Creede’s face lost all color.
Again.
TWENTY-ONE
The past rushed back to Creede with the force of a locomotive. When he’d realized what town they were in, he wondered if anyone would remember him. Just his luck Laurel would run into the one person who did. “I told you what I used to be.”
She continued to study him, like she didn’t know him … like she hadn’t lain beneath him, her face flushed with passion, less than a week ago.
“I know. I just never expected to meet someone—” she finally glanced away. “Someone who knew you then.”
Despite his disappointment with her reaction, he shrugged nonchalantly. “It was bound to happen sooner or later once we hit Texas.”
“Do you remember the bo—man you killed?”
“It was a long time ago. I tried to forget that time.”
“So why are you thinking about becoming that man again?” Her challenge was delivered with a lift of her chin.
For the first time, he truly realized what he’d done when he buckled on his gunbelt again. He’d taken a step back to the man he’d once been—a man he didn’t even like, much less respect. If he took another step back and hired out his gun again, the man who’d been Anna’s husband and Austin’s father would no longer exist. There would be nobody to lay flowers by their crosses.
Sick with the thought, Creede snatched his hat from the floor and strode out of the room. His vision blurred and he could barely make out the walls and stairs. Halfway down the steps, he realized he’d left his gunbelt in the room. He also realized he didn’t need it. Laurel was right. He had the memories of his family and he had his cotton farm. And more important, he had his self-respect.
He scrubbed his face with his palms and continued out onto the boardwalk. With no destination in mind he simply walked and thought about the tattered remnants of his life. He could see things clearer now, not distorted by grief and anger. No longer did he want to sell his gun or make a woman a widow. He wanted the peace and quiet of his farm.
And he wanted Laurel with him.
Now all he had to do was convince her.
Laurel paced their room, counting the steps even though she knew how many there were after the first fifty times. Shadows stretched across the scuffed floor from the single window. What could Creede be doing that took so long in this small town?
Her face burned with the obvious answer and she dropped onto the bed. No doubt he’d found a saloon and a friendly, willing woman. Although jealousy surged through her, she couldn’t blame him. Creede had done nothing to inspire fear, nor had he hidden what he’d been. So why had she behaved like some blushing virgin when confronted with his past—the past he himself had told her about?
A sharp rapping startled Laurel and she hurried to the door, expecting Creede. Instead, a woman maybe ten years older than herself stood in the hallway. Although her dress was clean and neat, it was faded from too much wear. Her face, however, was smooth except for laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, but she wasn’t smiling now.
“I’m looking for Creede Forrester,” she said.
Laurel frowned, wondering how she knew Creede. And how she’d known to come here to find him. “He’s not here.”
“Who are you?”
“Laurel Covey. And you?”
“Felicia Dunn.”
The name didn’t mean anything to her. “Why are you looking for Mr. Forrester?”
“That’s between him and me.” Although the words were terse, her voice shook. “When will he return?”
“I don’t know.”
“May I wait for him?”
Curiosity impelled Laurel to invite her into the room. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Mrs. Dunn perched on the edge of the chair. It seemed she would’ve preferred to be anywhere but here, so why had she come?
Laurel eased down onto the edge of the mattress as her mind puzzled over the woman and managed to put some pieces together. “Which one did you know, Orville Standish or Ben Larson?”
Mrs. Dunn blinked, clearly startled. “Did he tell you?”
So Laurel was correct in her assumption. “No. The store clerk did. I didn’t know Cre—I only met Mr. Forrester a month ago.”
“Mr. Forrester killed my fiancé.”
Laurel’s heart clenched. “Your fiancé was Ben Larson’s son?”
“Jeffrey. We were supposed to get married the Saturday after Mr. Forrester shot him.”
“I’m sorry.” Laurel wondered anew why a woman, after nearly twenty years, would seek out her fiancé’s … killer. She glanced down to see a wedding band on the woman’s left hand. “But you’re married now?”
The older woman nodded and some of her tension was replaced by pride and love. “Yes. For nearly seventeen years. We have four children.”
“So why do you wish to see Mr. Forrester?”
Mrs. Dunn’s gaze faltered and dropped. “I-I made a promise to someone.”
Laurel understood promises.
The door opened and Creede stood silhouetted in the opening.
“Laurel, what’s—” He broke off when he spotted the woman. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
Mrs. Dunn stood, her stare locked on Creede. “You’re older than I remember.”
Creede stepped inside and closed the door. “Do I know you?”
“Not really. I remember seeing you around town.” The woman blushed. “At the time I thought you were handsome and exciting. Until you killed Jeffrey Larson.”
Recognition flooded Creede’s features and he nodded woodenly. “You were engaged to marry him.”
“Yes.”
“He tried to shoot me in the back. He missed. I didn’t.”
So Creede hadn’t killed in cold blood. Why had he let Laurel believe he had?
Mrs. Dunn bowed her head. “I know. His father died a month later. He made me promise …” She reached into her purse and pulled out a derringer, which she aimed at Creede.
Laurel’s hand flew to her mouth. Even though it was a small gun, at such close range Mrs. Dunn could easily kill him. However, Creede’s expression didn’t falter.
