Sixty Acres and a Bride (18 page)

Her usually nimble feet thudded like blocks of wood across Uncle George’s dewless south pasture. The outline of the barn was visible against the night sky, and the closer it loomed the harder her heart pounded until, as she entered the barnyard, she was sure that anyone inside could hear it.

And according to Louise, someone was inside the barn.

The warm scent of horses reached her. Silently Rosa crossed the corral in her soft-soled shoes. Her hands shook as she pushed against the barn door.

The weak moonlight streamed in. She stood in the doorway and allowed her eyes to adjust. Weston was there. Bedded in the midst of a pile of sweet, clean straw was a figure, half hidden, but large nonetheless. Rosa scanned the barn. Good. He was alone, just the horses standing in their sleep as if carved in marble.

And no one had seen her. It wasn’t too late to turn and go home. She stood on the threshold, undecided. Her eyes traveled the path back to their ranch, which until that very evening had been home. Going back meant accepting defeat, and the terms had not yet been drawn. Who knew where surrender would leave them?

But the dark barn held a future even more uncertain and in ways more threatening. If anyone could help her, it was this man. And if there was anyone she’d like to visit with or work beside, it was Weston, but alas, he didn’t return her regard. He’d purposely avoided her for over a month now. He’d completely rejected her.

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Although too scared to yawn, Rosa wouldn’t be able to hold off exhaustion for long. Her options had expired. If she was going to be humiliated, Weston was the last person on the earth she would want to witness it, but she had to take that gamble.

Rosa judged the distance to Weston’s bed, counted the steps in her mind, and then pulled the door shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness.

Maybe it would be easier if she couldn’t see him. She took the first step, heart pounding. Should she call out and wake him? No, she’d better do exactly what Louise told her. At least then the other woman would share the blame for her actions.

Rosa’s tentative steps brought her closer and closer. The straw gathered around her ankles, but she pressed on. When the straw reached about knee deep, she knew she was there. With an outstretched hand Rosa searched until her fingers touched the edge of a woven blanket. Trembling, she went to her knees and allowed her hand to brush against him only enough to ascertain the difference between heads and tails. She mustn’t hesitate or she’d lose her nerve. With her heart hammering away at her ribs, she knelt close to him.

She’d intended to keep her distance, to wait until he woke, like Louise told her, but the straw sloped where it supported his weight and she slid right into his chest. Rosa couldn’t budge. Terrified. Her nose pressed against the pocket of his shirt, filling her every breath with the scent of peppermint.

She didn’t dare move, even though one arm was thrown across him. Was it possible he was still asleep?

Weston felt her warmth against his chest; her breath burnt a ring of heat near his heart. The lady trembled, so he took her in his arms and pulled her close until they were both burrowed deep in the hay.
Poor child
, he thought through the haze of sleep.
I wonder what’s got her so frightened.

In his dream Weston knew the woman wasn’t Cora. Not for a moment was he fooled into thinking that. Yet he was at peace, happier than he’d been in weeks. He tightened his arms around her. Should be improper, but it sure seemed right. Having her there was approved—sanctioned—his heart told him. God gave him someone to protect tonight, even if the mirage evaporated in the morning light.

For a few moments contentment washed over him like the first warm rays of spring. He enjoyed the feel of her against his chest, a feeling denied him for so many years, but as much as he wanted to savor the sensation, he couldn’t shut out a persistent impression, faint but growing more distinct, that he should wake up.

With an effort Weston struggled to find his senses. Were his eyes open? It was so dark he wasn’t sure. He had to be sleeping because the petite figure remained in his arms. But how did the rest of the barn seem so real? The owl hooted. The hay poked through his collar. Either those things weren’t physically real or the woman in his arms was.

Who could it be? But even as he formed the question, he knew. He couldn’t go a day, an hour, without thinking about her. And she was in bed with him.

Rosa.

