He wiped his mouth. Even that small effort pained his chest. “The vineyard?”
She sat back with a sigh and looked out the window. “Burnt to the ground.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is. If I hadn’t been drinking, maybe I would have seen the men coming, stopped them before they set fire to the grapes.”
“You don’t know that.” She leaned forward and took his hand in hers. “Besides, you saved my life.” Sunlight glittered on spirals of golden hair framing a face that looked drawn and tired.
“I got shot is what I did, and that does you no good.”
“It certainly didn’t.” She arched an accusing brow. “I and the children have been worried to tears over you.”
“You have?” No one had ever worried about him before. Not even his own mother. Emotion burned in his throat. “Thank you for caring for me.”
She smiled. “My pleasure, Dante.”
“What will you do?” he asked.
“What can I do? I’ll sell the wine I have, start a new crop with the few vines that remain, and”—she sat back with a sigh—“pray.”
“Why not just sell the land and go back home?”
She rose and made her way to the window. “I promised François on his deathbed that I’d keep the land, raise his grapes, and make the wine he dreamed of making his entire life.”
“He was a fool to ask you that. To put you and his children in jeopardy.”
She shrugged. “How could I deny a dying man his one request?”
Dante could not believe the selfishness of this man. “What of next year when you have no wine to sell?”
“I will learn a trade.” She hugged herself. “We will trust God to take care of us.”
Dante ground his teeth together. “You’re a stubborn woman, Caroline. I don’t know whether your faith in God is commendable or crazy.”
“He has never let us down. There’s a verse in the Bible that says, ‘I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.’ ”
Dante snorted. “I’d rather do things my way. As soon as I am well, this Señor Casimiro will pay for what he’s done.”
“No, please.” She turned, worry lining her face. “You cannot fight a man like him. He is too powerful.”
“Perhaps not alone, but you forget, I still have a crew in town. And by now they will be itching for a fight.”
“Then it will never end. And more people will get hurt.” She sat beside him and took his hand again, pleading. “Leave it to God, Dante.”
He was about to respond that he didn’t trust God to right wrongs when Philippe and Abilene skipped into the room. Their faces lit when they saw him, and making a mad dash, they both leapt onto the bed. Philippe perched beside him, while Abilene tossed her arms about Dante’s neck. His shoulder throbbed beneath her weight, but it was worth the pain for the love these precious children lavished upon him.
Dante hated being bedridden. He’d always been a man of action, strong, capable, able to do anything he put his mind to with wit and vigor. But he’d never been shot so close to his heart, and the wound took its toll on his strength. It also took its toll on the way he looked at things. Facing one’s eternity had a way of making a man think. And he had plenty of time to do that while he recovered.
Caroline and the kids entertained him well enough: they played card games, Philippe practiced his reading, Abilene regaled him with made-up stories, and Caroline spent countless hours talking with him. He cherished those moments the most, listening to her soothing voice, her pleasant laugh, watching the adorable way her nose scrunched when she disagreed with him, the sparkle in her green eyes when she teased him, the shy looks of affection that made his heart leap.
At night she’d read to him from the Bible, stories of adventure, romance, and war—exciting tales he never dreamed were to be found in such a holy book. With every inflection of her voice, with every tear of joy that slid from her eye, he knew she believed every word she read. Words from a God who loved His creation more than anything, who wanted the best for them and agonized when they chose a path that caused them pain. Words from a God who, when all else failed, sent His own Son to redeem people from the depths of hell.
Words that woke a deep hunger within Dante.
One night, after all had gone to sleep, he called out to this God of hers, expecting nothing but silence in response to a man like him. But instead, a glow ignited in his heart. It spread to his limbs in a tingle that brought a chuckle to his throat. Wind stirred the curtains, and though the night was foggy, silvery light spun ribbons of glitter through the room. And a voice sounded from deep within him. “I love you, son. You are home now.”
Dante drifted to sleep, comforted by a Father he’d never known, but One who was here to stay. He’d also made up his mind on another important matter. If Caroline would have him, he would forsake the sea, stay with her and the children, and become the man she needed him to be.
Chapter 8
It’s only a week until Christmas, Mama.” Abilene bounced up and down on the sofa as Caroline gathered her children close after supper.
“Yes it is.” She smiled. “A very special time of year.”
Philippe tugged from his mother’s grip. “Will Santa bring us presents?”
Caroline’s chest grew heavy. Children should have gifts at Christmas, but for two years now, hers would have none. “Christmas is not about gifts. It’s about the birth of God’s Son, Jesus. He is our greatest gift.”
Abilene seemed to ponder this a moment. “I think He would want us to get other gifts, too. Don’t you think so, Mama?”
Caroline could purchase gifts. She’d sold the wine to Mr. Norsen, the merchant who already had a buyer in New York. Heaven be praised, he’d been quite pleased with the quality of the merlot. But she must save the money to provide food and other necessities for the next year when they had no wine to sell. “I’m sure he would, ma chère, but sometimes”—she hesitated, asking God for the best answer—“God gives gifts to children who have more need of them. We have everything we need, don’t we?”
