Houston gripped the arms of her favorite chair, the fabric smooth against his work-roughened hands, and gazed around the room. Nothing had been moved, although she’d passed on eleven years before. Her presence seemed to linger in her parlor.
He closed his eyes, remembering her lovely voice and how she’d sung one song after another to him when he’d waged his battle with measles as a boy. She’d had a way of making him feel like he was special. And what had he done? Headed off to California, where he’d been when she passed on.
He picked up the framed photograph sitting on the round table beside her chair, taken not long before he’d left. His parents stood side by side, unsmiling, but his mother’s eyes appeared to shine. It was all he could do to force the words out of his throat, which had grown thick. “Good-bye, Mother. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, but I’m back now. I’m not sure I’m ready for what lies ahead, but I’m committed to making this work. I just hope Pa comes around.”
The door handle jiggled, and his father entered. “I heard voices. What are you doing in here, son?”
“Thinking of Mother.”
“Good place to do it.” He lowered himself into the large green armchair, the only man-sized piece of furniture in the room. She’d had it made especially for Pa, all six feet four inches of him. Everyone looked up to his father, especially Houston, who at five feet, ten inches was the shortest of the Hart brothers. Another way he didn’t measure up.
Houston set the frame back on the table. “The news of her passing was such a shock. If I’d known she was ailing…”
Pa stared at the image of the woman he’d loved with a Texas-sized love. “It wouldn’t have made any difference. The Lord was merciful and took her quickly.”
“Even so, I wish I could have done something, but I was so far away.”
“You did.” He opened the small drawer in the table, pulled out a piece of paper, and unfolded it. “You sent this.”
Pa had kept his telegram? The sentimental action seemed quite unlike him. “It was the least I could do. I loved her.”
His father stared at the telegrapher’s swirled handwriting, stark black against the white page. “She knew you’d come back. I reckon she had more faith than I did. But here you are.” He folded the telegram, returned it to the drawer, and closed it with a bang, causing the strings of Mother’s pianoforte to vibrate.
Pa pinned him with a piercing gaze. “Travis told you the terms of the inheritance, didn’t he? You have to get yourself hitched by year’s end.”
“He did.”
“Good.” Pa stood. “There will be plenty of single gals at the barbeque come Friday. You’ll recognize a few, but there are new fillies in the corral. I expect to see you on the dance floor that night getting acquainted.”
The orders had begun already, had they? It appeared Pa was as iron-fisted as ever. “I’ll meet them.” But he wouldn’t dance with a lady unless he wanted to.
An image of Coralee in a sapphire-colored gown, ringlets swinging as he swept her around the floor years ago, flashed before him. She’d been light on her feet and prettier than a field of Texas bluebonnets.
Houston shoved the memory aside. Miss Coralee Culpepper was the last woman he would take in his arms Friday night—or anytime, for that matter.
Chapter Two
It’s a beautiful summer’s day, Daddy, with plenty of sunshine, so it’s sure to be hot.” Coralee stood at the open window of Beauregard Culpepper’s second-story bedroom in the family’s white clapboard ranch house and reported the sights below, as she did every morning. “There are two scissor-tailed flycatchers having a disagreement.” Surely he could hear the birds’ sharp, squeaky calls, provided sounds were able to penetrate the fog he lived in. She wasn’t sure, but she persisted in talking to him even though he’d ceased to respond with intelligible words.
In years past, when her father still recognized her and wasn’t yet bedridden, he’d spent hours sitting at this very window bird-watching. He’d taught her the names of the various species he spotted in their backyard. Some referred to the long-tailed birds currently waging a territorial battle as birds of paradise. No matter what they were called, they were best known for their long tails. She liked the splash of salmon-pink beneath their wings, a sharp contrast to their gray bodies and black wings.
If only Daddy had more color. His pallor of late troubled her. She’d have to mention it to Travis Hart when he came for his weekly visit. The kindly doctor was sure to have some idea what was behind her father’s pasty complexion and what she could do about it.
