A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers)

by McKade, Maureen

  Breakfast turned out to be grits, hotcakes with butter and molasses, and fried eggs. Creede remained subdued throughout the meal as he observed Laurel and noticed how she kept her attention on Elizabeth, Jane, and Todd. She could ignore him now, but once they were traveling again, it would be difficult. Creede had until Texas to change her mind about marrying him.

  His decision made, he finished eating, thanked Elizabeth, then went to get their gear loaded onto the horses. With a twinge of satisfaction, he noticed Laurel’s confusion at his avoidance of her.

  Todd helped gather their things from the campsite and saddled Jeanie. Creede enjoyed his company, but it bothered him that he didn’t know if it was only because Todd reminded him of his own son. Anxious to have Laurel to himself and to leave behind the confusion Todd evoked, he went to retrieve her as soon as the horses were ready to travel.

  In the house she was giving Elizabeth last minute instructions on how to care for Henry and what to watch for. However, when she spotted Creede she didn’t waste any time saying good-bye to the family.

  Creede tried not to notice the disappointment in Todd’s eyes when he shook the boy’s hand. “You take care of your ma and sister.”

  “And Grandda until he’s all healed,” he said solemnly.

  His throat tight, Creede clapped him on the back and turned to Elizabeth. “Good luck, Mrs. Hudson.”

  “Thank you for savin’ Henry’s life,” she said.

  Although it was Laurel’s experience that had saved him, Creede only nodded. Jane stayed back but she did give him a shy smile.

  The cat waited patiently by the horses and once Laurel was mounted on her dun mare, Creede lifted the cat onto the back of her saddle. Then he climbed atop his horse for the final leg of their journey. There was only one more message, one more destination, one more chance to prove to Laurel she wasn’t going crazy.

  * * *

  Laurel knew Creede would continue the disagreement begun that morning, but refused to be drawn into it. She had experience in ignoring what she didn’t want to acknowledge and used that skill to disregard his words. She also knew he grew more and more frustrated, but she didn’t dare give voice to her dark thoughts. She’d already confessed too much.

  After saying no more than a dozen words to him all day, Laurel prepared herself for another round of persuasive arguments that evening. However, silence hung between them. She cast furtive glances at him, but his expression was blank, his gaze locked on the flames. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she was disappointed when he remained mute.

  With nothing to distract her, Laurel found her thoughts straying to the previous night. That she wanted a repeat of their lovemaking went without question, but what her body demanded, her mind denied. Her only comfort was that with the turmoil his nearness caused, the ghosts were kept at bay.

  Without exchanging a word, Laurel and Creede settled into their respective bedrolls. The cat, which had filled out due to the food scraps he received, curled up beside her. The long day had taken a toll on Laurel and she fell asleep immediately, only to awaken a few hours later with a cry caught in her throat. The cat’s eyes reflected the moon’s light as he stared at Laurel, as if asking what was so important as to disturb his sleep. She petted the cat absently then wiped a hand across her damp brow and stood, intending to take a walk to clear the remnants of the nightmare. After last night’s sleepwalking, she hadn’t stripped to her underclothing despite the evening’s warmth.

  “Laurel?” Creede’s voice was clear, not sluggish with sleep.

  He’d obviously been waiting until her slumber was disturbed by nightmares. That he knew her so well irritated her, although she was more annoyed at herself for appreciating his concern.

  “I’m going to take a walk. I won’t go far,” she said.

  The fire had burned down, so she couldn’t make out his face but suspected his gaze was on her dim figure. She didn’t wait for a reply and crossed to where the horses were tied, her eyes adjusted enough to the darkness that she didn’t stumble.

  She hadn’t intended to make a confession last night. But she was tired of fighting the demons and her exhaustion had made her vulnerable. Yet despite that, her burden seemed lighter today. Creede hadn’t abandoned her like she’d expected. He hadn’t even treated her any differently. He’d said she wasn’t going crazy. Although she didn’t agree, he’d placed a kernel of doubt in her mind.

  She felt more than saw Creede join her, and was upset that her heart did a pirouette. After being independent for so long, it had taken her little time to come to rely on him.

  “Another nightmare?” he asked quietly.

  “It wasn’t as bad as last night’s.”

  He drew his hand along his mare’s neck. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No, but maybe I should.” She laughed without humor. “Since you’ve already seen me in one.”

  “I saw a woman trying to cope with what she experienced during the War.”

  She eyed him, trying to discern his expression in the inky shadows. “How do you know so much about it?”

  “You aren’t the only one who has nightmares.”

  “You dream of what you did to those men who hurt your mother?”

  “No. I dream of what they did to her, and of my wife being shot. And I dream of the men I killed after I started hiring out my gun.”

  The remorse in his voice brought moisture to her eyes that she blinked back. “So why did you start wearing your gun again?”

  “What else do I have left?”

  “Your farm. Your memories of your wife and son.” She paused. “Your self-respect.”

  He remained silent and she sensed she’d struck a nerve.

  “This wasn’t supposed to be about me,” he finally said. “We were talking about you.”

