Second Chance Bride (6 page)

Which way should she go? Straight ahead lay the Sullivan ranch, and she didn’t feel comfortable heading that way. She might look as if she assumed a friendship that didn’t exist, and she certainly didn’t want to trespass on their privacy. Behind her lay the road and, on the other side, another ranch. To her left and right lay land that probably belonged to the Sullivans but surely they wouldn’t mind if she explored a bit on the acres farther from their home. She’d walk toward the sun and enjoy the marvels revealed in its expanding light.

As more birds joined the morning chorus, she was surrounded by music. She followed a faint path—barely a trace, really—with tall prairie grass on each side. What might be hiding in there? Mice? Possibly snakes, but this morning she didn’t care. She merely wanted to revel in the daylight, to feel the cool air on her face and the sun on her cheeks, to experience the solid crunch of the ground beneath her feet.

She moved through a thicket, dodging the branches that attempted to snag her skirt, touching the rough bark of the trees and noting the bare branches. She knew the sunlight would color her face, but that didn’t matter. Real ladies would protect their complexions by wearing bonnets or never coming outside in the sunshine, but she’d always loved her walks, even as a sad child and, later, as a woman escaping the heat and terror of the brothel for a few minutes. She held out her arms to feel the joy around her, to draw it in and allow it to warm those cold places inside.

Once through the grove, she found a very inviting tree stump, seemingly placed there just for her. She sat on it and breathed in the beauty surrounding her.

Within moments, she heard hoofbeats coming hard and fast. Her first reaction was to leap to her feet and hide in the trees, but the rider came into view before she could move. He didn’t seem to notice her. He rode with such joy, such abandon, as if this were what he’d been created to do. He and the horse moved together, a picture of effortless perfection and absolute happiness.

The rider wore no hat, his short dark hair blowing a bit. She could hear the sound of deep laughter, and she almost laughed herself, enjoying the sight of this man and his horse, the pure splendor of the two together with the sunlight behind them. A shiver of delight filled her.

Her slight movement alerted the rider that he wasn’t alone. He turned the horse and pulled it to a stop, facing her from nearly fifty yards away. Who was he? Putting her hand above her eyes to fight the glare, she still couldn’t see his face. He snapped the reins and moved toward her.

Why was she sitting out here alone with an unknown man closing in? Immediately instinct took over. She leaped to her feet and ran toward the trees.

“Matilda?”

The voice belonged to John Sullivan. She stopped and turned, her heart pounding. He galloped up to her, and she realized that he looked like a completely different man out here at dawn, riding as if nothing else existed in the world.

“Hello. You’re up early this morning.” When he reached her, he dismounted with a fluid motion and smiled.

He wore denim trousers, scuffed boots and plaid shirt, which was quite a contrast to his usual attire. She sensed an ease she hadn’t noticed when he wore his proper suit and polished shoes. He was, without a doubt, the handsomest man she’d ever seen. But, of course, handsome men could be the meanest, the roughest and most demanding—

She stopped her train of thought. John was not a customer, and she was no longer in a brothel. She studied his face, his usually stern features softer somehow, more open.

“I like to walk in the morning. And I love to be outdoors,” she explained.

Holding the reins of his horse with one hand, he nodded his head. “I do, too. I don’t get out nearly as much as I’d like.”

“Why don’t you spend more time riding?”

“I’m the town banker. Telling my depositors that I’d rather be with Orion—” he rubbed the horse’s nose with one hand “—they’re not going to be happy with me.”

With a sliver of a smile that charmed Annie against her will, he added, “That’s why I get up early and ride for an hour. The pleasure lasts me all day.”

“It looks so easy for you. When did you start riding?”

“Since I could stay on a saddle. Anyone who lives on a ranch has to.” After a moment he said, “If I remember correctly, you ride also.”

Annie gulped and wished she could read the letters Matilda had written so she’d at least know what she
should
be able to do. “Oh, no. I hardly—”

“Surely you’re too modest. You listed some competitions you’d participated in.”

Before she could reply, the rising sun caught his eye, and he glanced up before turning away to put his foot in the stirrup. “Excuse me. It’s time for me to go home for breakfast with Elizabeth. She expects me to be on time.”

