The Texan's Bride

by Dawson, Geralyn

  Katie looked at Branch in surprise.

  “It’s true,” he demanded. “Rob was an adult; he made his own choice, for reasons you know nothing about. Kate, you helped my brother when he needed help, and for that I’m grateful. I don’t ever want to hear any guilt out of you over that again.”

  A hollow ache tightened Katie’s throat as she argued, “But, Branch, he went into that cabin for me, for my baby. He didn’t have to…”

  “Yes, he did,” Branch stated flatly. “He was ten years old when he started a fire in the attic of our grandparent’s home. It got away from him. He ran and hid instead of telling anyone about it. Pa’s folks both died in that fire. So did my younger sister and my mother. I was seven. He let them believe I did it.”

  Branch picked up a rock and tossed it into the stream. He added, “I think eventually it got to him. He regretted it. That’s why he went after your daughter. He was trying to make up for the other. I’ve got an idea he’d have told Pa then what really happened in Virginia. Only he died.” Branch plopped back down on the grass a few feet away from Katie.

  He looked at her and said earnestly, “Pa didn’t have diddly-squat to do with me from the time I was seven. Hell, he sent me away from home for riding a damn horse. Your being with me has nothing to do with how much or how little of his love comes my way. I gave up on him long ago.”

  Katie’s heart wept for him. He wore the stoicism of an emotionally battered child impervious to pain after repeated abuse. And when he continued to talk, speaking of herself, his expression didn’t change. “Katie,” he said, “after Ma died, I forgot what love meant. Then I met you, and you filled that emptiness inside me. But Pa had dangled Riverrun before me, and like a fool, I thought that was what I needed.”

  He leaned back on his elbows, turned his face toward the sky. “God,” he confessed, “the time we were apart near to destroyed me. I know now what’s important in life, Katie Kincaid. It isn’t Riverrun and Hoss Garrett. I’ve finally grown up, Kate. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

  Then he looked at her, honest in his vulnerability. “But you can, Sprite. You have the power to tear me into such little pieces, there won’t be any gluing back together. I can’t lose you again. It’d kill me. Promise me, Katie, promise me you’ll never leave me.”

  “Oh, Branch.” Her voice caught in her throat as she stood and went to him, kneeling before him and laying her head in his lap. “I promise. I promise, Branch Garrett, I’ll never leave you again.”

  He stroked her hair, softly saying, “Kincaid, I want to be Branch Kincaid again, if it’s all the same to you. And Branch Kincaid has a notion to raise cattle, build a ranch. You don’t need slave labor for that, and there’s plenty of land in the west.” His lips twisted in a wry smile as he added, “Besides, you’ve always gotten along well with the Indians.”

  He pulled her into his lap. Hugging her tight, he asked, “How ’bout it, Mrs. Kincaid? Want to get our boy and head west?”

  Katie lifted her head and smiled through watery eyes. “There’s nothing I’d rather do more, Mr. Kincaid.”

  CHAPTER 22

  DOUBLE K RANCH, 1848

  BRANCH KINCAID APPROACHED THE final turn on the road to the ranch house with two thoughts on his mind—peach cobbler and Katie Kincaid. Together, they were the closest thing to paradise his tongue had ever tasted. And it was just about the right season, too. The new baby turned two months old today, and the fruit hanging on the trees ought to be ripe for the picking.

  Damn, it’ll be good to get home, he thought. The trip into Dallas had taken only two days, but he worried about Katie and the boys. Of course, Daniel Gallagher would defend his sister and her family with his life, of that Branch had no doubt. Even had they not been family, his position as ranch foreman would have assured Daniel’s protectiveness.

  Branch didn’t expect trouble, however. Soon after settling here a little over a year ago, he’d gone out of his way to make peace with the Tonkawa Indians that lived around the new settlement of Dallas. No, he didn’t worry, just missed his family something fierce.

  Taking the road’s curve at a gallop, Branch smiled at the welcome sight of the dogtrot style cabin that was his ranch’s “Big House.” No six columns here, but a two room dwelling made of roughhewn logs chinked with mud, and a couple of limestone fireplaces to warm them in the winter and cook on year round.