  “No, we were talking about nightmares.” For some reason, they didn’t seem as horrifying now. “Mine are always the same. I’m surrounded by wounded men and there’s blood everywhere. I can hear them groaning and I can hear the flies buzzing. The smell is terrible—blood and rotting animal carcasses and decaying flesh. It’s like I’m right there again.”

  “Maybe you were too busy to think about it then, but now it’s all coming back to you.”

  “I have nightmares while I’m awake, too,” she admitted in a low voice. “Everything will fade away and I’m in the hospital again.”

  “Those happen during the day?”

  “Yes. Usually when I’m alone, though.”

  “Then I have to make sure you’re never alone.” His voice was husky, reminiscent of the previous night.

  The thought of spending every day—and night—with Creede tempted her far more than it had before they’d made love. But doubts for her sanity remained and she refused to burden him.

  “Why don’t we try to get some sleep?” Creede suggested.

  The lingering unease from her nightmare had faded and she nodded. “I think I might be able to do that now.”

  Creede guided her back to their camp with a hand at her waist. When they got there, he moved his bedroll next to hers.

  “I’ll be able to wake you if you have a nightmare,” he said.

  She didn’t know if that was his sole reason, but her spirit was too battered to argue. She simply returned to her bedroll and Creede lay next to her, his body stretched out inches from hers. Without speaking, she curled against his side and with his familiar scent surrounding her, she fell asleep within minutes.

  The days passed in a blur of greens as they moved south-westward through the wilderness. Creede supplemented their dwindling food supply with an occasional rabbit. One afternoon they stopped early to camp beside a river. They feasted on fresh fish that evening. They also took advantage of the water and bathed and washed their clothes.

  At night she and Creede placed their bedrolls close but there wasn’t a repeat of their lovemaking. Laurel was grateful for his comforting presence, but found it increasingly difficult to set aside the passi
on his nearness evoked. In spite of Creede’s assurances, she suspected their sleeping arrangements were just as taxing for him.

  Six days after they left the Hudsons, they stumbled across their first town in Texas. As they rode down the main street, Laurel read the signs on the building fronts.

  “Have you ever been to Colson?” she asked Creede.

  He reined in by a hitching post in front of a small hotel and dismounted. “Once.”

  Laurel frowned at the curtness of the single-word reply. She wrapped Jeanie’s reins around the post and stepped on the boardwalk. “When was that?”

  “A lifetime ago.”

  The reason for his reticence became clear and she looked around, trying to see the town through his eyes. “Did you, uh, shoot someone here?”

  He didn’t reply. Obviously it was a touchy subject. Yet Laurel couldn’t help but feel slighted that he wouldn’t talk to her when she’d told him things she hadn’t planned to share with another living soul. She bit down on her tongue to keep from venting her childish frustration.

  “One room or two?” he asked as they entered the hotel.

  Annoyed, she almost said two, but realized she didn’t want to sleep alone. Although she still had nightmares, they weren’t as bad when she slept with him, or maybe Creede woke her before they caused her to sleepwalk again.

  “One.” Because she was impatient with her growing reliance on him, her tone came out surly.

  He gave her a questioning look that she ignored. If he couldn’t figure out why she was upset, she certainly wasn’t going to tell him. Of course, she knew she was being illogical, but her emotions continued to seesaw as they had for the past months—another symptom of what she assumed was encroaching insanity.

  She stayed back while he acquired a room.

  “Upstairs, two-seventeen,” Creede said, holding up a key.

  After carrying their things to the room, Creede volunteered to find a livery barn for the horses. Laurel was grateful for the time alone, which she used to sort through her things. In her saddlebag, she pulled out the cloth sack that held her journal and the last personal item to return to a family member. She withdrew the pocket watch and snapped it open for the first time since she’d taken it from the dead soldier’s pocket. Inside was a tiny photograph of a man and a woman taken on their wedding day. The man was tall and lean and the woman slender and petite. She was unable to make out any facial details—they could be anybody.

  Laurel heard the door open and slid the watch back into her bag.

  “We should get our supplies now since we’ll be leaving early in the morning,” Creede said from the doorway.

  “All right.” Laurel found the reticule that held her money.

  They walked to the mercantile, the silence between them strained. Once at the store, Laurel and Creede gathered the goods they’d need on the trail.

  “What town are we headed to?” Creede asked.

  Laurel searched her memory. “Robles.”

  Creede’s sharp inhalation sent her gaze to his face, which had gone stony.

  “Have you been there?” she asked.

  “My farm’s near there,” he replied, his voice gravelly. “Who is it?”

  “Private Lyman Eaton.” She’d read the names often enough to have them memorized.

  His tanned face paled. “Goddammit.” Although his voice was quiet, vehemence twined through it.

  She didn’t need to ask him if he knew the name. “Who is he?”

  He turned and stumbled out of the store. Laurel started to follow him.

  “What should I do with all this?” the clerk asked, motioning to the supplies spread across his counter.

  Torn, Laurel wavered between leaving and staying. Knowing they needed the staples, she returned to the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

  He gave her the total and, without hesitating at the exorbitant amount, she paid him.

