Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection

by Amanda Barratt

  Ben shrugged.

  Crockett eyed him closely. At twenty, Ben was old enough to shoulder the responsibility. The trouble was, he’d carried it since he was about ten years old. He and Jane both had taken on adult roles too early.

  “You told me you wanted to be a doctor,” Crockett said.

  “Not much chance of that.” Ben looked over his shoulder. Bowie and Houston had settled down for a rest on the tailgate of the wagon, sipping their switchel and talking in low tones.

  “Why isn’t it possible?” Crockett asked.

  Ben shook his head. “I used to think maybe, someday. But now I know it can’t happen. There’ll never be enough money in this family for that.”

  “You shouldn’t give up on your dream, Ben. You’re smart enough to go to college and medical school.”

  “That’s not enough.” He looked at Crockett bleakly, and Crockett could almost read his thoughts. Your brother Travis is a doctor … but your family’s different. You’ve got money. You don’t have a father who’s a lazy drunk, or a sister who needs support and protection.

  He leaned back against the barn wall. “What would you say to working at the 7 Heart?”

  Ben looked into his eyes. “Your pa would hire me?”

  “We always need men in the fall for roundup. We might not be able to keep you on over the winter, but I can pretty much guarantee you a spot on our spring roundup and drive.”

  “That sounds good,” Ben said. “I was going to ask Mr. Leonard, but your place is a lot closer.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. You could keep an eye on your pa and Jane easier, and you could come home at least once a week on your half-day off.” Crockett chuckled. “You might even be able to come home nights, at least some of the time.”

  “That’d ease Jane’s mind.”

  “You think about it. Our pay is good. And if you really want to go to medical school, you’ll find a way someday.”

  “Sure doesn’t seem like it, even if I have steady work.” Ben gave a mirthless chuckle. “If that money Jane found was honest money, maybe we could make a go of it. The neighbors have been real nice, but—”

  “Don’t count on that money,” Jane said bitterly. Crockett hadn’t realized how close she was. She held out a plate with a slab of cake on it to each of them.

  “Thanks.” Crockett took one, and Ben accepted the other.

  “What about the money?” Ben said. “Can’t you keep it if they don’t find out where it came from?”

  She shook her head, “If it’s not from the Treasury robbery, it’s from some other dishonest scheme.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Pa to have something to do with that robbery,” Ben said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Boyd screeched from the barn doorway.

  They all three turned to face him, and Crockett sucked in a painful breath. How much had Boyd heard?

  The old man charged toward them and grabbed Ben’s shirtfront. His face flushed almost purple as he snarled in his son’s face. “You ungrateful pup! I oughta throw you into New Mexico.”

  “Pa—”

  Crockett leaped to grab Boyd, but he was too late. Boyd punched Ben hard in the stomach, and Ben doubled over, his eyes wide as he gasped for air. Jane gave a little squeak and jumped backward, watching her father with huge eyes.

  “Traitors, the both of you,” Boyd growled.

  “Stop it!” Jane dropped to her knees at Ben’s side.

  “Breathe, Ben. Are you all right?”

  Boyd took a step toward them, and Crockett grasped the older man’s arm. “Take it easy, Mr.—”

  Boyd turned on him, fists swinging. Crockett jumped back, avoiding the first blow. Boyd’s momentum carried him forward and the second punch hit Crockett in the ribs. He swung back and connected solidly with Boyd’s jaw. The old man flew backward, arms outflung. His head hit on the edge of the bench with a thud.

  Crockett hauled in a breath, ignoring the pain in his side and his aching knuckles, waiting for Boyd to get up and come back for more.

  The white-haired man lay still. Crockett’s stomach began to roil. Houston and Bowie ran over from the wagon.

  “What happened?” Houston demanded.

  “Boyd lit into Ben,” Crockett said.

  “When Crockett tried to stop him, he started fighting him,” Jane added.

  Crockett made himself approach and stoop over Boyd, pushing back his collar to finger his neck, where the pulse should run strong.

