by Joyce Wright
Men could feel like velvet to touch. She hadn’t known that until she began to massage the tense shoulders of Nicholas Van Buren. Oh my. Marriage to him did not feel as detestable anymore. And he was far closer to thirty than to sixty. Thank the Lord. The lovely tingles and goose bumps must grow even stronger when his hands were actually touching her. She leaned against the wall outside of the kitchen and fanned herself. Easy, girl, you’re a southern belle, not a southern harlot.
Chapter 6
“Now Mr. Van Buren, I am plum dead on my feet. I cannot make it another step. It’s time for your fever to break. I hear your mama’s fever broke an hour ago and your baby’s fever broke yesterday. I’m going to sit here and read another book to you while you get it in your head to fight harder against this fever. Do you understand, mister? You’re a cowboy, not some prissy gentleman.”
Her trunks had arrived from the station three days ago, and with much happiness, Henri had been reunited with her book collection. Each night she had read to Nicholas, first from Emerson, then from Whitman. Tonight she had chosen Mr. Mark Twain.
“This one was a gift from my sisters before I left. Now, I must confess I already read it on the train, but just wait until you hear the trouble Tom gets himself into.”
She proceeded to read passage after passage, sometimes laughing so hard she could barely fit any words between her guffaws. “I love that Tom,” she said after wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks.
“Who are you?” Nick’s voice was low, weak and raspy.
“Lord have mercy!” Henri exclaimed. “You liked to scare me to death.” She set the book aside and reached over to touch Nick’s neck. She grinned. “Well look at you, that fever finally broke.”
“Who are you?” He repeated.
“Henrietta Washington,” She said. “I’ve been doctoring on you since I arrived five days ago.” She couldn’t stop looking into his dark, dark eyes. He’d kept them closed over the last few days.
“I do believe you have the deepest most soulful eyes I’ve ever seen, outside of the stable,” she told him. A girl could gallop into them and never come out.
“I remember you,” He said. “You’ve talked nonstop for days. You told me we were going to take a ride together. Did we take it?”
She laughed and patted his bare shoulder. Lord, that same bewitchment came over her, like rubbing velvet. “Indeed we did not. You’ve been too sick. You’re remembering that I asked you to take me all over your ranch when you get well. I want to know how this operation works.”
“You’d really like to know?”
“Indeed I would.” Perhaps she should seek out his mama, get a chaperone now that he was well. But she was tired and the air in the room felt like only enough for the two of them. Besides which, she only had a little more time left to be simply Henri. She pulled the chair closer to the bed. Taking his hand, she said, “Tell me all about your ranch, Mr. Van Buren.”
“I’d be happy to, Miss Washington.” He smiled then. And Lord, his lips were every bit as powerful as his eyes.
Chapter 7
Nick studied the beautiful woman sitting in the chair next to his bed. She was leaning forward, her arms folded on his pillow, her hair almost touching his. His body stirred as he imagined her lying next to him in the bed.
Who was she? He pulled at his memories. Henrietta, he remembered. An unlikely name for an unlikely woman. He had talked more last night than he could ever remember talking. He stretched. Lord, he was weak. Hesitantly, he ran a hand over the orange curls that spilled across the slightly flushed cheek. She sighed in her sleep and moved closer to his hand. He smiled with satisfaction.
For three nights in a row, he’d feigned sleep, just so he could hear her read passages from some of his favorite books and talk about herself. She made him feel fanciful, thinking maybe they had known each other in a past life even though he knew nothing of the kind could happen.
He wasn’t sure how this woman had come into his life, but he wanted to keep her. He leaned forward and placed his lips on her forehead, closing his eyes from the pleasure. He was branding her as his.
“Oh!” Her eyes opened immediately.
“Like Sleeping Beauty,” He said.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she said. “You were telling me about a snake bite that kept you from school for three entire months.” She sat up and pushed her disheveled hair from her face. Then she blinked as if in surprise. He watched as her face clouded and she jumped up. “I declare. I’m most unpresentable.” She scrunched up a handful of her brown skirt. “Oh my, you can’t see me like this. I’ll let Maria know you’re better. Perhaps a real breakfast this morning.” Then she was gone.
