A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers)

by McKade, Maureen

  Creede removed his hat and mopped his brow with a damp handkerchief. “I don’t think they would’ve actually gone through with it. Besides, I have a feeling even they’ll be able to find wives with so many men killed in the War.”

  Laurel nodded somberly. She glanced back to where the stray cat still lay nestled in the middle of the mule’s pack frame, between the two bags. The incident hadn’t even woken the cat. “That was some fast thinking on your part,” she said.

  Creede shrugged. “I was hoping they were loyal to the Confederacy, which meant they’d respect one of their officers.”

  “I’m merely glad it worked. I didn’t relish the thought of being introduced to Ma.”

  “I don’t plan on letting anything happen to you, Laurel.”

  She appeared startled but quickly looked away. “Plans often have a way of changing, whether we want them to or not.” Then she turned back to him and caught his gaze, her eyes clear and determined. “I made the decision to deliver the messages. If anything happens to me, I don’t want you blaming yourself. I need you to promise you won’t feel guilty.”

  Irritation made Creede’s voice sharp. “I can’t make a promise like that any more than you can stop delivering those damned messages.”

  Laurel glared at him. “You’re more stubborn than Dickens.”

  Creede’s annoyance dropped and he grinned. “Thanks.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward.

  Creede laughed at her expression and she joined in after a few moments. He couldn’t draw his gaze away from her bright expression and his chest tightened unexpectedly. His mirth faded and he looked away, troubled by his reaction. To be attracted to her like any man was attracted to a pretty woman was expected, but this was more—something he didn’t have the courage to examine too closely.

  As they rode through the battle-scarred land and crossed paths with the poverty-stricken folks, he was thankful for Laurel’s company. When he’d left Texas all those months ago to search for his son, he’d hoped to travel home with Austin. He never expected to be escorting a former Confederate nurse to Texas instead.

  Creede and Laurel continued their travels in silence. The wind picked up as increasingly gray clouds moved overhead. On the western horizon, a bluish-black wall heralded a storm.

  Despite the heat of the day, a shiver sliced through him. “We should make an early camp.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She swatted a fly on Jeanie’s neck. “The flies are biting worse.”

  Creede nodded.

  As they rode, the clouds overtook the sun and turned daylight into early evening. The air grew heavy and cool. Electricity sparked, giving the darkness a greenish hue.

  Creede’s mare twitched her ears, which glowed with a greenish-blue light. Creede had seen the same odd phenomenon a few times before, and each time a violent storm had followed. They had to find shelter, and soon.

  Creede halted.

  “What is it?” Laurel asked.

  “Looks to be a place about a quarter of a mile away.”

  Laurel squinted through the dimness. “They might let us use their barn.”

  “If it’s Rufus and Delbert’s, they’ll probably let you share the cabin with Ma,” Creede teased.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather share the barn with Jeanie and Dickens.”

  “And me?” The husky question was out before Creede could stop himself.

  Laurel’s expression didn’t change, but her cheeks flushed pink. “If it’s a choice between you or Delbert or Rufus, then yes, I’d rather sleep with you.”

  Creede was relieved she’d made light of his question and continued in kind. “I think I’ve been insulted.”

  She reached out and laid her gloved hand on his arm then smiled sweetly. “Think of yourself as the lesser of three evils.”

  Creede chuckled, finding Laurel’s burgeoning humor a welcome and altogether too-attractive part of her personality.

  Lightning streaked across the clouds and the horses pawed the ground, shifting restlessly. The still air was charged with expectancy and the hairs on Creede’s arms tingled. They needed to get to shelter. “Come on.”

  Laurel, too, grew serious and followed him. He could hear her murmuring to her horse and the mule, trying to keep them calm amid the spectacular light show behind the heavy gray clouds. St. Elmo’s fire continued to dance between the horses’ ears and produced a faint glow around their manes and tails.

