Leather and Lace

by DiAnn Mills

  “I thought a lot about it, but for now I’m staying. What is it you want to say?” Her hand trembled.

  “I make you nervous. You scare me to death, Cas—Shawne . . .” He hesitated and reached for her hand, but she drew it back. “I know my word is worthless. I can’t ask you to trust me when I haven’t given you any reason to. But I’m going to show you I’m a different man. Different from the one you met at your campsite in the mountains.”

  Casey scrutinized every line on his face, afraid to believe him for fear of being hurt. “Trust you about what?”

  “I’ve spent the night searching my soul for the right answers about you and me—and everything else. My mother frets over me when I should be taking care of her. I know what I am, and how I intimidate those I love. Grant is a fine man, but I can’t bring myself to tell him what an excellent job he’s doing with the ranch. Instead, I treat him like a schoolboy and criticize every one of his decisions.” He broke the egg into the bowl. “He runs the ranch better than I ever did. And poor Bonnie, I won’t let her grow up either. They need much more from me than they’re getting.”

  He whirled around to face her. His jaw tightened. “I’m rambling on like a schoolboy. I’ve asked God to forgive me. Only He can mold me into a man of peace and integrity.” He picked up another egg. “Then there’s you and me.”

  “I’m not a part of your life.” She cut perfectly rounded pieces of biscuit dough and placed them on a pan bathed in melted lard. If she dared to catch a glimpse of him, she’d relive the tears from the night before.

  “But you are, whether you want to be or not. I want to help clear your name.”

  The mere words caused her to shake. “How?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  She caught her breath. A hundred thoughts played through her mind. Why would a lawyer track down Jenkins? Best she keep that question to herself since her face was on so many wanted posters. “I never took you for a lawyer.” She shrugged. “Bounty hunter or lawman sounds reasonable. Besides, I don’t have the money to pay you.”

  “I’m not asking for payment.”

  “That’s the only way it can be.”

  He peered into her face, then managed a laugh. “I think I’ve met my match. This bounty hunter, lawman, lawyer will name his price.”

  His laughter caused a smile to tug at her lips. “And what will that be?”

  “Time.”

  “Time?”

  “Yes. Accept my family’s invitation for Sunday, and let me . . .” He paused. “Let me ask the reverend’s permission to come courting.”

  Casey could only stare, afraid to utter a word and afraid not to. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You know who I am, Morgan. You know my past. We can only speculate the future. I’d like to think I’m safe, but that’s craziness. But what you’re asking me is well, frightening.”

  “For me, too.”

  “I thought I recognized that voice,” the reverend said. “My, you’re here early, Morgan. Anything wrong?”

  “No, sir. I’m visiting.”

  “At five-thirty in the morning?”

  Morgan took in a breath. “I had to talk to Shawne.”

  Casey poured the reverend a cup of coffee. She added a dollop of cream and handed the reverend the steaming brew. Listening to Morgan sputter through why he was there nearly made her smile.

  The reverend took a sip. “Are you trying to court my Shawne?”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. “As a matter of fact . . .” He glanced at her. “I am.”

  Hearing Morgan repeat his request made her shiver. Had they both turned into a pair of fools? Jenkins would kill them both, just like he had planned to do months ago.

  The reverend cleared his throat, but she saw the merriment in his face. “Do you want this man to come courting, Shawne?”

  She hadn’t formed an answer yet. All the confusion since she’d visited with Morgan the day before crowded around her. He’d help her in return for her spending time in his company. Like a real lady as if she weren’t an outlaw who knew more about living in the wilds than about keeping a home, more about horses and guns than about baking pies and cakes. As if a man might enjoy her company, might even think of her as pretty.

  “I want to think about it.”

  *****

  The following Sunday morning, Casey fretted over her appearance and what to say. She even rehearsed conversations in front of the mirror. Jocelyn, Bonnie, Grant, and Morgan arrived at the parsonage shortly after the worship service. She glanced at Morgan, and he tossed her a smile. Good. She hadn’t spoken with him since Tuesday morning. She wanted him to come courting, but that invited feelings she didn’t know how to handle. My, but he looked handsome in a clean shirt and trousers. Even his boots shined like glass.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind me leaving?” she said to the reverend for the third time.

