A Husband Returned: Men of Wicked Sorrow, Book One

by Wynne Roman

  “He set events in motion long ago that culminated in Cruz coming to the Sangre Real for vengeance.” She raised an eyebrow to make her point.

  Nathan nodded his reluctant agreement, while Tristan considered her for a moment. “I talked to him.”

  “To Cruz?” asked Nathan.

  Tristan nodded. “I remember him now. We used to see him from a distance. His mother is Paloma. She—”

  “Was the cook for a long time,” Nathan interrupted.

  “Then suddenly it was Rosa. I never thought much of it, even when we used to see Paloma by the shack he moved her to. You know the one,” he reminded Nathan. “By the creek, where it widens and makes that sharp turn to the left.”

  “I remember.”

  Mariah knew nothing of what they were discussing and so remained silent. Nathan, however, sounded somewhat surprised by his memories.

  “Cruz said Jordan put her there when she became pregnant, told everyone she’d gone back to Mexico, and hired her cousin Rosa in her place. He used to visit them. Often, according to Cruz. He’d be told to play outside, and Jordan would take Paloma into the bedroom.”

  Neither man looked at Mariah, but she threw them both disgusted looks. Even years after his death, her dislike of Jordan Fairchild continued to grow.

  “There were no more children?” she asked as mildly as she could.

  “No. It went on for years, until Cruz was five or six. He became ill and Paloma became so frightened by his high temperature that she took him to the ranch house. She tried to hide in the barn or near the bunkhouse, waiting for Jordan, but Carolyn found her.”

  “Oh, no,” Mariah gasped as a sharp and painful image of what the women must have faced formed brightly in her mind. Perhaps it was her own situation, but she found herself sympathizing with both women. Neither had many choices, and Jordan had done them both wrong.

  “He looked exactly like one of us at that age.” Tristan pushed on with the story. “The instant she saw him, Carolyn knew who his father was, and she went loco, according to Cruz’s mother’s description.”

  “And then?” Mariah asked, unable to help herself.

  Tristan shrugged. “Jordan spirited them out of there. Took them to Brownsville, gave Paloma some money, and Cruz said he and his mother never saw Jordan again.”

  “Jordan must have been a little loco himself,” Nathan considered wryly, his gaze distant as though he searched his memory to confirm the things that Cruz had said. “It couldn’t have been easy to find a way of making something like that up to Carolyn.”

  “You know her treasured bathing room?” asked Tristan.

  “What?” Mariah cried.

  “Yes.” Tristan nodded and gave a knowing if subdued smile. “We all knew Jordan had done something terrible—unforgivable, she always called it. I don’t know for certain, but what else could push him to go to the time, trouble, and expense to learn how to build such a room?”

  “Cruz’s birth,” Mariah breathed.

  “I suspect so,” agreed Tristan.

  “We should thank him.” Nathan gave her a heated gaze, and Mariah felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Or was it excitement?

  The bathing room had been the first place where he had suggested she bathe him. She hadn’t agreed at the time, but he had certainly learned to use the activity of bathing each other to provide them with mutual and myriad pleasures.

  Yes, she’d thank her father-in-law for that much.

  No one said anything more, each of them apparently finding a way to come to terms with the truth of Jordan’s perfidy—against his entire family. How must his sons—all of them—feel right now?

  “What’s going to happen to him?” Finally, Mariah was able to ask the question that had been troubling her ever since the sheriff had brought Cruz to visit. Barstow had put an end to their conversation so abruptly, she hadn’t thought quickly enough to ask the questions she should have.

  “Cruz?”

  Tristan exchanged a look with Nathan. Had they discussed it? Her husband certainly hadn’t mentioned his half-brother to her at all.

  “We need to talk about that,” Tristan said in that Jordan-voice that both he and Nathan used on occasion. A voice Mariah hated.

  A voice that could mean anything at all—and, more often than not, did.

