The Courtship of Izzy McCree

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Izzy swayed and had to steady herself against the door. “Your…mother?”

  “Yes’m.” Aaron thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the toe of his shiny boot.

  “But I thought…” She swallowed and tried again. “I thought your mother was dead.”

  “I wish she was.” Del’s lower lip quivered.

  “Delphinium.” Izzy rounded on her, eyes hot with passion. “What a wicked, wicked thing to say. We must never wish ill on anyone. Especially the woman who gave you life.”

  “She said I was an…accident.”

  Izzy had to catch her breath from the shock. What kind of woman would ever say such a thing to an innocent child? Del had probably misunderstood. “So…so was I, I suppose. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is your mother. I would have given anything to have known my mother.”

  “Not if she was like ours.” Benjamin and Clement, so different in looks and temperament, stood close together, shoulders brushing, fists clenched. A wall, Izzy thought. Or a fortress under siege.

  The woman turned and started toward the cabin, leaving Matthew standing beside the stage, talking to the driver.

  At the door she flicked a glance over the children. “Is this any way to greet me?”

  The children stared at her in sullen silence.

  “All right. If that’s the way you want it.” She brushed past them and turned to Izzy, taking in the torn gown, the scarred hands. “I see Matt’s still opening his door to strays. Could you fetch me a drink? I’d love whiskey, but I’ll settle for tea. It’s been a long, difficult journey.”

  Like a queen she swept into the cabin and stared around in disdain. Though she noted the changes, she appeared unimpressed as she wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air.

  Izzy moved like a woman in a trance. Her limp seemed even more pronounced as she crossed to the fireplace. Wrapping a towel around her hand, she lifted the blackened kettle from the fire. Matt entered the cabin just as she was pouring.

  Grace gave a sound that could have been a laugh or a jeer. “I see you’re still using those old dishes. You should have seen the ones I had in San Francisco. Real china and crystal from England. And the hotel room was bigger than this old cabin and barn put together. By comparison, this place is even more of a hovel. But then, I suppose it suits the people willing to live this way.”

  When Matt and the children didn’t offer a word in their own defense, Izzy handed her the tea and fled into the bedroom, unable to bear any more. As she swept past Matt, she caught the hard, brittle look in his eyes. A look she hadn’t seen since her first weeks here. Somehow she’d managed to forget the dark, dangerous man he had been when she’d first met him. Then he had seemed to her to be a man capable of violence. A man filled with bitterness and hatred.

  How could she have forgotten?

  She closed the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes against the pain.

  How could he have lied to her about something as important as this? He’d led her to believe his wife was dead. That he needed a wife. That his children needed a mother. And all this time, it was a lie. He’d been covering up the fact that his wife, the mother of his children, was very much alive. What was worse, he’d encouraged his children to lie, as well.

  Tears burned her eyes and she blinked furiously to stem the flow. She wouldn’t cry over a liar, a cheat. If there were any tears to waste, they would be for the fool who had actually believed in fairy tales and happy endings. But now, thanks to this latest surprise, that fool was dead. As dead as she’d believed Matthew’s wife to be.

  Whipping herself into a furious rage, she found her old worn tapestry valise and started stuffing in the few items she had brought with her when this odyssey had begun so long ago. She stripped off the yellow gown, which only days ago she’d worn with such pride. The charred cuffs, the bloodstained bodice now had her gritting her teeth in humiliation. How pathetic she must have seemed to Matthew and his children, in comparison to the woman in the other room.

  She pulled on the shabby gown she’d brought from Pennsylvania. Then she removed the tortoiseshell comb and placed it, along with the fancy bonnet, on the dresser top.

  Into the valise she tossed a threadbare apron and the hated shoes. She would never wear them again. Not for any man. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her old boots.

  She felt the sag of the mattress and an ache as painful as any dagger thrust pierced her heart. She ran a hand over the carefully mended coverlet. How she had loved this bed. And the man who had slept in it beside her.

  Then the anger flared once more. How could he have made her feel so loved, so cherished, when he already had a wife? How could he have been so deceitful?

  She picked up the valise and opened the door. At once the voices were stilled.

  Reading her intentions, Matt crossed the room, barring the door. “Where do you think you’re going, Isabella?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere.” She bit her lip to stop the quivering. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Grace.

  Slipping the plain gold band from her finger, she handed it to him. Her words came rushing out in a firestorm of rage. “You lied to me. You let me think your wife was dead. But here she is. So beautiful. Such a lady.”

  He started to speak but she cut him off. “How could I possibly think I could take her place? It must have been quite amusing to you to watch Izzy the Gimp, the object of an entire town’s ridicule, coming to you hat in hand.”

  The rush of fury caught Matt by surprise. His voice was thick with it. “Don’t do this, Isabella. Don’t ever say such words.”

  “And why not? They’re the truth. Just this once, you owe me that. You do know what truth is, don’t you, Matthew?”

  He looked away. The muscle in his jaw was working furiously.

  “Did you marry me because I was merely a convenience?”

  He nodded, determined now to give her all the honesty she deserved. “I suppose so. In the beginning. As I was a convenience for you. But once I got to know you, I realized that you were all the things I’d ever wanted in a wife.”

