At Liberty to Love (Texas Romance Book 7)

by Caryl McAdoo

  The young lady matched her mirth with an even bigger smile. “Beyond expenses, an introduction would be pay aplenty.”

  Francy floated down the stairs. Texas! She’d wanted to go back almost since the day she’d left. Oh, she liked California alright, but that slower pace, living closer to the land, and all the men. Not a grubby miner in the lot!

  Houston and Bart would be grown, or almost. From what everyone said, the war aged a man. Shame they were both younger than her, either would be a catch. But if she could find herself a Briggs brother or cousin, well then…just maybe…. She might end up staying in the Lone Star State.

  If she did, could tilt the scales in favor of her parents selling out and making the move back to Mama’s roots liked they’d talk about some.

  The open door to the parlor caught her eye. Inside the makeshift studio, Mister Ford stood before the big canvas that rested on three wooden poles. Called it an easel. He held a piece of paper in his hand and looked from the drawing to the painting.

  Dare she? Why not? She tapped on the door.

  “Mama was bragging on you. Said you let her and daddy have a peek.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I did.”

  “May I have a look, too? Seeing how it was my turn to open early, and I missed it this morning, seems only fair.”

  “Whoever told you that life was fair?” The man stared at her for a minute then stepped away from the painting. “Sure, but leave the door open.”

  Hmm. Why would he want the door open? Oh, well, she complied.

  Backing away from his work, the artist wore a bemused expression. Was her being in there bothering the man?

  As she neared, her eyes came to rest on the family portrait, and her breath caught. Wow! He painted that? The colors exploded like dynamite at the mine and splattered her heart.

  The expressions he’d captured…all their likenesses! But even more, her family…Mother, Daddy, her sisters and brother…their personalities shone there on the canvas.

  She loved it.

  Exactly like it was them. How was that possible?

  She tore her eyes away and faced the man. “How…? Uh…it’s so awesome. I couldn’t have imagined. They all said nice things about the murals at the orphanage, but this is…” She looked back, grinned, and faced him again. “Thank you.”

  With sort of a snuffed giggle, he smiled back. “You’re welcome, of course; but what is it exactly that you’re thanking me for?”

  A smirk threatened, followed by a desire to hit him, like she used to do when her brother did something nice, but she didn’t want to admit it. “If you don’t know, then I take back my thank you.”

  “Oh?” The curtains ruffled with the breeze fresh off the water. He glanced at the window. “You talking about the two inches I gave you?”

  “More like three, but yes, sir. So you’ve earned the thank you back.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you hear I’m going to Texas with you and Auntie?”

  “You are? What brought that about?” He looked into her eyes.

  Right back into his, she gazed, but the longer she did, it got hard to keep her wits. So blue, and the man so handsome. How crazy… Dizzy? Really? Had he asked a question? Yes! She was certain.

  What was it though? What had he said? “Uh, excuse me, what?”

  “Why Texas?”

  Oh, yes. She remembered. Did he not like the idea of her going with them? Why wouldn’t he? Strange happenings inside her chest puzzled her. A sweet sorrow, but that couldn’t be. Why had she even tinkered with the idea?

  “You…uh…are opposed to it?” She studied the floor, unwilling to be captured again by the depth of those pools. Especially if he didn’t want her to go.

  “No, only curious.”

  She looked up, he still stared at her. “Well, Auntie asked us to be on the lookout for a nanny to help with the boys. When I thought about it… I mean, Bonnie and Jasper will be along, too, but being newlyweds and all… I’ve wanted to go back to Texas.”

  “I remember something about that being said—probably from your Uncle Wallace. That man loved talking about his family. You went back with Mary Rachel and Jethro when you were a child, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Ten.” And now she had a whole new reason. Should she tell him about wanting to meet the Briggs clan? Not like he wasn’t already spoken for, wasn’t he? But, Mama claimed Aunt Rebecca would not even consider marriage—him being a heathen.

