A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers)

by McKade, Maureen

  “Do you think it’s the same cat?” Creede asked, also searching.

  “It doesn’t seem possible.”

  She drew away from Creede and went down the porch steps, flinching slightly when she stepped on a stone with her bare foot. “Kitty, kitty,” she called softly.

  The next meow was closer.

  “Come here, kitty, kitty.”

  A shadowed movement caught her eye and she strained to make out the shape. It was a cat, but it couldn’t be the same one. She squatted down and held out her hand. “Come here, kitty.”

  The thin animal butted its head against her hand, and Laurel leaned closer and gasped. It was the stray she’d left fifteen miles back. How had it walked so far? Didn’t the stupid cat know she had no home to give it?

  “Damn. It’s a stubborn little thing,” Creede murmured.

  Despite herself, Laurel picked up the scrawny cat and cuddled it close to her chest. The animal purred contentedly even though she knew it had to be tired and hungry.

  “So what’re you going to do with it?” Creede asked.

  “I shouldn’t do anything.”

  “But you can’t do nothing.” There was a tenderness in Creede’s voice she hadn’t heard before, but she didn’t want his understanding.

  She scowled and tried to stand without releasing the cat. Creede grasped her elbow and helped her rise.

  “I’m sure Floyd wouldn’t mind if you gave it some leftovers,” Creede said.

  Although Laurel knew feeding it was the last thing she should do, she couldn’t let it starve either. The stupid cat trusted her.

  Laurel grunted her assent and they made their way to the kitchen. Creede found the lantern and matches and lit the kerosene wick. Soft light flooded the kitchen.

  Despite Creede’s seeming indifference to the stray cat, he found two bowls. One he filled with water and set on the floor. Laurel put the cat beside it then tore a piece of leftover venison into small chunks, which she placed in the other bowl. The stray wolfed down the meat.

  Creede leaned against a wall, his arms and ankles crossed. And Laurel suddenly realized his shirt was unbuttoned and he wore only stockings on his feet. No gunbelt adorned his hips, but it didn’t detract her gaze from the snug fit of his trousers.

  She shivered and tugged her shawl tighter about her, too aware of the thin gown that couldn’t hide her hard nipples. For so long, she’d only looked at men as patients. But Creede Forrester wasn’t one of those wounded men. He was virile, strong yet tender, and her reaction to him was far from professional.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked, anxious to detract her body’s response.

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t. What about you?”

  “Same.”

  Creede shook his head, chuckling. “We finally have a real bed and neither of us can get a good night’s rest.” He sobered. “Course, I don’t think a soft mattress had anything to do with it.”

  Laurel grimaced at the truth of his words. “Nights are always the worst.”

  “It does get better, Laurel. One day you’ll be able to think about him and smile.”

  Although Laurel was referring to her nightmares, she didn’t correct him. Let him think it was only a wife’s grief for her dead husband, not insanity drawing nearer and nearer.

  The cat rubbed across her ankles, then Creede’s.

  “Floyd might want it,” Creede said.

  Although Laurel didn’t want the cat, her first reaction was to object. Fortunately, common sense intervened. “I’ll ask him in the morning.”

  “So what’re you going to do with him until then?”

  Laurel worried her lower lip. “I’ll put him out. He’s used to finding a place to sleep.”

  She picked up the purring cat and carried him onto the porch. Creede followed but stood back while she set him on the ground.

  Surprisingly, the cat immediately dashed off into the night.

  Feeling betrayed by the animal’s eager flight, Laurel remained standing on the porch.

  “Are we leaving tomorrow?” Creede asked.

  “Yes. It’s time to move on to the next one.”

  “Why are you doing this, Laurel?” he asked, his voice intense but low.

  A hundred reasons came to mind, but there was only one real reason. “I have to.”

  “No, you don’t. No one will know the difference.”

  She pivoted slowly, the wood cool against her bare soles. “I’ll know.”

  Creede muttered a curse. “You’re a stubborn woman, Laurel Covey.”