  When she began to shake her head, he caught her by the shoulder. “Do you know what it does to me to see you washing our clothes, mending them, baking bread and biscuits, soothing hurts? Making a home for us? And doing it all with such joy? Because of you we’ve become a family again. Because of you our hearts are mending. We’ve begun to hope again. And to love. That’s what you gave us, Isabella. Hope. Love. In our eyes you are, and always will be, the most beautiful creature in the world.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked furiously. “In my whole life, I was afraid I would never hear such words from a man who loved me. And now—” she shook her head “—I’m afraid to believe you, Matthew. Afraid, because the lies come so easily to your lips.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Isabella. Not about something as important as this.”

  Her tone deepened with emotion. “You let me believe Grace was dead. That’s the same as a lie. And what is worse, you encouraged your children to lie about it, as well. I can’t stay here, Matthew. Don’t you see? I have to go.”

  She brushed past him and hurried to the waiting stage. Old Boone scratched his head, then, at her command, flicked the reins, and the team took off in a cloud of dust.

  The children came tumbling out the door of the cabin, shouting unintelligible words that were lost in the din of creaking harness and pounding hoofbeats. Izzy refused to look back, knowing if she did, her heart would shatter into a million pieces.

  “It’s not much of a room, dear.” Gertrude Sutton led Izzy to a tiny attic room containing a cot, a wooden chest and a rocking chair.

  A cold wind whistled through the rafters, ruffling the blanket at the foot of the bed.

  “We recently took in our niece, Sara Jane, and gave her the big bedroom downstairs. Otherwise…”

  “It’s fine. Really.” Izzy sank down on the edge of the c
ot, still clutching tightly to the valise.

  The older woman studied this pale young woman who seemed unaware of who or where she was. She’d seen that same look on her husband’s face when he’d returned from the war without his hand. Shock. That’s what it was. She’d suffered some sort of terrible blow.

  “You just sit here awhile, dear. I’ll be back shortly with some tea.”

  “Please don’t fuss. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.” Gertrude took her leave and hurried down the stairs. Then she went in search of the stage driver, who was out back talking with her husband.

  A short time later she carried a tray to the attic room. Izzy was still sitting on the edge of the bed, still clutching tightly to her valise.

  Gertrude set the tray down atop the chest and poured two cups of tea.

  “Here, dear. Drink this. It’ll warm you.”

  Izzy seemed surprised to see her. With an effort she released her hold on the bag and accepted the tea.

  Gertrude settled herself in the rocking chair and sipped. “I spoke with Boone. He tells me he drove Grace Prescott up to Matt’s place.”

  Izzy nodded her head.

  “Did she say something to rile you?”

  Izzy shook her head.

  “Boone says you left in quite a hurry. Came flying out of the cabin and ordered him to bring you to town. Something must have happened to set you off.”

  Izzy took her time lifting the cup to her lips, tasting the tea. In her whole life she’d never had anyone to confide in. But this woman, with her quiet manner and gentle questions, inspired her trust. And she needed desperately to trust someone. “I thought…that is, Matthew led me to believe…that his wife was dead.”

  “I see.”

  “And what was worse, he encouraged the children to do the same. I don’t understand how he could turn his own children against their mother. They never spoke of her. I thought they were grieving for the dead. And all along they were lying to me.”

  At last, Gertrude was beginning to understand. “So. You didn’t know about Grace. Quite a looker, isn’t she?” The older woman watched her guest’s face for some flicker of emotion.

  “She’s beautiful. Like a queen in one of those fancy picture books.”

  Gertrude sniffed. “I guess there are some who look at Grace and see a beauty. Those of us who know her see only a shallow, empty statue.”

  Izzy’s head came up. She couldn’t seem to believe the hateful words this kindly old woman was saying.

  “Grace’s beauty has always been her curse. She thinks that face, that body give her the right to trample other people’s hearts. People who should have mattered to her. But she’s too busy loving herself. She tossed everyone aside. Her husband. Her children.”

  “Her children? Don’t you mean Matt’s, as well?”

  The older woman took a deep breath. “It’s not for me to say. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d have some doubt about that. The oldest boy bears some resemblance to Matt. As for the others…” She shrugged. “There were so many men in Grace’s life.”

  Izzy’s jaw dropped. Before she could protest, Gertrude held up a hand.

  “Knowing Matt, it doesn’t matter one whit to him whether those children are his by birth or by heart. They’re his. His responsibility. His reason for living. And he loves them all equally.”

  Izzy was struck speechless by what she’d just heard. When she could finally gather her wits, she set aside her tea. “How painful must it have been for a proud man like Matthew to accept such deceit.”

  Gertrude nodded. “Indeed. Painful and humiliating. Matt’s a good man. The best. But he and the children were aware that tongues were wagging. And gossip, especially such as that, can be cruel. Everybody knew about his wife, of course. Grace used to come into town while he was working in the fields. She’d drag those little ones along and leave them sitting in the wagon for hours while she was in the saloon. She’d go off with any cowboy who flattered her. I tell you, that woman is crippled.”