His breathing changed. Oh, this was worse than Rosa had ever imagined. Weston would wake to find her practically on top of him. Would he remember that he’d pulled her there? He moved away slowly, loosening his embrace, and touched her arm. Deliberately, he explored up her shoulder and to her face.

“Mr. Garner?” She could only muster a whisper.

“Rosa? What are you doing here?”

But instead of waiting for an answer, he dumped her on her backside in the hay and scrambled away. She heard him fumbling until he bumped into the stall partition.

“Ow!”

“Are you hurt?”

He didn’t answer but shuffled further away, and soon the giant wooden door at the front of the barn swung open.

The moonlight blurred her vision. Rosa looked down at her straw-strewn skirt and trembling hands. Did she look as pathetic as she felt?

“I’m sorry. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you—”

“You shouldn’t be here! Do you have any idea . . .” He stomped outside but skidded to a stop and reentered the barn. “The men . . . at the campfire . . . did they see you?”

She shook her head.

“Does Louise know you’re here?”

“Yes, she sent me.” Rosa climbed out of the haymow. “She wants me to tell you that we need . . . we need your help.”

She lifted her eyes to the imposing figure outlined in the doorway. His stern mouth and lowered brows were enough to send her running, but the hand holding the door open reminded her of another Weston—a Weston who’d held her in a gentle dance with that hand wrapped around her waist, a Weston who’d ridden at her side, pleased to keep her in his grasp. Even if he no longer existed, there was still the man who came back to teach her to shoot and sat on the porch until she was safe. She had a chance.

“And you’re asking me now?” He looked over his shoulder toward the dark house and repeated, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not proud that I am. Don’t you think this is humiliating enough? If there was any other way . . .” She cowered against the post, ashamed to present such a sorry sight.

He took a deep breath and turned from her, rubbing his eyes. Then she heard words not meant for her ears. “I want to do what’s right, and I will. Problem is, I don’t know what a Christian man does for a woman who sneaks into his bed. Lord, help me.”

When he turned toward her again, she braced herself like a defendant, squared her shoulders, and raised her chin. Louise hadn’t told her all the details of the story—just that Boaz saved the women and their property. Was she supposed to ask now?

Weston motioned her closer until she stepped into the light.

His gaze roamed her face, surely not missing a haggard crease or her tear-troubled eyes. He shook his head. “What can I do for you?”

And with that question the cold embers of her hope blazed. He didn’t berate her for her timing. He didn’t point out the obvious flaws in her method. He merely wanted to help her. It was going to work.

“I don’t know if you can . . . or if you want to, and I really have no right to even ask. . . .”

“I’ll help you. I will. Tell me how.”

Rosa took a deep breath, planning not to breathe again until she had laid bare every ugly truth about their situation. “We have to pay the taxes on the farm tomorrow. They are due, and Jay Tillerton is going to buy the lien. If we don’t pay, he’ll get the land. We don’t have enough money. George and Mary were going to help, but . . .” She paused. George’s story was his to tell. She wouldn’t share it. “They can’t now. That leaves only you. No one else can redeem it.” She searched his face for a reaction. “You must take it if you will.” She kept her voice from breaking.

“Rosa.” Her name sounded sweet coming from him. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? After all you’ve done . . .” He lowered his eyes. “After all you’ve done, I wasn’t there for you, was I? I’m to blame. I didn’t offer.”

“But Mary said cash was hard to come by, and you’d already helped them.”

“Taking care of Louise was my responsibility, and I failed her. I am the one who should be ashamed, not you. I am honored—do you hear me?” He lifted her chin. “I’m honored to help you any way I can.”

Weary eyes watched each word as they departed his lips, gauging his determination. He would help. Rosa needed more time, and he could buy it for her.

Oh, she would pay him back. If it took the rest of her life, she would find a way.

Exhaustion and relief conspired against her. She almost giggled as her knees started to buckle. Her fear had kept her from enjoying a good night’s rest for many weeks, but with the stress removed, she was giddy. Nothing could keep her sleepless much longer.

