But something had happened, and Rawley hadn’t been there—because of the woman sitting beside him, someone for whom inappropriate thoughts and feelings had blossomed, and he hadn’t been sure he could keep them in check. When she’d challenged him one night, he’d realized his restraint was thinly tethered and could easily snap. Where would they be then?
He’d grown up in the bosom of her family, knew himself not to be worthy of her. So he’d left. To protect her, to protect himself. Yet he couldn’t tell her all that. Instead, he settled into mentally berating and beating himself up for making himself even more unworthy by not staying and being the man he needed to be, the man Dallas Leigh had raised him to be.
Glancing over at her, he was struck by how much he’d missed her, how very little he knew about what had transpired with her since he’d left. It seemed no matter how far or fast he traveled, she was always there. During the years he’d been gone, he’d only ever written letters to Ma, received news from her. Whenever he arrived at the next town, he’d send her a telegram to let her know he was doing all right and a postcard to give her a sense of his surroundings. It became easier three years ago, when Congress authorized using half of the back of the postcard for scrawling notes. He no longer had to sit down and write out a lengthy letter to her. A few lines, short and sweet, was all he needed to keep her apprised of his situation.
“What are you doing these days, Faith? Your oil wells come in?” After Spindletop, she’d been optimistic they might find oil on some of the Leigh spread and had begun working with oilmen who had the skills to help her locate it.
“They never amounted to much,” she said. “I lost interest in them. These days I’m mostly just looking after the ranch.”
He wasn’t surprised she was in charge of the spread. She was the logical choice, would inherit all of it someday. “How’s that going?”
She latched on to the opportunity to talk about something other than themselves, to wax on about the cattle, the goings-on with the men, the ones who had passed, the ones who had retired. Listening with interest, absorbing the sound of her voice, warmed him in ways nothing else did.
The road from town hadn’t changed much. Barbed wire lined both sides of it, wire he’d restrung and repaired countless times, wire that had changed the cattle industry. The days of the long cattle drives were behind them. They just had to get the cattle to a train. He wondered if a time would come when there wouldn’t be any cowboys at all. Sometimes he felt like a dying breed.
He turned the horses from the road onto a narrower path that passed beneath an archway bearing the two D’s that marked the brand Dallas had begun using when he’d married Cordelia McQueen, known as Dee among her family and friends. Not that Rawley had ever called her that. From the moment she’d made him hers, she’d been Ma.
Eventually the house came into view. “Just as hideous as I remember,” he said with fondness. It was a monstrosity, had the look of a castle on the prairie. Dallas had built the massive structure more than thirty years earlier in anticipation of the arrival of his mail-order bride. Only destiny had found Amelia Carson falling in love with Houston Leigh when he’d been sent to Fort Worth to fetch her on Dallas’s behalf.
“When I was younger, I always felt like a princess living there,” Faith said quietly.
“Dallas sure spoiled you like you were one.”
“You did your fair share of spoiling. It’s a wonder I learned to walk the way you carried me everywhere.”
Surprised, he glanced over at her. “You remember that?”
She shook her head. “No, but Ma told me often enough. ‘That Rawley Cooper would never let you out of his sight.’ Apparently I ensured it by constantly holding my arms up to you.”
Her voice held teasing, but his watching out for her had been a serious thing. He’d been responsible for Cordelia Leigh losing her first baby—no matter that everyone said it wasn’t his fault. He knew the truth of it and had been determined that nothing was going to happen to take her beloved daughter from her.
As they neared the house, he could see the outbuildings, all the activity going on. Work on the Leigh spread never seemed to slow or stop. He imagined he’d be able to pick up the rhythm as though he’d never been away.
Then he spotted Dallas and Ma sitting on the front porch on the bench swing, moving slowly, lazily, an unfamiliar scruffy hound resting nearby. He barely had time to realize that a coverall-clad little girl in boots was sitting between them before Ma had shoved herself to her feet. He brought the buggy to a halt—
Everything seemed to happen at a speed that made it impossible to comprehend.
The child was rushing down the steps. “Mama!”
Racing after her, the dog bounded off the porch.
Faith quickly clambered out of the buggy, dashed forward, snatched the girl up before she got too close to the horses, and swung her around, their laughter echoing joyously on the air.
Setting the brake, Rawley climbed off the bench, his feet hitting the ground with a thud, stirring up the dust, his body no longer seeming connected to his brain, moving independently of any thoughts he might have.
Suddenly arms were around his back, squeezing tightly, holding him close. His ma. His ma was there, welcoming him home. Damn, but he’d missed her, which he figured was probably obvious to her since his hug was a little too strong. He’d always loved the fragrance of her, the warmth of her. She was all that was good and clean in his life.
Wrapping her hands around his upper arms, she leaned back and smiled at him. Her face contained a few more wrinkles, her dark hair a few more strands of gray, but damn if she wasn’t a sight for sore eyes. “You’re looking good,” she said, so much tenderness woven into her voice that if he wasn’t a grown man, he might have wept.
