This was not the first time their lips had met. She’d kissed him at the Red Mule, but that had been hasty and unplanned. Vaguely she remembered him kissing her on the night of the statehood celebration, but she’d been too inebriated to fully enjoy the experience. Now, she savored every nuance, cherishing each sweet sensation, knowing this kiss they shared would leave an indelible mark upon her heart.
Upstairs, a door opened and closed. Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Lucille stiffened and pushed herself away from Tom. “You’ve got to go now.” Shock traveled through her as she fully realized what she’d done.
“Good night,” he whispered, grinning like a jackass eating sweet briars. “I’ll be back tomorrow for more.” With a wink, he slipped out the door.
* * * *
Since Faith had come into their home, Lucille and her mother took turns alternately caring for the child and running the dressmaking shop. Although it was her turn, the next day, to remain at home, Lucille chose to drive into town early that afternoon. The autumn day had turned uncharacteristically warm, and she’d taken advantage of the pleasant weather.
She cradled Faith close as she climbed the stairs, then hurried into the mercantile. With the money Tom had given her in her pocketbook, she eagerly looked forward to selecting a gift for Faith. She looked forward, too, to the opportunity to show off the precious little bundle she carried in her arms.
“She’s the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen,” Amanda Phillips declared, pulling back the baby’s blankets to play a little game of peek-a-boo. “And believe me, I’ve seen a lot of babies in my day.”
Lucille smiled. “She’s such a good baby. She’s already sleeping through the night, and even though she’s only five months old, I think she’s quite clever. Why, she giggles, and makes noises, almost as if she’s trying to carry on a real conversation.”
A broad figure emerged from behind a tall row of shelving. “Of course she’s clever. She’s got my blood in her veins.”
Caught by surprise, Lucille and Amanda exchanged curious glances then looked to their left. Charlotte Henderson stood a short distance away, glowering at both women.
“Good afternoon, Charlotte.” Lucille made every effort to be cordial. “How nice to see you.”
“Forget the pleasantries. It’s all a damned lie, and we both know it. You’re no more glad to see me than you’d be to greet a grizzly bear, and I reckon that’s about how you see me, isn’t it?” She made a snorting, growling noise, and took a step toward Lucille.
Lucille instinctively backed away. So did Amanda.
“You know, I’m going to get my baby back.” She nodded toward the blanketed-bundle.
“Don’t be silly, Charlotte.” Lucille’s laugh sounded forced. “She isn’t your baby.”
“She sure as shooting isn’t yours either, and don’t you dare take that condescending attitude with me, young lady. Didn’t your folks ever teach you to respect your elders?”
“Yes, of course, but only if they deserve respect,” Lucille retorted. Turning her back to Charlotte, she headed for the door.
“I’m warning you,” Charlotte’s voice called after her. “You’d better keep a close eye on that baby, Miss McIntyre, because I will be watching. If you turn your back for even a moment, I’ll take her away from you.”
Lucille felt a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she jumped, then with relief, saw Amanda standing at her side.
“Pay her no mind,” Amanda advised. “She’s all talk. It’s obvious she’s been drinking.”
“Yes, I’m sure she has.”
She thought again of Tom’s suggestion that they conduct his reading and writing lessons at the cabin so that Charlotte could spend time with her granddaughter. More grateful than ever that she hadn’t allowed Tom’s pleas to sway her, Lucille knew she’d done the right thing. She would never let Charlotte get close to Faith. Just because the woman was blood-kin didn’t give her rights she didn’t deserve.
When Tom arrived that evening, she said nothing to him about the encounter with his mother. In fact, she soon forgot all about it, so taken was she by the man’s undeniable charm.
As the lessons continued over the following weeks, Lucille enjoyed the time they spent together. His natural intelligence surprised her. Tom was a quick learner.
He was also a true gentleman, she realized, trying to hide her disappointment when he made no further attempts to kiss her.
* * * *
September slipped away. The days grew shorter, the nights cooler, and the people in and around Sunset prepared for the coming winter. Lucille dreaded the approach of the holiday season and the memories of her father’s death, yet she felt a keen anticipation, as well.
Because of Faith, and also because of Tom.
There would be celebrations throughout town at Thanksgiving and at Christmas. Secretly she hoped Tom might suggest they attend together. She truly enjoyed his company.
On Thursday evening, Lucille dressed in a most becoming frock. She took a bit more time than usual to brush her hair and arrange it in what she hoped was an alluring fashion. Tom would come by that evening for his next lesson, and as always, she found herself eagerly awaiting his arrival. Time and again, as she paced the foyer, she stopped in front of the hall mirror and glanced toward her reflection, checking her appearance.
The sun had nearly gone down when, at last, she heard footsteps on the porch. Her ears perked up even as an odd sense of disappointment rushed in. The footsteps were unfamiliar ones. Too light and too quick to belong to a man like Tom Henderson.