  No home in the world could be more grand.

  From one chimney, a thin wisp of smoke curled into the endless blue sky. Branch wrinkled his nose and sniffed. Did he imagine it, or was he catching a whiff of that heavenly concoction of his dreams? “Sprite, you certainly know the way to a man’s heart,” he said to himself, grinning. Feeling his heat rise, he added, “Not to mention other parts.”

  Katie came out onto the porch to meet him. A smudged, once-white apron covered her dress of buttercup yellow, and ringlets of auburn escaped her braid, framing the face that shone with happiness. “You’re back!” she cried, leaping off the porch and into his sweaty embrace.

  “How did you guess?” he teased.

  She pulled away, wrinkling her nose. “I could smell you coming.”

  “Witch.” Placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her up and kissed her, long and thoroughly. He tickled her as he set her down, then swatted her fanny. “Where are my boys?” he asked, turning to step onto the porch.

  Katie held him back. “Wait, Branch,” she said. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” At his look of alarm, she hastened to assure him, “They’re fine. Everyone is. But we have a visitor, Branch.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. Katie wiped her hands on the apron. “Just give him a chance, love. Listen to him.”

  Branch’s gut clenched. Well, if that didn’t sound like trouble, he wasn’t a new papa. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Hoss Garrett sat in Katie’s rocking chair, reading a book to Johnny. His gaze held Branch’s for two squeaks of the rocker before Johnny interrupted, clapping his hands and shouting, “Papa, you’re home! Look who came to see us. It’s my Grampa. He likes to read to me just like you. Can we finish this story, please, Papa?”

  “Sure, son,” Branch said. He hung his hat on a peg hammered into the wall beside the door. “Where’s the baby?”

  Katie said, “He’s asleep in the other room.” Branch headed for the side door to peek in on his infant son, but Katie stopped him. “Give him a few more minutes, please love? I’ve just put him down, and I want him to get good and asleep before you go in there.”

  Branch nodded and crossed the room to the fireplace.

  He bent down and peered into the kettle that hung above the glowing coals. “Stew for supper?” he asked.

  “Brunswick,” Katie answered.

  “What’s the meat?”

  “Squirrel.”

  Branch pursed his lips. She’d not served him such a stew since the day they met. What was she up to? He shrugged and asked, “Your muffins hot?”

  “The corn bread is ready. We’ll have dinner as soon as you wash up. Dessert will wait until after you talk with your father, or”—she sent him a pointed look—“later. We’ll just have to see if it turns out all right.”

  With brows lowered thunderously, Branch grabbed Katie’s arm and pulled her near. He whispered in her ear. “Don’t you be trying to blackmail me, Sprite. I don’t cotton to it, you ought to know by now.”

  Katie smiled sweetly and said, “On your way to the well, would you check the squirrel traps for me, please? I just might need a couple more before the evening’s done.”

  Branch shook his head at her and walked outside. Tension made his movements sharp and awkward as he washed. He entered his bedroom and changed into a clean pair of denims and a brand new homespun shirt Katie had made before crossing the dogtrot to confront his unwelcome visitor.

  Johnny’s excited questions and innocent chatter kept the supper conversation light. Branch told of his trip to town and mentioned a barn raising they’
d been invited to in two weeks. He never spoke directly to Hoss Garrett, but he did ask after his brother-in-law. Daniel usually ate supper with them.

  “I took him something earlier,” Katie answered. “He thought maybe just the family should eat together this evening.”

  Branch glared at his father. “Daniel is family.”

  Katie rolled her eyes and stood. “Come on, Squirt,” she said to Johnny, “you get to sleep with Uncle Daniel tonight in the bunkhouse.”

  “Yippee!” the boy scrambled from his chair. He headed for the door, then stopped and turned. “Papa, in the morning can I come wake you up and you and me go fishing like you said we might before you took your trip?”

  Branch frowned but allowed the boy to see the teasing sparkle in his eyes. “I don’t know, how early do you plan on waking me?”

