Travis didn’t waste another second. He stepped around Sandler and unlatched the cabin door.
In a swift glance, he took in the scene. Karen Sandler on the bed, a tiny baby in her arms. Both were stiff, their faces gray with death. A fire smoked and smoldered in the hearth, the scent of burning cotton imbuing the air.
Oh, Annie. What kind of torture had she lived through since yesterday?
She faced him now, her face pale, her dress filthy. Yet the sight of her whole and unharmed filled him with more joy than if he had beheld the most celebrated beauty.
“What are you doing here?” Her eyes widened.
“Searching for you.” He reached forward and grasped her hand in his. In a sudden movement, he lifted her hand, pressing it to his lips. Her skin was as soft as he remembered, each of her fingers delicate in their strength. All that remained to make them perfection was the item he’d carried with him throughout the years of war. The question remained, would she take it? Yet that answer would wait. For now, savoring this moment was more than enough.
His chest tightened at the sweetness in her smile.
“I was running away, Travis.” Her words were barely audible. “Not literally, but in a way. I don’t want to run again.” She took a step closer, her breath coming fast. “You’ve found me now. Please…” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Please, don’t ever let me go.”
He kissed her hand again, hope drenching his heart in a waterfall of promise.
“Never.”
Chapter Ten
I thought I’d have to get a crowbar to pry your arms from around that Hart boy yesterday.” The censuring bite in her father’s words greeted Annie as she entered the parlor the morning after her rescue. She seated herself, folding her hands properly in her lap.
“He was helping me down off the horse.” Annie leafed through a stack of correspondence.
“Oh, so that’s all it was?” Her father smirked. “You must have needed an inordinate amount of help.”
Annie drew in a deep breath. The girl she’d been would’ve ducked her head and rushed from the room. The woman of only a few days ago would’ve done the same. But much had changed since then. No longer would she allow her father’s angry opinions to bathe her in shame. God had freed her from that, and she wouldn’t become enslaved again.
“No, Father. That’s not all it was.”
“Mind explaining?” Her father folded his arms across his wide chest.
She stood, mimicking his commanding stance. “If you’ll actually listen, then no, I don’t mind one bit. When I was seventeen, I allowed you to force me against following what my heart told me to be true. I’ve changed since then, and I won’t let myself be persuaded to go against what I believe the Lord’s will is ever again. God is the only One whose opinion matters to me, and I feel His peace about this. I believe Travis Hart still cares for me. And if the Lord wills, it would be my joy and privilege to accept his offer of courtship.” She dropped her arms at her sides. “I love you, Father. I will do my best to honor you. But I will not allow you to demean me or make me feel unworthy of happiness ever again.”
Her father said nothing. Annie tried for a small smile. What she wouldn’t give to have experienced a different relationship with the only parent she remembered. To have enjoyed father-daughter confidences, basking in mutual affection.
But life wasn’t perfect. There would always be gaps, scars, missing pieces.
Lord, thank You for always being willing to fill them.
Robbie raced inside. Her son’s smile widened, revealing the tooth he’d lost in her absence. A smaller version of a Stetson covered his mussed hair. “Ma! I gotta show you something. It’s outside.”
“Excuse me, Father.” Annie followed her son into the hall. Robbie hopped up and down, eyes beaming with excitement. “What is this all about?” She laughed. “Did you get one of the ranch hands to help you build a tree house?”
Robbie grinned, opening the door and pulling her outside. “You’ll see.”
In the next moment, her gaze collided with Travis’s. He stood beside his buckboard, looking finer than she’d ever seen him. A charcoal-colored suit coat encased his wide shoulders, his usually tousled hair slicked back.
Her breath faltered. With shaking hands, she smoothed her simple gray dress.
Mercy, he looked fine. A flush heated her cheeks, one not caused by the Texas summertime.
“I gotta go help with the horses.” Robbie bounded away.
Travis stepped forward, offering her his arm. She let him lead her across the front lawn.
“Feeling all right?” Concern filled his eyes. “Any dizzy spells? Nausea? You looked incredibly pale when I left yesterday.”
She smiled. “I’ve never felt better, Dr. Hart. Why are you so dressed up? Going somewhere?”
He faced her, taking both of her hands between his. “Maybe.” That mesmerizing dimple flashed as he smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean … we might be going somewhere, but first, there’s something I’m going to say.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
And increased to double time as he knelt on one knee, both of her hands still clasped in his. Maybe he’d better ask about her health again. Because right now she felt dizzy. With anticipation.
She drew in a jagged breath. Was he going to … propose? Stuart had never done so. Their parents had arranged everything.
A proposal. It was the moment every girl dreams of, the moment when the man she adored dropped to one knee, looking up at her as if his heart belonged to her and only her. As if, were she to refuse, the very fibers of his being would crumble and turn to ashes.
And it was a moment meant to be cherished.
“Annie Parker-Lawrence.” Though this man had performed operations requiring skill and complete steadiness of hands, his shook slightly as they held hers. She smiled at it. Brave, calm Dr. Hart, nervous. Over her.
“Yes?”
“There’s just one question…” He cleared his throat.