She summoned a smile and moved to her father’s bedside, where he was propped against three fluffy pillows. Although she saw him every day, her heart pinched when she looked into his eyes. His vacant stare had her wondering if he even knew she was there.
Not that it mattered. He was her daddy, and she would care for him and treat him with the respect he deserved all his days. That was Momma’s dying wish, and Coralee, barely fifteen years old, had promised to honor it. Little did she know at the time what that would cost her.
No! She mustn’t think like that. If Houston hadn’t loved her enough to ask her why she couldn’t marry him, instead of storming off to California, she was better off without him. She had a good life here. Daddy needed her, and so did her brother.
Calvin lacked their father’s business sense. She offered as much assistance as her older brother would accept, although he wasn’t as willing to listen to her opinions as she would like. Not that she had a head for figures, either. She much preferred dealing with people. Which reminded her … She would have a parlor full of ladies shortly, so she’d best get on with her day.
“Let’s get you a drink before I go downstairs.” She reached for the water on her father’s bedside table, held the glass to his lips, and tipped it. He made no effort to swallow, so the liquid dribbled down his chin, dampening his bedcovers.
She laughed. “You’re being ornery today, are you? Fine. We’ll do it your way.” She dipped a spoon in the water and offered it to him. His lips closed around the handle. He swallowed, opened, and held the position, which she’d learned meant he wanted more. She repeated the action until he clamped his mouth shut after she’d removed the spoon.
His eyes locked with hers for a brief moment, and she savored the sense of connection. He might not know who she was, but he trusted her.
“I have to go now, but I’ll be back as soon as my meeting is over and will sing ‘Jesus, Lover of My Soul’ for you.” Before his mind began fading, Daddy had chosen that hymn as his favorite. Grieving the loss of Momma, he’d embraced the idea of flying to the Lord’s bosom and being reunited with his beloved wife. Theirs had been a love so deep that he’d sunk into a depression after her passing, from which he never resurfaced.
She knew the thrill of giving your heart to another freely and completely. Houston had been the keeper of hers—until he’d shattered it.
One day, the good Lord willing, she’d know what it was like to be loved in the selfless way Daddy had loved Momma, putting her happiness before his. At twenty-eight, the possibility seemed unlikely, but the longing persisted, despite her attempts to fill her life with meaningful activity.
She pressed a kiss to her father’s forehead, turned, and nearly bumped into Sally.
“Whoa there, Miss C. I was just coming to check on our dear man. How is he?”
“It’s a good day. He actually looked at me, although he wouldn’t drink from the glass.” Coralee sent an indulgent smile his way. “He does love to exert his independence.”
Sally chuckled. “That he does.”
Bless the dear woman. Not once had their longtime maid questioned Coralee’s attempts to act as though Daddy were still with them. He was, of course, in body, but the father she’d known and loved had drifted further and further away, until only a shadow of his former self remained. But she couldn’t dwell on that. Any minute now the ladies would arrive, and she must be ready to greet them.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the front door. Coralee cast a lingering look at her father. She’d tried hard to sound positive, but his wan appearance was troubling.
Sally fluttered a hand toward her. “Go on now. He’ll be fine. I’ll sit by his side while I do some mending and tell him all about the delicious dinner Olive has planned. You know how much he enjoys her cooking.”
He used to, back when he had an appetite. These days his diet consisted of soups, puddings, and other easy-to-swallow foods. She would ask Olive to prepare a cup of cocoa. That was sure to tempt him. He loved his chocolate.
Coralee dashed down the stairs, opened the door, and greeted her guests. “Welcome, ladies. Won’t you come in?”
They retired to the parlor decorated in her late mother’s favorite colors of burnt orange and butterscotch, sipped lemonade, and ate generous slices of Olive’s moist sponge cake while chatting for a few minutes before their meeting began.
