Texas Brides Collection (23 page)

His lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of his face. “If you hombres don’t mind, I’m going to borrow your mother for a minute,” he said, his voice laced with a deadly combination of calmness and coldness. “You just close your eyes and dream about breakfast, little man.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, to tell him she would never leave her babies no matter how many men he’d brought with him. Before she could protest, a silent warning passed between them like a chill in the night. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. Slowly, he lifted his index finger to his lips in a request for her to remain silent.

“Father, forgive me,” she thought she heard him whisper.

The second shadow moved, and Grace jumped in surprise. Split seconds later, the ranger slammed the door. The sound of men scuffling in the hall echoed through the room, and Bennett cried out in surprise.

“Climb into the bed with your sister and stay there,” Grace ordered as she pressed her ear to the door in an attempt to hear something, anything, over the pounding of her heart. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bennett race for Mary’s bed.

As the sounds of struggle continued on the other side of the door, Grace spied the rocker and made a grab for it, one hand still firmly on the doorknob. With the last of her strength, she pulled the heavy chair toward the door, while the babe in her womb kicked in protest.

Wedging the back of the rocker under the knob, she stood back to test her handiwork and a spasm of sheer agony knocked her to her knees. Like flames licking at her nerves, the pain sharpened and splintered, then came to rest in her abdomen. Something wet and warm spilled onto the hem of her gown, and she looked down to see a deep crimson stain had begun to form at her feet.

Outside, the men had fallen mysteriously silent. Behind her, Grace heard the rustle of bedcovers and the soft voices of her children.

“Mama?” Bennett whispered. “What’s happening?”

Then came the ear-splintering shot.

J
ed looked down at the body slumped against the door and waited while his breath caught up with his mind. With his heart still thrumming a furious beat, he kicked the Colt—his own stolen revolver—away from the dead man’s hand.

“Thou shalt not kill,” he said under his breath as the gun slid across the slick wooden floor and landed with a crash against the opposite wall.

His arm ached where the bandages wrapped his wounds, and in the semidarkness of the hallway, he could see a tinge of pink had begun to stain the fabric. At least he still had a cool head and a clear mind.

Clear enough to see that, even with only one eye, he’d sent another one to the undertaker.

Disgusted, he turned away and knelt in the shadows, closing his good eye and covering the other with a trembling hand. “Heavenly Father, forgive me. I didn’t mean to shoot him. It was…”

He paused, the truth too horrible to repeat. But the Lord knew him inside out. He knew what lay in his heart. Jed Harte might have been washed in the blood of Jesus and bathed in the cold waters of a creek-side baptism, but inside he was still the same Texas Ranger who’d learned with pride a thousand and one ways to deliver a man to death’s door.

“It was instinct,” Jed finished, knowing the full depth of his sin was that he hadn’t changed one bit from the man he used to be. “I shot him because that’s what I do. I kill people.”

In the silence of the hallway, with the smell of death bearing down hard on him, Jed Harte knew he would forever be Heartless Harte, the ranger who let no man live who’d crossed him. He was a sorry sinner and not worth spit.

Never would he be worthy of the grace the Lord had bestowed upon him. Never would he earn the forgiveness He so generously had offered on the banks of that creek such a short time ago.

“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.”

With a cry of anguish, Jed pushed the familiar verse from his mind. He’d contemplated the meaning of it once too often on the ride from San Antonio and had come up with nothing more than a headache.

How could the Lord send His Son to die for a man who made killing his business? How could He forgive a man who seemed to keep on running back to the old ways like a baby to his mother?

“Mr. Ranger,” a child’s voice called from the other side of the closed door. “My mama needs help.”

Scrambling to his feet, Jed pushed the dead man out of the way and yanked on the knob. It refused to turn. Focusing his good eye on it, he tried again.

Still stuck tight—not a good sign.

Jed swallowed the bile climbing in his throat and assumed the amiable tone he’d perfected on the job. The last thing he needed was to be on the wrong side of a door with a scared kid on the other.

“What’s wrong with your mama, little man?”

No answer.

Jed struggled to remember what Ben’s wife had called the lad. “Bennett, is that your name?”

“Yes, sir,” the wavering voice responded.

“Well, that’s a fine name.” Again he tried the knob and found it locked tight. “So Bennett, do you suppose you could come on over and open this door?”

“No, sir,” the boy answered.

Sending a prayer for patience skyward, he eased his good shoulder into the door and pressed, hoping the door would budge. It didn’t.

Perfect. He scowled at the dead man, the busted knob, and finally at the weak shoulder, which kept him from knocking the door down.

“Bennett?”

“Yes, sir?”

The panic in the boy’s voice slid under the door and lodged in Jed’s heart. Irritation took a turn toward uneasiness. “If you want me to help your mama, you’re going to have to open the door.”

He waited, hoping the kid would cooperate. Once again, nothing happened. A thousand anxious thoughts converged and separated in his mind. Shaking his head to clear the noise, he tried again.

“Little man, open the door.”

“I can’t,” he finally said. “I tried and I can’t reach it.”

Jed leaned against the door and listened to the scampering of feet across the carpets. Obviously the boy was busy doing something. “Yes, you can.”

“Nope,” slid through the door on a loud whine.

The situation threatened to slip out of control. Just as he’d done countless times before, Jed met the situation head on and demanded results. “Open this door now before I shoot it open. Do you hear me, kid?”

Bennett Delaney’s wail echoed across the hallway. So much for taking control of the situation.

“Your mother,” Jed called when the boy had settled some, “where is she?”

“By the door. Mr. Ranger, you have to help my mama,” he said as he dissolved once more into tears. Moments later, a second set of cries joined the chorus, most likely the little girl’s.