Clear-headed now, Weston forged ahead. “Tomorrow morning we’ll go to the bank. Getting a loan in my name will be no problem, and then you’ll go with me to the courthouse. You’ll hand them the money yourself. It won’t be on your shoulders any longer.”

Rosa nodded. Tomorrow morning. August fifteenth. She made a move toward the door and held herself up against the frame. What time was it? She listened to the night sounds. The moon hung overhead. The bullfrogs sang their throaty song. Probably just past midnight. Dawn was a long way off, and she was about to drop in the harness.

“No, you’re not going back home. You can barely stand up.” He glanced toward the house. “Is Mary home?”

“No, she’s with Louise.”

“Then you’re staying put.”

Should she protest? Louise’s story had ended where Ruth made the request and Boaz agreed to take care of her. Rosa hadn’t had time to find out what happened next.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m so tired I’m not thinking straight.”

“You can’t go by yourself. It’s too dangerous at night, and we mustn’t be caught together this late. You might as well be comfortable.” He picked her up and held her lightly against his chest while carrying her over the equipment to the haymow that had been his bed until moments ago. Looking for the most cushioned place, he arranged her to her best advantage and then took his blanket and wrapped it around her.

Once again, the scent of peppermint surrounded her as he knelt and tucked the blanket under her. He was inches from her face when their gazes met. Her chest went hollow at the gentleness emanating from his eyes. And what did he see? Did he recognize her thankfulness? Did he realize that she was in his debt, and between her gratitude and weariness, she was defenseless against him?

“I know better,” he said for anyone who might care to hear. “You’re safe with me.” And he walked away to sit by the barn door until morning.

W
ESTON WATCHED
the eastern horizon break into gray. It was time. Before he could get to his feet the rooster had already called out his first greeting. It was past time. The animals stirred and the ranch hands, so intuitively sensitive to the livestock, would not sleep much longer. He must wake Rosa and send her on her way before any witnesses awoke.

Leaving the door ajar, he climbed into the haymow with her, cautiously edging his way toward the blanket. She was there, curled on her side with one small hand tucked underneath her head, her turquoise blouse peeking out from under the rough blanket. He brushed her hair from her face, exposing her smooth complexion.

With the back of his hand he stroked her cheek. “Rosa,” he whispered. She didn’t move. “Rosa, you need to wake up.” Her eyes moved under their lids, but she made no effort to open them. He grasped her shoulder and jostled her more firmly. “Come on. I know you had a rough night, but we’ve got to get you out of here.”

Pandora whinnied in the next stall, and Rosa stirred. She blinked drowsily twice and reached to touch his bristly cheek.

“Yes, I’m real.” He understood her confusion. He’d been in the same situation just hours ago.

As she came to, Weston read every moment of the night before in her expressive face: fear, shame, embarrassment . . . then the realization that she was saved. Only then did she allow him to help her up.

“I won’t bother asking if you slept well.”

“Better than the night before.” She smiled at him as if he were some sort of hero. But a hero wouldn’t have let her get so desperate.

“Go on home and get ready. I’ll come by to pick you up. By the end of the day we’ll have this straightened out. Nothing else to fret over. All right?”

With a lowered voice he showed her the best path to the pasture, sweeping away from the sleeping ranch hands and hanging tight to the high brush.

“Thank you,” she said.

He felt there should be a hug, a handshake—some connection between them besides the words—but not knowing how to proceed, he let her depart and watched as she covered the dusty barnyard, sliding out the gate toward her home.

Above Rosa the trees burst with the noise of the chattering birds sharing the morning’s news. The colors of their plumage grew brighter as the sun rolled lazily over the horizon. Mockingbirds sang a
canción
while the cardinals fussed at the jays who stole too close to their nests.

The light of morning only intensified the guilt she felt. What had seemed reckless the night before was indecent now. Sleeping in the barn with Weston! What would Uncle George have thought if he’d caught her? It made her sick to think of it.

