Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection

by Amanda Barratt

  Beside a wing chair that seemed a child’s plaything next to his taller-than-tall height, stood the man who could only be George Washington Hart. Though his hair had whitened, and he looked a bit thinner, little else about the man had changed. He immediately advanced, grasping his son’s hand.

  “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days, Travis.” His tone was deep and unmistakably Texan. “Been keeping busy with all those ailing people, I bet. Who’s this you brought with you?” He turned his clear-eyed gaze on Annie.

  “This is Annie Lawrence, Pa. Annie, you’ve met my father, GW Hart.”

  Though he wore no Stetson, the man tipped a nod. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Welcome back to El Regalo, Mrs. Lawrence. We heard of the loss of your husband, and our deepest sympathies go out to you. He died fighting for a fine cause, ma’am, as I’m sure you already know.”

  Annie returned the smile. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Hart. I’m very pleased to have returned to Hartville. I enjoyed my stay in Galveston, but it’s good to be home.”

  “My sentiments exactly, ma’am. There’s no place I’d rather be than here in this most beautiful country. No offense to any other part of Texas, of course.” He looked down, as if noticing Robbie for the first time. “Let me guess. You’re the new ranch hand. Am I right?”

  While Robbie had warmed instantly to Hays, he seemed a bit taken aback by this giant of a man. He took a step behind Annie.

  “Say hello to Mr. Hart,” Annie said quietly, though she hardly blamed the boy. She’d always been a little frightened of Travis’s father as a child. Who wouldn’t be? He seemed to tower over even the trees.

  “Come now. I expect any ranch hand of mine to know how to talk.” GW looked on the verge of a smile.

  Robbie hesitated, hung behind Annie’s skirt an instant more, then stuck out his hand. “Howdy.” An endearing grin stole across her son’s face. “I’m Robert Stuart Lawrence. Ma says I’m too young to be a ranch hand, but that I can start practicing real soon. She’s dead-set on making me learn to read and do my sums, but I’d a sight rather ride the range. Everybody says your ranch is the finest around these parts, and I’ve been real anxious to see it. Can I? Can I see your cows, Mr. Hart?”

  “Well, now.” GW cocked his head as if in deep consideration. “I suppose that could be arranged. Provided you don’t give your ma any fuss next time she wants to teach you your numbers. I won’t have ignorant ranch hands on my land, so you’d best study hard if that’s what you’re aiming for.”

  “I won’t make a lick of a fuss. Honest.”

  “Then why don’t you and Hays go outside. He’ll show you ’round, won’t you, Hays?”

  At Hays’s mournful glance toward the pretty lady at his side, GW said, “And don’t you fuss none about leaving your bride. She won’t run off. Will you, Emma?”

  The lovely woman exchanged a smile with her new husband. “Not a chance.” She crossed the room and stood by Chisholm and Caro.

  GW turned back to Annie. “Now, come on in and sit yourself down, Mrs. Lawrence. You, too, Travis.”

  Annie allowed Travis to lead her to the sofa vacated by Hays and Emma. Unlike the newlyweds, they sat on each end, a respectable distance apart.

  A perfectly respectable distance that frustrated her far too much.

  They belonged together. He’d sensed it when they were young, and he knew it now. Sitting beside her at El Regalo, the sleeve of her dress brushing his arm, her laughter soft, like a dozen butterfly wings, had given him such a sense of being alive that he could almost taste the exhilaration. With his father’s announcement hanging in the air, might this be God’s way of opening the door to Travis’s future? Though Annie was unaware of the edict, such a thing wouldn’t stop her from caring for him. It couldn’t. Not when it mattered so little to himself.

  The bodice of her dress rose and fell with gentle breaths as Annie bent over some sewing in her father’s parlor, candles lighting the room with soft-etched shadows. A strand of hair spiraled from her hapless bun, falling downward and landing against the creamy skin of her exposed neck. His fingers ached to follow the ringlet’s path, to touch that tempting swath of pink-tinged skin. Was it as soft as it looked? Did it smell of violets like her hair?