When the bell rang and she opened the door to see a young boy standing there, she knew her regret showed.
“Yes, can I help you?” Instead of looking at the boy, she lifted her gaze to scan the horizon, searching yet for any sign of a horse and rider.
“Message for Miss McIntyre.” The boy held up an envelope.
“I’m Miss McIntyre.” She reached for the note, but the boy drew it back and held out an empty hand. Palm up. “Wait here.” A moment later she returned to the doorway, a copper coin clutched in her fist. She placed it in his hand. “Are you supposed to wait for a reply?” she asked.
“No, Miss McIntyre.” He thrust the letter toward her, then when she accepted it, he tipped his cap and turned away.
Lucille tore the envelope open, her heart pounding. Messengers never brought good news, only word of misfortunes, accidents—or worse.
As she pulled the paper out, she saw the carefully-formed block letters, recognizing at once Tom’s neat but labored script. He’d made such wondrous progress in a short time. Although Lucille didn’t feel she should take credit for his success, it nevertheless made her proud.
But why would Tom be sending a message? Her heartbeat quickened.
She read the note—only a few lines—then crumpled the paper. He would have to put his studies aside for a time, he wrote. No further explanation was given.
Maybe he felt he’d learned enough already.
Or maybe he no longer wanted to spend his evenings with her.
Lucille sighed. She would miss Tom.
At least, she still had Faith.
Chapter Eight
The afternoon sun hung low in the October sky, a huge red ball looming at the edge of the horizon. Autumn had always been Tom’s favorite time of year. The searing heat of earlier months had passed now. While bitter cold, ice, and snow would soon threaten the land, this glorious golden moment in between summer and winter always made him feel alive. Today, perhaps, even more so than usual.
He rode slowly toward home, satisfied at having completed another long, grueling shift out on the range. He’d hired on for the fall drive at the J Bar K, the ranch owned by Joshua and Kat Barron. Gustavo, his old amigo from the Flying W, had also left Wes Randall’s employ and signed up at the Barrons’ ranch. Although Tom missed having time for his lessons with Lucille, it was good to be working hard, and good to see Goose again too.
For
the last several days they’d worked alongside the other hands, riding out to round up the cattle and bring them into the corrals. Physical exertion strengthened a man in many ways. Not just his body, but his spirit.
Especially his spirit. At least, when that hard work led to real possibilities for the future.
Goose had taken him aside, told him about a band of wild horses he had spotted out in the rocky hills to the west. He’d seen them several times.
Thinking now about the possibilities, Tom leaned back in the saddle and grinned. Although he had yet to lay eyes on the wild herd himself, he trusted the Mexican. They were two different men from two different lands, but they shared the same dreams—dreams of building a future for themselves and for those they loved.
As soon as time allowed, he and Goose would ride together and scout the area. If they could find those mustangs and trap them, they could drive them to market and sell them at a good profit. With his knowledge of horses, Tom had no doubt they could succeed in the enterprise. Maybe Wes Randall had done him a favor by firing him. Now he could utilize his skills for his own benefit instead of working to make another man rich.
As Tom neared the cabin he heard shouting, and an uneasy feeling settled over him. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could sure enough distinguish the voices. One belonged to his mother, the other to Abner Kellerman. From the sound of it, they were both liquored up on tarantula juice and having themselves one hell of a row.
Tom urged Dandy, his big blue roan, into a canter and rode on, but before he reached the cabin, Kellerman’s old buggy came bouncing over the ground, passing within a few yards of him. The doctor kept his gaze straight ahead, not even acknowledging Tom.
Ahead, he could hear his mother howling like some banshee. Obviously she’d had a spat with Abner. Tom’s good mood quickly soured. Even on the best days, his mother wasn’t all that pleasant. After a fight with her only friend, she wouldn’t be fit to be around. For a moment, he considered riding right back into Sunset, heading for the Red Mule, and having a few drinks of his own, but that’s more than likely where Abner would end up. Given a choice, Tom would prefer not to spend time with either one of the two, but all things considered, he’d rather put up with his mother than listen to Kellerman’s side of the argument. Tom didn’t much care for taking sides in whatever disagreement they’d had but felt obligated to stand with his mother. He’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t.
Her frantic cries stopped, and a sense of dread settled over him. The closer he got to the cabin, the more ill at ease he became. Even the air seemed to have a peculiar feel about it—heavy and oppressive. The skies had turned dark as the sun slipped below the horizon. Tom slowed his horse to a walk as he rode into the yard. In the gloom of the late evening shadows, he almost didn’t see the body sprawled out on the ground. He jerked back hard on the reins.
“Ma! What the hell happened?”
She lay spread-eagled, face down in the mud. He called to her a second time, but still she made no movement. For a moment Tom wondered if she were dead or alive. Maybe he ought to be ashamed that he felt no emotion either way. But then she lifted her head, opened one eye, and grunted a few unintelligible words.