  “He’s out cold.” Jane knelt beside her father and looked up at Crockett. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”

  “I can’t feel his heartbeat.” Crockett went to his knees and lowered his ear to Boyd’s chest. His shirt and overalls smelled of sweat, whiskey, and horse manure. Crockett straightened.

  Ben came closer, hugging an arm across his abdomen. His green eyes held a panicky look.

  “Crockett?” Jane had tears in her eyes. “He’s not breathing, is he?”

  Crockett couldn’t speak. Not since the war had he known this feeling, as though he had fallen off a cliff, but no land rushed up to meet him.

  Bowie pushed him aside and knelt by the old man. Crockett straightened and moved closer to Jane. He wanted to touch her, pull her away or take her in his arms or just pat her shoulder, but he couldn’t. Would she ever want him to touch her now?

  Houston hurried to Boyd’s other side. Ben stood back, gazing anxiously toward his father’s still form.

  Houston and Bowie talked in low tones across the man’s body, and Houston rose.

  “I’ll go for the sheriff.”

  Crockett was glad he had offered. He didn’t want to leave Jane right now, and he knew Bowie would avoid going into town if possible.

  “The sheriff?” Jane took a step toward him. She wobbled a little, and Crockett grasped her arm to steady her. “What about a doctor? Your brother Travis?”

  “It’s too late for that,” Houston said. “I’m sorry, Miss Jane.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped. He was still breathing hard from the blows he had received. “You mean, Pa’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Houston said, throwing a troubled glance at Crockett.

  “It’s not Crockett’s fault,” Ben said quickly.

  “Pa attacked Ben,” Jane added. “Crockett was trying to help Ben, and Pa hit him.”

  Crockett studied Ben, who looked as though he would keel over any moment. “You might ask Travis to come out here if he can, to see Ben,” Crockett said.

  “What about you?” Houston asked.

  “I’ll be all right. Sore ribs and skinned knuckles is all.”

  “I’m fine,” Ben said. “I can ride with Houston if y’all will stay here.” Crockett wondered if he wanted to get away from the sight of his father’s lifeless body.

  “Get your horse then,” Houston said. He walked toward the corral fence and gave a piercing whistle. His chestnut gelding lifted its head and trotted toward him. Ben went slowly into the barn for his saddle.

  Bowie stepped over to Crockett and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. I—I don’t know how to act.” Crockett looked at Jane, expecting to see anger or hatred in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jane.”

  “I know you are,” she said. “I don’t know what to think, or how to feel. It’s just … well, God knew this would happen, didn’t He?”

  “I suppose He did,” Crockett said. “But it’s the last thing I meant to happen. I didn’t want to hurt him, just knock him down so he’d quit fighting. I thought maybe once he was quiet we could talk to him about that money, and maybe he’d give us some straight answers.”

  “What money?” Bowie asked.

  Crockett sighed.

  Jane lifted her chin. “It’s some old money I found on this property. Your brother Chisholm took a sample and is looking into it for us.”

  “I see. Well, it’s in good hands, then.”

  “It’s just between us,” Crockett t
old his brother. “Nobody else knows except Ben. Well, Boyd overheard us talking about it. I’m pretty sure that’s why he tore into Ben.”

  Bowie nodded. “Just tell it all to the sheriff when he gets here.”

  “No fear,” Crockett said. “I’ll tell him everything I know.”

  “So will I,” Jane said staunchly. She glanced at him and back at Bowie. “Crockett won’t be in trouble, will he?”

  “I don’t think so. All of you saw what happened.”

  “Yes.” She frowned and walked over to the fence, avoiding looking at her father’s body.

  Chapter Eight

  Jane watched Ben ride out with Houston Hart. She could hear Crockett and Bowie behind her, talking softly where they stood near the barn. She sniffed. In the last five minutes, her life had changed, but how? The sun still glared down on them. The skinny cattle grazed on what little they could find. The new house still had only part of a roof.

  Would she actually live in that house? Would Ben stay, now that Pa wasn’t here any longer? Would he ride off to find his own life now? And what about Crockett—would he still want to come courting, after what he’d just done to her pa? Too many questions crowded her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned on the fence.

