Finally, he hugged her again, and said, “Welcome to El Regalo. Come in and have a seat.”
Chairs and place settings were procured, and Elise found herself seated at the massive dinner table. Bowie sat beside his father, GW, at the end of the table, and Elise sat on Bowie’s right. From this side, it was impossible to see his scars or eye patch, and she wondered if that had always been his seat at the table, or if he had changed after his return from the War.
Each of the brothers introduced themselves, and Elise covered her amusement at the pride the Hart men had in presenting their brides. There were fond gestures, a touch to the shoulder, a wink, a hand-clasp under the table edge that made Elise wistful. Clearly Bowie’s brothers had all made love matches.
When the oldest brother, Austin, introduced his wife, Bowie straightened. “So the mail-order thing must’ve worked out fine? Congratulations.”
The couple shared an amused glance, and Austin put his arm around his wife. “Not without some ups and downs, but yeah, I got the right girl for me.” He laughed. “We’ll have to tell you the story sometime.”
Bowie ate his meal and listened to the lively banter around him but didn’t join in, part of the group yet separate somehow. But something in him seemed to have eased. He was relaxed, not nearly as tense as he had been the entire journey from New York to Texas. Was it just that he was happy to be home? Elise felt at a loss, knowing so little about him compared to the people in this room.
Houston said from down the table, “You might be interested to know that the house is done except for the furniture and rugs and such. The workers finished the plastering and trimming out the doors and windows yesterday afternoon.”
Bowie nodded. “Travis, how’s Clara?”
Elise tensed. Who was Clara?
Travis—he was a doctor, Elise remembered that much—set his glass on the table. “She’s fine, though she’ll be glad to see you. She pined the whole time you were gone. Robbie checked in on her often, though.” He leaned past his wife, Annie, to wink at his young stepson, a child of about nine or ten, Elise guessed.
An unfamiliar feeling trickled through Elise. Someone named Clara pined for her husband? Who was this woman?
“I, for one, am glad you’re back, though,” Travis continued. “I didn’t want anything to happen to her with you away. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to a litter of puppies from Stonewall and Clara. Not to mention Robbie here and Emma’s brother David lining up to get one. If Clara doesn’t have at least three or four pups, there will be a lot of sad little boys.”
Chagrin heated Elise’s cheeks. A dog! She’d actually been … jealous … of a dog. She must be more tired than she thought.
Elise was overwhelmed by the time the meal finished. The exuberance of the Hart brothers, their vitality and masculinity, surged through the room. And the ladies were no less animated, chattering and laughing, clearly enjoying one another’s company. As they moved into the parlor, Elise began to wonder when she could decently plead fatigue and find a quiet spot to get her bearings.
Bowie noted the tiredness around Elise’s eyes and the way she bit her lower lip as she watched his family. They were a boisterous lot, he had to admit.
But as they grouped together on the settees and chairs and settled around the tables for chess and checkers in the parlor, for the first time in a long time, Bowie felt the equal to his brothers. Scarred and battered, a helpless prisoner for most of the War, yes, but he’d fulfilled the letter of his father’s command. Just like his brothers, he’d found a wife. He leaned against the mantel, arms crossed, watching her.
Elise sat between Coralee and Annie, Houston and Travis’s wives, and a burst of pride shot through Bowie’s chest.
She was his. His wife.
Her dark hair shone as light streamed in the tall windows. Though she had it all coiled and pinned up, he remembered how it had looked tumbling down her back and over her shoulders when he’d returned to the hotel room in Wichita. The sight had sucked all the wind out of his lungs and dried out his mouth.
She smoothed her skirts, and he compared her outfit to those of his covey of sisters-in-law. Yep, she fit right in. Another thrust of satisfaction shot through him. Buying her new clothes had been the right thing to do, and the least he could do to show his appreciation. After all, he owed her from way back and he owed her now. He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed or out of place amongst the Hart women.
He knew too well what it meant to feel out of place.
“You sure know how to keep a secret.” Austin nudged him, coming up on his blind side. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving?”
“I told Houston.”
“Yeah, a few minutes before you lit out. You sure didn’t tell anyone you were going to get a wife. Why not say something about Elise before?”
Bowie turned so he could see his older brother. “I don’t recall interfering in the courtships of any of you boys. Why should I invite you into mine?”
“I’m not asking to be invited into your courtship, but you do have to agree you dropped quite a cannonball into the water trough, showing up with a bride when none of us had a notion you even knew any unmarried ladies.”
Bowie shrugged. “I’ve known her for a long time.” Which wasn’t a lie.
“Well? How did you meet?” Austin asked, never taking his eyes from Rebekah as she chatted with Emma.
How much should he tell his family about himself and Elise? Not that theirs was a marriage of convenience, for sure. That was nobody else’s business. But he would have to tell them something.
“I met her during the War. She was a nurse at Fort Slocum hospital after Gettysburg.”
Austin stopped staring at his wife to finally look at Bowie. “That was more than ten years ago. Did you write letters all this time? How did I not know about this?”
