm announced, coming out of the woods behind them.
Nick snorted.
“I’m just as good a shot as he is,” she cried. “Isn’t that so, Pa?”
“You wish,” Nick said, but he was smiling in amusement, and so was Derek. They both exchanged glances, then simultaneously broke into laughter.
“I’ve never met another girl with more braggadocio than five men put together,” Derek told his daughter, trying to look stern.
“But I’m as good a shot, and as good a tracker, and a better rider!” Storm placed her hands on her buckskin-clad hips, blue eyes flashing. Except for her eyes, she had Derek’s incredible golden coloring.
Nick smiled. “You’re in trouble, Storm,” he told her. “Pa, are you going to let her get away with this?”
“Nope,” Derek said. “As long as you’re here, you can help Nick skin and butcher the bear.”
Storm made a face. Nick grinned, and Derek supervised both children while they proceeded to obey him.
Sometime later, the three of them rode across the valley and up to the sprawling, two-story ranch house, surrounded by barns, corrals, two bunkhouses, and a smokehouse. The land was green, spotted with oak, fir, and wildflowers. Five years ago they had sold the JB and built this ranch—their ranch.
They dismounted, and Derek restrained Nick as Storm raced up the steps and across the veranda. Nick looked at his father questioningly. “You outdid yourself today,”
Derek told him, slipping his arm around the boy’s shoulders. Nick grinned, and they walked in together.
“Pa,” Storm shrieked, racing across the foyer to greet them at the front door. “We have guests! Grandfather—and a cousin of Mother’s!”
“Slow down,” Derek said, and followed his two excited children into the drawing room.
Miranda rose immediately to her feet, and as always, he felt a flush of warmth at the sight of her. At twenty-seven she was rounder, shaplier than she had been, an incredibly breathtaking woman. He smiled, instantly feeling her distress, and understanding it. A long time ago Miranda had told him everything about her there was to know.
“Derek, this is my father, Lord Shelton. And my cousin, Paul Langdon.”
The two men stood. Shelton stepped forward, a tall, handsome man with silvery gray hair and sad eyes. “Bragg, this is a pleasure.”
They shook hands. “My pleasure,” Derek said. “I’m so glad to finally meet you after all these years.”
Shelton smiled. Derek meant it. Now that he was a father, he wanted to see Miranda reconciled with hers.
Nick stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, sir,” he said with characteristic intensity.
“And I am thrilled to meet you,” Shelton said softly, staring. He glanced at Derek.
Derek felt anger rising up in him, defensive anger. Anytime someone compared him and his son, he knew they were wondering about Nick’s parentage, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. Nick’s hair was blue black, darker than Miranda’s, his skin showing both Mexican and Indian blood. As Nick stepped back, Derek instinctively touched the boy’s shoulder, resting his hand there.
“And you must be Angeline,” Shelton said, smiling.
“Storm,” Storm said, grinning. “No one ever calls me Angeline. Except Ma, when she’s really mad.”
Shelton laughed. “You have your father’s coloring but your mother’s eyes. Dark blue—almost purple. Your grandmother had those same eyes.” His voice was sad.
Miranda saw and heard the sadness as he discussed her mother, and felt surprise. There was no mistaking the
depth of his grief, even now, after so many years. In that instant, she felt she had been wrong about her father.
“Where’s Rathe?” Derek was asking, after shaking hands with Langdon—a tall, dark man in his late thirties.
There was a crash from upstairs and the sound of pounding footsteps. Miranda and Derek looked toward the ceiling at the same time, both frowning. “I think your question has been answered,” Miranda said.
Derek walked to the open doors and called, “Rathe, Rathe, come down here this instant.” His voice was loud and stern.
“My youngest has a penchant for mischief,” Miranda told her father, smiling ruefully. “I thought Nick was bad when he was younger, then I thought Storm was bad, but Rathe makes them seem like angels.”
“Your children are beautiful, dear,” Shelton said, looking proud. “I wish Angeline were here to share your family with me.”
Miranda had a tremendous urge to cry and to hug her father. She remembered as if it were yesterday her father slapping her mother and calling her a slut, then hitting her. But here he was filled with a grief that wouldn’t die. She was confused.
“Here’s the scamp,” Derek said, propelling forward a boy of about five who was the golden image of his father, except for his sapphire blue eyes.
“It was an accident!” Rathe yelled. “I swear!”