  It wasn’t stubbornness that drove her, but guilt. And there was the gnawing fear that her mind would break before the messages were all delivered. However, that was her burden to bear.

  Suddenly it was difficult to keep her eyes open. “I’m going to bed.”

  Creede raked a hand through his already tousled hair, making him look younger. “Good idea. There’s only a couple of hours left before dawn.”

  With a hand at her back, Creede guided Laurel through the door and up the stairs. Only when they stood by their bedroom doors did he draw his hand away. Cold invaded the spot where his palm had warmed her.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours,” he said.

  Laurel nodded and when he closed the door behind him, she finally entered her own room. Without removing her skirt or shawl, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. No visions leapt out to haunt her and she fell asleep with only the memory of Creede’s warm, steady hand on her waist.

  The stray cat didn’t return the next morning and Laurel forced herself not to search for it. Obviously, the cat had found a home or moved on. Either way, she should be relieved.

  Laurel waited on the porch with her bags. Creede had gone to retrieve the horses and mule from the livery. Floyd stood outside with her.

  “I’m sorry to see you leave so soon, Mrs. Covey,” he said, his words sincere.

  “I accomplished what I came here to do.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  Laurel tightened her hold on her journal. “Lefsburg, Mississippi.”

  “Why?”

  “I have another message to deliver.”

  He frowned. “I don’t pretend to understand, but good luck with your mission.”

  Maybe he didn’t understand, but he did know that her journey had become a mission. The words locked on the journal pages had to be freed before she lost what remained of reason and sanity. It was a small enough task, compared to those who’d given their lives.

  She grasped his hands and squeezed them. “Thank you, Floyd. We’re grateful for your hospitality and clean rooms.”

  Floyd blushed and she released him. She glanced past him to see Creede riding his sorrel mare and leading Jeanie. Dickens was nowhere in sight. Frowning, she picked up her two bags and went out to meet him.

  “Your damned mule won’t budge,” Creede said before Laurel could ask. “I don’t know why you don’t just shoot him and put him out of our misery.”

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “Really, Creede. He’s only a dumb animal. He doesn’t do it on purpose.”

  “He may be a dumb animal, but he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  Laurel didn’t deign to reply. She handed Creede her bags then climbed into Jeanie’s saddle. He gave her back the smaller bag and hung unto the larger.

  “Bye, Floyd,” Creede said, touching the brim of his hat.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Forrester.”

  Laurel doubted if Creede heard the wistfulness in Floyd’s voice and she figured it wouldn’t be prudent to tell him. Let Floyd have his dreams. Too often that was all a person had in this life.

  Creede led the way back to the livery and dismounted outside by the corral. He took Laurel’s bag from her so she could climb down from Jeanie’s back. Once inside the livery, Laurel definitely knew Dickens was having one of those days. He sat in the middle of the barn, giving everyone the evil eye.

  She stifled a sigh. Maybe she should sell the insufferable
mule, but doubted his next owner would be so patient and he would end up as dinner. She couldn’t do that to him. He’d pulled the wagons bearing wounded and dead soldiers back to the tent hospitals. He’d never balked when he was needed, but on the days he wasn’t required to pull an ambulance, he’d earned his name, in spades.

  “What the dickens are you up to?” Laurel scolded the mule. “It’s time to go.”

  Dickens merely brayed at her.

  Shaking her head, Laurel ignored his cussedness and got his frame pack in place. She pinched the skin behind his front leg and the mule scrambled to his feet. Prepared, Laurel stepped back so she wasn’t knocked over by his swift upsurge.

  “How’d you do that?” Creede asked.

  “That’s our little secret.”

  Creede scowled but handed her the two bags, which she lashed to the frame with practiced efficiency. Laurel took Dickens’s lead rope and the mule docily followed her out of the livery.

  As Laurel neared Jeanie, she spotted the stray cat sitting patiently a few feet away.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  The cat meowed.

  Creede shook his head. “Something tells me he wants to go with you.”

  Laurel shook her head. “No. He’s got a warm barn and I’ll bet folks around here will leave food out for him.”