Now neither of them could hear him, nor would they do anything to help him get the door opened. Frustrated beyond description, Jed sent a prayer to his Maker.

Lord, this isn’t working out like I planned, so do You think You could step in and give me a little help with these young’uns?

When no answer seemed forthcoming, Jed returned to his investigative training for a solution. Kneeling once more, he leaned over until his ear touched the floor and peered into the space between the floor and the bottom of the door.

Through the opening he could barely make out the shape of a woman’s foot partially covered by the same sort of white linen as his shoulder. By shifting positions, he could see more of her. She lay on her side with an arm beneath her head as if she’d fallen asleep or possibly been knocked to the floor.

Then he saw the blood.

“Mama!” came the plaintive cry from the other side of the door.

“She hurt,” the little one added.

“Hang on to your sister, little man,” he shouted over the din. “I’m going to save your mama.”

He stood and brushed off the sense of foreboding along with the lint decorating his shirt. “Once a ranger, always a ranger,” he said as he stepped over the corpse to fetch the Colt from the corner of the hallway.

Retrieving the matching gun from the belt of the criminal, Jed took a second to get his bearings. The mantle of ranger settled easily on his shoulders, although the prick of his conscience was something he’d have to settle later.

The throb in his shoulder had long since ceased to matter, and the meaningless hum in his brain had refined and shaped itself into a command. He was a Texas Ranger, always had been and always would be. Maybe there was a way he could please God and the great state of Texas at the same time.

Right now, he had to worry about Ben’s wife. Later, the Lord willing, he would take the rest of his dilemma up with Him and see what He had to say about the matter.

Taking the steps two at a time, he hung on to the stair rail for dear life. At the bottom of the staircase, blackness met him and brought him to a quick halt.

“Lord, I can’t do this in the dark,” he said as he felt his way around the carved newel post and stumbled over something hard and immovable. His toe ached and he longed to say the scalding words that had once come tripping so easily off his tongue. “I’d be much obliged if You would shed a little light on this for me.”

“Mr. Harte, that you?”

Jed blinked at the brilliant light accompanying the familiar voice. “Thank you, Jesus,” he said under his breath. “Follow me,” he commanded to the dark-skinned woman he’d come to know as Theresa.

With the light of a single candle, Jed managed to navigate a path through the fancy parlor, across the center hall, and out the front door. On the porch, a chill wind blew out the flame and sent Theresa scurrying for another.

“Forget the candle. Go upstairs and wait by the bedroom door,” he shouted. “Mrs. Delaney will need you.”

Theresa stopped short, one hand on the door and the other clutching the dark cloak at her throat. “What’s wrong with my Grace?” she asked.

Jed stepped out into the yard and looked up at the window where the woman and children waited. He reached across to test the porch rail, pleased his work had lasted all these years.

“If the Lord wills it, there won’t be anything wrong with her that can’t be fixed,” he said slowly. “But I reckon I’m gonna have to get to her first to find out for sure.”

The door slammed shut on Theresa’s cry. Bracing himself for the return of the pain and weakness that had dogged his days and turned his nights into a string of foggy memories, Jed climbed the steps to the porch and threw a leg over the rail. His shoulder complained a bit when he threw the other leg over and stood, but by the time he’d caught the edge of the roof and begun to pull himself up, the pain disappeared.

Somehow Jed climbed onto the second floor roof and slipped the window open enough to climb in. As he slid inside the bedroom where the children lay crying together in a small bed, he could only give thanks to the Lord he’d made it that far.

Jed whirled around to see Ben’s wife in a heap on the floor beside a rocker. He deduced the woman must have wedged the chair under the knob to keep the door from opening, most likely thinking it would serve to protect her babies from the ruckus in the hall.

A small pool of blood had begun to darken the flowered carpet and her gown had soaked up much of it. With a harsh glance over his shoulder, Jed pressed a finger to his lips to silence the racket, and to his great surprise, it worked. He turned his attention back to their mother.

“Mommy sick?” an angelic voice asked.

Jed turned to see the wide eyes of the youngest Delaney staring at him from her brother’s lap. All freckles and curls, the little girl seemed to be holding up better than her sibling.

“She’ll be fine,” he said to both of them, hoping the fear he felt hadn’t seeped into his words.

It wasn’t right, this situation. He’d only rejoined the Rangers a few minutes ago, and he’d already been forced to climb a building, let himself in through a window, and comfort a couple of scared kids.

Next thing you know he’d be delivering babies.

“Ranger Harte, you in there?” Theresa asked. She knocked on the other side of the door to punctuate the question.

Shaking away the absurd thoughts, Jed shoved the rocker out of the way and knelt beside the bleeding woman. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared at a point past him. The stare of a dead woman, he thought with a shudder.

He’d seen it before.

“Open the door, Theresa,” Jed said, easily lifting Ben’s wife into his arms. Stepping back, he waited for the door to swing inward.

While the woman outside fumbled with the knob, Jed let his gaze wander to the beauty in his arms. Under other circumstances, if he’d seen her walking down the street in San Antonio or sitting in the pew across the aisle at church, he would have given her a second, more discreet look. Now he just stared.

Her hair cascaded over his shoulder and lay in a dark, shimmering curtain against the worn flannel of his winter shirt. The eyes that had peered back at him before were now shut, and the color he remembered from her face had drained away.

A knot wrenched in his gut when her lips parted and released a soft complaint. Jed shifted her to lean against him, sliding her head to rest on his shoulder. The door swung open with a protest from hinges in need of a good oiling. Theresa stifled a gasp as her gaze traveled from the woman to the carpet, then back again.