Jacey's Reckless Heart
Page 37
Getting steadily irritated, Jacey barked out, “Fine. Just go, will you?”
And go, Rosie did. Stepping along smartly, she got Jacey to the church doors in double time. Once there, she slowed to a step-pause-step cadence that made Jacey all but trip over her. As Jacey cussed under her breath, she followed Rosie as best she could. Organ music swelled at their entrance.
No more than two steps into the sanctuary, Jacey stopped cold. The church was packed. And everyone was standing and staring at her and Rosie. Jacey’s mind raced. Was this Sunday? No. A church holiday? Well, how was she supposed to know? Then, what? She tapped Rosie on the shoulder and whispered, “Where’re our seats? Everybody’s staring at us.”
Over her shoulder and out the side of her mouth, Rosie whispered back, “Up front. In the first pew.”
“What?” Jacey’s voice was no more than a croak. “I don’t want to sit right up front.” She nodded as she passed some of the men from the cantina. “Let’s sit with them.”
Rosie grabbed Jacey’s arm. “No. We must go up front.”
Whispering loud enough to make herself heard over the organ music, Jacey fussed again. “Why?”
Rosie jerked her up even with herself and pointed toward the altar. “There. That is why. Now, walk.”
But Jacey couldn’t. She’d taken root where she stood. That damned Zant Chapelo stood there by the same priest he’d scared the hell out of not too long ago. All shined up and in his best clothes, and with Paco and Blue and Victor all duded up and ranged alongside of him, the outlaw had the guts to grin at her.
Jacey put her fisted hands and her bouquet to her waist. Rosie looked back at her and frantically urged her forward. Oh, she’d go up there, all right. She go up there and wipe the smile right off that polecat’s face. She’d been tricked into a wedding. They were traitors, all of them.
She called out their names in her head. Rosie, Alberto … she tromped forward, passing Rosie, and making for the altar gate. She looked from side to side, studying at the congregation. There were Conchita and Esteban and Manuel. She stopped short and stared at their smiling faces until Rosie fled past her. Dumbfounded, Jacey watched her friend stop and turn to stand beside the waiting priest.
Suddenly, none of it seemed real. Jacey turned in a slow circle, taking in the crowd, the music, the men and the women of Cielo Azul, the three groomsmen, her … groom. Oh, it was real enough. She stalked over to Zant and got right in his face. “Outside, Chapelo.”
The organ music dribbled off on a sickly note and the church became deathly quiet. Even the chubby, ruddy priest dared only clear his throat.
Zant smiled down at her. “Can’t. Not yet. Not until we’re married.”
“We—” Her voice was a squeak. Over a hundred sets of eyes bored into her back. She started out with a yell. “We are not”—and lowered her voice to a hiss—“getting married.”
Zant grabbed her by her resisting arm and turned her to face the priest with him. He didn’t seem to care how loudly he spoke or who heard him. “Yes we are. Preacher, I’ve been living in sin with this woman”—Jacey gasped right along with everyone else—“and I’m asking you to marry us and set that to rights. I fear she may already be carrying my child, and I—”
Jacey screeched and hit his arm with her bouquet. Dried petals drifted to the floor. “Will you quit saying that? I am not.”
Zant looked down at her, his black eyes as affected by his grin as his mouth was. “You could be.”
Jacey squirmed and cast a wary glance at the disapproving priest. “I’m not,” she told him. She then turned back to Zant. “What about all that stuff I said at Cielo Azul? I still feel that way.”
Zant sobered and slipped his hand down her arm to take her hand. “I know you do. And I respect that, Jacey. It won’t be easy. There’s bound to be some rough times ahead. But the difference is, I want to help you through them.”
Feeling the tension of the churchgoers ease, hearing the murmurs, Jacey fought the love swelling in her heart and welling in her eyes. “I could end up hating you.”
Zant smiled. “You won’t. You love me, Jacey. You love me, and you need me to help you through what’s at home. You stood by me at the worst moment in my life. Did you really think I wouldn’t stand by you when your time came? We all”—he indicated Blue, Paco, and Victor, and then swept his hand over the congregation—“we all want to help you and be your family, too.”
And that was another question. Jacey leaned in toward Zant. He bent over until his ear was to her lips. “How’d you do all this?”
He grinned and whispered into her ear. “We followed you up here. Early this morning, I told Alberto and Rosie my plan. They delayed you until we got the signal to them that we were ready. Now, are you going to disappoint all these folks and embarrass me, or are you going to marry me?”