Both Abilene and Philippe nodded, though she sensed their disappointment. A disappointment she shared, for she wished more than anything she could afford something this year. Still, she felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. God had more than blessed them. They had a home, food, and each other. And most of all, Dante was nearly recovered. Why, he’d even been eating supper at the table with them the past week. His color had returned, along with his sarcasm and wit. She smiled. And even better, he seemed different somehow. Not so restless—at peace, happier. She could not understand it, would not allow her heart to hope. For a man like Dante would never be happy landlocked and burdened with the responsibility of a family. No, she must steel herself to accept that once he was fully recovered and had enough money, he’d set sail and leave them behind.
“Can we get a tree to decorate, Mama?” Philippe asked.
“Of course. And we’ll pop corn and make beautiful ornaments. Won’t that be fun?”
Abilene’s eyes sparkled. “And we can make fruitcake, too.”
Caroline kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Indeed.”
“And your mother can read A Christmas Carol to us all.” Dante’s voice brought Caroline’s gaze up to see him leaning against the frame of the open french door. He’d gone outside after supper to check the perimeter, and she hadn’t heard him return. His brown shirt, open at the collar, flapped in the incoming breeze, revealing the bandage covering his wound. His black hair was pulled back in a tie. Leather boots led up to thick thighs that seemed not the slightest bit weakened by his illness.
And she thought him the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Would he really stay for Christmas? Part of her desperately wanted him to, part of her feared that if he did, her heart—and her children’s hearts—would be forever lost to him.
After
spending an enjoyable evening with her and the children, Dante, for the first time, helped her tuck them into bed, embracing each one, listening to their prayers, and kissing their foreheads. Once back in the parlor, he sat on the sofa and held out a hand for Caroline.
“Will you pray with me, Caroline?”
She blinked. “Did you say pray?”
“I did.” He grinned.
“Do you mean that you want me to pray for you?”
“No.” He took both her hands in his and pulled her down beside him. “Please allow me to pray for you and the children.”
Shocked, elated, and ignoring the hope rising within her, she nodded and bowed her head. His prayer was awkward, cumbersome, and disjointed, but it was the most beautiful prayer she’d ever heard. He asked for God’s protection over her and the children, for Him to provide for them during the lean years. He asked for good health, joy, and peace to flood their lives. By the end, tears trickled down her cheeks. “You believe in God now?” She squeezed his hands, his face blurry in her vision.
He brushed the moisture from her cheeks. “I do. Because of you. I gave my life to Jesus a week ago.”
Joy bubbled up in her throat. “Oh, Dante, I’m so glad!”
“And He has already shown me so much.” He smiled.
Unable to control herself, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “This is wonderful!” She withdrew and kissed his cheek. An innocent kiss of joy that sparked something deeper in his eyes. He eased a curl behind her ear, drinking her in with his gaze. A gaze that finally settled on her lips. He swallowed, brushed fingers over her cheek, then leaned in and kissed her. This time there was no shout, no rifle shots, no fire to stop them. This time she didn’t care. She wanted to give herself to this man. Her husband.
But then he would leave and break her heart.
He swept her in his arms, carried her to her bedchamber, and set her down on the bed. Against everything within her, she moved to the edge and stood. He drew her close and kissed her again.
“I can’t,” she whispered against his cheek.
He cupped her face and met her gaze. “Do you love me?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then believe I love you, too. And I promise I’m not going anywhere. I will never leave you.”
At that moment, with the adoring way he gazed at her, the gentleness of his touch, she did believe him. God help her, she did.
Later that night, Caroline snuggled beside Dante with her head on his chest and listened to the beat of his heart. Steady, strong, just like the man himself. He brushed fingers through her hair, drew her closer, and kissed her forehead. “I love you so much, Caroline. I never thought it possible I could be this happy.”
“Are you truly happy?” She propped her chin on his chest to look at him.
He ran a finger over her bare shoulder and down her arm. “You are everything any man would ever want.”
“But what of your ship, the sea? How could you be happy as a farmer? You’ll be miserable.” Fear battled her newfound joy—fear and sorrow. Yet love demanded the best for those in its embrace.
“With you, señora? Only a fool would be miserable.”
“Are you still planning on redeeming your ship?”
“I believe the good Lord would frown on my career as a pirate.” A chuckle rumbled through his chest.
“But there are legal vocations upon the sea.”
Releasing a heavy sigh, he gazed into the dark room, and she knew he thought of his ship and the sea. But then his eyes snapped back to hers, and he smiled. “We need my winnings for the vineyard. To survive until we can produce more grapes.”
“But—”
He pressed a finger on her lips “That’s my final decision, wife. Doesn’t the Good Book say you must obey your husband?”
“I suddenly regret reading you that section.” She pouted.
He brushed a curl from her face then leaned forward and kissed her. Deeply. “Any more regrets?”
“Not when you kiss me like that.”
“I can do so much better than that.” He winked and swallowed her up in an embrace.