  Pa had made her life and Ben’s miserable the last ten years. A thousand times she had wished he would go off and not come back. She’d thought she and Ben could get along just fine on their own, without him. Maybe better than with him, since they wouldn’t have to worry about whether he ate anything that day, or where he got the latest jug of liquor, or if he was going to draw off and hit them for no good reason.

  But she hadn’t wished for him to die.

  Slowly, she turned. Crockett was sitting on the far edge of the bench, and his older brother was talking to him. She couldn’t hear what Bowie said, but Crockett’s face was sober. He’d killed a man. That must have brought him up short, but she couldn’t help him now. They weren’t talking about just any man. It was her pa. Could things ever be the same between them?

  Bereavement settled on her heart, not just for pa. She may well have lost Crockett, too, before he was really hers. She had dreamed of a life with him, and last night he’d seemed to want that, too. Could they look at each other across the breakfast table every morning, knowing he’d killed her father?

  Jane hauled in a deep breath and looked toward the clean, new little house. How foolish she had been to think her life had taken a turn for the better.

  She stood leaning on the fence. A half hour passed, and the sun didn’t seem to have moved. She ought to think about fixing dinner for the men. She took a few steps toward them, achy and stiff from hunching over the fence so long.

  Bowie had covered Pa with a saddle blanket—at least, she assumed Bowie did it while she was turned away, with her face to the range. Crockett still sat on the wobbly bench. He stood when she drew near.

  “Jane.” His brown eyes were broody, and his face was creased with lines, which made him look much older. She couldn’t talk to him now, not with all the contradictory thoughts that jabbed at her from all sides. Relief was the main one. Was that wrong? Guilt was a close second. Sorrow was somewhere down the list, but she knew it would probably catch up later, when the full import of Pa’s death became clear.

  She looked away, unable to hold Crockett’s troubled gaze. “I thought … I thought I should cook something.”

  “Don’t bother. Not for us.” He huffed out a breath. “We haven’t even set up your stove. Should have done that first, I guess.”

  Jane shook her head. “I’ll heat water for coffee over the fire, and there’s cans of beans and a few things left from last night.”

  Bowie eyed his brother closely. “We could get up on that roof and get a little more done.”

  “They should be back soon,” Crockett said.

  Bowie shrugged.

  “You go ahead,” Crockett told him. “I feel like one of us should stay here with … with Boyd.” He looked over at the blanketed body, and the creases on his brow deepened.

  “Thank you,” Jane said. “Thank you both. I’ll bring you some coffee.”

  A few embers glowed when she stirred up the debris in the fire ring, and she built up a blaze. The day was so hot, sweat beaded on her forehead. While she let the fire burn down to useful coals, she walked slowly to the doorway of the new house. Crockett had promised a sturdy door when the roof was finished. It had all seemed so full of promise. But he might be sitting in jail this afternoon.

  She squared her shoulders. She and Ben had both seen her father’s attack. Crockett did nothing wrong. Even so, he might have to go to trial. She had heard of men being charged with crimes they said they didn’t do, or that weren’t their fault, and having to go to court anyway, and sometimes spend years in prison. Of course, being a Hart would help Crockett’s case. Now, if Ben was the one who had accidentally killed Pa, would he go free? She wanted to think he would, especially since she and Crockett could testify for him.

  Shaking off her troubled thoughts, she went back to the fireside. This week, her few pots had stayed in a crate nearby, and she pulled out the coffeepot and took it over to the well to fill it. The brew was beginning to steam when she heard hoofbeats on the road from town. Ben, Houston, and Sheriff Watson came into view, and Jane stood motionless near the fire, watching their horses jog toward her. Bowie’s hammering stopped. Crockett came silently and stood beside her. He didn’t say anything, but Jane felt much stronger, just having the tall, lean man at her side.

  The sheriff swung to the ground and let his chestnut horse’s reins drop.

  “Miss Haymaker. Crockett.”

  “Sheriff,” Crockett said.