He mounted, then looked down at her. For a moment, his gaze met hers and stayed there. Again, that trace of a smile emerged and delighted her, making her want to smile back, although she could not interpret the meaning hidden in his expression.

After a few seconds, she realized who and where she was and lowered her eyes to break their connection.

“Matilda, if you will excuse me?” He nodded at her and turned his horse, riding back down into the valley.

As soon as he was gone, she felt a little cooler in the morning breeze. Well, if that wasn’t absolutely ridiculous. She shook her head and reminded herself she was the schoolteacher, not a foolish ninny. John was the banker, the member of the school board who supervised her, and the father of one of her students. If she were to let her barriers down, if she could truly believe that a man wouldn’t hurt her—if, if, if. That would never happen. She couldn’t allow it.

Nonetheless, she’d watched him ride toward his ranch until he’d disappeared into the trees. Still she stood there, long after he’d disappeared, stunned at how glorious the sight of him had been.

“G
ood morning, Miss Cunningham!” Elizabeth shouted, and waved when her father stopped his surrey in front of the schoolhouse Sunday morning, a clear, slightly chilly day. Annie waved back as she walked toward them.

“Good morning,” John said with a slight bow as he got out to help her into the backseat next to Elizabeth.

A perfectly normal action for a gentleman, Annie told herself. No reason to feel awkward when he was only steadying her to get in the surrey. On the one hand, she still fought the urge to pull away from him when he reached for her. On the other, she could not stop admiring him. She wanted to believe he wasn’t like the men who’d taken advantage of her for years, many of whom were leaders in Weaver City, men of high standing. Was John different?

Forcing herself to relax, Annie said, “Good morning to you both. What a lovely morning. Such lovely sunshine.” She settled on the soft leather seat and ran her hand across the smooth, cool surface, watching John’s back as he clicked the reins. Although looking like a pillar of the community in his black suit and hat, Annie remembered the man she’d met on the meadow, the one who rode so hard and so fast, she thought no one in the county could beat him. Here now, he acted somber and upright. But she knew what he was like on his horse early in the morning. She’d wanted to laugh with that man, entranced by the joy that emanated from him, by the excitement that lit up his eyes.

It was his eyes that gave him away. When they were chilly and grayish, he was Mr. John Matthew Sullivan, banker and father. When they were blue and sparkled with laughter, he was John, a man who seemed to love life.

“It’s nice today, Miss Cunningham, but it will get cold shortly. November is not a warm month here. Oh, have you seen the lazy
S?
” Elizabeth pointed to a gate on the south side of the road. “That’s the Hanson Ranch. You’ve met Miss Hanson, haven’t you?”

Annie nodded as she looked at the sign. How odd. The readers she’d studied showed the letter
S
standing straight up, but on the sign over the gate, the
S
lay on its side. Perhaps that was the way an
S
was made in Texas. Yes, that must be the reason. Did all states have slightly different alphabets? She’d have to practice the Texas
S
on its side this evening.

“That’s why Mr. Hanson wants my father to marry his daughter.”

Annie’s head jerked up, and she looked at John’s back. His shoulders became rigid. “Because Mr. Hanson owns the lazy
S?
” she asked.

“Yes, because their land and our land are so close that it could be just one big ranch,” Elizabeth explained.

“I believe you have said enough about private matters, Elizabeth.” His voice held a chilly note.

“But, Father, this isn’t private. Everyone in Trail’s End knows.”

“Elizabeth Celeste Sullivan, please do not say anymore.”

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry.” She sat silently on the seat next to Annie, dejected.

“Why don’t you tell me about the church, Elizabeth?” That seemed like a safe topic.

The little girl brightened. “Our minister, Reverend Thompson, rides the circuit, so he’s in Trail’s End only one Sunday a month. He’s here today. The elders lead the service on the other Sundays. My father’s an elder,” she said proudly. She filled the few minutes it took to get into town with information about the church service and all the members but did not mention Miss Hanson again.