  Johnny shook his head. “Not before two or three.”

  Branch grinned, “Make it five or six, and you’ve got a deal.” Johnny ran to his father and threw his arms around his waist. “Thank you, Papa. I love you. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Branch ruffled the boy’s strawberry-blond hair. “I’m glad, too. And I love you, too. Now, skedaddle off to bed, young’un, and don’t you dare show yourself in my room before five o’clock.”

  “Yessir. G’night. G’night, Grampa.” Johnny flew out the front door. Katie gave Branch a measured look before following her son outside and shutting the door behind her.

  Hoss Garrett leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re real good with your boy.”

  “Yep, well. It’s easy to do. I love him.” Branch rose from his seat. He carried his dishes to the water basin and began to wash them.

  After a few minutes of tense silence, Hoss asked, “You do dishes around here?”

  “She mends fences.”

  Hoss nodded. “She does at that.” He stood and finished clearing the table, then picked up a towel and a dish to dry. He cleared his throat a couple of times before gruffly saying, “I remember when I used to take you fishing when you were about his age. Once you caught a catfish almost as big as you were. You recall that?”

  “I make it a practice not to remember my life before the Virginia fire.”

  Spitting an obscenity, Garrett tossed down the towel. “Fine, here it is. I came to tell you I was wrong. I’m sorry. I never should have sent your wife away from Austin.”

  “You told her I was dying,” Branch interrupted flatly.

  “Dammit, son, I thought you were dying. I should have known that you were too stubborn to do it, especially since it was my shot that would have killed you. I died a thousand deaths when I saw you step in front of that bullet.”

  Branch said nothing, holding a crockery bowl up before his eyes, checking its cleanliness. Hoss pushed his fingers through his thick gray hair and said with a sigh, “Guilt was a devil ridin’ my shoulder that day, and I said some ornery things to your woman. I’ve already apologized to her, and I’m trying to do the same here with you.”

  “You went to watch her die.”

  Hoss scowled. “It was the boy. I thought to check on him, discover the arrangements she’d made. I wondered if he was yours.”

  He waited, but Branch remained silent. “Won’t you at least look at me?”

  Slowly, Branch lowered the bowl. He swallowed hard, then turned and stared his father in the eye. “What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.

  “I want you to come home. Bring your family and come live at Riverrun. Rob’s girls are home with us now, and Eleanor, well, I married her and she’s having a baby.” Hoss paused to let that sink in, then continued. “She’d like, we’d like the rest of our family with us.”

  Branch tried to picture Eleanor and Hoss together. It made a certain kind of sense. “My wife is a convicted murderess living under a death sentence,” Branch said. “What’s the deal, Hoss, you got a sheriff waiting at the plantation ready to hang her from the nearest oak?”

  “Aw, hell, you stubborn cuss.” Garrett whirled and went to his saddlebags that lay across the bed in the corner. Pulling out two sheets of paper, he stomped back over to Branch and shoved them beneath his nose.

  Branch scanned the lines and his chin dropped in amazement. “Pardons? You got her pardoned?”

  “Straight from the governor to you. For both the killing and the escape. You too. I wasn’t sure how much you had to do with her getting loose, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have it.”

  Branch forgot the dishes and carried the documents with him to the rocking chair. Turning up the flame in the oil lamp, he sat and stared at them for a full minute. Then he raised his head and looked at his father. “Why?”

  “It took losing just about everything for me to admit the truth. I know the story. I knew it then. Katie Starr only tried to help my boy. She was never responsible, only Jack Strickland. By the way, here’s something else you might be interested in.” He pulled a folded newspaper from his saddlebags and handed it to Branch. “Bottom right corner,” he said.

  Branch read the headline. County Judge ambushed near Shelbyville: Indians in East Texas. He snapped his head up to look at his father before continuing to read. Judge Jack Strickland had been riding with two other men when he suddenly fell from the saddle. The other men dived for cover, and when no other attack was forthcoming, they returned to Strickland. He was dead when they turned him over. An arrow lay buried in his chest.

  “Shaddoe,” Branch murmured.

