A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers)

by McKade, Maureen

  Laurel knew that feeling. She’d had the same fluttery sensation when Robert had looked at her a certain way, but he’d been her husband. With Creede, it was different—the nervous excitement was more powerful. Or maybe it was simply because it had been three long years since she’d been touched as a man touches a woman.

  She stood to escape that feeling. Afraid to feel too much again. “You’re wrong, Katy. I didn’t let Thomas kill me. I got away from him, didn’t I?” The walls closed in on her and she couldn’t catch her breath. “Rest. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

  Katy looked like she wanted to argue but as easy as Rachel’s birth had been, she needed sleep to regain her strength.

  As soon as Laurel was out of the bedroom, she leaned against a wall and tipped her head back. She concentrated on regulating her breathing, hearing her own words as she’d helped a patient do the same.

  That’s right. Take slow, easy breaths. You’re safe now.

  Finally, her heart didn’t feel like it was going to explode out of her chest.

  Keeping her gaze averted from the bloodstained floor, she filled a pail with water then got down on her hands and knees to scrub. The thick, coppery scent reminded her of other places reeking with the stench of blood. She focused on dipping the brush in the water, scrubbing the wood then rinsing again.

  Surprisingly clear images of Katy’s husband William played across her mind. When he’d been brought in, his face was covered with blood and where his eyes had been was a gaping wound. Laurel hadn’t expected him to be alive, but he’d moaned and she’d gone to his side. He was lucid despite the pain. Although morphine supplies were low, she’d given him some to ease his agony. He’d survived for a day and had even managed to give Laurel the message for his wife.

  What if he’d lived? Blinded, he would’ve been dependent on the charity of strangers. He’d never see his son grow to be a man. He’d never see his wife’s gold hair shining in the sun again. And he’d never be able to give Katy that look, the one that filled her with love.

  The water in her bucket changed to red and when Laurel lifted out the brush, her hand was covered with reddish water. She stared at it a moment, then dunked her hand and the brush back in the water and lifted them out again. Pale red glistened on her skin. She dropped the brush in the pail and rose, moving to the kitchen pump. After washing her hands with soap, she ran fresh water over them, but the red remained. Why wouldn’t it come off?

  Frantic, she found a small scrub brush and attempted to scour her hands clean with it using more soap. Her fingers and palms tingled painfully from the scrubbing but the blood clung to her. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breath grew short and raspy. She had to remove the stain.

  “What’re you doing?” Big hands closed around hers.

  “I have to wash it off.” Laurel struggled to escape his grasp but he was too strong. “Let me go.”

  “You’re hurting yourself,” Creede said, drawing her away from the sink with his arms wrapped around her from behind.

  “I have to get the blood off.”

  Creede froze but didn’t release her. “What blood?”

  “It’s all over my hands.” She spread her fingers wide. “Can’t you see it?”

  “They’re just red from being scrubbed so hard. There’s no blood on them, Laurel,” Creede said gently.

  She blinked and, like magic, the blood was gone. She could see only irritated skin. Creede studied her for a moment and she glanced away, afraid he’d see the encroaching insanity in her eyes. “I’m all right. I just need a towel,” she said, her voice shaky.

  After another moment, Creede let her go and passed her a towel. She dried her hands with it, careful not to chafe the skin any more.

  “Are you all right now?” Creede asked.

  Despite her sore throat from Thomas’s treatment and the dread humming along her nerves, she managed a nod.

  “Thomas is dead. He won’t hurt anyone else ever again,” he reassured.

  Was that what was bothering her? Or was it the reminder that death and blood went hand in hand? Yet as she’d told Creede, she’d seen too much death to be afraid of it. Why had she been so certain her hands were blood-covered?

  Realizing he expected her to say something, she simply said, “I know.”

  He frowned at her, as if suspecting she was holding something back.

  Please don’t ask me any more questions.

  “I’ll get rid of the dirty water,” he volunteered.

  “I’m not done. There’s still blood on the floor.”