As they approached the small white building, Annie realized she’d correctly identified the church on her first evening in town. Once inside, she noticed five rows of pews on each side with a stove in the middle. A small table with a wooden cross graced the front of the building. Thirty people sat in the church, including her students and their families. They nodded at the Sullivans and Annie when they entered. She didn’t recognize a family with three large boys but guessed that they must be the Bryans.

Elizabeth guided Annie to a pew in the front of the sanctuary and then stepped aside so Annie could precede her. John sat on the other side of his daughter. Shortly after their arrival, Amanda and a stout gray-haired man Annie guessed to be her father entered and sat across the aisle.

“Look, there’s the sheriff,” Elizabeth whispered when the door closed and a thin, dark man slipped into the back pew just as the minister came to the podium in the front.

“Because we have no organist, I will lead the singing this morning. Let us open the hymnal to number fifty-two.”

John handed her an open hymnal. There was no music on the page, only words in very small letters. She attempted to read them but the congregation had finished the song—struggling with the pitch and timing—long before Annie could make out the first two or three words.

“Wasn’t that terrible?” Elizabeth whispered. “We really do need an organist.”

They certainly did. No one had been exactly sure what the tune was. Only Amanda’s clear voice sounding above the stumbling efforts of the congregation brought a hint of the melody to the hymn.

When the service was over, Annie rehearsed in her head what she should say as she waited to meet the minister. When she finally reached him, he took her hand and smiled at her with warmth, as if she really were Miss Matilda Cunningham and a member of his flock.

“You must be the new schoolteacher. How happy I am to see you this morning. I’ve heard about your accident on your way here. I trust you have recovered?”

“Yes, Reverend Thompson. Thank you.”

“I know the children are delighted with you. Martha Norton tells me you sing beautifully although I didn’t hear you this morning.”

“How nice of Martha.” As he continued to watch her, Annie added, “I’m not familiar with most of the hymns, Reverend. When I learn them, I promise I’ll sing.”

“Our new teacher tells me she plays the organ,” John said from behind her.

“Miss Cunningham, we are in desperate need of an organist.”

What excuse could she give? “I play the organ only a little, but with my arm…” Annie held it out. Although it had healed some, she still protected it.

“Oh, but if you would just try for us, Miss Cunningham.”

The pleading in his gentle eyes stirred her guilt. “I’d be happy to try, but I don’t read music. If someone could sing a tune for me, I might be able to play it.”

“Miss Hanson knows all the hymns we use. Perhaps she’d teach you some. The organ’s just over there. Why don’t you sit down and see if you can play it? I don’t know when we last had a musician here.”

Annie soon found herself on the hard wooden bench, running her fingers over the cool keys. The intricate carving on the high wooden music holder reminded her of her mother’s tiny organ which Annie had played until the sheriff of Weaver City seized it to pay her father’s gambling debts.

She spent a moment or two trying to remember the songs she knew. Obviously few of the ones she’d played in her previous life would be acceptable, so she attempted to remember “Amazing Grace.” The notes came out a little screechy, and her pumping was uneven mostly due to the pain in her leg and the stiff pedals. But the sound improved the second time.

“Let me sing a hymn for you to try,” Amanda suggested. In a pleasant voice, she sang “I Need Thee Every Hour” while Annie pressed the keys and pumped the pedals, attempting to follow along.

“That sounds wonderful,” John said. “But we must go. Lucia expects us home for dinner shortly.”

Annie looked at her watch, surprised to see it was nearly one o’clock. Time always passed quickly when she sat at the organ. She suddenly realized she was exhausted, and both her arm and legs hurt from the exertion.

“Reverend Thompson, I’ll practice and hope to be able to play by the next time you come through.”

“Thank you, Miss Cunningham. I will look forward to hearing you again.”

“Amanda, I hope you and your father will join us at lunch,” John said as Annie ran her fingers over the cool ivory of the keys once more. How lovely to play again, even on this ancient instrument.

“Of course we will, John.” Farley Hanson pounded John on the back. “This time we’re lucky to have the lovely new schoolteacher dine with us.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize I was to join you.” Annie looked from one man to the other.

“We’d really like to have you. I should have mentioned it earlier.” John inclined his head slightly and smiled. “I hope you can join us.”