  “Yep. The cat would be stupid to leave.”

  Laurel glanced at Creede, unable to tell if he was making fun of her. Then she ignored the stray and mounted Jeanie. With a firm hold on Dickens’s rope, she led the way out of town, refusing to look back to see if the cat followed.

  She heard Creede ride up beside her but kept her gaze aimed straight ahead.

  A mile out of town Creede looked back. “Your friend is back.”

  Laurel twisted around and spotted the skinny cat trotting behind them. “Doesn’t he have any sense of self-preservation?” she asked in disgust.

  Creede chuckled. “Sure he does. He knows a softie when he sees one.”

  Unable to vent her frustration on the cat, she glared at Creede. “Now what?”

  “It’s your cat.”

  “It’s not my—” She broke off with a growl and halted her horse. She dismounted, handed Creede Jeanie’s reins and waited for the cat to catch up to them. She picked up the creature and set it on the bags on Dickens’s back. “If you knew what was good for you, you would’ve stayed in town where you’d have your choice of warm barns. This way, you’re going to have to make do.”

  He meowed and curled into a ball.

  Dickens brayed.

  Jeanie whinnied.

  Creede chuckled.

  And Laurel was stuck with another uninvited traveling companion.

  SEVEN

  Mosquitoes buzzed around Creede’s head and he swatted the back of his neck as one stung him. His hand came away bloody and he cursed the bothersome insects for the umpteenth time that day. Since leaving Fordingham, he and Laurel had traveled nearly a hundred miles, and most of the distance had been seething with biting flies and mosquitoes. He had counted fifteen welts on his arms and neck that morning. Laurel had given him some ointment from her bag, which had helped the swelling, but the new bites were now irritating him.

  He glanced at his silent companion, noticing her fixed gaze on the horizon. In some ways she was the perfect traveling companion—quiet and asking nothing of him. Yet Creede couldn’t help but wonder about her uncommon silences and what chased through her thoughts.

  “We should be in Lefsburg tomorrow,” he said, his voice unusually loud amid the buzzing insects and rustling grass.

  She seemed to rouse herself and nodded after a moment. “Good.”

  “Who is it this time?”

  She turned to look at him. “William Gaddsen. His friends called him Will.”

  Although her voice was flat, he caught the flash of anguish in her eyes. “Did you know him?”

  “Not really. After he died, one of the men from his company told me about him. He said Will used to play the fiddle and tell terrible jokes.” She smiled wanly. “But he had an eagle eye and a steady hand on the battlefield.”

  Creede’s grip on the reins tightened. So many men and boys gone, and Laurel had seen more than her share pass to the next life. “That’s important when you’re depending on the person standing next to you,” he said lamely.

  Laurel nodded, but he could tell her thoughts were locked in the past.

  “I remember a soldier who was brought in covered with blood and gore,” she began. “He was screaming like the devil himself was after him and would hardly sit still long enough for a doctor to look at him. It turned out he wasn’t hurt at all and the blood was from his best friend who’d been standing right next to him when he was shredded by grapeshot.” She glanced down, her floppy brim covering her expression. “He never got over it and was sent home. I doubt he’ll ever be in his right mind again.”

  How many friends had seen Austin die? What about the neighbor boy he’d run off with? Had they been fighting side by side when Austin had received his fatal wound?

  The crashing of brush to his right brought Creede’s hand to his revolver and a moment later a pig burst out of the undergrowth in front of them. Creede’s horse whinnied and tried to rear, but he held tight to the reins. Laurel’s mare did the same and nearly unseated her, but she managed to get the dun back under control.

  The pig raced around them, keeping the horses on edge, but Dickens flattened his ears and kicked at the runaway pig. He managed to catch the sow’s shoulder and it squealed and rolled across the grass, but rebounded to its feet immediately.

  Amid the chaos, two men dressed in ragged overalls ran onto the road following the pig. One man chased after the sow while the other aimed an ancient shotgun at Creede.

  “We found him first so he’s ours,” the one with the shotgun drawled.