“No letters. The last time I saw her, they were hauling me out of a hospital bed and shipping me off to prison.” He’d nearly been undone by the loss, by the tears in her eyes and the desperate way she’d fought with the doctor to prevent them from taking him. “Until I showed up on her doorstep in New York.”
“New York? How’d you even know where to find her? How’d you know she wouldn’t already be married with half-a-dozen kids?”
“She talked about where she lived, that after the War was over, she’d be living with her uncle who had a button factory in New Rochelle. I figured I’d start there, but I didn’t have to look far. She was working at the factory.” Actually, she was all but enslaved there. The bruise on her jaw had finally faded, but Bowie’s anger burned against her sorry excuse for a relative. Any man who would lift a hand against a woman was a coward who deserved to be beaten to shrapnel. “And I figured if she was already married, I wouldn’t propose.”
Austin laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, she’s pretty as can be, and she’s clearly taken with you. She watched you all through lunch, and she keeps peeking at you under those long lashes like you might disappear.”
Which merely meant that she was playing her part well.
“Bowie, come over here. I have something for you.” Pa came into the parlor, a long envelope in his hands.
A small cheer went up from his brothers, and Bowie couldn’t keep back a smile. At last.
“Son, I’m pleased as punch to give this to you. I’ll admit, I had my doubts, but you’ve proven up to the task. The first of November, 1874, and all you boys are married.” Pa handed the deed over. “I hope you and Elise have a long and happy life together, as happy as your mother and I were, God rest her soul.”
“Thank you, sir.” Bowie held the envelope in both hands. He was the equal of his brothers in this, too. He removed the papers and unfolded them.
“I took the liberty of penning Elise’s name on the deed, too.” Pa grinned. “Since it belongs to both of you now.”
Austin gave him another nudge, as if to remind him that his bride should be a part of this.
Hays called from across the room, “I couldn’t wait to kiss my bride when Pa handed over those papers, since she was the one who made it possible.”
The knot of insecurity Bowie carried around with him tightened in his chest. He wanted to throttle Hays for his ridiculous comment. No woman would want his ravaged lips against her skin. How could he give Elise a graceful escape?
But Elise was a better actress than he’d thought. She turned in his arm, put her hand to his damaged cheek, her fingertips just grazing the edge of his eye patch, and drew him toward her. Her soft brown eyes fluttered closed, and before he could draw a breath, her lips met his.
He felt as if he’d been struck with white-hot lightning. This was no quick peck to satisfy his family’s expectations. Her lips moved under his, and his embrace tightened. A growl formed in his throat, and he barely smothered it as her fingers threaded into his hair. The smell of jasmine surrounded him.
Laughter broke through his senses, and he remembered where he was. Elise stepped back quickly, smoothing her hair and looking anywhere but at him. Male satisfaction at her flustered appearance swept over him until he realized his own heart was pounding and his breath was coming too fast.
His sisters-in-law clapped, and Hays let out a long, low whistle, while Bowie tried to pretend nothing unusual had happened. Pa beamed, and Austin gave Bowie a long, speculative look.
By the time evening rolled around, Bowie had had his fill of the talk and laughter. As much as he enjoyed his family, he needed to get away from people for a while to feel like himself again. His brothers and their wives departed, two-by-two, until only Austin and Rebekah who lived at El Regalo together with Pa remained.
Bowie carried Elise’s new trunk up the stairs. Perla bustled by, her arms full of linens. “One moment, Señor Bowie. I put fresh sheets on the bed after dinner, and here are clean towels.” She opened the door to his room, already lamp-lit. Bowie paused, considering something he hadn’t thought about until now. With Austin and Rebekah and Pa in the house, not to mention Perla, he and Elise would have to share a room to keep up the notion that theirs was a normal marriage.
He set the trunk on the floor at the end of the bed. Elise stood in the doorway, her shoulders drooping. She straightened when Perla left, pausing to thank the woman for her kindness. The housekeeper smiled and closed the door behind her, leaving Bowie and Elise alone.
Perla had placed a bouquet of flowers on his bureau, something she’d never done before. Black-eyed Susans, old man’s beard, and purple horsemint in a blue pitcher, but he could smell only jasmine … whether he could actually smell it or was only remembering it, he wasn’t sure. His mind kept returning to that kiss, and he couldn’t be certain about anything.
Elise sighed and leaned back against the door. “Whew.”
“You did well today. It’s a lot to take in.”
“It is, but your family is delightful. They clearly care about you. Your father couldn’t be more proud of his sons.” She shook her head and removed the strings of her reticule from around her wrist. “Everyone was so nice. But I’ll admit, I’m ready for bed. I didn’t realize I was so tired until this minute.”
“Elise…” How could he explain that his family would expect them to share this room?
“I had a hard time not laughing when you almost called me Miss Rivers.” She sat on the side of the bed.
And I had a hard time remembering my own name when you kissed me.
“Elise, I really appreciate everything you did today. My family is satisfied that we’re a happily married couple. But, the thing is…”
“… they’re going to expect us to share this room.” Her gaze didn’t flinch. “Of course they are.”