  Could he dare hope she might give her heart to him? He wouldn’t rush her to marry, only a courtship for now. Then someday, a wedding like Hays and Emma, Chisholm and Caro.

  The ring resting in his top bureau drawer seemed to call to him. He’d seen it at a shop while on leave, soon after enlisting in the army. From the first moment of glimpsing it, he’d known it was meant for Annie and no other. After the war it had lain beneath a pile of shirts, unworn and rarely touched. He’d taken it out once or twice, but before Annie had reentered his life, the pain of even looking at it had been too great. Could it be possible that now, after all these years, both he and the ring had a second chance?

  “Annie?”

  She raised her gaze from her work, laying it aside. Robbie had been worn out upon his return from El Regalo and had promptly fallen asleep, curled up on the rug beside the family’s shaggy black dog. Mr. Parker had gone outside half an hour ago to check on a problem in the stables. Leaving the two of them alone.

  “Yes, Travis?”

  He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “It was a fine day, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded, candlelight dancing across her features. “A day to remember. I can’t recall when I’ve laughed so much. Your brothers … my goodness. And your father seems so pleased with his family, with all they’ve achieved. He seems especially proud of you.”

  Yes, well … “What about you, Annie? What do you think of the life I’ve built here?” He waited, his breath and hopes hanging on her answer.

  Her gaze fluttered to the carpet. Seconds—or was it hours?—passed before she spoke. “I think what you’ve accomplished is a thing to be proud of. I’m proud of you, Travis Hart. The war stole so much from so many. Not everyone has managed to regain all they lost. You’re one of them. As for myself…” Finally, those ever-changeable eyes met his. “Stuart was so young when he died, with so much of his life ahead of him. He never got to see his son. Not once.”

  “But you never cared for Stuart. Wasn’t it your father who coerced you into marriage?” Since the day he’d first clapped eyes on Stuart Lawrence, Travis hadn’t held favorable feelings for the young man a few years his senior. Callous, often uncaring, he treated the world as if he held it in his beefy palm, goaded by his banker father. Stuart had been accepted as Annie’s intended since their adolescence. Travis hoped the war might have changed that. But when he’d heard of their marriage in a letter from Houston, all hope had died, there on the battlefield like so many men.

  It had come to life again. And in a few more minutes, that hope might take its first mewling cries, as Annie pledged her promise.

  I haven’t stopped loving you, Travis. I would be honored to allow your courtship.

  Annie’s soft voice brought an end to his musings. “I never gave Stuart the chance he deserved. How I behaved toward him is something no husband should have to experience.” Her words, as well as the tears glimmering in her eyes, doused him like a bucket of ice water. What did she mean, the chance he deserved? She’d been a mere seventeen years old, and forced into the deal by her money-hungry father. “The two days we were together as husband and wife should have been the most joyous of Stuart’s life. Instead, I made him miserable.” Sorrow choked her words. “He tried to be kind and loving. He wanted to be a groom to his bride. And all I could think of was my foolish, selfish dreams.” She stood, her sewing landing on the floor, and paced the carpet, her back to him.

  Travis sat, as still as if rigor mortis had set in.

  “I still remember the last words he said to me, just as he was leaving. ‘I’ll be home soon, Annie. And maybe, when I return, you’ll find it in your heart to think kindly upon me.’ I should have kissed him.”

  She spun around, her skirt swir
ling. “But no. I just stood there, not even extending so much as my hand in farewell. He wrote to me after that, a few letters in much the same fashion. He told me he wanted me to love him and that he’d do his best to love me. But he never came back. Sometimes I wonder if it was my indifference that killed him. If I’d treated him as I should, perhaps he would’ve fought harder to live. If I’d written and told him I was carrying his child, he might not have let himself die. So you see, Travis, I’m not proud of the life I lived then. But I will be proud of the one I live now. I was not a good wife to Stuart while he walked this earth, but I’ve been true since I learned of his death.” She sank into her chair, palm pressed against her mouth, silent tears falling down her cheeks.

  He drew in a fortifying breath, pain lancing his heart at the shadows of guilt this woman dwelt under. God, help me to make her see the truth.