  “It’s stained. You can’t get rid of it all.”

  Stained. Like my soul.

  Creede guided her to a chair, setting her down firmly.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She wanted to argue but it was easier to let him have his way. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She’d just sit here for five minutes then find something for dinner.

  Creede carried the bloody water some distance away from the house and dumped it. His nose wrinkled at the odor. How had Laurel managed to clean the mess without being sick?

  I’ve seen more dead men than you ever will.

  Because she’d seen—and cleaned—far worse messes while she’d been a nurse. Although he knew what she’d faced during the war, he hadn’t really known. How had she lived through the horror?

  Unease coiled in his belly. How long could even a strong woman like Laurel continue to work under battle conditions and not have it affect her? She’d managed to make it through the war, but something was happening to her now. Something Creede didn’t understand.

  His head ached but it wasn’t all from the bump he’d received. He’d put himself in this position by volunteering to see her safely to Texas. He could just as easily part trails, leaving her alone again. Yet he rebelled against doing that. He may not agree with her task, but he admired her for her determination and for respecting the soldiers’ last wishes. And if he wasn’t damned to hell already, he surely would be if he allowed Laurel to continue her journey alone.

  He stopped by the barn before heading back to the cabin. Just inside the barn lay a dark lump that was Thomas’s body rolled up in an old blanket. Although the moon was up, he planned to take the body into town tonight. He didn’t want Laurel with him when he did, and he’d bring Dickens and the wagon back to carry them to town come morning.

  Unable to stall any longer, he stepped into the cabin and stopped short. Laurel had fallen asleep in the chair with her neck slightly bent and her head tilted back. So strong in the face of adversity, she now appeared vulnerable and fragile. A surge of protectiveness made his breath catch in his throat.

  He found a blanket in the trunk to cover her. Careful to not wake her, he draped the blanket across her. Her lips parted and she sighed noiselessly.

  He allowed himself to simply study her, his gaze following the arch of her brow, the curve of her cheek, and the bow of her lips. Noticing the smudges beneath her eyes, he frowned. Had those always been there?

  Troubled, he looked away and set his mind on other tasks.

  Laurel sat on the top step of the porch. Although she watched Willie play a game of tag with imaginary friends, her mind was elsewhere. That morning she’d awakened lying on a pile of blankets on the floor beside the fireplace and had only a vague recollection of how she’d gotten there. The last thing she remembered with any clarity was sitting down while Creede went to take care of Thomas’s body.

  Through a fog of sleep, she barely recalled being urged to her feet by Creede’s gentle hands and gentler voice. Then she was lying on a bed of blankets that smelled of cedar and soap. For some reason, she thought Creede had lain beside her, but this morning she’d been alone. Rising, she found a note from him saying he’d taken Thomas’s body into town and would return soon.

  Her gaze drifted to the empty road and she wondered if Creede had taken the opportunity to continue to Texas alone. She wouldn’t blame him. The possi
bility filled her with a sense of loss that she savagely thrust aside. She didn’t need his help to deliver the last three messages. Besides, she hadn’t wanted him with her in the first place. She’d already allowed him to get too close.

  Movement caught her attention and she stood, then shaded her eyes against the bright morning sun. There was a wagon being pulled by a mule.

  Relief made her lightheaded. He hadn’t abandoned her.

  A second wagon followed, and a single rider. Who was returning with Creede?

  Willie halted his game and ran back to Laurel’s side. “Is that Mr. Creede?”

  Laurel put an arm around his slender shoulders. “Yes. Do you know the other two people?”

  Willie squinted then jumped up and down. “It’s Miss Sally.”

  The woman looked familiar, but Laurel couldn’t place her. The older man, however, was a stranger, but the metal badge pinned to his chest told her he was a lawman.

  They all stopped by the corral and Laurel and Willie joined them. The boy skipped over and greeted the woman with a hug.

  Laurel rubbed Dickens’s forehead as Creede jumped down. He had taken time to change his shirt, as well as wash, making Laurel self-conscious of how she must look in the clothes she’d slept in.