  35

  The conversation about Cruz didn’t take place that day. Tristan had insisted both he and Nathan needed to think first, now that they had learned as much information as was available to them. Nathan didn’t argue; he knew Mariah was too kindhearted, and she would worry about Cruz Pecado and his future as a Fairchild.

  If the man wanted that future, and if Tristan and Nathan could agree on what it meant for them. Cruz’s existence had caught them both completely unaware. It added to an already-difficult relationship when they still struggled with learning to be brothers without Jordan’s interference.

  Mariah had been right.

  If you want to blame anyone, it should be your father.

  Jordan had been the driving force behind so much. The results may have been decent, but his methods had been appalling. The man was gone now, leaving his sons to carry on. They had survived the hell of civil war, miraculously returned home, and each had his own future to consider. How much influence did their father deserve to exert, even now, over the choices they made?

  Nathan had posed the question to Tristan as he’d mounted his horse to leave that day. He’d continued to ask it of himself in the weeks that followed, but the answers had never come. Perhaps, he’d eventually decided, it was because the final decision didn’t really rest with him. It was Tristan who owned the Rancho de Sangre Real, and his choices were the only ones that would make a difference.

  As for Mariah, her healing progressed surprisingly well. It was mostly due, she complained, to Nathan’s continued cosseting; he still refused to allow her to do anything for herself. Worse than that, he wouldn’t enclose her in his arms, and he would only give her quick, impersonal kisses. And though he slept every night with a stiff cock that would never subside in its desire for her, he wouldn’t even consider making love to her.

  Not yet, he told her over and over, even though it all but destroyed any peace of mind either of them could claim.

  He simply couldn’t take the next step. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her falling to the porch floor with blood blossoming at her shoulder. He saw the pain as he’d first tried to help her undress and the sight of her wound after Ethan had extracted the bullet.

  Until he could replace those images with the memories of his wife’s face flushed with passion and completion, he couldn’t bring himself to take her again.

  A full month had passed since the shooting. The knowledge weighed heavily on Nathan that decisions—important decisions—were imminent and vital. They were almost out of time; Cruz was due to be released from jail any day.

  Between his half-brother’s predicament and the craving his body had for Mariah’s tight wetness, he hardly slept.

  Finally, repeated messages from Carolyn had established a certain plan in his mind. It was vague at first but came with increasing clarity as the days had gone on. His mother’s impatience drove them to set a date for their belated Christmas, which would take place at the Sangre Real. At Nathan’s insistence, he and Mariah would spend several nights there to prevent her from becoming overtired. She took it to mean that she could help West prepare their official Christmas dinner.

  They arrived in the early afternoon after a plodding buggy trip. He had driven them with a slow and steady hand that had seemed to frustrate Mariah. Or perhaps she had started with a certain irritation, because he’d insisted that she wear her sling.

  “I don’t need it!” she’d claimed in annoyance. “My shoulder is healed.”

  “You still get twinges. I see you flinch.”

  “Rarely. Only when I move wrong.”

  “And a buggy ride is the perfect opportunity for one of those wrong moves.”
<
br />   “Nathan—” she’d tried, but he had remained unmoved.

  “It’s only during the trip itself. You can remove it once we arrive.”

  And so she had. Nathan had carried their small bag up to the room they had always shared, she had unpacked for them both, and they’d eaten a late lunch of cold chicken and bread. They were finishing up when Tristan found them in the dining room.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, his gaze lingering on Nathan and looking eerily like the face he saw in the mirror every day. The face of Jordan Fairchild that marked them all.

  “Yes.” Nathan hadn’t been certain, but a part of him had been expecting a conversation like this for several weeks now.

  “Will you join us, Mariah?” Tristan cast a serious look at her. “This affects you, too.”

  Her eyes grew wide and warmed him. They sparkled with the renewed violet life that Nathan had seen in her, improving every day with her recovery. It was enough to earn his smile.