“Please come, Miss Cunningham. I want to show you my room and all my dolls and books.”

“Yes, we’d love to have you.” Amanda gave her the smile that Annie was sure no one refused. “We can work on some more hymns on the piano in John’s parlor.”

After accepting the invitation, Annie ended up in the carriage driven by Mr. Hanson after he’d placed his daughter next to John. Amanda had laughed and teased her father about his matchmaking but accepted John’s help into the surrey while Elizabeth hopped in the back.

“Where are you from, Miss Cunningham?” Mr. Hanson asked as they left town.

Annie felt relieved that the ride was short, and therefore, the conversation would be, as well. She was a terrible liar—clearly she hadn’t inherited that skill from her father.

“East Texas,” she replied. That sounded general enough. “Now tell me about your ranch and this town. How long have you lived here?”

“All my life. This is my family’s ranch. I brought my bride here thirty years ago. She died last year.” He turned toward Annie with a smile. “I’ve been a very lonely man since then.” His gaze suggested she could alleviate that.

Oh, dear, not a lonely widower. She must not allow herself to drive with him again or he might believe she encouraged him. He launched into a lengthy description of his land, cattle and enormous worth, which lasted until they arrived at the Sullivan home.

The long, two-story stone house had a wraparound porch and large windows with dark green shutters. Green hills towered in the background, creating a magnificent setting for the lovely house that was far grander than any home she’d seen before.

John held the door open for them and Annie entered a front hall that opened to a parlor on each side. Tables filled with lovely bric-a-brac and cabinets displaying a wealth of beautiful possessions covered every inch of the parlor not already occupied by lovely, plump davenports and beautiful chairs upholstered in gold velvet.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a beautiful home.”

“Yes, it is nice,” Amanda agreed. “John’s wife, Celeste, helped design the house and furnish it.”

“A very talented woman.” Annie turned to look at John. “And a loving wife and mother,” he said with a solemn expression. “Elizabeth, would you please take Amanda and Miss Cunningham to your room to wash their hands?”

As she followed Elizabeth through the house and upstairs across beautiful carpets, Annie became slightly overwhelmed by the Sullivans’ wealth.

“John’s wife ordered all the furniture in the house from Boston. It’s the finest you’ll see in the state,” Amanda explained as they entered Elizabeth’s bedroom.

Indeed, it was. There was a washstand with inlaid patterns on the drawers and a matching armoire. A delicate spread covered the intricately carved bed.

“Belgian lace,” Amanda whispered.

The chamber looked more like a museum than a child’s bedroom.

Against the wall stood a full-length mirror. Annie approached it hesitantly. She’d never seen her entire body before—only her face in a small, dull mirror the women in the brothel had shared.

The view surprised her. She looked thinner than she’d thought she would. Maybe a little pretty, although it was hard to think that while standing next to Amanda.

Annie turned all the way around, studying herself. The basque fit a little oddly—tight around her arms, which were apparently more muscular than Matilda’s had been, and a bit loose around her waist. Nonetheless, it looked plain and neat and clean, all of which suited a teacher very well. She attempted to smooth an escaped curl back into her bun.

“Miss Cunningham, look at my toys.” Elizabeth pulled her to the bed. Five beautifully painted china dolls leaned against the pillows, dressed fashionably in pastel dresses with large-brimmed hats.

“Elizabeth, aren’t they lovely?” Annie longed to pick one up one but feared she would drop it or muss the lovely gown. “Do you play with them?”

“When I was younger, but now I prefer to read.”

After Annie poured water from the china ewer into the matching basin, she washed her hands and dried them on a soft towel embroidered in flowers.

“Miss Cunningham, you may wish to go in here before we go to dinner.” Elizabeth opened a door for Annie.

Inside was a porcelain fixture of some kind. The rounded bottom section and the part above were painted with brilliant flowers and gold accents. It was the prettiest piece of furniture Annie had ever seen, but she had no idea of its function.

“Let me talk to Miss Cunningham for a moment,” Amanda said, and then explained the water closet to Annie.

Annie had never seen such a thing. She hadn’t even known they existed. What luxury never to have to go outside at night or in the cold.