  “What’s going on?” she asked him in a low voice.

  He canted his head toward the heavy-set lawman. “Sheriff Beller decided to come along to make sure I didn’t make up the story about Thomas.”

  “He didn’t know what Thomas was doing to Katy and the others?”

  “According to him, Jasper Thomas was an upstanding citizen,” Creede said dryly. “He was going to throw me in jail, but Miss Franklin came to my rescue.”

  Laurel eyed the woman who held Willie’s hand as they walked to the cabin. “I’ve seen her before.”

  “Sally Franklin. She’s the waitress who told us how to find this place. She’s a friend of Katy’s and knew all about Thomas. With the bastard gone, she wasn’t afraid to tell the sheriff all she knew. But Beller wanted to hear it from Katy.”

  Sheriff Beller shambled over to them, puffing slightly. “This Mrs. Covey?”

  “Laurel Monteille Covey,” she said before Creede could reply.

  “She don’t look like she’s been hurt.”

  Angry at his offhanded tone, Laurel undid the top two buttons of her blouse and moved the collar aside. Both the sheriff’s and Creede’s eyes widened at the bruise across her neck that she’d seen in the mirror that morning. “Your upstanding citizen did this to me. And if you need more proof, I’ve got another one on my shoulder.”

  Beller’s round face reddened but she could tell his wrath wasn’t directed at her. “I’ll go talk to Mrs. Gaddsen.”

  He shambled to the house.

  “I should’ve known he’d leave marks,” Creede said between gritted teeth.

  Laurel’s face heated beneath his intense scrutiny and she buttoned her blouse. “It looks worse than it is.” Her black-and-blue shoulder, however, ached, but Creede didn’t need to know that. “Katy is feeling much better.”

  “Good. Miss Franklin plans on staying here with her.”

  “That means we can leave today.”

  “If Sheriff Beller doesn’t arrest me for murder.”

  “You didn’t kill Thomas.”

  Creede shrugged. “Beller isn’t convinced.”

  Laurel glanced at Creede’s narrow hips. “Where’s your gun?”

  “Beller took it. He said he’d give it back once I was cleared. I’m just damned glad he didn’t throw me in jail.”

  “You wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

  Creede chuckled. “Believe me, I used to get into a lot worse messes on my own.” He sobered. “I’m glad I was here. Who knows what Thomas would’ve done to you or Katy and the kids?”

  Laurel shivered, having some clear ideas that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Creede took her arm and they walked to the cabin but stayed outside on the porch. They heard the sheriff questioning Katy and her replying, although Laurel couldn’t make out the words.

  Ten minutes later Sheriff Beller came out, his expression grim.

  “Did you get what you needed?” Creede asked.

  Beller looked like he was going to be sick. “The son of a bitch had me believing he was helping out the widows out of the goodness of his goddamned heart.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Pardon, ma’am.”

  Laurel nodded, having heard far worse cursing.

  “I want my gun back,” Creede said.

  “Come see me when you get back to town.” Beller strode across the yard to his horse.

  “I’ll say good-bye to Katy and Willie.”

  Before she could go into the cabin, Creede clasped her sore arm and she flinched slightly. He abruptly released her. “How bad is it?” he asked gently, motioning to her shoulder.

  She didn’t meet his gaze. “It’s nothing.”

  “We can stay here another day if you’d like.”

  She thought of the bloodstained floor and worse, her bloodstained hands. “Katy and Rachel are doing fine. I’d just be in the way with her friend here.”

  “All right. We’ll stay at the hotel tonight then leave tomorrow.”

  “We can leave today—”

  “No,” Creede said firmly. “Riding a horse most of the day isn’t going to help your shoulder.”

  Although Laurel wanted to leave Lefsburg and the memories of Jasper Thomas behind, she wouldn’t mind resting another day. Sleeping on a mattress instead of the hard ground would be less painful, too.

  “All right,” she conceded.