  Garrett shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”

  Branch struggled with his thoughts, trying to figure a reason for his father’s actions. “If you didn’t hold Katie responsible, then why?”

  Garrett sank onto the bed. He sat there and spat, “Because it was my fault he went into that cabin to begin with.”

  Branch stared incredulously at his father. He felt he was looking at a stranger. Then something he never could have imagined happened. Tears began to fall from Hoss Garrett’s eyes.

  “I know you didn’t start that fire. It was such a mess— all of them dead, your mama dead, I was crazy with grief. Rob had guilt written all over his face that night, but when I found you with the matches and you didn’t deny it, I lost all sense.”

  He looked at Branch, the tears of sorrow and shame etching the wrinkles in his face. “You know, you were so much like me. From the day you were born, I felt something special for you. So I got angry when you let me down. Later when I came to my senses, I suspected the truth and I waited for one of you to let on about it. Neither of you ever did.” He shook his head wonderingly.

  He was silent for a few moments before he continued. “Rob was always weak. You were younger than he and already twice the man at seven that he was at ten. I should have done something, and I didn’t. I thought the competition between you two would eventually harden him, make him into something.”

  “Why did you send me away?”

  “For him. I thought if you weren’t around, he’d work harder to make something of himself. He always competed with you, and he never could win.”

  Hoss stared at Branch, his whole body shuddering in anguish. “I thought you could make it by yourself. Besides, every time I looked at you, I felt guilty for letting the charade continue. But I ended up killing one son and making the other hate me.”

  “You didn’t kill Rob, Pa. That can be laid at Jack Strickland’s feet, and I’m sure the judgment he faced for it wasn’t pretty.”

  Hoss slapped his hand against the wall. “It is my fault. If I’d made Rob admit what happened, he might have dealt with his guilt over the fire. I think that’s why he went after your Katie’s baby.”

  “I do, too,” Branch said. “But that was his choice, Pa. His and no one else’s, not yours, not Katie’s, and not mine. His.”

  Emotions were whirling inside Branch like a tornado. He didn’t know yet just what he felt about all of this, but he did state the one conclusion he’d drawn some time ago. He said, “Pa, I don’t think you should fee
l guilty. Katie’s told me what he said, how he looked before he died. I think he was glad he’d done what he did.”

  Garrett swallowed. “Why?”

  “He smiled, Pa. He looked to be at peace with himself.”

  Garrett nodded as silent tears continued to coarse down his cheeks. “He didn’t die weak, did he son?”

  Branch looked out the window where a lamp glowed in the bunkhouse. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. He walked over to the bed, sat beside his father, and put his arm around his shoulders. “No, Pa, he didn’t. Rob died a brave man.”

  Together, they wept.

  THE SUMMER sun rode at the eastern treetops as Hoss Garrett swung into his saddle. A bittersweet smile spread across his face as he turned to his family. Branch held a cane fishing pole in one hand and Johnny in the other, while Katie’s arms held the cooing bundle whose single tuft of blond hair stuck straight up.

  Hoss said, “Would it do me any good to ask one more time?”

  Katie and Branch both smiled and shook their heads. Branch drawled, “Now, Pa, there’s a road running between here and Brazoria. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had some visitors at Riverrun come Christmas.”

  “Don’t expect me to quit askin’. I’ll probably send a pitifully lonely letter with Chase when he comes this way.” His horse whinnied as though in agreement.

  “Why don’t you and Eleanor deliver it personally, Hoss?” Katie told him with a smile.

  “That’s not a half-bad idea,” he said, nodding.

  Branch stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “You’re welcome on the Double K any time, Pa. Remember that. And thank you for all you’ve done.”

  Hoss shook his son’s hand. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, Britt—uh, Branch, I mean. By the way, any chance you’ll change the name of your spread now that the Garrett name wouldn’t be so dangerous for you to use?”

  Stepping away from the horse, Branch looked at Katie. She lifted her shoulders and grinned. Branch said, “We’ll think about it, Pa. My wife’s had so many names, maybe it’s getting to be time to change it again. We’ll let you know when we visit at Christmas.”