The twitter of birds drew Caroline from her deep slumber. She pried one eye open to see shafts of sunlight swirling dust into glittering eddies as memories of the most wonderful night she’d ever experienced filled her heart and soul to near bursting. She stretched her hand across the mattress, anticipating the feel of hard muscle but found only air. Opening her other eye, she sat up, drawing the sheet to cover herself. Dante was gone.
A momentary prick of fear quickly dissolved when she realized he’d no doubt gotten up early to tend the animals or chop wood or start the fire in the stove or do any of the various chores he’d been so diligent to perform.
An hour later, storm clouds gobbled up the sun, while a fierce wind tore over the vineyard. And Dante was still nowhere to be found. He hadn’t even come in for breakfast. Sisquoc hadn’t seen him, nor had any of the other workers. No matter. If anyone could take care of himself, it was Dante. He was probably on some errand in town. In fact, she had an errand of her own to run—one she was most excited about.
A gust burst into the house, swirling in leaves and knocking over a candlestick on the table. With the children’s help, she closed and latched all the doors and windows and waited until the wind settled. It finally did after lunch as the blaring sun resumed its reign, sweeping away clouds and sparkling over the moist grass.
Putting on her best gown, she gathered the children and headed to see Judge Albert Packard, whose vineyard bordered hers on the south. She’d made up her mind even before speaking with Dante last night what she would do, and even now as the horse plodded along on the muddy road, excitement made her as giddy as a child at Christmas.
“What are we doing, Mama?” Philippe asked from his spot beside her on the driver’s perch.
“We are going to get Dante a Christmas present.”
“We are?” Abilene’s smile was as wide as the sea.
Caroline nodded. And he’s going to love it. She expected her children to mention the gifts they wanted for themselves but was quite pleased when they seemed more excited at doing something nice for Dante.
“Is he going to be our papa?” Abilene asked.
Caroline smiled, wondering if she should tell them yet, but thought since it was nearly Christmas, it would make a nice gift. “Yes, he is.”
“Yay!” Philippe shouted. “He’s the best Christmas gift of all, Mama.”
Wiping tears of joy from her face, she halted the buckboard before Judge Packard’s home, and with her children in tow, knocked on the door.
The man was thrilled at her proposition, and within an hour he had summoned the city commissioner—a personal friend of his—along with the clerk of records to complete the transaction.
The deed of trust was exchanged for money the judge had in a safe on his property, and just like that, she had sold François’s vineyard.
Though sorrow tugged at her heart at betraying him, she felt a great deal of satisfaction that Señor Casimiro would never get his hands on the property. Or on her. She also could hardly wait to see the look in Dante’s eyes when she presented him with her gift.
The surprise, the twinkle of delight, the thankfulness … the love.
Yet, as she drove up the pathway to their home, she drew a shaky breath. In a few days, they’d have no place to live. She was relying completely on a man—a pirate—whom she’d only met four months ago. And that pirate still wasn’t home. Nor did he come home that evening. Worry began to fester in her soul like a cancer, keeping her up all night. First thing in the morning, she hitched up the buckboard and took the children into town. There was something she had to do anyway, and it would give her a chance to ask whether anyone had seen Dante.
First stop was the City Council’s office. She halted at the clerk’s desk, Philippe and Abilene by her side. The spectacled man finally glanced up from his paperwork, his smile widen
ing at the sight of her. “Ah, Mrs. Moreau. What may I do for you?”
Opening her reticule, she drew out a stack of bills then another and another and set them proudly on the desk. “I wish to redeem the Bounty, sir.”
For a moment, he merely gaped at the bills, but then he slowly lifted his confused gaze to hers. “The pirate’s ship?”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s my papa now,” Abilene announced proudly.
Offering the girl a look of concern, the man shook his head. “But he already redeemed it.”
“Who?”
“Señor Vega. Yesterday morning, I believe.” He stood, removed his spectacles, and walked to the window to look out. “Yes, and it appears he’s already set sail.”
Numb, Caroline could barely move her feet, let alone thank the man, grab her children, and leave. She managed to get outside, where the sea breeze could revive her before she fainted like some weak-hearted female.
“Why did Dante set sail, Mama?” Philippe asked. “I’m going to go see.” Before she could stop him, he sped around the corner of the building.
“Bon sang,” she muttered and hoisted Abilene in her arms to follow him.
“Mama, where is Papa?” Abilene asked, her voice teetering on the edge of tears.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s safe.” She forced strength into her own wobbling voice. That wobbling sped to her legs when she caught up with Philippe and followed his gaze offshore to the spot where the Bounty had been anchored. Setting Abilene down before she dropped her, Caroline knelt to gather her children close.
“Where did he go, Mama?” Philippe asked.
“I told you it was foolish to trust a rogue like Señor Vega.” The familiar voice scraped down her spine. She stood and faced Señor Casimiro, fingering his pointed beard beneath a grin of victory.
“I’m sure there is an explanation for his departure,” she returned. “Not that it is any of your affair.”
He snorted. “I assure you. There is an explanation. My man overheard him down at the saloon telling his first mate that he got what he came for and he was itching to return to piracy.” He grinned. “What did he finally get from you, señora? Shall I wager a guess?”
The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West Page 60