“Promise what? That you’d kill me?” he asked.
“You were all Mr. Larson talked about from the time you shot Jeffrey until his heart stopped. He hated you.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry the old man is dead. He was full of mean and Jeffrey was the same. You knew how they were.” His expression gentled. “That bruise you had on your face wasn’t from running into a post.”
Mrs. Dunn closed her eyes briefly. “You’re right. He used to hit me.” She straightened her shoulders. “I know this makes me a bad person, but I was glad you shot him.”
“Then why kill Creede?” Laurel demanded.
“You didn’t see Mr. Larson at the end. I think he would’ve fought with the devil himself if I hadn’t promised to do this.”
“It’s in the past. You don’t owe Ben Larson anything,” Creede said.
That Mrs. Dunn didn’t want to kill Creede was obvious, but a deathbed promise was a hard one to break.
“Do you want your children to grow up without their mother?” Laurel asked. “Or your husband to grow old with someone else?”
She flinched. “No.”
“Then forget about the promise you made. A decent person wouldn’t make another person commit murder.”
“The Larsons weren’t worth it then, and they aren’t worth it now,” Creede added, his tone oddly gentle.
The woman bowed her head and her arm fell to her side, the derringer slipping from her limp fingers. Creede leaned over to pick up the small weapon and opened it up, only to discover the chamber was empty.
“You weren’t going to kill me,” he said.
She raised her gaze to him and smiled feebly. “I can’t even kill a mouse.”
Relief made Laurel lightheaded.
“If I ever thought I’d see you again, I wouldn’t have agreed to Ben’s demand
.” Mrs. Dunn’s smile was shaky. “When I went into the store, Mr. Dobbins couldn’t wait to tell me about you.”
“He always was a gossipy bastard.” Creede sighed. “For what it’s worth, I wish I could change what I did. I was young and stupid, and didn’t understand that life wasn’t cheap.”
Mrs. Dunn laid her gloved hand on his arm. “We all did things we’re not proud of, Mr. Forrester. I’m ashamed I wasn’t strong enough to refuse making such a promise to Mr. Larson, and I’m even more ashamed I came here. Long ago, I realized I was much better off than if I’d married Jeffrey.”
Laurel stood and was surprised her knees didn’t wobble. She’d faced situations more dangerous than this, but never had she cared so much for the outcome. If Creede had been shot and killed … She shoved the fear aside.
“You’re a strong woman to be able to admit that,” she said to Mrs. Dunn.
The older woman faced her. “No. It’s just that I’m not as weak as I was then. I have to leave. My husband is probably at wit’s end waiting for me.”
Creede held out his hand with the derringer nestled in his palm. “This is yours.”
She grimaced. “No, it was Ben Larson’s. I never wanted it.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He opened the door for her and Felicia Dunn departed.
A vacuum of silence was left in her wake.
“Are you all right?” Creede asked.
“Fine. It wasn’t me she wanted to kill.”
“You heard her. She didn’t want to kill anyone. It was all because of a foolish promise she made.”
Laurel nodded. “Have you ever had someone else come after you because of your past?”
His eyes became opaque. “Once.”
“What happened?”
“They killed Anna instead of me.”
Laurel gasped.
“That’s the reason Austin believed I was a coward,” Creede confessed. “He said if I’d been wearing my gun, she’d still be alive. Maybe he was right, but if I’d done that, I would’ve gone against what Anna wanted.” The furrows in his brow became more evident, making him appear older.
Laurel wanted to hold him and soothe the lines from his face. She wanted to make things right for him, but as for herself, nothing could ever be the way it used to be.
“I made a decision,” he said.
Startled, she glanced up. “What?”
“I’m going back to my farm. I should get there in time for the cotton harvest, and with any luck I’ll make enough to get by until next year.”
Laurel’s gaze strayed to his gunbelt hanging from the hook. “What about that?”
He sighed and weariness added to his haggardness. “Austin thought I was a coward for packing away my gun, but Anna had convinced me it was the braver man who fought his battles without weapons. Maybe there’s a middle point in there.”
“If there is, you’ll find it.”
Laurel’s stomach growled and Creede grinned. “Would you like to get something to eat?”
After the stress of the day, Laurel was startled to find she was starving. She smiled. “I’d like that.”
Creede escorted Laurel out of their room, and she noticed he didn’t even glance at his gunbelt hanging on the hook.
The third morning after they left Colson, the skies filled with bloated storm clouds. Despite the muggy heat, Laurel pulled on her slicker before they rode out of camp. The cat didn’t seem to mind being covered by it as he rode curled on the back of her saddle.
“We only have about ten miles to my place,” Creede said at mid-morning.
The excitement in his voice brought a bittersweet lump to Laurel’s throat. Both their journeys would end—he would return home and she would … do what?
“How far is it from there to the Eaton home?” she asked, unwilling to think beyond the final message.
“Only four or five miles.”
They rode in silence for nearly an hour.
“So what will you do after you deliver Eaton’s message?” Creede asked.
“I haven’t thought about it,” she lied.
