Be My Texas Valentine

by Jodi Thomas

She nodded, listening to every word and not even looking at Brody.

  When the doctor stepped away to mix up some medicine, Valerie moved to Brody’s side. She reminded him of a little soldier, and he had the feeling there would be no bending the doc’s rules once he got home.

  “He’s fine,” the doc said one more time to calm her. “When you get him home, keep him there. If you feed him, he’ll heal, Mrs. Monroe. I’ll come by and add a proper splint when the swelling goes down. Then he should be able to hobble around until it heals. He was lucky, it was a clean break.”

  “Lucky,” Brody mumbled as the medicine the doc had given him and the lack of blood and sleep finally caught up to him.

  When he woke, it was almost dawn the next day. Valerie was sleeping in one of Boss Ramsey’s office chairs beside his bed. She almost took his breath away with her beauty, all curled up in the boss’s chair with her hair a mess around her.

  He reached for her hand and woke her.

  “Are you all right?” she leaned close and whispered.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. “You should be in bed sleeping.”

  She shook her head. “Not without you.”

  He smiled, guessing every part of his body ached except his heart. “I want to go home,” he managed before drifting back to sleep.

  When the doctor came in, he sent Valerie off to eat breakfast while he checked Brody’s leg.

  “Looks like the bleeding has finally stopped.” Doc Hollis was a plain man who never wasted words.

  As he wrapped the wound and tied Brody’s leg to a splint to prevent any movement while they got him home, the doc said, “You know, there’s a rumor that your wife has a curse on her. Seems every man she marries dies. You almost had it come true.”

  “I don’t believe in curses.” Brody wanted to add that he was tired of hearing about the widow’s curse, but he didn’t figure it would be wise to argue with the man trying to fix him up.

  The doc nodded and asked, “Tell me, Yank, what would you do if you knew the curse was true? What if you knew that you only had a day to live if you don’t get away from her?”

  Brody smiled. “Well, then I’d go home and spend one last wonderful day with my wife.”

  The doctor laughed. “Spoken like a man who loves his wife.”

  Brody saw no use in denying it. “I do love her and you can tell all in town to stop worrying about me because I’d come back from hell itself to be with that woman.”

  He heard a tiny scream and turned to see Valerie in the doorway. Her eyes were huge, and she looked like she might bolt at any moment.

  He couldn’t chase her but he couldn’t turn away either. Sometime in the hell of being trapped between the rocks, he’d made up his mind and he wasn’t a man who changed it easily.

  The doc bumped his way past them, suddenly in a hurry to leave the two of them alone.

  She walked slowly into the room carrying a bowl of warm water in front of her. Without a word she knelt beside the bed and began cleaning the dried blood off his hand.

  He watched her, wishing she’d look up at him. She was so beautiful. He had no idea if his statement to the doctor had frightened her or pleased her. He didn’t care. The truth needed to be said between them.

  “I’m all right,” Brody finally said in a far more angry tone than he’d meant to use. “I’m not going to die on you.”

  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I know. You promised you wouldn’t leave me and I’m trying to believe you, but you never promised to love me. That wasn’t part of the partnership between us.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it,” he admitted. “But you seemed in need of loving and I couldn’t stop myself. Damned if you’re not the most lovable woman I’ve ever met.”

  She frowned and stopped cleaning his hand.

  “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I don’t have the words to say how I feel about you, and saying I’m not leaving doesn’t seem enough.”

  “It’s enough,” she answered so low he barely heard.

  He’d expected her to kiss him, but his wife was very proper. They were in someone else’s home. She bandaged his hands and had the men carefully load him into the buggy. All the way home, she didn’t touch him or say a word. Brody didn’t feel like talking. He’d downed half a bottle of the doctor’s pain medicine, which tasted a lot like whiskey, and sleeping seemed the only thing worth doing.

  She helped him into bed and he passed out.

  It was dark outside when he finally woke. She was sitting beside him in the little rocker he’d noticed in the parlor. He didn’t miss the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  “You were mumbling in your sleep.” She set her knitting aside. “I think you were dreaming about being back in the war.”

  “I often do.” He realized that since he’d been here with her, the dreams hadn’t made their nightly visits. “Sleep with me,” he whispered. “There have been no nightmares when you were by my side.”

  “No. I might hurt your leg.”

  “If we both remain very still, it’ll work.” He didn’t like the idea of her spending another night in a chair. “Valerie, sleep with me.”

  “All right,” she gave in, “but all we do is sleep.”

  That worked the first night, but the second he insisted on holding her hand. All he could think about was touching her, but if he did, Brody wasn’t sure he could stop with one touch.

  After three nights, the doctor dropped by and cleaned the leg, then wrapped it tightly in a splint that barred both sides. When he belted it together, he told Brody that come morning he could try walking with a cane.

  “I need to get my field plowed,” Brody said, knowing it was already late.

  “If you’re talking about that field between here and the road, it was plowed yesterday.”

  “By who? No man could plow that hard land in less than a week.”

  “I don’t know. I passed by on my way back from a call and saw a dozen men working horses pulling plows.”