  Creede eyed him, noting his skinny frame, bare feet, and unshaved, grimy face. He could smell the man, too—a mixture of old sweat, pig manure, and tobacco. He could’ve been anywhere from twenty to sixty years old.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Creede said evenly.

  “And you won’t get none iffen you don’t touch our pig.” His shifty gaze slid to Laurel and his eyes widened. “Well, look-ee there, Delbert.”

  The one named Delbert struggled to hang onto the shrieking pig by its hind legs as he stared at Laurel like she was an angel. “It’s a lady.”

  “Course it’s a lady. I knew you wasn’t as dumb as you looked.”

  “She’s purty, Rufus.”

  Rufus, the man with the shotgun, swept his gaze up and down Laurel. “We could get us a bundle of money for her.”

  Creede stiffened. “You’re not touching her.”

  Rufus cackled. “You ain’t got no say with this here shotgun aimed at yer noggin.”

  Laurel spoke up for the first time. “You have your pig so why don’t you just leave?”

  Rufus grinned, revealing wide gaps between tobacco-stained teeth. “She even talks purty, don’t she, Delbert?”

  The man holding the pig bobbed his head, his entranced gaze fixed on Laurel.

  Creede inched his hand toward his revolver. Torn between amusement and irritation, he preferred to be prepared if the situation got ugly.

  “Maybe we could keep her, huh, Rufus?” Delbert asked tentatively, still clinging to the pig, which had stopped its efforts to escape. “I ain’t seen a woman like her afore.”

  Rufus spat a stream of brown juice, barely missing his own foot. “Ma wouldn’t take too kindly to her livin’ with us. She’d want a proper weddin’ first.”

  “Then I want to marry her,” Delbert said, his enthrallment changing to stubbornness.

  Creede shook his head, wondering if Rufus and Delbert were as addle-brained as they appeared. He couldn’t believe any man with an ounce of brains or decency would be considering stealing a woman and taking her home to meet his mother or arguing about who’d get to marry her.<
br />
  “She’s already married,” Creede spoke up, hoping he was doing the right thing. “I’m taking her back home to her husband and if we don’t arrive, he’ll send out a hundred men from his regiment to look for her.”

  Delbert’s thick eyebrows drew together and he looked like he was about to cry. “She already hitched?”

  Laurel held out her left hand. “To Major Robert Covey.”

  “He a soldier?”

  “Yes. He was in the Confederate Army,” Laurel said.

  Rufus stared at her a moment then lowered the shotgun and sighed heavily. “Damn, don’t seem right stealin’ a Johnny Reb’s wife.”

  Delbert shook his big head sadly. “Nope. Wouldn’t be right fall.”

  Creede exchanged a bewildered look with Laurel. He’d hoped his ploy might throw them off a bit, but he hadn’t expected such an easy capitulation. However, it appeared that although the two men were thieves and not all that bright, they had their own sense of right and wrong.

  “Why don’t you come with us to meet Ma? She’d be right pleased to have another woman’s company, even if it ain’t for long,” Rufus said.

  Creede was thinking of some way to answer that wouldn’t insult their ma when Laurel replied.

  “Thank you, but I’m afraid my escort and I have to be on our way,” she said, affecting a drawl. “We’re already behind schedule and I’m certain Robert is growing quite concerned.”

  His mouth gaping, Delbert stared at her while Rufus finally remembered his hat and doffed the greasy, floppy thing.

  “I’m right sorry to hear that, but I don’t want to be givin’ your man any call to worry,” Rufus said gallantly.

  “Thank you,” Laurel said in a genteel voice. “Enjoy your pig.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we will.”

  Creede allowed Laurel to move ahead of him and he kept himself between her and the two pig thieves. Although they now seemed harmless enough, he didn’t want to take a chance with Laurel’s well-being.

  “Do you think they’ll follow us?” Laurel asked Creede once they were far enough away they couldn’t be overheard.

  “I think they’ll have their hands full with the pig.”

  “Especially if the real owner shows up to claim it.” She shuddered. “I can’t believe they actually thought I’d marry one of them.”