“Yes?”
“You may think this sounds a little crazy.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve already asked Robbie, and he’s in complete agreement.”
She laughed. “Just say what you want to say, Travis.”
He chuckled. “All right, then.” His eyes darkened, so much hope, so much love in their depths, it stole her breath. “Marry me, Annie. You don’t know how often and for how long I’ve wanted to say this. You are truly the most precious woman I’ve ever known, and I would consider it the greatest of honors to walk through the rest of my life with you at my side.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, not the girlish ones of sorrow and desperation sobbed into her pillow late at night, but tears of joy. Giddy. Overwhelming. She nodded.
Perfect. Joy.
He handed her a handkerchief, and she gave an embarrassed laugh as she dried her eyes.
“If you keep crying like that, you won’t be able to see the ring.” He slipped it on her finger.
“Oh…” A simple gold band, a small but flawless diamond at the center. Beautiful.
Yet at that moment, Travis could have given her a rusty horseshoe to put around her finger and she still would’ve wept with happiness.
“Do you like it?” He stood, hesitation in his gaze. “I picked it out myself. If you don’t, we could always—”
“Oh, Travis,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s perfect. And this … is even better.” She pressed her lips against his, giving him her answer in her kiss, needing to show how much she loved, wanted him. He tasted of peppermint, of the future ahead of them.
She stepped back, breathless. A knot formed in her throat. “I don’t want to wait another minute to be your wife. There’ve been so many years lost. They’re gone, Travis. Gone. We didn’t get to share them.”
“None of that matters now.” He leaned her head against his chest, holding her close
. Overhead, in the sky of grand old Texas, the sun shone, warm and bright. As if to offer with its beaming rays a picture of the life they would now lead. “All that matters is tomorrow.”
“Our tomorrows. I like the sound of that.” She smiled, loving the way he held her. As if protecting her, leading her, cherishing her. And she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that as long as Travis Hart drew breath, he always would.
“Me, too.” He kissed her again. “Ours. Always ours.”
Amanda Barratt has won several awards for her work and enjoys writing about eras such as Regency and Victorian England, and the Gilded Age. A member of American Christian Fiction Writers, she lives in northern Michigan with her family, where she reads way too many old books, watches period dramas to come up with new plotlines, and dreams of taking a trip to England. Amanda loves hearing from her readers on Facebook and through her website amandabarratt.net.
A Love Returned
by Keli Gwyn
Chapter One
July 1, 1874
Twelve years was a long time to wait for a tamale. Sam Houston Hart forked a bite and savored the spicy taste.
Travis, who had met the stagecoach earlier that day, watched from his place at the massive dining room table opposite Houston. “Are they as good as you remember, Huey?”
“Better. Perla outdid herself.” He’d thought about the meal that awaited him when he reached El Regalo several times during the long ride from California. The tamales the family’s cook had prepared in the days before he’d left home back in ’62 were delicious. These were an explosion of flavor well worth the wait. “I hope the rest of you aren’t too hungry, because I plan to tuck in my fair share—and then some.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Hays reached for the platter in front of him and plopped another tamale on his plate.
His lovely wife, Emma, patted his arm and smiled. “Be nice.”
Hays feigned surprise. “I am nice.” His exaggerated expression gave way to a grin. “But I’m hungry, too. Can’t let Houston get my share.”
Chisholm took the steaming dish his wife, Caro, passed him and added another tamale to the mound on his plate. “It’s every man for himself around here. You have told your son that, haven’t you, Trav?”
Nine-year-old Robbie, seated beside Travis’s new bride, Annie, piped up. “He didn’t have to. I’ve watched y’all and learned to grab what I want the first time around.”
Laughter erupted. Although Houston had enjoyed his time in California, he’d missed sitting around this table with his family. His brothers were all there, with the exception of Crockett, who was out on the cattle drive. They were older, of course, but there were other changes, too. Austin wore his authority as the oldest with more confidence. Bowie, left scarred due to war injuries, had retreated behind a wall. Travis, now a doctor, possessed an air of calm competence. Rough, rugged Chisholm did the Texas Rangers proud. And Hays, a carefree boy when Houston left, now overflowed with optimism.
Pa sat at the head of the table looking larger than life and as formidable as ever. When it came to men getting what they wanted, he was a prime example. George Washington Hart had set out to expand his father’s cattle empire into one of the largest in south-central Texas, and he’d succeeded. The herd this year had been the biggest ever, a fact Austin had announced with pride. His brother had contributed to that success, unlike Houston himself. He’d left days before his eighteenth birthday, eager to leave this life behind—along with his inability to measure up to his father’s expectations.
But he was back now, and he had plenty to prove. Folks in Hartville had sent curious glances his way when he’d emerged from the cramped quarters of the stagecoach. Some had been disapproving. Travis had warned him in his letters that there were those who thought Houston should have stayed and fought, as his three older brothers and Crockett had. But Houston hadn’t. He’d left, and there were those who weren’t all that excited about his return.