Nicholas wanted to stop her, but the change in her demeanor was so swift. He wanted to say who are you and where are you hiding Henrietta.
He needed to find his mother now and tell her to keep Henrietta in his house. Hell, if he could teach her to love horses, he might just have found the perfect woman in the world.
Chapter 8
When Henri entered the kitchen, she was surprised to find Mrs. Van Buren seated at the table holding Rosa. She’d only seen the older woman from the doorway of a bedroom and had never been introduced. The baby squealed and held out her arms for Henri.
“Well hello there!” She exclaimed. “Looks like the Van Buren ladies are ready to get on with things.”
Mrs. Van Buren was staring at her as if she’d seen a ghost. “My word! I thought I’d imagined the angel with the red hair.”
Henri laughed. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but an angel is not one of them.” Then she sobered. Laughter is supposed to be gentle. “That is, I’m glad you saw me in such a gracious light.”
Maria entered the room then, a wide smile on her face. “A surprise for you, Mrs. Van Buren. This beautiful lady--Henrietta Washington from Virginia.” She winked at the older woman.
Mrs. Van Buren’s mouth fell open and her gaze swept back and forth from Maria to Henri. “Oh Maria, what have you done?”
Maria shrugged. “You say you wish telegram get lost. It get lost.” She chuckled merrily.
Henri looked from one woman to the other. “What telegram?”
“Oh my heavens, Maria, he is going to kill us.”
Henri studied Mrs. Van Buren’s pallor with concern. “You’ve brought yourself downstairs a too soon.” She transferred the baby to Maria and helped the older woman to stand. “Let’s get you back upstairs.”
Mrs. Van Buren allowed herself to be put back to bed and arranged under the blankets.
“Can I do anything else for you, ma’am?”
“No, child. This is fine.” She studied Henri from the top of her hair to the bottom of her skirt. “You are quite lovely, very… pink. Has my son--” She cleared her throat. “Has my son met you yet?”
Henri felt heat rise to her face. They had met. “We haven’t been formally introduced, but I’ve been nursing him for the past week.”
“And he’s been…polite about that?”
Henri chuckled. “Well, not at first. We had a good argument or two, but he soon settled down.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Sometimes I had to treat him like my favorite horse, Jackson.”
Mrs. Van Buren laughed. “Oh my, Henrietta Washington, I think you might fit in pretty well around here.”
“You do?” Henri dropped her gaze to her lap. Since Nicholas’s mother was being so nice to her, she felt obligated to tell the truth. “I’m not nearly as polite and cultured as my step mother led you both to believe. I’m sorry about that.”
Mrs. Van Buren laughed and patted her hand. “That won’t be a problem.”
Elation brought Henri’s head back up. “Really? You don’t think so?” Did she have a chance of winning that stubborn stallion’s heart?
“Don’t worry about a thing. But do me a favor, and let me talk to my son before you go back in to see him.”
Chapter 9
When the door opened again, Ni
ck’s eyelids snapped open. At the sight of his mother, he couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Where’s Henrietta?” he demanded.
His mother studied him. “She’s in the kitchen caring for the baby. But I need to tell you something before she comes back.”
“Whatever it is can wait, Ma. I need you to do something for me—“
“Hear me out first, son. I have something to tell you that you’re not going to like, but it was a complete accident on my part, you hear? I don’t want you getting mad at me. It was all Maria.”
What had Maria done this time? Nick couldn’t hide the irritation in his voice. “Just spit it out.”
“I couldn’t stop your mail order bride from coming—“
“What the h—“ He pulled himself up in the bed and swung his legs over the side.
His mother hurried over. “Sit still, Nicholas, you’re too weak to get up.”
“Are you telling me that prissy Virginia girl is here now? She’ll ruin everything. How many ways can I tell you I don’t want her?” He fell back on the bed and covered his face with his folded arms. “What if she messes up everything?”