  At that, Izzy’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Sutton, I must warn you that you are speaking to a cripple.”

  The older woman flicked a glance at Izzy’s feet. “I noticed a bit of a limp. To me, that’s not being crippled. But Grace Prescott. Now, there’s a woman who is. She has no heart. No soul. The real beauty, the beauty that counts, was never in her.” She took a deep breath. “You said you couldn’t understand how Matt could turn his children against their own mother. He didn’t do that, my dear. Grace did. With her cruelty. Her neglect. Her drinking.”

  Izzy blanched and thought again about what Benjamin had almost revealed. He had been thrown from a wagon at night with his mother driving. Had she been returning from the saloon in town? Had she recklessly ignored her children’s safety for her own selfish pleasures? Was that what he’d almost said?

  Gertrude could read the turmoil in Izzy’s eyes. “I can see why a proud man like Matt Prescott might not want to talk about his past. But that doesn’t excuse him. He should have told you about Grace.”

  She stood, smoothing down her skirts. “I’d better get downstairs and start cooking. You rest now, dear. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  As soon as the older woman had taken her leave, Izzy began to pace.

  Her heart was aching for the pain Matthew and his children had been forced to suffer. But that didn’t alter the fact that he had married her when he’d already had a wife.

  “Oh, Matthew.” She paced to the window, seeing in the distance the towering, snow-covered peaks of the Sierras. “What have we done? Whatever have we done?”

  Weary beyond belief, she dropped down on the cot and cried herself to sleep.

  “Isabella.”

  Izzy squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out the sound of Matthew’s voice ringing in her head. But it wouldn’t go away. There it was again. That deep, soulful sound of his voice calling her name. Tearing new holes in her heart.

  “Isabella.”

  The hand at her shoulder gave a gentle shake.

  She awoke with a start Shoving the tangled hair from her eyes, she looked up to see Matt standing over her. It took her a moment to realize she was in the attic room above the Suttons’ mercantile.

  “What are you doing here? Why did Mrs. Sutton allow you up here?”

  “She couldn’t stop me. And I came to set things right between us.”

  “It’s too late for that. Matthew.” She got to her feet and crossed to the window to put some distance between them. She couldn’t think when he was near. And right now she needed a clear head. “You lied to me. You let me believe that Grace was dead.”

  “Grace is dead to me. And to the children, as well.”

  “Mrs. Sutton told me how Grace mistreated you and the children. Don’t you see, Matthew? You’re just saying that to hurt her the way she hurt you.”

  “I’ll admit there was a time when she could hurt me. Hurt all of us. But that’s been over for a long time.” His voice was quieter now than it had been back at the cabin, but just as angry. “On the day that you arrived here, there was a letter from Grace, telling me she had obtained a divorce in St. Louis, so that she could marry one of her cowboys.”

  “A divorce?”

  He nodded. “Her latest cowboy promised her money, a trip to San Francisco and a lifetime of pleasures.”

  Izzy remembered the packet of letters, which Boone had left with her when she’d first arrived. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder where they’d come from.

  “It wasn’t the first time Grace left me, but it was—for me, for the children—the final time.”

  “Then why did she come back?”

  “Apparently her cowboy used her, then left town without her. He never had marriage on his mind in the first place. So she’s here now, not because she has a need to see any of us, but because she needs money.”

  “What if she asked to come back for good?”

  “It will
never happen. A woman like Grace could never stay in one place. Especially a place like this, with no one around to dance to her tune.” He shook his head. “But if she should ask, we’d have to refuse. The divorce was her final break.”

  Seeing the hesitation in her eyes, he held out his hand. “Will you trust me, Isabella? I’d like you to come downstairs with me.”

  Though she didn’t know where this would lead, she accepted his hand and hesitantly walked beside him.

  He stepped outside and led her toward the stage. Old Boone was already in the driver’s seat, whip in hand. Seated inside was Grace. At the rear of the stage a crude wooden casket had been secured, bound for the territorial marshal.

  The children were gathered around, kicking dirt with the toes of their boots, staring hard at the ground. When they saw Izzy they looked away, embarrassed.

  Matt reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. They were, Izzy knew, all that was left of the money he’d earned from the sale of the mustangs. The money he’d hoped to use for seed and for a bull to enlarge his herd.

  “I don’t know how far this will get you, Grace. But when you get there, find yourself a job or a cowboy with a future. Because there’s nothing more here for you. Do you understand?”

  Cool blue eyes studied the woman beside him, before coming to rest on his. Grace’s smile was as cold as her eyes. “I won’t be back. You have nothing here I want. You never did.”

  Izzy caught her breath at the venom in the woman’s tone. Before she could stop herself the words were torn from her. “But the children…”

  “Are all his now.” Grace gave a contemptuous laugh. “And yours, from the looks of things. You’re welcome to them all.”

  She flicked a final glance over them, then called to the driver, “Let’s get out of here. This place makes me weary.”

  Old Boone cracked the whip and the team leaned into the harness, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

  Until they were out of sight, no one moved. No one spoke. And then, as if a dark cloud had suddenly lifted, revealing a beautiful rainbow, the children turned to their father and Izzy.