“Don’t lie and swear in the same breath,” Derek said. “And we’ll discuss your mother’s broken vase later.”
“Oh, Rathe!” Miranda cried, frowning.
“Rathe’s in trouble now.” Storm grinned.
Rathe tossed a defiant look at her. “It was an accident! I swear!”
“Rathe, this is your grandfather,” Miranda said, taking him firmly by the hand. The boy seemed to be bursting with energy, barely able to stay in one place.
“Hello there, Rathe.”
“So you’re my grandpa. Do you really live in England? Are you really an earl? How come Nick gets to be an earl, and I don’t? Can I come visit? Do you have horses?”
“Yes, Rathe, I do live in England, and yes, I am an
earl.” Shelton smiled at him warmly. “I’m afraid only the oldest son can take the family title, but you are most certainly welcome to visit. Perhaps you’ll come visit your brother when he is earl of Dragmore.” Shelton winked at Nick.
Rathe whooped, jumping up and down.
“I hope you’ll be staying for a while,” Derek said. “I would love my kids to have a chance to get to know their grandfather.”
Shelton looked at Miranda. “It’s possible, although Paul will be leaving from Galveston in a few days.”
“Gold fever.” Langdon smiled.
“Going to make your fortune?” said Derek.
“Don’t see why not,” Langdon said easily.
“C’mon, Langdon,” Derek said. “Me and the kids are going to give you a tour of the ranch.” He looked at Miranda and Shelton. “I think these two have some catching up to do.” He took Rathe’s hand firmly, and Langdon followed the troop of Braggs. At the door, Rathe broke free of his father’s hold, shrieking, running into the hall. Derek grinned back at Miranda with a little shrug before closing the door behind their guest.
Father and daughter looked at each other.
“You have a beautiful family, Miranda,” Shelton said softly. He gazed fixedly at his daughter.
“Thank you, Father. How about something to drink?”
“Yes, please.”
Miranda poured them both a brandy and sat on a divan that was covered with floral chintz. Her father sat on a sofa upholstered in striped silk.
“I’m so glad you’re happy,” Shelton said. “Even though your letters were few, your love came through in every sentence.”
“I am happy,” Miranda said. “Completely. “I’m in love with my husband, and I adore my children. We have a wonderful home.” She gestured. “It hasn’t been easy.”
“You look exactly like Angeline,” Shelton said, shakily. “It’s like gazing upon a ghost.”
Miranda saw the pain in his eyes and her heart went out to him. “You loved her.”
“Very much.”
She thought about that and realized that what a little girl had seen might have been an isolated incident. As if reading her mind, Shelton spoke. “I would like to share the past with you, Miranda.”
She looked at him. “I would like that too,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “But you don’t have to, not if you don’t want to. I can see how much you loved her. I realize that I was wrong, Father.”
He gave her an understanding smile.
“Are you going to California?”
“No. I had considered it, though, I must admit. The past ten years have been painful for me. But I can’t neglect my estate, my duties.” He smiled. “Paul’s decision to go to California gave me an opportunity to come here that I couldn’t resist.”
“I’m glad you’ve come.”
A silence descended, sad yet warm. Miranda wondered how she had ever been afraid of her father. He was no beast, no terrible monster, just a man.
From outside, there was an explosion of noise. Nick shouted, Storm shrieked, and Rathe gave a perfect imitation of an Apache war cry. Through it all could be heard the sound of Derek’s rich laughter. Then the three children started yelling at once, vying for their father’s attention, and Derek’s laughter could still be heard. Miranda smiled.
“What’s going on?” Shelton asked, startled.
Miranda shrugged. “Who knows? Sometimes I think Derek believes the children are here to amuse him, his personal circus troop.” She was smiling tenderly.
Still, she couldn’t resist. With her father at her side, they went to the window and peered out the long velvet drapes. Derek had Rathe perched on his shoulders, laughing helplessly. Langdon was at his side, and they were watching Storm and Nick, both astride the same horse. Storm was in front, standing, slipping, the horse snorting in protest. Nick moved the horse into a trot. Storm yelped. The mare broke into a canter, and Nick stood gracefully. It looked extremely precarious.
“Bravo!” Derek shouted.
With laughter, Storm slipped, taking Nick with her, and they went tumbling to the ground. Derek was still laughing, and Miranda tried not to smile.