Clarice Spanner, a spinster with gray hair swept into an elaborate style, monopolized the conversation. Hartville’s dressmaker relished passing on bits of information she’d learned about the various residents. Velma Duke, a motherly figure with a knack for organization who served as president of Hartville’s Confederate Widows and Orphans Fund committee, joined Coralee in tactfully but firmly cutting off the pinch-lipped gossip and steering the conversation in new directions.
The clock on the mantel over the rock-faced fireplace chimed twice. Velma cleared her throat, a signal that their social time was over. Their secretary, Ida Franklin, with pencil and tablet in hand, was ready to record the minutes.
“The July meeting of the CWAOF is called to order.” Velma opened her leather journal. “We haven’t received any new requests for assistance, but Giles Brown has taken care of the repairs to Widow Foster’s barn that we’d discussed at our last meeting. He did a fine job.” The competent woman smiled at Giles’s wife, Patty, who had suggested her carpenter husband for the job.
“Giles was happy to help.”
Velma pulled out a loose sheet of paper tucked between the pages of her journal. “Here’s what we paid him for his labor and the supplies. We received a reduced rate, thanks to our association with him.” She handed the list to Meribeth Mortenson, their treasurer and Coralee’s longtime friend. Meribeth and her husband, Michael, who were expecting their first child, ran Mortenson Mercantile. She kept the ledgers for their business, too.
Record keeping was something Coralee had no desire to do. She’d looked at Calvin’s books once and could make no sense of them. While Meribeth’s figures were fairly easy to follow, her brother’s smudged and crooked columns were anything but.
Meribeth examined the numbers and nodded. “This is a significant reduction, indeed. It’s twenty-five percent lower than what we’d allocated.”
“We have even more good news.” Velma looked from one member of the committee to the next, building the suspense. Her gaze came to rest on Coralee. “Our gracious hostess will tell you about it.”
A surge of excitement rushed through Coralee. “As most of you know, I’m also a member of the committee that plans the annual Christmas Eve Ball. This year, the committee has chosen the CWAOF as the charity that will receive the proceeds. We’re expecting a wonderful turnout. Last year we had guests from as far away as San Antonio. With the plans the committee has, this year’s event might rival those of the early Christmas Eve Balls put on by Victoria Hart herself.”
Joyous exclamations filled the room. Patty Brown brought her hands together with a loud clap. “That’s marvelous! This donation will enable us to continue our work for years to come.”
Clarice brushed a crumb from her ample bosom. “Your relief is understandable. I heard your primary benefactor has ceased making contributions.”
Velma’s jaw went slack. She caught herself and brought her teeth together with a clack. “I’m not sure where you got your information, Miss Spanner, but that is speculation. Nothing has been confirmed. When it is, Meribeth will apprise us of our financial situation. Until then, we’ll continue to operate as we have. I, for one, trust the Lord to provide for our needs, as He has so faithfully done since our group was formed.”
Clarice ran a hand over the skirt of her amethyst gown, a silk creation that showcased her talents but put undue strain on the jet-black buttons of her form-fitting bodice. “That’s not all I heard. Young Hays Hart was in town this morning spreading the word that everyone is invited to a barbecue at the 7 Heart tomorrow evening to celebrate his brother’s return.”
The news hit Coralee like an icy blast, chilling her to the bone. Chisholm’s visits to El Regalo between his Ranger assignments were a regular occurrence, and Crockett wouldn’t return from the cattle drive for another three weeks. That had to mean—“Houston’s here?”
“I believe that was the name I heard, yes.”
Meribeth, bless her, chose that moment to drop her ledger. On Miss Spanner’s toes. “How clumsy of me! I’m so sorry. Would you mind getting it? I would, but…” She patted her rounded abdomen.
Miss Spanner bent over to retrieve the book. Meribeth took advantage of her well-timed accident to telegraph her concern to Coralee. She managed to produce a smile, but it felt wobbly.