Chapter 10
Henri rested her head against the horse’s strong neck. Somewhere along the path, she’d taken a wrong turn. Town should have come into sight thirty minutes ago. She was hot and discouraged and already feeling homesick for Nicholas. She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying not to cry. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She had only gone to the door to check on him.
No, that wasn’t even the truth. She hadn’t gone to check on him; she’d gone because she felt drawn to him like honey bees to flowers.
Hoofs pounded on the hard dirt path behind her. The pinto startled and whirled around. What on earth? Nicholas approached on a tall brown stallion.
“You shouldn’t be riding,” she admonished. “You’re only twelve hours out of the fever saddle.”
“Never do that again!” He yelled, jumping down and striding toward her. “That was the stupidest thing you could have done. “He swept his arms wide, gesturing at the rugged terrain. “We have rattlers and coyotes and bandits and any number of things that would as soon kill you as look at you.”
At first surprised by his outburst, but then amused, Henri smiled. “I have you know, Nicholas Van Buren, that we have our share of nasty varmints back home, too. And I’ve dealt with each and every one of them. ”
“Not like we have here.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Everything is bigger, more dangerous in Texas.”
Didn’t she know that! Her eyes raked over his body, now clothed in a fresh blue shirt and dungarees. She had yet to stand next to him, but was sure he stood at least half a foot taller than her. ”It hardly matters, since I’m headed back to Virginia.” She scanned the path that lay before her. “Once I find my way back to town that is.”
“You left your clothes,” he said.
She smiled. “Is that what’s worrying you? Let me tell you, Mr. Van Buren, I never want to see another pink skirt for as long as I live, and the same goes for velvet hats. I’m going home to my dull riding skirts and my comfortable boots and my straw hats, even if I have to sleep in the barn. “
“But—“
“No, let me finish. I’m sorry my stepmother deceived you.” She pointed at her dress which was now stained with everything from Rosa’s breakfast to cow manure to the dust of the road. “I’m no Southern belle. I’m not dainty and feminine. I like horses and mucking stalls and playing with babies.” She smiled then. “I had planned on taking my month’s worth of belle training and using it for all it was worth to rope you into marriage.” She lifted her shoulders, then dropped them. “But when I arrived, you all were sick, and I knew no southern belle could get you well. I needed to be who I knew best, just Henri. And I like myself best that way. I’d rather be alone than change who I am. Now if you’ll just point m---“ She yelped when Nicholas hauled her off the horse.
Breathless, she said, “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” he whispered. “Like I’ve wanted to do for days. Like I want to do for the rest of my life. If you’ll let me.”
For the rest of his life? “But I heard you,” she whispered. “Talking to your mama. You said I’d ruined everything.”
He held her in his arms, cradling the back of her head in his great big hand like she was as delicate as Rosa. He laughed softly. “I never wanted a mail order bride, least of all some society lady who would take my baby and spoil her. This morning, I thought Ma was talking about the description in the ad. I didn’t know she was talking about you. It’s true that a southern belle would have ruined everything. But you, you will only make it all the better. ”
“I will?”
“You will. So may I?”
His dark brown eyes snared hers and kept them prisoner. Mesmerized, she whispered. “May you what?”
“Kiss you? Like I want to do for the rest—“
Henri pressed her mouth to his. Nicholas wasted no time in accepting her invitation. Finally, the man for her.
Chapter 11
The horse and rider flew over a third fence, their bodies so closely coordinated it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. Nicholas leaned over the gate and whistled appreciatively. Beside him, his mother chuckled. “Ah, so your old mama ain’t such a bad matchmaker after all, is she now?”
He winked at his mother and grinned. “Not bad at all.” Then he gave Rosa, who sat on his mother’s hip, a loud kiss on the jaw making her giggle. Seeing the results of Henri’s close relationship with her father had made him willing to try a little cuddling of his own daughter. Damned, if he didn’t like it, too.