  “How old are you?” Oh, my! Why had she blurted that out?

  “Thirty-nine.”

  At least he acted nonchalant regarding her question. “Oh.” Wasn’t Aunt Rebecca in her forties? Could that be the real reason she wasn’t saying yes? If he had even asked….

  No one had said a word about a proposal. If he had, wouldn’t they have been talking about it? Of course they would.

  Maybe she didn’t want to marry a younger man.

  Francy wouldn’t hold his age or him not being a Christian against him. A month of Sundays would take care of the latter. How could anyone be around Daddy or Brother Paul and not become a believer?

  Might as well find out for her own self where his heart lay.

  “Mama says Auntie is lovesick over you.”

  He chuckled. “She does?”

  “Yes, sir, and that you’ve got it even worse. She says that she’s never seen any two people more in love.”

  “I have to agree.” A pang stabbed her like a stake in her heart.

  He nodded toward the doorway. “Best let me have some time before supper if I’m going to finish this before we leave for Texas.”

  She glanced at the painting then couldn’t resist and punched his shoulder, but not that hard. Not like she use to slug her brother.

  “Ouch.” He rubbed his arm a bit too vigorously. “What was that for?”

  She backed away. “Oh… I thought I heard you call me Shorty.”

  “Not me. I know better.” He winked.

  Her heart did a somersault. She practically curtseyed. “Guess I was wrong.”

  For sure, an uncle was the last thing she wanted him to be!

  The days of preparation flew by in a joyous blur tinged with a horror Rebecca had only known once before. But that first time hadn’t lasted too long, even if her heart had stopped when Mama told Daddy that she couldn’t marry him.

  Those terrible few seconds that quickly turned magnificent once he revealed his salvation.

  But the nag that Rebecca must give Marcus an answer before boarding the ship home…it fueled such a fierce dread. Best she could, she refused to dwell on it, yet there it lurked.

  Always at the edge of everything she did…all her festive busyness with Mary Rachel helping Bonnie prepare for her wedding.

  She’d found the scripture she remembered, but no matter how many ways she studied the verses, it only worked for a new believer who was already married to a heathen before conversion.

  And the worst part of it remained that the more time she spent in his company, the more she loved the man.

  Leaving him behind would be devastating, no matter how hard she tried to deny her love to her own self. The lie wouldn’t protect her heart.

  Then to top it all, she’d caught Francy making eyes at Mister Ford and him smiling back at her, almost as though he encouraged her brazen behavior. Would that be her life? All the young ladies swooning over her man?

  Well…except he didn’t belong to her and would never be hers if God didn’t move.

  Why did trusting Him have to be so hard?

  He’d given her two wonderful sons. Why—if it wasn’t His will in the first place—had He allowed Marcus Ford to board that stage? She’d never loved anyone the way…. She hated it all the way to Texas and back.

  Even Baby Gabe had taken to the big flirt. He squirmed and reached for the man whenever Marcus talked to the little guy.

  How could she leave him?

  How could she not?

  Late on the last night be
fore the big day, after the boys slumbered in that sweet peace only the young know, she knelt beside her bed. For the longest, she praised and worshiped her heavenly Father, then finally gave voice to her heart.

  “Oh, God, have pity on me. I love him so, and nothing is too hard for You. Yet I know it has to be his free will… Give me the strength, Lord…to break both our hearts.”

  An elbow in her rib woke Francy way too early. Though she tried every which way to scooch her sisters around, she could not garner ample room to even try to go back to sleep. The grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour.

  Like a startled cat, she arched her back and carefully crawled over Becca on hands and feet then slipped out of bed.

  Why had she agreed to let her little sisters sleep with her anyway? Not like she’d never see them again. Texas wasn’t that far. Unless, of course, she found the right man.

  Tiptoeing to the window, she pulled back the curtain. No hint yet of the sun, but enough moonlight illuminated the hands on her clock. Four thirty-two.