  They followed Tristan into the study that had once been Jordan’s and now belonged to the younger son. Somehow, that fact didn’t trouble Nathan as much as it once had. He helped Mariah sit on the tufted leather sofa and settled himself next to her. It surprised him when Tristan took one of the chairs that sat at the front of the desk and placed it so he faced them directly.

  “This isn’t the way it was supposed to be,” he gestured to the room, “but here we are.”

  Nathan held his response; what was there to say? Mariah simply looked between the brothers.

  “It has been put on me, so I made a decision. Several of them.”

  “All right,” said Nathan when Tristan didn’t go on. Why was his brother acting almost defensive over it?

  “I’m signing the original Double C land over to you,” he said abruptly. “Earl Porter in Justo is making the arrangements.”

  “What?” Mariah whispered, while Nathan just stared.

  “It was your father’s land, Mariah,” Tristan explained stiffly. “He would have never left it to Jordan if he hadn’t believed that Nathan would be in charge someday. Then things went all acock, and it didn’t work like Mister Carpenter would have wanted. So, I did the next best thing.”

  Nathan could only stare at his brother. They had been at odds for most of their lives; how had Tristan found the willingness, the generosity, to do such a thing.

  “But why?” he asked, because he had to.

  Tristan lifted a shoulder, and his gaze skittered away. Talking about their feelings wasn’t something the Fairchild men did often, but Nathan saw no other choice at the moment. After everything, he needed to understand.

  “Tristan?”

  His brother shook his head. “Jordan is dead. He wasn’t a good man. Not to us, and not to anyone else. It’s no longer clear to me why I have been following in his footsteps.”

  Nathan nodded. “I struggle with that myself.”

  “We have some details to work out, but we might want to meet with Porter first.”

  “Such as?”

  “Do we operate as two individual ranches, separate from each other? Or do we look for ways to combine our resources? It will take some thought. There are other things beyond the land that came from the Double C—horses, cattle, equipment—and that has to be agreed upon, as well.”

  Nathan nodded, admittedly stunned by the turn of events. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Tristan would be so inspired. Jordan had taught them to fight for what they wanted and then keep it at all costs.

  What goodness had ever come from that? Both he and Tristan had spent the last four years fighting for what they wanted. For what everyone they knew wanted. They had been so certain they were right, and their convictions had been dashed.

  Some men came out of the war willing to continue the fight. To take the rage and the anger and insert it into every part of their lives. Nathan had reached a different conclusion. If only men had tried hard to compromise, how much time, pain, and heartache could they have saved?

  He had lost enough, and he wanted something different in his future. It seemed now that, perhaps, Tristan had reached at least some of the same conclusions.

  “I’m going to offer Cruz a place here,” his brother said then.

  Mariah straightened with the news, but Nathan could only look at Tristan. “Have you given that serious consideration?”

  “Nathan!” Mariah gasped as though he’d said something completely inappropriate.

  “What?” He flicked a quick glance at her.

  “He’s your brother.”

  “Half-brother. And that isn’t the problem,” he pointed out with certain patience. “You know that as well as I do. There are others—”

  “I told Carolyn,” inserted Tristan.

  “You told her about Cruz?” Nathan reared back with a new respect for his brother.

  “Oh, dear,” said Mariah, both of them knowing that couldn’t have gone well.

  “She called him a bastard.” Tristan’s voice sounded entirely hard and unyielding. “I told her that she’ll call him Cruz or I’ll move her into Justo and support her on nothing more than a very strict allowance.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I’m sure she didn’t take that well.”

  “No, she didn’t. I’m not completely heartless over it. I’m certain it would be difficult for a woman to know her husband had a child with another woman. But Carolyn has known it for years now, she admitted as much, and it isn’t Cruz’s fault. Still, I’d like to remain sensitive about it—”

  “Mariah? Where are you?”

  The unmistakably breathy cry echoed through the house. Carolyn. She had appeared as though they’d conjured her up by saying her name too many times.