  Approaching the homestead, Creede realized it was abandoned, and the house had suffered a fire, leaving nothing but a black shell. The barn, however, was still standing, although the roof sagged and there were undoubtedly holes in it. But it would be better than nothing once the storm began in earnest.

  He dismounted in front of the barn door, which hung by a single hinge. Peering inside through the grayness, he saw some stalls and old hay. It was more than he’d hoped.

  “Is it safe in there?” Laurel asked, startling him by her closeness. He hadn’t realized she, too, had gotten off her horse.

  He shrugged. “Hard to say, but I’d rather take that chance than staying out here when that storm comes.”

  “Me, too.”

  She started forward but Creede placed his hand on her wrist. “Wait. Let me go in first and see if there’s a lantern.”

  Laurel nodded and accepted his horse’s reins then watched him enter the barn. In the distance lightning zigzagged from the clouds to the ground, catching her attention. Five seconds later, thunder rolled like a cattle stampede. The storm was closing fast.

  She could feel the electricity buzzing around her, like the incessant bugs that had plagued them earlier. Jeanie danced and her eyes rolled, the whites showing. Creede’s usually steady mare also pranced nervously. The cat twitched his tail. Only Dickens appeared bored by the entire affair.

  Creede lit a lantern inside the barn, illuminating a six-foot circle around him. “It looks safe enough,” he called out.

  Laurel half led, half tugged the animals into the barn, her nerves suddenly chittering like sparrows. Creede took his mare’s reins from her and went to work unsaddling the horse.

  Laurel followed his example and stripped Jeanie of her gear then led her into a decent stall before removing her bridle. Lightning flashed, lighting up the corners of the barn and leaving an eerie afterglow in its wake.

  Ignoring her internal trembling, she turned her attention to Dickens but found Creede already there.

  “I’ll take care of him … if he lets me,” he said.

  Dickens swung his head toward Creede and showed his teeth in a caricature of a smile. But the mule stood placidly as if proving to Creede he could behave.

  Before Laurel could lift the stray cat from the mule’s back, he meowed and leapt down, landing on his four paws with a grace that defied his scruffy appearance. The hair along the cat’s back stood up.

  Laurel squatted down to pick him up, but lightning followed closely by resounding thunder sent the cat into a frenzy. He dashed out of the barn just as heavy raindrops fell, sounding like rapid hammer strikes against the roof.

  Laurel didn’t hesitate but dashed outside after the stupid cat.

  “Laurel!”

  She barely heard Creede’s holler above the storm’s intensity. The rain lashed at her face and the wind, which had been dormant only minutes earlier, bowed the trees. Leaves were ripped from branches and shunted away by the wind’s force.

  Holding an arm in front of her face to ward off the driving rain, she searched for the stray cat. Her clothing became soaked in seconds, but she hardly noticed. She focused on finding the cat, afraid if it remained outside it would be drowned or get sick from the cold rain.

  A movement caught her eye and she turned to squint through the rain’s curtain. She made out the dim shape of something about the size of the cat and leaned into the wind to trudge toward it.

  Getting closer, she could make out the skinny animal, looking even thinner with the water flattening hi
s fur. She picked up the cat and he curled into her arms, burrowing his head beneath her chin.

  She soothed the trembling cat in low tones, ignoring nature’s temper tantrum swirling around her. As she staggered toward the barn, lightning flashed and thunder cracked so close that she stumbled back, falling on her backside.

  And found herself in another storm.

  The cannon’s fire was too close. She could almost feel the whisper of heat across her face when it sent another cannonball into the camp. Man and beast unlucky enough to simply be wounded screamed in pain and horror.

  She helped another patient into one of the wagons and turned back to the tent to help another man. The cannon exploded again and she was flung forward by the percussion of the blast. She lay there, listening, but there was unholy silence, and she pushed herself to her knees on bloody palms. Turning her head, she spotted a crater where the ambulance wagon had been. Around the crater were parts of bodies half buried by dirt.