  “I understand there’s been a tragedy here.”

  “Yes, sir. Boyd’s over there.”

  They all turned and looked toward the body. Bowie had come down the ladder and walked toward them.

  Ben and Houston dismounted, and Houston took Ben’s reins from him. “You go on with the sheriff. I’ll tend the horses.”

  Ben nodded and led the way.

  Jane looked at Crockett. He held out his arm, as if they were going into church. She took it, because her legs were feeling a little shaky. They walked together to stand in the dust of the dooryard. The sheriff stood beside her pa’s body, and Bowie pulled off the horse blanket. Ben waited off to one side, not watching, but looking off toward the hills and the cave.

  The sheriff knelt down. Jane walked over to Ben and put her hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her and then away. She was startled when she realized his eyes were filled with tears. She rubbed his shoulder lightly.

  “It’s going to be all right, Ben,” she whispered.

  “Is it?”

  She didn’t have a real answer.

  After a moment, Ben said, “They’d better not blame Crockett.”

  “I don’t think they will.”

  Ben turned suddenly and scooped her into his arms. Jane was startled but then returned his embrace, comforted by his warmth and the fact that he had reached out to her. They’d had such little loving contact since their ma died. Once in a great while they had hugged or held hands when they felt especially sad, usually when Pa had been drinking and they’d had to hide to avoid his beatings.

  “Don’t you feel guilty, Ben.”

  “I do,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “I figured.” She held on to him a moment longer, then gently pulled away. She touched his cheek, and he looked full at her. “It’s not Crockett’s fault, and it’s not your fault. Pa brought this on himself.”

  Behind her, the sheriff cleared his throat. She turned to face him.

  “Crockett’s given me his story,” he said. “I’d like you both to tell me how it was. You first, Ben.”

  “Well, we were sitting on that bench talking, Crockett and I. I kinda forgot Pa was in the barn, sleeping.” He glanced at Crockett. “Janie brought us some cake, and Pa all of a sudden came out of the barn. He heard somet
hing we said, I guess.”

  “Who said?”

  “Jane and I, I reckon,” Ben said.

  “And what were you talking about?”

  The sheriff gazed steadily at Ben, and he lowered his eyes. “It was something private.”

  “Best tell me, son,” the sheriff said.

  “It’s all right,” Crockett said.

  Jane stepped forward. “I found some money about a week ago in a cave.” She pointed toward the hills. “It’s up yonder, and we’ve been sleeping up there since the house burned. But Chisholm Hart is looking into it.” She looked to Crockett, hoping he would corroborate her story.

  “That’s right,” Crockett said. “I asked Jane if I could show one of the bills to my brother, and he thought the Rangers might have some information on it. Maybe I should have told you first.”

  The sheriff was quiet for a moment. “Well, you and Chisholm are family.”

  “Yes, but I mostly wanted him to see it because it had been there a long time, and I thought maybe it had to do with an old case he knew about.”

  “I see,” the sheriff said.

  Jane wondered how offended he was that she and Crockett had consulted a Ranger, rather than going to him.

  “I’ll ask my brother to stop by and tell you anything you want to know about it,” Crockett said. Was it too little, too late? Jane had the uneasy feeling the sheriff might hold it against them that they hadn’t come directly to him. Maybe he would go harder on them because of that.

  “This was an accident,” she said. The men all looked at her. “Plain and simple, it was an accident. When Crockett hit my pa, he didn’t intend to kill him.”

  Crockett nodded. “She’s right. I wanted to slow him down so we could talk some sense into him. He was going after Ben pretty fierce.”

  “And Ben won’t hit back when Pa does that,” Jane added.

  “Janie.” Ben shook his head, his eyes not focusing on any of them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s the truth.” She put her hand protectively on Ben’s shoulder. “Pa’s been mean to us for a long time. Pretty much since Ma died. At first, I guess we were too scared to hit back. We’d try to hide and stay out of his way. But now … well, we kind of feel sorry for him. We wouldn’t want to really hurt him. And he doesn’t come at us as often as he used to.”