  Might as well stay up. If she hurried, she could surprise her daddy with coffee. Wouldn’t that be fun? Beating him to the kitchen her last day in San Francisco!

  Wrapped in her housecoat, she found her house slippers under the edge of the bed then eased out, lit a lamp, and headed downstairs.

  A light shone under the parlor door. Had Marcus left on the lamp? Surely not. She turned the handle and peeked in. The man sat a high-backed chair in the far corner. A brush in his hand rested on his leg. He appeared to be asleep.

  Her heartbeat quickened. Would she ever have another chance?

  As quietly as possible, she padded across the room and set her lamp on the table next to the one he’d left burning. She inched closer.

  What was she thinking?

  He smelled of oil paint and man sweat and even sound asleep, was no doubt the most handsome and desirable man she’d ever laid eyes on.

  His love pressed her lips against his. Ford wrapped his arms around her then pulled her close. For the longest, he held the lady wallowing in the feel of her next to him then kissed her. She pulled away.

  What? Why? He opened his eyes. Instead of his love, Francy grinned.

  “Good morning.”

  Pushing her from his lap, he stood. “Young woman! What are you doing?”

  “I…uh… It looked like you were dead or something.” She shrugged. “I was only trying to check to be sure you… Then you grabbed me and…” She grinned. “I…uh… Well…I’m not upset or anything…uh…if…”

  “I’m so sorry, Francy. I thought you were Rebecca. I must have been dreaming. Please forgive me.”

  Her lips turned down, and her eyes flashed. “Fine then.” She backed away a step. “But you should know, when Auntie breaks your heart, you are most welcomed to come crying to me.” She stared for a moment, right into his eyes, then turned and floated out of the room.

  Had he heard her correctly? Why would she say that? Did the girl know something he didn’t?

  Rebecca loved him. That fact needed no confirmation in his eyes. She would never break his heart.

  Without a doubt the diminutive spit-fire who he hoped would be his niece was not the woman he wanted or needed. The young lady might make the right man a good wife, but he definitely was not that man. He retreated to the wingback.

  Apparently, he’d fallen asleep while studying the painting.

  Where was his brush? He searched the floor until he located it, then turned his attention back to his composition. Something was amiss, but he hadn’t figured it out last night.

  The wedding was that afternoon with plans for everyone going to board that very night and steam out first thing in the morning.

  He’d give it another hour. If unable to place his finger on the problem…what bothered him, so that he could fix it, then he’d go ahead and put his name on it and call it finished.

  Half an hour past his self-imposed deadline, it dawned on him. One side of the barn’s roof at the orphanage tilted wrong by at least three degrees.

  With a few strokes, he fixed it then returned to the wingback and melted into the chair’s plushness. The completeness of his task brought a heaviness to eyes.

  Drifting off, he caught a glimpse of his love playing with Michael and Gabriel in a big meadow. He reached for her hand, but a darkness swallowed him.

  “Hey, Mister Marc.”

  Ford pried one eye open. The four-year-old stood at his knee. “Hey, yourself Mister Mick.”

  “I found you. Mama said you was lost, but here you are. Want me to tell her that I found you?”

  “Why’d your mother think I was lost?”

  With twisted lips, he hiked his little shoulders to earlobe level and shook his head. “I don’t know. Just heard her and Auntie and Nannie talking last night. Me and Gabe was making buildings with blocks.” The boy grinned. “Him likes to chew on them. I was making a whole fort. Want to pay blocks with me? You can make the walls.”

  “Not right now, little buddy. What else did your mother say about me?” Shameless, pumping a four-year-old for information, but something was afoot. He needed to know exactly what he faced.

  “Oh, talk, talk talk. That’s what them ladies do, all the time. But mama started whispering. I squinted me good eye, just like Red Rooster, so I could hear better. Mama told Nannie she couldn’t marry you on account of you was lost.”