“Yes, you have. You’re still planning on putting yourself in one of those asylums, aren’t you?”
She glanced away. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t have a nightmare last night.”
Ever since she’d talked about the nightmares, they had lost some of their terror. She hadn’t had a spell in days, either.
“You’re not going crazy, Laurel.”
It didn’t surprise her that he knew what she was thinking. “The brain is a complicated thing,” she began quietly. “There was a soldier who had a minie ball lodged in his head. Everyone thought he’d either die or be unable to do anything for himself. He healed without any problems.” She threaded Jeanie’s reins through her gloved fingers. “But there were others who didn’t appear seriously wounded who either died or became raving lunatics.” She frowned. “Then there were those who didn’t have a single wound but who lost their minds because of something they saw or experienced.”
“You’re not losing your mind.”
Laurel smiled. “You’ve almost convinced me.”
He appeared pleased, but puzzled. “So what will you do after you’ve visited the Eatons?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “But I can tell you I won’t work as a nurse again.”
“Why?”
The horror of choosing who lived and who died sent a shiver through her. That was the one secret she’d shared with no one. How could she confess that it was her decision that brought death to some soldiers, including a few of those for whom she’d delivered messages?
“It would bring back too many memories,” she finally said.
Creede lapsed into silence. Laurel’s own thoughts remained murky as they rode.
The lightning in the distance drew nearer, and the rolling thunder rippled through her, increasing in volume and fury. Then the first raindrops fell and it didn’t take long to become a deluge.
“My place is only a mile away,” Creede shouted above the storm.
Laurel wiped a hand across her wet face and nodded. Although she knew Creede well after the weeks of traveling together, she was nervous about seeing his home—the place he’d been a husband and father.
It wasn’t long before a gathering of buildings came into view. Her heart hammering against her ribs, Laurel followed Creede to his home. He stopped in front of a barn and opened a door, then led his chestnut horse inside. Laurel followed, riding Jeanie into the building. Creede lit a lantern and slid the door shut.
The air inside was musty after being closed up for so long, but Laurel was grateful for the dry refuge. The rain pounded on the roof, but the barn was solid and no wetness leaked in. She dismounted and quickly set to work taking care of her horse. Creede took Jeanie’s saddle from her and showed her to the tack room. She hung the bridle from a hook and turned to see Creede standing motionless, his gaze on a small, well-worn saddle.
“Was it your son’s?” she asked quietly.
Creede nodded. “His first one. I had hoped Anna and I would have more children, but…”
The anguish in his tone brought mist to Laurel’s eyes. “I suppose coming back here is difficult,” she said awkwardly.
He finally turned to her. “I knew it would be. When I left here all I knew was that Austin had been injured. I thought I’d be bringing him home. Instead, I have nothing, not even his body.”
Laurel was glad she’d never had children. To lose one would be an agony she never wanted to experience. However, another part of her ached for a child of her own. If she and Robert had been able to conceive, perhaps she wouldn’t have spent the past three years surrounded by death. Instead, she would’ve been raising a daughter or son and experiencing life rather than death.
They walked back into the main part of the barn and brushed their horses, then picked up their bags. The thunderstorm hadn’t abated and they ran across the yard, skirting the worst of the p
uddles. Laurel removed her dripping slicker, left it on the porch, and followed Creede inside.
Laurel’s first impression of his home was one of comfortable warmth. In front of the fireplace sat two wooden rocking chairs draped with colorful blankets. On the mantel a carved rearing horse stood, obviously made by young hands, and a framed picture of two people. Above the mantel hung a needlepoint of a house with a verse stitched in cursive beside it, but she couldn’t read it from across the room.
“I know it isn’t much, not what you’re used to,” Creede said awkwardly.
She turned and smiled. “I’ve spent the last few years either in a tent or in a dormitory with other women. This is by far the nicest place I’ve been in a long time.”
Whether he believed her or not, he seemed to appreciate the compliment.
“It’s pretty dusty,” he said with a grimace.
“Nothing some water and soap won’t take care of.” She set her bags against a wall and rolled up her sleeves. Cleaning was something she had control over. “We’ve got half the day left to get things in order.”
The afternoon passed quickly as they worked together to rid the home of the months of accumulated dust and dirt. That evening after everything was done, including their meal, they each sat down on a rocking chair. The rain continued to patter on the roof, providing a lulling background. Laurel was exhausted from the physical labor, but it was a satisfying tired.
“This could be your home, too,” Creede said softly.
She wasn’t prepared to argue with him now. “No. It’s yours and Anna’s and Austin’s.”
“Anna and Austin are gone and this place will be damned lonely by myself.”
“Then find another wife.”
“I found the one I want.”
Laurel’s head suddenly pounded. “We’ve already gone over this, Creede.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going crazy, you have nobody to go home to, and you’ll fulfill your promise when you deliver the last message. What else is there?”
“I still have nightmares. I don’t know if those will ever go away.” She clenched her hands. “It hurts to care for people. I had to teach myself to keep from growing fond of my patients. I lost my husband and family. I don’t want to feel that kind of pain ever again.”
A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers) Page 25