Henri galloped toward them, her face shining with happiness, the Stetson he’d given her on their wedding day pulled low over her forehead. Warmth flooded his chest. A woman made for him.
“And how was that, Mr. Van Buren? Wasn’t Jackson worth every bit of time and money it took to bring him down from Virginia?”
Nick offered his palm to the horse. Jackson snorted and showed his teeth.
“No,” he said firmly. “Not worth it at all.” Then he offered the same hand to Henri. “But you are, Mrs. Van Buren. Completely and totally, ‘til death do us part, worth it.”
Henri jumped down from her horse, then climbed the gate to kiss her husband on the mouth, unselfconsciously and with all the enthusiasm she could muster. His wife was every bit as wild and untamed as Texas itself.
Rosa clapped and giggled. “Mama!" Mama!” She cried.
Henrietta smiled at her mother-in-law before scooping the baby into her arms. “Rosa, Rosa, Rosa,’ she chanted, making the baby squeal. She flew her through the air. “Oh Rosa, one day, you’re going to fly so high! You have fairy wings stitched to your sweet little ankles.” She tickled each one and Nick smiled when the baby giggled. He loved the next part of their routine best of all. He held out his arms as Henri flew the baby into them. ”And you have a daddy who loves you more than Texas itself.”
“I can say that about both of you,” He whispered before claiming his wife’s mouth for another kiss.
**THE END**
Chapter One
Dear Mr. Larkin,
I accept your offer of marriage. I have a four-year old daughter. My husband died in the floods which we suffered two years ago. East Texas has been my home since I came to Santa Teresa at the age of twelve as an orphan. I bring no dowry, and the few belongings that I did own were lost in the flood. It seems that everything was lost in the flood.
Salome Burnett Gascoigne
How was a woman supposed to feel on her wedding day when she was marrying a man she’d never met? Of course, Salome Burnett Gascoigne reminded herself, this was her second wedding day. The wedding day joy that she’d experienced when Father Diego joined her in marriage to John Cloud Feather Gascoigne was in the past, washed away with the floods that struck East Texas and sent buildings and bodies adrift on the wild waters that were unleashed. When the heavy r
ains came, as they did with regularity each spring, seasoned eyes watched as the water levels rose in the creeks. But no one had been prepared for the deluge that suddenly poured from the sky two years ago. John Cloud Feather, helping to save the schoolchildren from drowning, was been swept away by the mad torrents of water that claimed his life, not even leaving a body to be given the sacraments. The graveyard, too, had surrendered its buried bodies, washing them away and bringing a second death to the living who remained.
Salome was left a widow and this was her wedding day, but the recollection of the flood dominated her thoughts, perhaps because she was consumed by the need to cling to her memories, or perhaps to avoid the reality of what marriage entailed. The intimacy that she had shared with John Cloud Feather loomed as a violation against her long-ago vows.
Watching her, Father Diego could guess what she’d been thinking about. Memories were all that the residents of Santa Teresa had left. The priest looked at her with compassion. “Does Mr. Larkin know about Feather?” he asked gently.
Salome Burnett Gascoigne met the priest’s calm gaze. “He knows that I have a child,” she replied, evading the priest’s buried question. What he wanted to know was whether her husband-to-be knew that Feather Gascoigne was half-Indian. For too many Texans, all Indians were the fierce Apache or the warlike Comanche and it didn’t matter that there were other Indian tribes native to the region who had not caused suffering but who had suffered from it, and suffered from the hands of white man.
It was Father Diego who first brought the advertisement for a mail-order bride to Salome’s attention. The community, reduced in numbers by the flood, was being resettled. It was a long process to find new homes for people whose lives had been completely disrupted by a vengeful nature, but he regarded it as his duty. For a young woman with a child, marriage was the obvious solution. Salome, recognizing the pragmatism of his suggestion, had responded to the advertisement. Leaving Santa Teresa would not be easy; she would be leaving behind her memories, and they were happy ones. She possessed no hope that what was ahead of her would inspire any memories to match the ones she was abandoning.