  “That man you’re with. He looks familiar,” he began.

  “He has a farm here in Texas,” Laurel replied.

  The clerk cackled. “Texas is a big state, ma’am. What’s his name?”

  She considered not telling him, but he could easily get the information from the hotel. “Creede Forrester.”

  “Forrester? You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m certain,” she said with more than a hint of impatience.

  “Been some time since I heard that name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Quite a few years ago Orville Standish was having some problems. Hired Forrester to take care of them.”

  A chill swept through her. “That was a long time ago.”

  “That it was and it’s a good thing Ben ain’t around no more.”

  “Who?”

  “Ben Larson. He was the one Standish was havin’ problems with.”

  Despite herself, Laurel wanted the details. “What did Mr. Forrester do?”

  “Killed Larson’s oldest boy,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Old Ben swore he’d get Forrester someday, but his heart gave out not long after his son passed.”

  Creede had told her about his sordid past, yet hearing about it from someone else made it more real, more … deplorable.

  “Didn’t know that, eh?” The clerk seemed smug that he’d been able to pass on a juicy piece of gossip.

  Laurel composed her features. “Mr. Forrester told me what he’d done as a younger man. He’s changed.”

  The older man shrugged. “Maybe so, but it don’t change the fact that he killed an eighteen-year-old boy.”

  Her stomach heaved but she managed to maintain her composure. “I want these things delivered to the hotel, room 217.”

  “That’ll cost ya a dollar,” he replied.

  Her patience frayed, Laurel gave her temper free rein. “If you don’t deliver these items—for which I paid three times the normal price—for free, I want my money back and you can take these supplies and ram them up your rectum.” She leaned across the counter. “Which would you prefer?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and sweat pearled his brow. “No problem, ma’am. I’ll have a boy bring them to the hotel this afternoon.”

  Feeling only a small measure of satisfaction, she nodded but kept her flinty gaze aimed at him. Only when he looked away did she leave.

  She dashed onto the boardwalk but Creede was nowhere in sight. With her shoulders slumped, she trudged back to the hotel. Fortunately, he’d given her the key, so she’d be able to get into their room.

  At the top of the stairs she looked down the hall and spotted Creede leaning against the wall beside their door. Relieved to see him, but discomfited by what the clerk had told her, she joined him. He glanced at her and she was glad to see his face had lost its pallor. She entered the room and Creede closed the door behind them.

  Laurel kept her questions bottled up inside and returned her reticule to her saddlebag. Looking for things to occupy her, she checked the bed sheets and was pleased to see they were clean. She walked around the room and ran a finger across the windowsill, the bureau, and the chair, noting the layer of dust. However, she was overly aware of Creede’s presence and knew when he removed his gunbelt and when he perched on the edge of the bed, even though she wasn’t looking at him.

  Creede broke the silence. “He was Austin’s friend, the one he ran away with to join the army.”

  Laurel suspected as much after she’d seen his reaction to the name. She recalled the date she recorded Austin’s death and knew it was the same day Lyman had died. She’d been right all those months ago—the boys had been friends who ended up dying together. Her stomach clenched at the tragic loss of the two young men.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” Creede threw his hat across the room in a fit of rage. “Lyman’s folks were the ones who were all-fired up about him joining the army. Austin and Lyman were best friends most of their lives, so it was easy for Lyman to talk my son into joining up with him. Hell, when you’re sixteen you thin
k you know everything and you won’t ever die.”

  Laurel sat beside Creede and grasped his fisted hand that pressed into his thigh. “He could’ve just as easily joined the army on his own. I didn’t know Austin but he might have thought he had something to prove.”

  “What did he have to prove? He was my son, for God’s sake.”

  “Why did you kill those men who hurt your mother?”

  He fixed his fiery gaze on her. “What does that have to do with Austin?”

  Laurel ignored the question. “When those men hurt your mother, you thought you disappointed your father.”

  “He was dead.”

  “It didn’t matter. You still had to prove to him that you were a man. By killing them, you figured you did that. Maybe Austin wanted to prove to you he was a man, too.”

  “I didn’t want him to join the army.”

  “No, but it was probably the easiest way to prove himself.”

  Creede laughed harshly. “So easy it killed him.”

  Laurel didn’t know what else to say so she lapsed into silence and held his hand. She remained beside him, trying not to think about how their thighs touched or how large his hand was within her smaller one or how that same hand had touched her so intimately.

  A knock on the door sounded and Laurel was grateful for the interruption. She brushed a hand across her warm cheeks and rose to open it. A boy stood there holding several packages. “Mr. Dobbins told me I was to bring these things here.”

  “Just set them over there.” Laurel pointed to a spot on the floor by her bags.

  The boy did as she asked, then waited.

  Creede withdrew a coin from his pocket and tossed it to him. “Thanks, kid.”

  The boy grinned and scooted out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Sorry about leaving you with the supplies,” Creede said with a wry smile.

  Laurel crossed her arms. “That’s all right.” Curiosity got the better of her discretion. “The clerk—Mr. Dobbins—recognized you. He said you took care of a problem for someone named Orville Standish a long time ago.”