  “Nonsense.” He peeked under a towel-covered dish from a church member. “I stated in our original agreement that you were to have every Sunday afternoon and evening free.” He pointed a finger at her. “Now off with you, and don’t you dare return before dusk or after evenin’ church.”

  Before she could deliberate further upon the matter, the Andrewses whisked her off to the buckboard. Morgan had ridden his horse, and Bonnie rode in the back of the wagon. Stampede trotted along behind the wagon, although Casey was the only who could handle the stallion.

  She stole a peek at Grant, who urged a pair of dapper mares down the road. He didn’t look twenty years old yet, and with slightly deeper coloring than his mother and sister, he had the makings of a fine man. He resembled Morgan, except taller, and his almond-shaped eyes were green, not turquoise. Yet Casey noted his youth—his eagerness to embrace manhood, something Tim had once possessed and lost.

  Rolling countryside with a choir of singing locusts and grasshoppers slowly led them to the ranch. Casey loved this country, rich and green in the heart of summer. Tall pine trees sometimes darkened the dirt road and then faded in bright sunlight. At first the deep groves of trees troubled her, for they brought back reminders of rough men, lying in wait for an unsuspecting traveler. But her companions remained at ease, and she forced herself to relax.

  Out of habit, she touched her dress pocket where her derringer used to hide. Her strength needed to be in God, not in a weapon. Guns had a place and a purpose, but not pressed against her body like a lady’s corset.

  The wagon stopped on a knoll where the landscape gave way to a breathtaking view of a valley below. Like a dream. Casey noted a large stone-and-frame farmhouse, a barn, several sheds, and a bunkhouse, all neatly kept. Beyond the buildings, a creek glistened in the sunlight like a satin ribbon winding through the valley.

  The farm Casey remembered from her childhood had been a mixture of dirt and sweat. Nothing for her to miss. Nothing for her ever to want again. She never had enough to eat in winter and worked from sunrise to sunset during the spring, summer, and harvest.

  Casey craned her neck to see the magnificent show of land. In the distance, specks of grazing horses and cattle sprinkled the fields—so many she couldn’t count them. “Is this your ranch?”

  “Yes, it is,” Jocelyn said. “We call it the Double H. My late husband’s name was Hayden, and when we first homesteaded the land, I referred to it as Hayden’s Heaven. He liked the name so well that he chose the Double H as our brand. Together with Morgan, we cleared it and built our first home.” Jocelyn pointed. “See the cabin far off in the western corner? That was our original home and where Bonnie and Grant were born. We have hundreds of acres for grazing and just as many in heavy timber. If you look to the east, you can see hills and forests, untouched except to hunt and fish. My husband left a legacy of the land he loved, many acres for his children to raise their own families.”

  “You are truly blessed,” Casey said, using one of Sarah’s words.

  “You wouldn’t say ‘blessed’ if you had to get up before sunrise and work until the sun went dow
n,” Grant said, then shoved a grin her way.

  “But it’s yours.” Casey watched a horse race across the valley. “You must be very proud of it.”

  “Oh, I am.” Grant narrowed his eyes. “When I’m not dog-tired.”

  Bonnie poked him in the ribs, and they both laughed. “Try cooking for all of you. Ranch hands eat like horses! It’s a good thing Sheriff Kahler couldn’t come today. There wouldn’t have been enough food.”

  Sheriff Kahler. Casey clenched her fists. Was Bonnie sweet on the town’s sheriff? She knew keeping company with these people was a mistake, and this proved it. She must have heard God wrong. Staying now invited a noose around her neck.

  Morgan rode up alongside them. “Grant does a better job running this ranch than most men twice his age.”

  Shock registered on Grant’s face, but an even wider grin replaced it. “Thanks.”