  Brody wasn’t sure he believed the doctor. The first thing he planned to do when he got back on his feet was to check the land.

  That night Brody insisted on getting up to sit at the table for supper. Then, he sat on the porch and looked out at the plowed field. Valerie was worse than a one-year-old’s mother following him around. If she thought he’d let her, she probably would have put pillows in front and behind him just in case he stumbled.

  “Who do you think did such a thing?” He stared out at the field.

  “The neighbors,” Valerie answered. “They knew you were hurt and it needed doing. You would have done the same for them.”

  Brody leaned back, ignoring the pain in his leg. He wasn’t sure he would have until now. It was getting harder and harder to ignore these slow-talking Southern people. They had a way about them. He thought about it until she told him that it was time for him to come to bed.

  He let her help him undress. When they reached the bedroom, he kissed her for the first time since the accident. “I love you, Valerie, and I want you to be my wife in every way.”

  He saw the panic in her eyes. All the progress he thought they’d made seemed to have vanished. He didn’t want their loving to only be in the darkness with neither one of them speaking of it in day, but he didn’t know where to start. Somehow the accident had made her believe in the curse. She’d barely let him out of her sight for three days. She wouldn’t love him, couldn’t love him, as long as she believed he might die at any moment.

  “How long do I have to stay around before you know I’m not going to die on you? A week, a month, a lifetime?”

  “You don’t think I really believe what people say, do you?”

  He wasn’t getting into that argument with her. “How long until we start being man and wife? I don’t want to tell you to raise your gown. I want to make love to you. I love you, and I want to show you just how much. If you tell me I have to wait a year or ten, I will, but one day you’ll have to know that I’m here an
d I’m your husband.”

  One tear slid down her cheek.

  “Prove to me you don’t believe in curses. Prove to me that you accept my love even if you never plan to return it.” He watched her, knowing his need to love her would still be there no matter what she said or how she felt about him.

  “One month,” she whispered. “I need one month to think about it.”

  He swallowed and made up his mind. “If at the end of a month, the answer is no, I want you to understand that I’ll still stay, but I don’t think I can sleep with you in the same bed without being your true husband.”

  She nodded as he traced the buttons along her gown. Thirty buttons.

  He let her help him in bed. When his covers were tucked in, he caught her hand and tugged her close. “How about we count the days in buttons. Thirty days until I get the cast off. Thirty days until you decide to love me.”

  She moved onto her side of the bed, careful not to touch him. “All right.”

  Her answer left him speechless.

  Chapter 9

  Each night, Valerie counted a day’s passing by leaving one more button unfastened. She guessed Brody didn’t trust love any more than she did, but she was willing to give it a try.

  As the days passed, he grew stronger, being able to do more and more with first a cane and then without. She knew his leg hurt, but he never complained. At the end of each day, he’d sit on the bed with her standing in front of him and watch one more button fall open.

  By the second week he began touching her, first lightly, hesitantly, then more boldly. He was a hard man trying to be tender, and his efforts affected her so deeply she had to remember to breathe.

  On the third week he shoved the vee of her gown open and kissed her breast before he turned off the light. She felt her cheeks burn, but she didn’t stop him. The next night when he did the same, he looked up at her and said simply, “Would you like me to do that again?”

  Though it was most improper, she answered politely, “Yes, please.”

  All night, as she slept next to him, their kisses grew longer. Once she woke to him kissing her and reality seemed to slip into her dreams. The surprise midnight kisses were always deep and passionate as his hands roamed over her body. When she didn’t comment on his action, he repeated it the next night and the next.

  Valerie caught herself thinking of his touch during the day and looking forward to each night. He always insisted on her standing before him in the light as she unbuttoned her gown; then he’d pull her into bed, turn out the light, and begin driving her mad with need for him. He handled her gently, but he handled her all night. Just before dawn, he’d pull her close and move his hands one more time over her body as if he was trying to memorize every curve.

  At the beginning of the fourth week, she wanted to tell him that she’d made up her mind. She could think of nothing better than loving him, but Brody wouldn’t let her. Only one button, he’d say. Only one each night.

  She’d wake to his kisses, or the feel of his hand gripping her breast or bottom all through the night, but when she offered more, he always pulled away. Slowly she grew used to him watching her undress and even smiled knowing he was holding his breath each night until she reached the new button to fall.

  She could have managed with the nights if it hadn’t been for the days. He wanted a kiss each morning, and not a light one. Some mornings breakfast was cold by the time he pulled away and laughingly told her that was enough as if she’d been the one insisting on more.

  During the day, if he passed her, he always stopped to touch her. Maybe he’d play with her hair, or brush against her. Once he even kissed her hand before whispering what he planned to kiss once they were in bed.

  There was no doubt about it. Her husband was driving her mad. Three days before the month was over, he watched her unbutton, kissed her lightly, and said he had some paperwork to do. To her shock, he left her in the bedroom.

  He didn’t come to bed until very late, and when he did, he didn’t touch her. She felt the cold and cuddled against him, but he was asleep and didn’t gather her in his arms as he always had.