  Bile fought with the scream to climb out of her throat and the scream won, except she couldn’t hear it. The only way she could tell she was hollering was that her throat ached and her lungs burned. And there was nothing else she could do to hold on to her sanity.

  A hand on her arm shocked Laurel back to the present.

  “You’ve got to get back in the barn,” Creede said, tugging her to her feet.

  Dazed, Laurel allowed herself to be pulled along. She glanced behind her, through the rain, and saw the split trunk of an ancient oak tree. Smoke curled from the burnt slash that cut through bark and wood.

  She stumbled behind Creede, her hands filled with the quivering stray cat. Only she wasn’t certain anymore if it was her or the cat shivering.

  The shift from pelting rain to dryness made her gasp in shock. Unable to move on her own, Laurel stood where Creede had stopped. Her teeth chattered and the cat clawed at her arms and chest to jump down. She opened her hands, although they didn’t feel like hers, and the stray hopped down and disappeared into Dickens’s stall.

  “That was a crazy thing to do,” Creede said, anger resonating in his voice. “The cat would’ve been fine, but you almost got hit by lightning. When I saw it strike …” He ran a shaking hand through his dripping hair. “Damn it, Laurel, I thought you didn’t even care about that cat.”

  She stared at him, hearing his words but barely able to comprehend them, much less reply. Then she was aware of his silence and the furious gaze that turned to concern.

  He stepped up to her and grasped her shoulders. “Laurel, are you all right?”

  She peered at his lips, seeing them move and an inkling of understanding filtered through her. He was frightened … for her.

  Lifting a trembling hand, she pressed two fingers to his lips. They were warm and supple, kindling heat in her fingertips, like the fire that danced between the horses’ ears before the storm.

  “I-I’m all r-right,” she stuttered.

  He grasped her wrist gently and lowered her hand from his mouth. “No, you’re not. You’re nearly blue and you’re shaking like cotton in the breeze.”

  He placed his palm against her cheek and she leaned into it, closing her eyes.

  “You have to get out of those wet clothes,” he said gently.

  Wet. That’s why I’m so cold.

  Her fingers fumbled with her buttons.

  “Will you let me help you?” Creede asked.

  Frustrated with her clumsy attempt and desperately cold, she nodded.

  She watched him unbutton her blouse with long, tapered fingers that captivated her. So gentle, but she’d seen those same hands draw a revolver with the swiftness of a rattlesnake strike. Of course, he’d loved a wife and a son with those hands, too. Strong, caressing, assuring, confident, hardworking—his hands were all that and more.

  “I’m going to take off your shirt now.”

  Laurel blinked and lifted her gaze to his face, only to find it inches from her own. “A… all right.”

  She felt his hands move across her arms and back, his touch warm against her cold skin.

  “Do you think you can take your skirt off?”

  Laurel nodded and although her motions weren’t quite coordinated, she was able to undo the catch at her waist and step out of the skirt. Standing in her chemise and drawers, she thought she should be embarrassed, but all she could do was shiver.

  Creede held up a blanket and looked away. “Get out of those wet things and wrap the blanket around you.”

  With the feeling returning to her limbs, Laurel removed the soaked undergarments then took the blanket from Creede and wrapped it around her shoulders. It overlapped arid swathed her from neck to toe, although she was more grateful for the warmth seeping back into her chilled body than the covering.

  “Do you think you can stay there while I start a fire?” Creede asked.

  Laurel’s scattered thoughts were becoming less jumbled. “Yes.” She managed a weak smile. “I won’t even chase after the cat if he runs outside again.”

  A smile with more relief than amusement teased his lips. “Glad to hear it.”

  Laurel became aware of the storm again, of the lightning and thunder. There were only single beats between one and the other, but inside the barn, she didn’t feel its fury as intensely as when she’d been surrounded by it outside.