  Once they arrived at the two-story home, the three women busily prepared the midday meal. Casey marveled at the homey feeling. Jocelyn sliced thick pieces of fresh bread, and layered smoked turkey in between. A pot of beans laden with bacon and onions had simmered on the cookstove since before sunup. Newly made applesauce, spiced with sweet-smelling cinnamon, topped the meal. She needed to learn how to cook something besides beans and corn bread. Every time she stirred up a batch of either, memories of the past crowded out the present.

  Bonnie rang the dinner bell. Its clang broke the silence like unexpected rifle fire. Casey shivered in its wake and shoved the old haunts to the furthermost part of her mind. She felt leery of the rough looks from the hands trailing in to eat, but the men were polite and undoubtedly hungry, proving Bonnie’s statement.

  “I’m heading up to the old place,” Morgan said after lunch.

  Casey wondered if he wanted her to go with him. She said nothing. Being alone with him brought on feelings she didn’t know how to handle.

  “Soon as we clean up, if Mama doesn’t mind, I’m hoping Shawne and I can take a walk. We might go riding later on,” Bonnie said.

  “Go ahead. I have some reading to do,” Jocelyn said. “You girls get acquainted.”

  “Maybe I’ll join you for that ride later,” Morgan said, “unless Grant needs me.”

  The younger man shook his head and waved his hand to the ranch hands. “We have a few things to tend to.”

  Jocelyn frowned. “Son, the Sabbath is a day of rest.”

  “It will be right after we take care of moving the herd to make room for your Caroliny bull.”

  “That doesn’t have to happen today.”

  He laughed. “Then when, Mama? In the middle of fence mending?”

  Casey listened to the conversation, wishing that someday she might have a family of her own. These dear people had no idea of lawlessness, and she had no intention of informing them. At least not today.

  Chapter 15

  When the dishes were washed and the kitchen tidy, Bonnie and Casey walked toward the pasture where the horses grazed. The hot sun beat down on their sunbonnets, making Casey’s head much too warm. For a moment, she considered tossing it aside, but her face was already brown from the sun. According to Rose, ladies were supposed to have milk-white skin.

  She picked up the unmistakable smell of horses, and a longing to ride free tugged at her heart. If there was ever anything she missed about the past, it was riding as fast as the wind and breathing in nature.

  Bonnie talked incessantly, first about poor Sarah and her illness, then on to the topic of the women at church. Only at Rose’s place had she ever heard one woman talk so much. Casey always thought those girls talked so much because they were lonely.

  Casey wanted to ask what had happened to Morgan’s wife, but the right words never seemed to form. Perhaps she’d see a family cemetery while they were here, but even that wouldn’t tell her how the woman died.

  “Don’t you think Sheriff Kahler is handsome with his black hair and all?” Bonnie said.

  Hard to think of a man being handsome when you’re afraid of him. “I hadn’t time to think about it.”

  “I really wanted him to join us today. He and Morgan are old friends, which still left us plenty of time together.”

  An invisible knife twisted in the pit of her stomach. She felt as though she were at the top of a cliff and had to find a way down. “Are you and the sheriff courting?”

  “Not really. Ben wanted Morgan’s permission, but he hasn’t been around. But Mama says Morgan’s changed and wants to talk to Grant and me. My dear Shawne, our oldest brother chases away every man who looks this direction.” Bonnie attempted to sound light, but frustration laced her words.

  “What does he do, run them off with a shotgun?”

  “Almost. He’s . . . oh, very protective. Seriously, he loves us all. I’m sure of it. He simply has a difficult time showing it.” She shielded her eyes from the sun.

  Bonnie stopped to gather a bouquet of daisies. Not far away, horses grazed. They lifted their noble heads, shook off a few pesky flies, and promptly ignored Casey and Bonnie.

  “What are you looking for in a husband?” Bonnie gave Casey a sparkling smile.

  She pondered the question. She wanted to keep the mood light, but she saw Morgan’s face, heard his voice, and recalled his rugged features. Then she remembered her past and the unanswered questions about him.

  “I’m not looking, but all teasing aside, I’d like to have a man who’s my friend. I’d want him to lean on me when he has a problem, and I’d go to him with any problem. I want a man who will love me and make it a pleasure to keep his house and bear his children. Above all, he has to love God.” The latter was a new addition to her list but very important.