  The next night, he did the same. After she unbuttoned all but one button, he ran his finger down the open front of her gown and told her how beautiful she was, then went back to the tiny study.

  She found him at dawn asleep in the chair with his head on an open book as if he’d read all night.

  The last night. The last button. She waited forever for him to take a bath. When he walked out of the washroom, he no longer had wrappings on his leg. He didn’t limp as he walked to her and kissed her lightly.

  “The month’s over,” he whispered. “Have you made up your mind?”

  “I want you as my husband in every way.” She almost added that every part of her body ached from the need to feel his touch.

  “Then we begin tonight. There is no past. No curse. No scars. No war between us. It’s just you and me, in love for the first time in our lives.” He took her hand and slipped a plain gold band on her finger. “I came into some extra money from a bet and I wanted you to wear my ring.”

  “I’ve never had one,” she whispered.

  “I noticed. It’s time you did and this one you’ll never take off.”

  She stared at the ring. “I promise.”

  He reached down her gown to her waist to the last button and slowly unbuttoned it. Then, he slipped his hands beneath the cotton and pushed the gown off her shoulders.

  Valerie closed her eyes. He was seeing all of her and somehow it felt right. She felt his hand brush lightly over her skin. “My valentine,” he said laughing. “My love. My wife.”

  She couldn’t put into words how she felt, but she knew he was right. She was in love for the first time in her life and nothing else mattered.

  “Come to bed, my love,” he whispered against her hair. “From this night we start, not a partnership, but a marriage.”

  She smiled as he lifted her up and carried her to bed. There was no curse between them. There was only love and she knew no matter how long they lived, there always would be.

  Epilogue

  Brody and Valerie Monroe lived together for fifty-three years. They raised eight children, and when she died, she counted over sixty grandchildren. Old-timers in town still called Brody the Yank, but they all knew the man would do anything for any one of them.

  Their farm was productive, but they never grew rich. Not in money anyway. The legend of the widow’s curse was broken completely. Until the day Brody died of a heart attack a year after he buried Valerie, the Yank never suffered a single injury. Some claim he never even had a cold.

  Cupid’s Arrow

  LINDA BRODAY

  Chapter 1

  Shiloh, Texas

  January 1884

  Rue Ann Spencer stepped from Mrs. Fitzhugh’s Dress Shop, where she was being fitted for her wedding gown, into the blinding afternoon sunlight.

  She quickly raised her hand to shield her eyes, but it wasn’t soon enough to keep her from plowing into the solid wall of a man’s body.

  His quick grasp kept her on her feet.

  “Pardon me. I didn’t see ...” She stared up into the liquid brown eyes of none other than Logan Cutter. Her words trailed off as she suddenly lost the ability to form coherent thought. Her heart raced. Why did she have to run into the one person who still had the ability to drive a knife straight into her heart?

  That’s why she’d stayed far away from Texas and Shiloh for three years. She’d never forgive him for what he’d done.

  “I heard you were back in town, Rue Ann.” Logan’s deep growl indicated he wasn’t thrilled with the encounter either. “And I also hear congratulations are in order on your upcoming nuptials.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cutter,” she replied stiffly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to do to prepare for my wedding. Valentine’s Day will be here—”

  “In exactly two weeks and five days,” he finished for he
r.

  Shocked that he knew to the day how long before she’d become someone else’s wife, she gathered her shredded composure and turned in the direction of Whipple’s Dry Goods. Refusing to give Cutter the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he’d affected her, she moved on, keeping her gaze glued to the sidewalk, never once glancing back.

  The truth of the matter was that Logan Cutter had jarred her. She had tried to prepare herself for the inevitable crossing of their paths, but seeing him today had been a shock.

  Trembling, Rue Ann opened the door of the dry goods store and hurried inside. Thankfully, Mr. Whipple had his hands full with the spinster Barlow sisters.

  Rue Ann headed for a dark corner, and sagging there against a shelf of men’s hats, she blinked back sudden tears and gave herself a stern talking-to.

  She would not shed one more tear over that man.

  Logan Cutter wasn’t worth it.

  Before her world had come crashing down around her, she’d lived and breathed the knowledge that one day they’d share the rest of their lives together.

  But Logan had betrayed her.

  The bitter truth lodged in the center of her heart like a double dose of Hostetter’s Celebrated Stomach Tonic.

  A stillness washed over Rue Ann as seething anger replaced the pain. He’d never get another chance to hurt her. She was older now and far wiser. Life had been a strict taskmaster, but she’d learned her lesson well.

  Soon she would be Mrs. Theodore Greely.

  And life would go on. One day she might even be able to think of Logan without pain welling up from the deep wound inside.

  “Are you okay, dear?” A woman’s quiet voice broke into her thoughts.

  Startled, Rue Ann hastily forced a smile for Miss Emily Barlow. “I’m fine. I was just looking at the men’s hats, thinking I might get one for my father,” she fibbed, running a finger along the brim of a fine Stetson. “His birthday isn’t far off. But I haven’t a clue about his size so I suppose I’d best wait until my mother can come with me.”