When she released her hold on him and stepped back, Dallas moved in, his dark hair and mustache sprinkled with white, but he still looked capable of commanding the world as he pumped Rawley’s hand, slapped his shoulder. “Welcome home, son.”
Son. Dallas had called him that through the years more times than he could count, his throat always tightening as the truth bombarded him: He wasn’t the man’s son. Dallas’s son was lying in a grave beneath a nearby windmill because of Rawley’s cowardice. Still, he responded with a brusque nod, grateful Dallas appeared more robust than he’d expected.
A corner of Dallas’s mouth shifted up. “Faith give you that bruise coming up on your cheek?”
He’d hoped her punch hadn’t left a mark, but considering how tender his cheek felt, he figured it would look worse tomorrow. “Seems she took exception to the way I left.”
“She did indeed.”
“She told me about your ticker but, Dallas, you’re not that old.”
Dallas laughed. “Son, I’m the oldest man I know.”
He was sixty-three, which was fairly ancient for the life he’d lived, but Rawley couldn’t help but believe—hope—he had a few more years left in him.
Rawley might have offered more words but he was distracted, his attention focused on Faith and the imp perched on her hip who reminded him of Faith when she’d been about that size. The child was talking nonstop, words he couldn’t hear, but Faith merely nodded and smiled, her eyes occasionally widening as though she were impressed.
Faith must have felt his gaze boring into her, because she finally looked over at him, and a deep scarlet blush crept up her face, peaked at her cheeks. Her smile withering as she began sauntering over alerted him that he hadn’t seen a true grin from her since he’d arrived, not that he’d really expected one. The last time they were together he could have handled things better. He realized that now.
The dog sniffing his legs grew bored and wandered off. Her parents parted like they were the Red Sea and she was Moses. She angled up that pert little chin of hers. Her brown eyes held a challenge and a threat—as though she feared he might do something to cause harm to the child she held, the one who had called her Mama. When the hell had sh
e gotten married, and why the hell hadn’t anyone told him?
“Callie, this is your uncle Rawley.”
Even knowing what the introduction would entail hadn’t prepared him for the way the words battered him—a series of uppercuts to his heart. Then the sprite smiled at him and his chest threatened to implode, the tightness of it making it nearly impossible to draw in a breath. She was her mother all over again, sweet, innocent, pure. Waving her fingers at him, she nestled her head against Faith’s shoulder.
“This is my daughter.”
“I gathered as much.” He hadn’t meant for the words to come out so terse, but a thousand questions bombarded him. “Congratulations. I didn’t realize you’d gotten married.”
“I didn’t.”
Chapter Three
She should have told him, should have prepared him. She deserved her mother’s disapproving, narrow-eyed stare because Ma had insisted Faith needed to tell Rawley about Callie before they got to the ranch, but the right moment to do so never arrived—or maybe she hadn’t been looking for it. “I gave birth to a child out of wedlock” wasn’t something that easily slipped itself into conversation. Or perhaps she’d simply feared his censure, his judgment. There had been a time when his opinion had mattered more than breathing.
Suddenly he clapped his large hands together, making her jump, and spread them out toward Callie. “Want to come to your uncle Rawley?”
His voice held such tenderness, such devotion that he was once again the person she’d always adored. All the anger and resentment she’d been hoarding since his departure shrank somewhat, making her realize how silly she’d been to think that he, of all people, would sit in judgment of her. It had never been his way. When she’d been jealous of some of the other girls and tried to enlist him in making fun of them—even when only in the quietness of sitting beneath the stars with no one around to hear—he’d refused to cooperate, to say anything unkind about anyone. “I ain’t walking in their shoes.”
Callie, who had yet to meet a stranger, was halfway out of Faith’s arms and into Rawley’s before Faith could react, suspended between the two of them, joining them, reestablishing a bond she’d feared had snapped with his leaving. With a self-conscious chortle, she quickly released her daughter’s legs, confident he had a firm grip on the precious child, wouldn’t let her fall. She didn’t want to consider how right it looked for Callie to be balanced on his lean hip, one of her thin arms slung around his neck, her brown eyes sparkling with glee, and her smile large enough to reveal nearly every tooth, including the gap where she’d recently lost her first one.
“How old are you?” Rawley asked.
“Five.” With her fingers and thumb splayed out, she fairly pressed her palm to his nose, so he could easily count the years.
“Well, you’re a big girl, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” She bobbed her head with enough force that her brown braids bounced against her shoulders. “How old are you?”
“Don’t rightly know for sure. Somewhere north of thirty, I reckon.”
She laughed, the sweet, innocent tinkling of a child who had never known hurt. “You’re funny.”
With a grin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sarsaparilla stick. “Want some?”
Callie nodded enthusiastically. Even while holding her daughter, he managed to snap it in two and hand her a piece. Faith’s heart tightened so painfully with the memories of all the times he’d shared his candy with her that she was afraid tears were going to flood her eyes.
“Rawley Cooper, you know better than to go about spoiling your supper,” Ma chided, the affection in her voice belying any scolding she may have meant to give.
“I’ll still be hungry enough to eat a horse. What about you, Callie?”