  Bonnie tucked an errant blond lock behind her ear. “When you find him, see if he has a brother. How did you meet Morgan?”

  The sound of horse hooves shattered any answer Casey might have formed as a rider galloped toward them. Behind him two others rode slowly. Bonnie studied the approaching men. Her face suddenly blanched. Casey saw the alarm, and a thousand fears flashed through her mind. “What’s the matter?”

  “One of those men has been hurt.” Bonnie gasped.

  The first man pulled his heaving mount to a quick stop. “A bull got Rafael. Gotta get the wagon.” He spurred his horse on to a dead run.

  Casey stared at the two other riders lagging behind. One man hunched over his saddle. She picked up her skirts and raced toward them. Already she could see red staining his shirt. “Hurry, Bonnie. We need to help.”

  “I can’t,” Bonnie replied in a near whimper. “The blood—I can’t stand the blood.”

  Casey ignored her. Only the injured man occupied her thoughts. The bull had gored him through his shirt and vest. She’d seen enough knife wounds to know how quickly a man could bleed to death. His head lay on his chest. One of his arms dangled alongside the horse’s neck, and another clutched his pierced side. Blood oozed through his fingers and dribbled down over his shirt and chaps. The second rider held the injured man’s reins.

  “Let me help. He’s bleeding way too much,” she said. The two lifted him from his horse and onto the ground.

  He moaned and struggled to breathe. How often had she heard the anguish of wounded men? His hand slipped aside, and she instantly covered the puncture with her hand. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

  She glanced about. Bonnie stood at a distance, quaking at the sight. “Bonnie, rip a strip of my petticoat for a bandage.”

  Bonnie shook her head.

  Casey wanted to scream at her, call her a coward. “Bonnie, please!”

  Still, she refused to budge.

  Casey stared into the face of the Mexican man kneeling beside her. Jocelyn had introduced him earlier during the noon meal as Jesse. “I need your help.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Tear my petticoat into a long enough strip to go around him at least once.” She turned her attention back to Rafael, not once giving Jesse an opportunity to refuse.


  “Gracias, senorita, for helping my young friend.”

  Rafael’s boyish face twisted in pain. “You’re going to be just fine,” she said in Spanish. “What did you say to make that bull so mad?”

  Rafael attempted a feeble smile. Casey lifted her blood-soaked hand and placed the makeshift bandage over the wound. “Can you lift him?” she said to Jesse.

  Wordlessly, he obliged. She slipped the cloth under and around Rafael’s chest, covering the puncture. Thankfully, his slight frame permitted her to double the remaining portion of the bandage over the wound. Already, the bandage seeped red.

  Gratitude radiated from Rafael’s dark eyes, and Casey grasped his hand, knowing the touch of another often gave hope. “I will pray for you,” she said.

  A rider raced toward them.

  “Senor Grant,” Jesse said. “He help us.”

  Casey heard the respect in the man’s voice. She realized he considered Grant an equal, not a boy.

  Soon Grant kneeled at the injured man’s side. He spoke to Rafael in Spanish and reassured him that a rider had gone to fetch the wagon. “You bandaged him?” Grant said, then glanced at her. “Of course you did. You have blood all over you.” He peered up at her. “I wonder if I should carry him. The jostling of the wagon might do more harm than good.”

  “Can you manage?”

  “He’s small, wiry. I could at least meet the wagon midway. Better than sitting here doing nothing.” Grant bent to examine the bandage before picking him up. “Looks good and tight. Jesse, would you bring back my horse?”

  “Sí,” he replied.

  Grant swung a gaze over his shoulder. “Thank you, Shawne. You probably saved Rafael’s life. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She glanced ahead several feet to Bonnie, who hadn’t taken a step since the ordeal began. “Your sister’s not well, though.”

  Grant hoisted the man into his arms. “She can’t tolerate anything.” His voice echoed in disgust. “Can’t depend on her at all.” The rumblings of a wagon came from the distance. “Guess I won’t have to tote him far.”