But as hard as it was to forgive herself, she couldn’t ignore the fact that it was that day—August fifteenth—the day she’d dreaded for three months, and they were saved. No eviction. No loss. Weston said he would take care of it, and she trusted him.

But what was she going to tell Louise? Spending the night hadn’t been part of their discussion. Louise would want every last embarrassing detail, but please, God, not in front of Mary. Besides, she didn’t have time to chat. After a night in the barn she needed to wash up. She was going to town!

“I’ll wear my new dress,” Rosa said aloud and took hold of a slender trunk to pull herself up the bank. “This is the perfect occasion.”

A horse whinnied nearby. Too close. Someone was there. Rosa tried to step behind a bush, but there wasn’t time.

Tillerton had heard her. Swinging off the horse, he stepped between her and the path to the house.

“I was watching for you. Wondered if you’d make some last ditch effort today, but I thought I’d catch you leaving the house, not coming back to it.”

Her eyes darted around looking for some missile, some weapon to give her a chance, but with the bank yawning at her heels, her choices were limited.

His smile mocked her. “Don’t have your gun? No, I don’t suppose you’ve been out hunting this morning.” His eyes ran down her every curve, missing nothing. “So what have you been doing? Let’s see how fine my powers of deduction are. There’s straw in your hair.” He plucked it out, pulling several thick strands with it.

Rosa gasped and held her hand against her burning scalp. She tried again to sidestep him, but he angled to block her way.

“And there aren’t any footprints in the dew leaving your house. You’ve been out all night.” His nose curled as he peered at her. “So, you turned my offer down all high and mighty only to go fishing around for another. Well, did you get a better deal? Were you able to save your ranch?”

Yes
, she wanted to gloat.
We saved the ranch from you.
He wouldn’t get it. He couldn’t take it from them.

He walked around her again, his anger building. “I bet you don’t want to tell me who you were with, not that I blame you. It couldn’t have been good old Uncle George. If he had any money, you’d already have it. Surely you didn’t waste your time on those worthless cowboys. They don’t have two coins to rub together. Unless they pooled their money—”

“Get out of my way.” Rosa pushed past him, but he wasn’t finished. In a grip that would leave a bruise, he pulled her against his weaselly chest.

“I’m not done with you. I thought you protested on moral grounds, but no, you just thought you could do better. Well, I’m an acquired taste that you’ll learn to love. . . .”

She wouldn’t take any more. Rosa landed one good blow to his jaw before they both heard the unmistakable click of a Colt’s hammer going into position.

Tillerton stepped back and flung his hands into the air. Forcing a jovial smile, he called out, “All right, you caught us. Just having ourselves a little fun.”

“Doesn’t look like the lady is having fun.”

Who was hiding behind them? Rosa didn’t recognize the voice.

Tillerton’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the undergrowth, looking for his adversary. “Why don’t you come on out and we’ll talk about it. Or is Mrs. Garner’s friend ashamed to show his face?”

“You’re the one who ought to be ashamed. Mrs. Garner, go on home. I’ll keep this piece of trash from blowing in your direction.”

Rosa didn’t need to be told twice. Wondering who had followed her, she gathered her skirts and scrambled up the path to the house.

She’d just looked over her shoulder hoping to see who had saved her when the door swung open.

“Where have you been?” Louise practically dragged her across the threshold. “I can’t believe you stayed all night. What will people say?”

Rosa rubbed her arm, still sore where Tillerton had grasped it.

“Weston told me to stay. He was worried about me getting caught outside so late.”

The wrinkles around Louise’s mouth smoothed when her jaw dropped. “He told you to stay? Interesting . . . What else did he say?”

“He’s going to give us the money. He’s coming this morning to take us to the courthouse. I’m sorry I didn’t come home, Louise. I knew you’d be worried—”

“
Shh
. It doesn’t matter now. I’m just surprised you followed the Ruth story to the end. Surprised, but happy nonetheless.”

“You told me how to ask for the money. That’s as far as you got.”