But Jacey had still another question. “Who’s minding Cielo Azul?”
Zant chuckled. “Right now, my neighbors at Villa Delarosa. But after the wedding, Blue’s taking everyone home, except Victor and Paco—they’re going with us. Blue’ll be in charge until we get back from No Man’s Land.”
With that, he straightened up, still looking down at her. Jacey quirked her mouth as she thought about it. “Cielo Azul.”
“Could you come to think of it as home, Jacey?”
She searched her heart, thought of the folks there, and realized she was nodding. “I might.” She then searched Zant’s face. “But I’m not sure.”
He pulled her close to his side. “Fair enough. We’ll worry about it when the time comes, okay?”
Jacey nodded. But yet another question presented itself. “Zant, why didn’t you wait to see if I worked things out at home and then came back to you?”
Zant made a disbelieving noise and chuckled. “And leave something as important as love up to your Lawless pride and reckless heart? I didn’t dare.”
Jacey laughed. “All right, outlaw. I’ll marry you. But you may have some answering to do up in No Man’s Land, what with your last name and all.”
Zant grinned again. “Why do you think I’m changing your last name to mine long before I get there?” He winked and mouthed, “I love you.”
Her heart bursting, Jacey mouthed it right back.
Zant gave a whoop and turned her with him to the waiting congregation. “She said yes!”
A rising swell of emotion filled the church. Over every cheer, over the renewed burst of the organ music, drowning out everything else, except for Jacey’s and Zant’s love for each other, was the cry, “¡Viva el jefe! ¡Viva la jefa!”
READ ON FOR
AN EXCITING INSTALLMENT
OF SEASONS OF GLORY,
THE NEXT ROMANCE
FROM CHERYL ANNE PORTER …
Mama’s and Papa’s dream had been for a better life for them all. But now … Mama and Papa were buried out back, alongside old Pete. And Glory’s older sisters? They were gone from home, looking for answers, for vengeance. That left her in charge. Glory swallowed, keenly feeling the responsibility pressing squarely on her shoulders for every man, horse, cow, and blade of grass for miles around.
She couldn’t do this. A prick of panic gripped her belly, urged her to run after Jacey and again beg her to stay. No. Glory stubbornly fisted her hands in her shawl’s folds. No. It’s best to think about what I can do. Which wasn’t much, she admitted. After all, Papa’d seen to the day-to-day running of the ranch, the hiring and firing, the buying and selling of the cattle, the ordering of supplies. Jacey’d dogged his every step, so she knew all those ins-and-outs. But she was gone.
And Mama … well, she tried to teach me, Glory grimaced, seeing herself again dawdling so long over tasks that Mama would shake her elegant head, shoo her, and put the work in Hannah’s capable hands. Thus freed—the memory now pricked at Glory’s conscience—she’d fritter away the hours in her room, indulging her romantic daydreams of her own home, a loving husband, and her own beautiful children.
Just how you intend to take care of them, Mama’d fussed, when you won’t lend your hand to the simplest of tasks, I’ll never know, Glory Bea Lawless.
Oh, why hadn’t she paid more attention, asked more questions? Because here she was now—nineteen and helpless. And in charge. Well, surely I know something. Glory bit thoughtfully at her lower lip. She’d helped Mama some with the bookkeeping. And got in the way when Biddy was baking. And she’d also … nothing else came to mind. Surprised realization stiffened her spine. That’s it? That’s all I know?
Glory blinked, found she was staring at Biddy’s wide and capable back. Solace and reassurance rested with her. In a blaze of emotion, Glory hurried to her and clutched at her beloved nanny. Biddy’s squawk of startlement at being grabbed from behind blended with Glory’s heartfelt and sobbing cry of “You’re the only one who hasn’t left me, Biddy. I love you.”
Biddy turned in Glory’s embrace and hugged her tightly. “There, there, child. I love you, too. Yer sisters will be back. We must believe that. But right now ’tis you I’m worried about. Yer breakin’ me heart—all that time ye spend at yer poor parents’ graves. ’Tis not good for ye. Why, look at yerself—ye haven’t eaten or slept properly for the past month. Are ye still havin’ those nightmares?”
Nestling her face in the warm crook of her nanny’s neck and shoulder, her world once again warm and secure, Glory nodded her head and sniffed inconsolably. Biddy patted her and held her until she felt strong enough to pull away. Glory smiled that she was okay and then turned to stare out at the wind-stirred tallgrass. “I keep … seeing them, Biddy. Mama and Papa. Just lying there. All that blood.”