  Creede seemed surprised by her capitulation. When they entered the bedroom, Sally excused herself. Creede said his good-bye to Mrs. Gaddsen then took Willie outside, leaving Laurel and Katy alone.

  Laurel sat on the edge of the bed and gazed down into Rachel’s innocent face. After seeing so much suffering and death, the sight of the healthy infant made Laurel’s breath catch in her throat. “She’s beautiful.”

  Katy nodded proudly. “She is.” Her smile faded and she clasped Laurel’s hand. “Thank you for everything. Now that Jasper is gone, I have a chance to start over.”

  “Will you stay here?”

  Katy turned and stared out the window. “I don’t know. This place is all tied up with Jasper Thomas, but me and Will made a lot of good memories here, too.”

  “You don’t have to decide right now.”

  Katy nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek, although she was smiling. “I think Will would’ve wanted his son to grow up here, in the same place he did.”

  Laurel squeezed Katy’s thin hand gently. “I think he would, too.”

  Laurel’s gaze strayed to the nightstand where a photograph that hadn’t been there before now sat. She picked up the black-and-white likeness and gazed at the serious young man who was gazing at Katy.

  “That’s Will and me right after our wedding,” Katy said. She took the framed picture from Laurel and traced Will’s face. “He was the handsomest man I ever saw.”

  Laurel’s throat tightened, remembering Will’s ravaged face. “What color were his eyes?” At Katy’s questioning look, she quickly added, “I can’t recall.”

  “Green like the grass in springtime. I’ll always remember how he used to look at me with his beautiful green eyes.” Katy sniffed and set the frame back on the table. “Thank you, Laurel, for being with my Will at the end and for helping me get free.”

  “You’re welcome. Good-bye, Katy.”

  Laurel glanced down once more at the picture, and imagined Will whole and healthy and with beautiful green eyes.

  TWELVE

  Laurel remained in the bathtub until the water cooled, then reluctantly stepped out, using one of the hotel’s rough, worn towels to dry herself. The bath cost almost as much as the room, but she needed the soothing embrace of hot water after the last twenty-four hours.

  Dusk had fallen and she lit a lamp befo
re donning her wrinkled clothing. As she dressed, much of her peace of mind acquired by the leisurely soak melted away. Creede had been a gentleman and gone out, so she’d had the room and tub to herself. Now, however, the walls pressed in on her, along with the phantoms.

  She twisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and left the room to find someone to take care of the bathtub. At the top of the stairs, she spotted Creede entering the hotel’s shabby lobby. He didn’t see her so she took a moment to simply observe him—the way his shirt stretched taut over his shoulders, the glide of muscle beneath his snug trousers, and the intensity in his hawklike features. His long-legged stride reminded Laurel of the predatory pace of a lion she’d seen at the zoo when she was a child.

  She figured Creede was at least ten years her senior, yet from a distance he appeared closer to her age. However, up close, she’d seen the creases in his brow and the lines at the corners of his eyes—badges of the sorrow he’d endured.

  As if sensing her, he glanced up sharply and caught her gaze. Laurel should’ve looked away, but his eyes held her in thrall as he climbed the stairs. The first thing she noticed was his clean scent and smooth-shaven cheeks and jaw. Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, his hair was damp and markedly shorter than when he’d left two hours earlier.

  “I went to the barber and bathhouse,” Creede said, guessing her thoughts.

  Laurel cleared her throat. “You look nice.”

  With an amused smile, Creede cast his gaze up and down her figure and his lips tipped upward. “So do you.”

  Although they were in full view at the top of the stairs, Laurel couldn’t make herself move. The air between them crackled with bridled passion, unspoken and unacknowledged, but as tangible as the dark lashes framing Creede’s blue eyes. Her body swayed toward his, shocking Laurel out of her daze.

  She stepped away, not realizing she was so close to the edge of the steps. She fought for balance even as a firm hand caught her, drawing her away from the precipice. She latched onto Creede’s arms, her heart battering her ribs.