“There wasn’t time to tell the rest.” She shot a worried look over her shoulder. “Mary will wake up soon. Don’t fret, child. What’s done is done. We’ll trust him to do what’s right. If he’s responsible for your staying, he’ll protect your reputation. In the meantime, you’re a sight. Get cleaned up. I imagine he’ll be here any time, and believe me you’ll want to look your best.”

Weston was tightening the flank cinch on Pandora when Willie appeared, running full tilt out of the high grass.

“Mr. Weston, we got trouble.”

“What is it, Willie?”

“Something’s going on here. Something that ain’t good.”

Willie had his attention. “Go on.”

“This morning I saw a woman sneaking out of the barn, this barn here. I didn’t know who it was or who she came to see, so I followed her.” Willie’s eyes darted to the side. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but you need to know.”

Weston looked at him with deadly intensity and said it for him. “It was Mrs. Rosa Garner—and she was with me.”

“How could you?” Willie’s lip curled. “I might be a cowboy, but I know that a woman sneaking out of a barn at first light is wrong, and it don’t matter who it is.”

Between this former slave and former slave owner, one of them had some explaining to do. Wes couldn’t hide behind his status to squelch Willie’s questions, but what could he say without hurting Rosa’s reputation?

“Willie, I’ll tell you what happened last night, and I hope you can keep this between the two of us. Mrs. Garner did nothing shameful. She was helping Louise, and neither of us would want to hurt her reputation.”

Willie shifted his weight impatiently from the six-shooter leg to the Bowie knife leg. “Well, that’s the problem, boss. We ain’t the only ones who know.”

Weston strode into the dining room of Palmetto, causing the curtains to fling their skirts as he passed. He wouldn’t be surprised if a swirl of dust still followed him, considering the breakneck speed at which he’d traveled from George and Mary’s. The whole world seemed in an uproar. Naturally, Eliza and Jake were unaffected, engaged in their usual banter at the breakfast table.

“You keep chowing down like that, and we’ll need to get some more chickens,” Jake quipped as Eliza sopped up the runny yolk with her toast.

“You keep talking like that, and we’ll need to get another bedroom.”

“I hate to interrupt, but I’ve got to scrub up and hit the ground running.” Weston kicked his boots off while fumbling with his collar. “I’d be grateful if both of you could give me a minute.”

“Weston, you aren’t going to undress in the dining room, are you?” Eliza said with her mouth full. “Don’t you want some breakfast?”

“I’m hankering for sausage and eggs, but it’ll have to be fast. Have Octavia send it up.” He pulled his suspenders down over his shoulders and ran toward the stairs.

Wes didn’t have time to gauge their reactions. He took the stairs two at a time and raced to his room. Finding his razor and shaving soap in place, he set to the job as fast as he safely could.

“You’d better slow down. You’re going to cut yourself.”

How’d Eliza get up the stairs so quickly in her condition?

“Thanks, Ma. I’m new to shaving, you know. Now, stop riding me and listen. I’ve got to go to Lockhart today. Right now, in fact. I’d be honored if you’d go with me.”

“Honored? You ain’t making no sense,” Jake said. “What’s the rush?”

“I’m getting married.”

No sound emitted from the mouthy couple for a good ten seconds. One noteworthy accomplishment for the day.

Eliza’s hand went to her chest in shock.

Jake smiled from ear to ear. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Mrs. Rosa Garner.”

Now it was Eliza’s turn to smile. With a squeal she jumped to hug her brother’s froth-covered neck. “How did this happen? When? I didn’t know you’d talked to her recently. How long has she known?”

“She doesn’t yet. That’s why we need to hurry.” Eliza stepped back as Weston darted into his dressing room. “I need to propose, and then we have to go to the bank, get the money, and take it to the courthouse to pay the taxes on their farm before the end of the business day. We’ll be doing good to make it.” He emerged wearing a dapper black suit and vest and carrying a stylish bowler. The boots were nonnegotiable.