  “Annie, Stuart is gone. No amount of sacrifice on your part will bring him back. I … I … care about you very much. I—”

  The look she gave him, well, it would’ve been better if she’d punched him in the gut. “How can you say that after what I just told you? Didn’t you hear anything I said? I don’t deserve to be cared for, Travis. Can’t you see?”

  “Then what do you deserve?” Every fiber of his body ached to take her in his arms, show her exactly what she did deserve. Love. A second chance. So, she’d made a mistake. She’d punished herself for nine long years, lashing herself over and over with ropes of guilt and condemnation. Wasn’t that enough, even in the eyes of God? Didn’t He promise forgiveness, if one presented a contrite heart?

  “Nothing.” Her face was a cold, hard mask, beneath which simmered a layer of raw pain. “Please leave, Travis. I’m grateful for your friendship, but don’t expect anything beyond that. Not from me. Not ever.”

  Chapter Six

  She wasn’t sure where the storm brewed most. Within or without. Outside, rain mercilessly pounded the roof, the torrent punctuated by a sudden flash of lightning. Inside Annie’s heart, the tempest blew with equal fury. Four days had not lessened its blast, nor softened the remembrance of Travis’s expression as he’d strode from the room and out of the house, not once looking back.

  The taste of her words still lingered in her mouth. She’d confessed it all—leaving out only the identity of the man whom she’d centered her thoughts upon during her marriage to Stuart. Travis Hart had been the cause of her sin. Not his fault, only hers. She couldn’t blame him for his charm, that dimpled smile. How strong and warm and perfect his hand felt, twined within hers.

  She turned in bed, punching her pillow with a ferocious thump. Sleep had become a stranger, night a prison.

  “Oh, Travis. I didn’t mean to wound you. How could you have hoped—thought—that there could ever be anything between us again?” The words were muffled against the well-worn fabric of her quilt. A wedding ring pattern, done in her favorite colors, lavender and white, given to her by a friend upon the occasion of her marriage to Stuart.

  God, turn my thoughts from Travis. Help me to think only of Stuart, the man I have wronged. Help me to right the past, so guilt no longer haunts me. Thank You for Your faithfulness. And for forgiving such a wretched sinner as I. Amen.

  The prayer salved her soul and sleep finally came. Yet after what couldn’t have been more than an hour, a knock on the front door shook her awake.

  Only one reason why anyone would knock on a midwife’s door at such an hour in such terrible weather. Dressing took only moments. Her bag found its way into her hands, and she hurried down the hall, creeping carefully so as not to wake Robbie.

  The door open, she looked into the face of a drenched young man, water sluicing off the brim of his hat like an absurd sort of fountain.

  “You the midwife?”

  Annie nodded.

  “Come quick! It’s my Rachel. She’s in a terrible state.”

  Thankful she’d never been squeamish about a soaking, Annie followed the man to the barn, where he assisted her in saddling her horse. They headed in the direction of town. Despite her shawl and bonnet, Annie’s teeth chattered.

  As was often the case, the house of the laboring mother was the only residence with a light shining. Annie dismounted, landing on the ground in a bone-jarring instant, splattering herself with mud. She headed inside, mentally going through her list of patient notes about Rachel Monroe. First-time mother. Three weeks ahead of due date. Young woman of only twenty. Pregnancy normal. Last checkup two weeks ago.

  Upstairs she went, heading in the direction of the moans. A single candle sputtered out its last breaths and left the room in darkness. Annie hastened to light another. In the dimness, Rachel’s features were startlingly young. Everything in the room was new, from the shiny dresser, to the polished brass bedstead. A sure sign of a newlywed couple, married barely a year. With a single sweep of her arm, Annie removed the coverlet. No sense spoiling that, seeing as it was white and lace.

  “I’m so glad to see you.” Rachel’s eyes were huge, terrified blue discs against a complexion that was probably peaches and cream but at the moment blanched whiter than the comforter. “I never thought it would hurt like this. I’m scared. I wish my ma wasn’t in San Antonio. She’s supposed to visit next week. Why won’t the baby wait till then?”