Was Coralee among them? Perhaps he’d find out Friday night, when the family was holding a barbecue to celebrate his homecoming. His former sweetheart never missed a social gathering, so she was sure to be there, whether he was ready for their reunion or not. He was curious to see her, of course, but nothing more. He’d proposed, eager to take her to California as his bride, and she’d turned him down. He wasn’t about to risk rejection a second time.
The meal passed pleasantly enough, with the usual talk of cattle, the drive currently underway, and plans for the future. Pa was always looking ahead to bigger herds and larger profits. With three of Houston’s brothers now in possession of their shares of the ranch, they exchanged friendly banter about besting one another as they strived to emulate their father’s success.
If all went well, Houston would find a woman willing to be his wife, claim his share of the 7 Heart, and earn his father’s approval. Not an easy task. Ranching ran in his brothers’ blood, but not in his. They enjoyed spending hours in the saddle. He didn’t. Although he sat a horse as well as any man, he preferred running a business over riding the range. His hardware store in California had done quite well, enabling him to carry out his dream of—
“So, Houston,” Austin asked, “what are your plans? Are you going to rope yourself a filly and claim your share of the ranch, or is this just a visit?”
Their father leveled a probing gaze on Houston, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, son, what are your intentions?”
He sidestepped the question, responding with a humorous tone. “That remains to be seen, since I might not be able to find a woman willing to put up with me.”
Several of his brothers laughed, but Pa’s lips formed a thin line. Only one answer would have suited him, and Houston wasn’t ready to give it in front of the others. This was between his father and him.
Ten more tense minutes passed before the last tamale was eaten. Pa stood, and the others followed suit, heavy chairs scraping on the wooden floor. Three of his brothers greeted him on their way out of the spacious dining room, welcoming him back. Bowie gave a curt nod accompanied by a grunt of acknowledgment, but Pa left without a word.
Houston, alone in the room, paused to admire the letters SHH carved into the crest rail of his chair. All these years his place at the table had sat empty, a silent reminder of his absence. No wonder Pa’s reception had been cool. Not that Houston had expected a warm welcome. He’d made it clear when he left that he wanted to make his own way in the world.
And he had. Alone. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. He’d dreamed of taking Coralee with him. She’d been sweet on him for years, and he’d finally wised up enough to see it. The Southern beauty was everything he’d wanted in a wife, but she’d turned him down. He would never forget the shocked look on her face when he’d asked her to marry him, head to California, and lead a life free of their family’s expectations. He was ready to leave his, but she’d said she couldn’t leave hers. What she’d meant was she wouldn’t. If she’d loved him as much as he’d loved her, she would have put him first. But she hadn’t.
Enough! Dwelling on that gut-wrenching scene did no good. He was sure to see Coralee at some point, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that her rejection had nearly brought him to his knees. She’d gone on with her life, and he’d done the same. His might not have turned out the way he’d envisioned, but he’d done well for himself—without any help from his family.
But twelve years was a long time. When Travis’s letter with Pa’s edict arrived, Houston had fought an internal battle. He didn’t particularly want a share of the 7 Heart, but he did want to be part of his family again, and the two went together. His brothers might have trouble believing he wanted to embrace his Hart heritage since he’d been so eager to leave, but he would show them. He’d work hard, and in time, they’d see that he was serious about being a rancher.
Pa could be harder to convince. Their parting hadn’t been pleasant. So far, their reunion hadn’t been, either. Houston could understand his fa
ther’s wariness. The 7 Heart meant everything to him, and Houston had turned his back on it. But he was older and wiser now. If accepting his share of the ranch was what it took to earn Pa’s approval, so be it. Mother would have been glad her middle son was willing to make his peace with his father, provided that was possible.
Mother. The very word brought with it a flood of memories. He glanced at the life-sized portrait of Victoria Elizabeth Hart over the mantel. As always, her beauty struck him, but remorse caused him to tear his gaze away. His sweet mother was gone, and he hadn’t been here to say good-bye.
Houston made his way to his mother’s parlor upstairs, drawn there by a force so strong he was powerless to resist. He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Unlike the dark, masculine rooms throughout the rest of the house, her room was feminine, with green and gold furnishings and pretty knickknacks throughout. Being there brought a rush of memories—her sweet smiles, her soft hands that had caressed his face with such tenderness, her floral perfume. For a moment he was sure he smelled it, but then he spied the vase of roses.
There were dance lessons, too. She’d insisted on teaching each of her boys how to handle themselves on a dance floor. He’d treasured those times when it was just the two of them, with his petite mother guiding him through the dance steps as she looked up at him with love and acceptance. Pa might not understand him, but she had.
His announcement that he was leaving for California had created a ruckus, with his brothers all talking at once. Pa had scowled, but Mother, seated at the end of the table opposite him, had caught Houston’s eye and nodded once, a dip of the chin so slight he suspected no one else had seen it.
When he’d hugged her before heading out, she’d raised up on her toes and whispered in his ear. Her floral scent wafted around him, and her words sank deep into his heart. “You’re a fine man, Sam Houston Hart. I hope you find what you’re looking for out West and trust you’ll return when you’re ready. You’ll be in my prayers, son.” She’d brushed a kiss on his cheek and stepped back to stand beside Pa, ever the supportive wife and mother.
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