Houston was back. She’d wondered whether he might return someday, but to have him here was … unsettling. She was sure to run into him at some point, which could be awkward. Twelve years had passed since he’d walked out of her life without a backward glance. Seeing him again could cause the feelings she’d experienced to come rushing back. She couldn’t allow that.
She wouldn’t. Sam Houston Hart-breaker didn’t need to know what his failure to put her before his desire to leave Texas and make his fortune in California had done to her. How she’d cried herself to sleep for weeks after he left. Her younger self had been devastated to lose the man she loved, but she was a woman now, strong and capable. She refused to let his return upset her.
Velma tactfully steered the discussion back on track. “Coralee, would you please tell us more about the ball?”
Gladly. Anything to keep thoughts of Houston from flooding her mind. “Because the CWAOF is the recipient of the proceeds from the Christmas Eve Ball this year, I asked if our members could help with the planning and preparations. My offer was readily accepted, so if any of you would like to volunteer, let me know, and I’ll pass on your interest.”
Miss Spanner splayed a hand against her chest. “I’m not one to boast, but I do have an artistic eye and would be delighted to head up the decorating committee.”
Coralee nodded. “Very well. I’ll let them know.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur, with the other members discussing ways they might be able to help. Velma brought the meeting to a close. The ladies thanked Coralee for hosting it, bid her farewell, and headed to the carriage they’d shared.
All but Meribeth, who lingered on the porch. “I’ll be along shortly. I have a private matter to discuss with Coralee.”
Velma smiled. “That’s fine, dear.”
Meribeth waited until the other women were out of earshot before speaking. “You didn’t know he was back, did you? What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
Her friend’s voice was laced with concern. “Are you going to his party?”
“Certainly not. Why should I?”
“I don’t think it would be wise, actually, but I thought you might be curious to see if he’s changed.”
Was she? Perhaps. But that didn’t mean she would go running to see him at the first opportunity. Their paths would cross at some point, they’d exchange a few polite words, and then they’d go their separate ways. Live their separate lives. “I’m sure Calvin will attend, but I’ll stay here with Daddy. Are you going?”
“I’ll be at home with Michael and my footrest. My poor ankles are more swollen than the Sabinal River after the rains. But if you change your mind, stop by when you’re in town and
tell me all about it. How you’re immune to his charms now.” Meribeth narrowed her eyes. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Houston Hart means nothing to me now.”
And he never would. She’d learned her lesson.
Chapter Three
A quick search for Calvin the following afternoon found Coralee standing outside the pen where he kept his prize bull when it wasn’t out grazing. Her brother slipped through the rails to stand beside her. He removed his Stetson and fanned himself with it. “What’s up, sis?”
She brought up Houston’s return, the welcome-home barbecue they’d been invited to, and her intention to remain at home with their father.
Calvin put his hat back on. “I’m going, and so will you. How would it look if you didn’t show up?”
Like she had no interest in seeing Houston again. Which she didn’t.
“I know things between you two didn’t end well, but the Harts carry a lot of weight around here. So, whether you want to go or not, I’m counting on you to be there.”
She placed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “I’m not a child for you to order around, Calvin. I’m a grown woman, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed all right. I also know you’re headstrong, but that’s good. You can show Houston you’ve moved on with your life.”
She hadn’t thought about it that way. Her absence might send the message that she was afraid to face him, but if she was there and gave him a wide berth, he’d see that he’d ceased to mean anything to her. “Fine. I’ll go, but I won’t stay any longer than I have to.”
“Good. And if Houston gives you any trouble, let me know. I won’t have him upsetting you again.”
Her brother’s protectiveness warmed her. She could fend for herself, but it was nice to know Calvin cared.
Two hours later Coralee sat at her dressing table. She draped a ringlet over her shoulder just so and studied her reflection in the looking glass. The time Sally had spent with the curling wands had resulted in springy spirals, just the way Coralee liked them. The blue silk she’d chosen complemented her fair complexion and dark hair. “What do you think, Sally? Will I do?”
Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection Page 25