For long moments, Glory suspended thought, allowing the terrible pain in her chest to subside. Than she squared her shoulders against her sorrow and pivoted again to face Biddy. “I’ve been thinking about … well, everything. The ranch. Hannah gone, and now Jacey. Me—the only one left to keep the place going. Why, I don’t have the first idea about how to do that. But Jacey seems to think I can. And it’s not like I have a choice, is it? Because this ranch was Mama’s and Papa’s dream. They made it our home. And now I have to see that the dream lives. There’s no one else but me to do it.”
Having made that brave speech, she stood there, feeling alone and already bested by circumstances. Her shoulders slumped right along with her resolve. “Oh, Biddy, what am I saying? I don’t know a thing about running a cattle ranch. It’ll all die because of me.” The enormity of it all brought her hands to her mouth. She stared teary-eyed at her grandmotherly nanny.
Who leapt into action. “Now, child, don’t take on so. You’ll do a fine job of it. And ’tis plenty of help ye’ll have. Why, Smiley’s been the foreman since yer father settled the place. He’ll help you with the everyday ranching decisions. An’ Sourdough’s out in the cook shack stirrin’ up the men’s breakfast this minute. He knows what supplies are needed and when to get them. An’ there’s me, darlin’. I’ll be takin’ good care of you. See? Ye’ll be naught but an overseer until yer sister comes home.”
Heartened by Biddy’s cheery picture, Glory smiled—and exhaled for the first time since Jacey’d announced yesterday afternoon that she was leaving. “You’re right. We’ll be just fine. Hannah and Jacey will be so proud when they come home. The ranch’ll be better than ever.”
“That’s the spirit, child.” Biddy beamed with pride. “Those are the first words ye’ve uttered in a month that show some gumption.” She clasped Glory’s hand with both of hers. “’Tis proud of me baby, I am.”
“Now, Biddy, you can’t go on calling me a baby,” Glory chided, feeling stronger by the minute. “I’m a grown woman in charge of a cattle ranch. And I’m a Lawless. Papa’s blood flows through my veins. And the way I see it, that more than makes up for whatever I don’t know yet.”
Biddy stared a moment but then her expression changed, softened. Her mouth puckered with some emotion. She pulled her hand free and covered her quivering lips with it.
Glory tensed. “What is it, Biddy?” What’s wrong?”
Biddy shook her head, unsettling gray, wispy curls from her knotted little bun. But then her expression became intense. She gripped Glory’s arm with a fierceness that surprised her. “Listen to me, child. Ye’ll need other help besides that of a bunch of old folks who maybe canna protect you, should them murderers decide to ambush us again. So I’ll hear no talk of Lawless pride and how ye can take care of yer own without outside help. ’Tis rubbish and will see us all dead. I want a promise from you. Should outside help come a-callin’, promise me ye’ll accept it, Glory Bea. Promise me.”
Truly alarmed now—she hadn’t considered the possibility that the unknown men who killed Mama and Papa might return—Glory cried, “I promise, Biddy. I swear it. Do you really think they might come back?”
SEASONS OF GLORY—
Coming soon from
Cheryl Anne Porter and
St. Martin’s Paperbacks!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Savannah, Georgia-born novelist Cheryl Anne Porter celebrates her Cherokee heritage in her spellbinding historical mystery Wild Flower. A National Readers Choice Award winner whose past work has been chosen by the library of Congress for its Rare Book Collection, Cheryl wins consistent praise from reviewers for her skill at weaving taut, character-driven historical suspense. And her international reading audience knows the dynamic and prolific author is equally proficient at writing sparkling contemporary comedy. Her novel Mad About Maddie delights readers with its vibrant humor and marvelously memorable characters. A college-level fiction writing instructor, Cheryl is a popular keynote speaker who presents writing seminars and workshops nationwide. She resides in Tampa, Florida. You can sign up for email updates here.
The Lawless Women Series by Cheryl Anne Porter from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
HANNAH’S PROMISE
JACEY’S RECKLESS HEART
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Preview: Seasons of Glory
About the Author
The Lawless Women Series by Cheryl Anne Porter from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Copyright
JACEY’S RECKLESS HEART
Copyright © 1997 by Cheryl Anne Porter.
Excerpt from Seasons of Glory copyright © 1997 by Cheryl Anne Porter.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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ISBN: 0-312-96332-7
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition/December 1997
St
. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 9781250092731
First eBook edition: June 2015