  Rachel groaned as another contraction took hold. Suddenly wetness doused the bed. Rachel began to cry. “I don’t want to die. I’m only twenty. Bill told me he was going to take me to Austin next year for my birthday and take me to the theater. I don’t want to die before I’ve done that.” The girl sobbed.

  Annie smiled reassuringly. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Rachel. You won’t be dying. Not as long as I have anything to say about it. But crying won’t help things and shall only make you feel worse. Now, I’m going to change the sheets and help you into something more comfortable.”

  Usually her words calmed anxious mothers. Rachel only cried louder. Bill flung the door open. He dropped to his knees beside his wife’s bed, clutching her hand. His face paled. “Why is the bed wet? What’s going on?” He raised frantic eyes to Annie’s. “Something isn’t right. My Rachel wouldn’t be crying like this if everything was all right.” He shot to his feet, looking like a little boy confronting another on a playground. Far too young to be thinking of fatherhood. “My wife’s in danger! You’re too young to help her. I’m gonna get someone else. Stay with her till I get back. Don’t leave her!” He flung the words over his shoulder as he raced from the room.

  Had she been in any other profession, Annie might have been insulted. She was six years his senior. At least. Yet no one ever behaved like themselves in a delivery room. Whom would he fetch more competent than her?

  There was only one person. And she didn’t want to think about Travis Hart right now.

  “Where’d he go? Where’d Bill go?” Rachel stared in the direction of the door.

  “He’ll be back. Don’t concern yourself with him right now. You must put all your concentration into bringing your baby into the world.” Sometimes it paid to put a bit of sternness into her tone. “You want to keep your baby safe, right?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “Of course you do. Then you must stay calm.” Annie found a set of clean sheets in one of the drawers. She made short work of changing both them and Rachel’s nightgown, then performed an internal examination. The girl quieted, and her cries during each contraction held less hysteria and more concentration. Outside, rain still pelted the roof. Having nothing better to do, Annie sat beside the mother to wait out the duration of this stage of labor.

  And to hope against vain hope that Bill Monroe would bring anyone but Travis Hart to the delivery room this night.

  As a practicing physician for over six years, his hands shouldn’t shake during house calls. Though his concern wasn’t due to the situation of the patient—a laboring first-time mother.

  It was due to the other person Travis would find inside.

  He climbed the steps, rain l
eaving a puddled trail in his wake, an anxious Bill Monroe at his heels. “She’ll be all right, won’t she, Dr. Hart? You can save her, my Rachel?”

  Travis turned, placing a hand on the young man’s damp shoulder. The boy’s—for he hardly looked a man—throat jerked.

  “She’ll be fine, Bill. But I won’t be, if someone falls and breaks their neck on these slippery stairs. Get a towel and wipe this mess up.” He continued up the stairs toward the keening noises coming from behind the closed door. He opened it and stepped inside.

  The second their gazes met, Annie’s breath faltered for the briefest of instants. Overwhelming need swept through him. To pull her into his arms, soothe away that haggard look in her beautiful eyes. Reassure her that all her fears were for naught, that he would wait as long as it took for her to forgive herself. As long as he could be sure that in the end, the prize of her heart would be his.

  But for now, she was the midwife. He, the doctor.

  Both must work together to help this young woman bring forth a new life.

  “Fetal heartbeat is a steady one hundred and forty. Contractions are every two minutes. Waters broke over an hour ago. I’d say delivery is imminent.” Hair straggled down Annie’s face, dark circles haunted her eyes. Yet as she knelt beside the mother, her expression was brimful of passion and purpose.

  “Good.” Travis washed his hands, noting the perfect order of Annie’s instruments. “We’re right here with you, Mrs. Monroe. Just do exactly as Mrs. Lawrence says.”

  He only half-listened as Annie helped the girl into the proper position for delivery, intent on sorting through his own bag. Forceps, but only if they were absolutely needed. Surgical thread, in case of tearing.

  Then he knelt beside Annie, and together they worked with Rachel Monroe, as her little boy slipped into the world. Face like a wrinkled old man’s, crying lustily. Perfect in everyone’s eyes.