  “She did?”

  “Uh huh. Does that mean you can’t be my daddy? I thought you was. Now since I found you, maybe you still can be.”

  “I thought so, too, Mick. Sure hope so.”

  “Me, too.” The boy grinned, glanced at the painting then ran out of the room like nothing was amiss.

  Ford took one last look at the portrait then gathered his brushes and other supplies. Once cleaned and stored, he bounded up the stairs to get dressed and pack the supplies in his grip.

  Double checking his best party rags in the full length mirror on his way out the door, he headed back down, both hands full. He deposited his bags alongside the others by the side door.

  Rebecca had more than doubled her lot.

  If he got half a chance, he hoped to separate his love from the gaggle of sisters. Had he ever heard or known of more opulent preparations for the imminent nuptials?

  Not likely. His own had been a simple affair. ’Twas the wedding night bed interested him most. He closed his eyes. Oh, Julia.

  For a few beats of his heart, she hung just on the edge of the mental image that flashed before his inner eye. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring her into focus.

  For perhaps the thousandth time, he regretted burning his paintings of her. If only…but that notion drifted away without further consideration.

  His heart belonged to Rebecca…the living lady so different from the first who’d passed too young. He’d fulfilled his vow to his wife, kept himself only unto her and loved her until death parted her from him.

  Loving again hadn’t been a goal or even a desire, truth be known. Meeting his friend’s wife…speaking with her…his heart…suddenly filled to overflow with desire for her.

  Feasting his eyes on the beautiful Widow Rusk, his breath caught. Best be to seeing about such nonsense that she might be thinking for one minute of not marrying him.

  Obvious to anyone who paid any attention, she deserved a wealthy and wise man—one who would outclass Ford by leaps and bounds.

  No one could ever love her more. Of that he was certain.

  And somehow, some way, it appeared the lady loved him as much as he did her. So what was all that leaving without getting married about? And why couldn’t it have been a double ceremony?

  All that trouble for one couple seemed downright silly. Then again, women usually were.

  Through the horde of femininity, he followed her into the big dining hall, the one the Risens only used on Sundays, and apparently, for fancy weddings and such.

  Though she gave him a smile and wave from acr
oss the table, she didn’t appear to be free for a word. The room looked grand, but apparently, the ladies wanted it to be stupendous or….

  Was there a word beyond that? Ford wasn’t sure.

  “Hey, anyone seen Jethro?”

  Mary Rachel pointed toward her husband’s study, but couldn’t be bothered to even look at him. He grinned at the young lady and turned. He’d remind her of her rudeness once she became his sister-in-law.

  Just as the man’s wife predicted. Ford found her husband in his lair, hiding behind a giant mahogany desk, sitting an oversized leather chair. He grinned sheepishly as if a bit relieved that it wasn’t his wife or one of her sisters who’d come to press him back into service.

  “Marcus! Good morning.”

  “Yes, it is. I finished the painting if you care to inspect my work….” That didn’t sound right. How could he ask a man for overpayment?

  Especially when he’d been living in Risen’s house and eating his food with nary a cent passed from his hand to the man’s. Living on his future brother-in-law’s charity without a care in the world.

  “No need.” The man pulled out the middle drawer, retrieved a fat envelope, and slid it across the desk top. “Thank you. The last time I got a look, it was even better than I hoped. If you’re happy, I’m delighted.”

  Ford took the envelope then stuck it in his pocket instead of opening it and giving back half. Wasn’t his idea; he hadn’t set the price. “You did take out for my steamer ticket like I asked?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir. First class all the way to New Orleans.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jethro looked over Ford’s shoulder then back. “Amos is here to take all the luggage to the dock. Is yours with the rest?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The man stood and extended his hand. “If I don’t have a chance before everyone leaves tonight, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”

  Ford stood and offered his own. Once his fingers closed around Risen’s hand, a strange tingling ran up his arm to his heart.