  “I’ll go.” Mariah sighed, smoothing her hands over her skirts as she stood.

  “Are you all right?” Nathan asked, fearing she wouldn’t admit the weakness if she felt it.

  “I’m fine.” She gave him a tender smile. And for the first time in forever, he thought it just might be true.

  The belated Christmas celebration had been nice enough, Mariah supposed, but she was glad to be almost home again. They had enjoyed a fine meal of ham and roasted potatoes, plum pudding, and eggnog. They’d exchanged gifts—Mariah had knitted stockings for the men and a shawl for Carolyn—and played games such as Twenty Questions and Cross Purposes. She couldn’t remember having such fun since sometime in the years before she and Nathan had married.

  But that was the past, never to trouble them again. It was 1866, and they would start anew.

  They pulled into the yard at the Double C, and Nathan leapt from his seat as soon as the buggy stopped. He helped her down and then held on to her hand when she would have turned toward the house.

  “I’ll tend to things later,” he gestured toward the horse and buggy, “but first I have a surprise for you.”

  Her eyes grew wide and she stared at him for a heartbeat or two. Her lips curved up into a small smile. “A surprise?”

  “Your Christmas present.”

  “But you gave me a gift! The gloves are lovely.”

  “And white.”

  “Yes.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “They’re white. I promised you. No more black.”

  “Good.” He nodded. “But I have something else.”

  He led her inside, still holding her hand, and tugged her down the hall to the guest bedroom. He stopped, opened the door, and then stepped back for her to enter first. She inspected his face for a hint of what he was up to, and then something large caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She turned and gasped.

  “A bathtub!”

  A large copper tub sat next to the small bed that had been pushed up against the wall. It was so big, she was sure that even Nathan could sit in it comfortably.

  “I can’t give you a room like the one at the Sangre Real,” he murmured from behind her. “Although I owe you at least that, and so much more. I’m hoping this will do until I can engineer just how Jordan cons
tructed his bathing room.”

  “Nathan!” She threw herself at him and snuggled tightly against his chest. There was a slight twinge at her shoulder, she would admit that to herself, but she would trade any amount of pain for this moment. “You bought me a tub!”

  “Bathing you, having you bathe me . . .” He closed his eyes and looked almost dreamy. “It has become a highlight of my day. Touching you the way I have, having your hands on me, I know I’m the luckiest man alive. When we couldn’t find the old hip tub you’d had as a child, a new one seemed the best gift I could give you.”

  “Oh, it is. It is!”

  “And a little selfish, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will get as much pleasure out of it as you will.” He gave her a wicked, self-satisfied smile.

  “That may be true,” she agreed, not caring a whit. “But I don’t mind. I already have the best present of anyone I know. Anyone in Texas, for that matter.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You, my love,” she breathed in loving wonder. “I have my husband returned.”

  “And I have my wife beside me.” He bent down to kiss her, his lips soft and seductive on hers. “As she has always been, and as she will be for all the days of our lives.”

  “I love you, Nathan.”

  “And I love you. Far beyond what I knew was possible.”

  It was true. She saw it in his expression, felt it in her heart, knew it to the depths of every part of her being. He pulled her closer, fitted their bodies together in perfect harmony, and then gave her a kiss to last a lifetime.

  Epilogue

  The water had cooled to little more than tepid, but Mariah made no move to get out of the tub. How could she? She’d never felt more excited—or naughtier. She and Nathan were bathing together!

  They had never done such a thing, and a still-modest part of her was scandalized that they did so now. Even so, she couldn’t deny the deliciousness of it.

  She had spent the day planting their garden, leaving her muscles tired and her back aching. She had wanted to get started on it weeks ago, as early as mid-February, but Nathan had refused. Not until three full months had passed after the shooting, he had insisted. Only then would he agree to what he considered a task that he deemed too strenuous. She had tolerated his highhandedness only because of the haunted look that came over him whenever the topic of her injury came up.