She shook her head, taking the stick out of her mouth. “We don’t eat horses. We eat cows. ‘N chickens, ‘n pigs, ‘n rabbits.”
“Do you now?” he asked, as though truly interested in her eating habits.
She nodded. “Grampa once ate a snake.” She scrunched up her face. “Yuck. I don’t like snakes.”
“Me either.”
“Well, no one will be eating snakes tonight,” Ma said. “Come on. I’m sure the cook has dinner waiting on us by now.”
“I need to see to the buggy and horses,” Rawley said.
“Pete’s handling that chore,” Pa told him before raising his arm toward the ranch hand who had already taken hold of the lead horse and was starting to move everything toward the barn.
Rawley turned, the smile he bestowed on the aging man genuine, and Faith wished he’d greeted her with the same glad-to-see-you grin. “Hey, Pete.”
“Hey, Rawley. Glad to have you back.”
“Glad to be back.”
Although Faith heard the truth in his tone, she couldn’t help but believe he might be feeling a bit disoriented discovering how very little remained the same since he’d left.
Ma slipped her arm around his waist. “You’ve gotten skinny.”
Not that skinny, Faith thought. She could see evidence of his muscles filling out the sleeve of his jacket as he held her daughter.
“You probably want to wash up after your trip,” her mother continued. “Your old room upstairs is all ready for you.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, no doubt because he’d moved out of the residence years before he left.
“Callie and I are living in your cabin,” Faith said quickly, drawing his attention. With her, he shuttered his emotions, so she couldn’t tell what he was thinking—and that unsettled her. “If you’re staying we can pack up and come back to the house.”
“No, that’s fine. Stay where you are.”
She wondered if his answer meant he was only going to be here temporarily. Fearing he might question her regarding the details of her life if she questioned him, she hadn’t bothered to ask him what he’d been up to since he left. She knew he’d been herding cattle, but maybe he’d also met someone. However, if he had, wouldn’t he have brought her with him? “I’ll take Callie. She’s all sticky now. Her face and hands could use a good scrubbing.”
“Nooo!” her daughter cried, burying her face in the curve of his neck. “Save me, Uncle Rawley.”
As though she’d kicked him in the heart and was truly in some sort of danger, he appeared stunned, a little shaken, uncertain as to how to handle the situation in order to best protect her.
“Don’t be such a silly goose,” Faith said, working her arms around her daughter until they were forming a barrier between her and Rawley, until she could feel the firmness of his chest. Not skinny at all. She wanted to jerk back. Instead she pried Callie free.
“I’ll take her,” Ma said with an authority that had Callie going to her without any fuss at all.
Faith watched as her mother and father began wandering toward the house, as Rawley sauntered to the end of the porch where Pete had left his saddlebags. Reluctantly, she followed him over, knowing she had things she needed to say, if she could only find the right words. But she’d been searching for them ever since she found out he was returning, and they still eluded her.
“Who’s her father?” he asked flatly, reaching down, grabbing the bags, and slinging them over a shoulder before turning to face her.
“Just a cowboy with no plans to stay.”
“He left you?” Anger slithered through his voice. Had he been here when she realized she was with child, he’d have probably tracked the poor fellow down.
“We weren’t—” She shook her head, planted her hands on her hips, and kicked the toe of her shoe into the ground. Finally, she lifted her gaze and met his. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not, Faith. He was with you, he got you pregnant, and he just skipped on out of your life? That’s not how it works.”
“I didn’t want to marry him.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because he didn’t measure up.” Because he wasn’t you.
; As though her answer explained everything, she spun on her heel and headed into the house, leaving Rawley with the certainty there was more to the story than Faith was letting on. Once she’d confided everything to him, but his departure had created distance between them—which had been his intention, only he’d expected to limit it to miles traveled, not trust wavering. So much needed to be said, so many amends made, but not now with dusk on the horizon and people waiting on them.
Traveling a path he’d journeyed hundreds of times, he stepped onto the porch and wandered into the house, where the fragrance of home wafted around him. No other place he’d ever visited smelled like this, like warmth, welcome, and love. The entryway was cavernous, but the rugs stifled the echo of his footsteps as he made his way to the stairs. He remembered the first time he’d ascended them, the fear and shame that had accompanied him. Now he trudged up with the confidence of a man who knew himself, knew his place in the world was wherever he wanted it to be.
At the landing he turned down the hallway and walked to the last room on the left. The first night he’d stayed there, Dallas had given him a key so he could lock himself in, lock other people out. Later, lying in that bed, staring at the ceiling, he’d felt safe, an unfamiliar peace coming over him. He’d thought he’d never want to leave.
It was a belief that stayed with him until the night Faith had come to his cabin—
Shoving back those memories, he pushed open the door and strode into the room where he’d sleep until it was once again time to make himself scarce.
Chapter Four
“I have a horse and a calf and a dog”—the scruffy mutt was sitting quietly frozen and at attention beside her chair—“and a chicken. I want a el’phant. Do you know what a el’phant is?”
Texas Legacy Page 2