  The flashback to the War skated along her awareness but she shied away from it. The thunder must have made her remember it so vividly. Another memory that would’ve been better left as a nightmare.

  She tugged the blanket closer and buried her chin in the rough wool. Although she didn’t want to dwell on the memory, she couldn’t help but remember the gory scene and the bubble of silence that had surrounded her. Fortunately, one of the doctors had managed to get her to stop screaming and her hearing had returned soon after. Then she’d gone right back to helping transfer those still alive in the hospital tents to another wagon. She hadn’t thought about it again… until the thunder had yanked out the memory.

  “Sit by the fire,” Creede said.

  Laurel glanced up to see the cheery blaze he’d started near the door of the barn so most of the smoke would be drawn out. He guided her to the fire and motioned for her to sit on an upturned pail.

  Her gaze followed him and her cheeks heated when she saw him hang her chemise and drawers near the fire to dry. She reminded herself he’d been married, so women’s undergarments weren’t unknown to him.

  He returned and hunkered down on the other side of the fire. “Warming up?”

  She nodded, knotting her fingers within the blanket, and attempted a smile. “I guess it was foolish of me to go after the cat.”

  Creede scratched his jaw. “It wasn’t the brightest idea. Why’d you do it?”

  Laurel gazed into the fire’s crackling flames, shuddering slightly with every crack of thunder and bolt of lightning. “Maybe for the same reason I remained a nurse after Robert was killed.” She raised her head, meeting his puzzled look. “It simply seemed the right thing to do.”

  Thunder shook the ground and the horses shuffled in their stalls.

  Creede tossed some old hay into the fire. “Austin used the same argument before he ran off to join the army. I didn’t agree with him.”

  Laurel noticed the gleam of moisture in his eyes and said softly, “Maybe he didn’t want your agreement, only your understanding.”

  “And my blessing.” Creede’s voice wavered. “I never gave him either.”

  “But you did give him your love.”

  Creede clenched his jaw and glanced away. “It wasn’t enough, was it?”

  EIGHT

  The sagging walls of the barn closed in on Creede, but the storm cut off any escape. Unable to remain still, he went to Red and patted her neck, easing the sorrel’s nervous trembling.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Laurel suddenly said.

  Creede’s hand froze in mid-stroke. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? We aren’t going anywher
e until tomorrow morning and neither one of us is tired enough to sleep.”

  He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hear about his luckless life. Keeping his head averted, he gave her an abbreviated version. “I was married, we had a son, my wife died, and now my son’s dead.”

  Her impatient sigh overrode the rain’s clatter. “What of your own parents? Are you from Texas or did you settle there? What did you do before you were married? What were your wife and son like?”

  Her questions unlocked memories he’d left behind years ago, but he was surprised to find he wanted to talk about the bittersweet recollections. However, he’d done things in his life he wasn’t certain she’d understand.

  He gave his mare one final rub and moved back to the fire to squat across from Laurel. “I’m not sure you’re going to like what I have to say.”

  “I learned a long time ago we all have good and bad in us. It’s how much we have of each that determines what kind of person we become.”

  Creede studied her a moment, attempting to determine if she was serious or merely trying to set him at ease. Either way, he’d warned her. “My folks had a small ranch in the Colorado Territory, raised a few head of cattle, some pigs and chickens. There was enough to feed me and my two younger brothers.”

  He stared into the flames, seeing the small but neat cabin where he’d spent his childhood. “Pa died when I was fourteen. The night before he died he gave me his revolver, and made me promise to take care of Ma and my brothers. I promised I would.”

  The memories of his family were so clear he could hear his mother’s soft singing and his younger brothers arguing over their chores. He swallowed hard and rubbed his jaw, hoping to rub away the too-real pictures.

  “A year later two men came and stole our cattle and hurt Ma.” He flinched, hearing his mother’s screams after the first man had taken her into the cabin while the second had made him and his brothers stay outside. When the first man came out and the second went in, his mother hadn’t screamed anymore.