Her calm acceptance of the situation surprised him. “You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She grimaced. “Bowie, I realized something when I was surrounded by all your relatives, when I read my name next to yours on that deed, even more than when I saw it on the marriage certificate.”
Was she sorry? Was she going to back out? Something akin to panic clawed its way up his chest.
“I realized that this marriage is permanent. Whether in-name or not, we are bound together. You can’t sleep on the floor for the rest of your life. We can certainly comport ourselves with propriety. You can stay on your side of the bed, and I on mine, and we can both get a good night’s sleep.”
Once again she stunned him. He needed to get out of here and sort this out in his mind.
“I thought I’d go check on Clara and Stonewall before bed. I imagine you’ll be asleep when I get back.”
She blinked, and after a moment stood and touched him on the arm. “I’ll say good night, then.”
He carried her sweet smile with him as he descended the stairs and went outside.
Clara greeted him in the barn, wriggling and lapping at his hand. Stonewall didn’t rise from his straw bed, merely lifting his head for a moment before curling up again. Bowie ran his hand down Clara’s plump side. “Not long now, huh girl? Tomorrow, we’ll get you moved out to our new place.”
He inhaled the familiar scents of hay and leather and horses in the cavernous barn, grateful to be home. The crowded cities, the smoke and rattle of the train, the constant presence of strangers … he shook his head. He was a Texan, through and through, and now that Elise was on the 7 Heart, he couldn’t imagine a reason he’d ever have to travel that far from home again.
But now he needed to travel back to the house, to that room, to that bed. Bowie didn’t particularly relish sleeping on the floor or sitting up as he had on the train. But the thought of sleeping in a bed with Elise scared him.
Not Elise herself. No, it was the nightmares that kept him from sleeping beside his bride. It was that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept the night through without waking in a cold sweat, reliving battles and prison and pain. It embarrassed him, but up to now, he’d been able to keep it to himself … until Elise had gotten past his defenses on the stagecoach.
But she didn’t know that his nightmares were an every-night occurrence. He patted Clara once more, stepped outside into the moonlight, and forced himself to go back to the house.
Chapter Four
Elise wakened wrapped in her husband’s arms.
She couldn’t remember him coming to bed the night before, though she’d tried to stay awake. After donning a new nightgown, she’d brushed her hair, wishing she had a looking glass larger than the square shaving mirror tacked to the wall above the washstand. Still, she could understand Bowie not wanting a larger mirror, since he seemed so conscious of his scars. She slid into bed, wondering which side Bowie slept on, and trying to quell the flutters in her stomach and the trembles in her legs at the thought of sleeping in a man’s bed.
You are a married woman. Use some of that reason and logic you just gave Bowie and stop being so silly.
She yawned, her eyelids heavy. Would he come back? What if he stayed away all night and his family came to know of it. What would they think?
And then it was morning and she was waking up, snuggled against his side, warm and drowsy and safe. More comfortable than she could ever remember being. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, his arm held her close, and her hand lay on his broad chest, rising and falling, clocking his steady heartbeat. She had clearly crossed the centerline of the bed. And if he awoke, how was she going to explain that? But it felt so good.
Don’t move. Hang on to this moment as long as possible.
Sunlight slanted across the bed, so it must be well after time to rise, but s
he couldn’t make herself stir. His warmth and masculine scent wrapped around her, and she breathed deeply. It had been a long time since she felt this protected and cherished. Her life had been bereft of care and tenderness since her parents’ deaths, and she’d been so alone all those years.
But now she had a husband, and an extended family, and a place to put down roots. “Good morning.” His voice rumbled under her ear, deep and raspy but tinged with humor.
How long had he been awake?
She pressed herself up on her elbow, looking at his face with a gasp, mortified to be caught cuddled up against him.
For the first time since she’d removed his bandages in the hospital so long ago, she saw him without his eye patch. The place where his eye should be was just an empty socket, dry and healed. She felt a rush of pride that he had recovered so well, and that she had a small part in that recovery. Now if only she could find a way to melt into the mattress until she recovered from the shock of being caught in his arms.
He tensed at her gasp. His face hardened, and he yanked his arm from around her, rolling away, slipping into his pants, reaching for the eye patch on the bedside table, and securing it before turning around.
She put her fingers to her lips, chagrinned at having been so bold as to move off her side of the bed, and even more scandalized that he’d awakened before she could sneak back onto her own. But she hadn’t done it consciously. Should she apologize? Say it was an accident? If she did, would he believe her, and would it embarrass him further? Before she could say anything, he reached for his shirt on the chair back, his movements hurried and jerky.
“It’s late, and we have a lot to do today.” He stuffed his shirt into his pants and buttoned it up, looking out the window. He stomped his feet into his boots, his face hard, accusatory even. “We’re moving to the new house. I’ll bring a wagon around to the back door. Pa’s loaning us some things until you can order whatever furniture you want.” The last words were said as he closed the door behind himself.
Seven Brides for Seven Texans Romance Collection Page 51