“I’m not picking you up,” he called as he rode on toward the corral. “Far as I’m concerned, you can stay there and rot.”
He took his own sweet time unsaddling Dandy, rubbing him down, and filling the trough. Now and then he glanced over his shoulder, wondering why he bothered. In her condition, Ma wasn’t going anywhere, at least, not anytime soon.
When he came from the corral, she was still prone, her body shivering from the chill night air.
“Damn it, Ma. You can’t stay out here. Get up and get inside.”
“He’s gone,” she whined. “I tried to stop him. He just drove away. Said he’s never coming back.”
Obviously she wasn’t going to move on her own. Tom crouched down beside her.
“Forget him. Come on, let’s get you into the house.” The stench coming from her body gagged him as he lifted her up in his arms. Sweat, dirt, and cheap booze came together to produce a nauseating odor. She coughed, her mouth hung open, and Tom had to turn his face away from the foul-smelling breath. “You’re drunk again. When are you ever going to learn, Ma?”
Fighting to control the fury growing inside of him, he tossed her limp form onto the bed, then yanked a quilt from a pile of dirty blankets and threw it over her.
She pushed at the covers with her hands and struggled to sit up.
“Tommy, I got to—” Her words ended in another fit of coughing. She leaned her head over the side of the bed and hurled a wad of spit onto the floor.
“Damn it, Ma! Stop it. You’re disgusting, and I’m tired of cleaning up after you.”
“Got to get up.” She wheezed out the words in between more coughing. “Gotta clean up this place. Gotta get my baby back.”
Tom placed a hand at his mother’s cheek. Her skin was afire with fever. Her breathing came out labored and harsh.
“You’re not doing anything.” He pushed her down onto the bed. “You’re sick, Ma.”
Sick. Drunk. Delirious. How was he supposed to deal with all of it at once?
“When’s the baby coming home, Tommy?” She grabbed at his sleeve. “That baby loves me. She’s the only one who loves me.” She burst into sobs, her shoulders quivering. “I thought Abner loved me, but he’s like all the rest of them. You know how men are. Just take what they can get.” Tears streamed from her eyes.
“Hush, Ma. I’m sure he’ll be back.” He had no right to say such a thing, but his mother needed whatever reassurance he could offer. In her delirium, she wouldn’t remember a word he said or any promises he made.
“I don’t care about him anymore. I don’t care if he comes back or not.” She sniffled and burrowed deeper into the covers. “I just want my baby. When’s my baby coming home, Tommy?” She reached for his hands, but the effort proved too much for her. Her arms fell limp at her sides and she moaned softly. “I need my baby.”
Tom wiped a hand across his brow. Making false promises—even to a sick woman who wouldn’t remember a word he said—didn’t set right with him.
No more lies, he decided. No more covering up the truth. It was like trying to cover up the smell of liquor. Ma attempted to hide it with cheap cologne or peppermint drops, but that only made it stink even more. Same with the words a person spoke. Trying to sweeten them didn’t mask the ugly truth. “You’re damned lucky I’m a patient man, otherwise I’d throw your ass out of here so fast, your head would spin. Not that it’s not already spinning,” he said, noting the incoherent look in her eyes. “I know you’re sick, awful sick, and I suppose I ought to feel really bad about that. Maybe I ought to even worry about whether you’re going to live or die, but frankly, right now, I’m not sure I care. You’d be a hell of a lot less trouble if you were dead.” He glared down at her, his emotions surging. “You’re still so damned drunk, you don’t even know what’s going on around you. You don’t know a thing I’m saying.”
Whiskey bottles lay scattered across the room, and the smell of unwashed bodies from the bed brought back memories from the past too shameful to bear. As a boy, he’d been helpless, unable to put a stop to the awful scenes he’d witnessed, the appalling sights he’d seen, the reprehensible sounds he’d heard.
Now, a grown man, he was in a position to take action, to unleash all the agony and put a stop to the misery. Tom grabbed a whiskey bottle from the bureau and slammed it against the wall. It shattered into thousands of sharp-edged pieces, each separate one another reminder of disgrace and unutterable sorrow. He hurled another bottle, and another. The stench of whiskey rose on the air like the perfume of a two-dollar whore.
“Tommy, you’re breaking—” Too weak to talk, his mother tried to sit up, then fell back into the bed again, the effort far more than she could muster.
“Better these bottles than your neck, that’s all I’ve got to
say.”
“Please…don’t…”
“Ma, you’ve had enough. Don’t you understand?” His fury spent, he sank down onto the foot of the bed. “Listen to me. If you want to get Faith back, things have to change around here. You’ve got to stop drinking. There’s no way we can keep that baby if you’re getting drunk every day.”
She wasn’t listening. Her eyes closed and she drifted off into a restless sleep. Her son stayed at her bedside, pulling blankets up over her when she shook with chills, then wiping her brow with a wet rag when the fever rose again. He did his best to get her to drink a little broth, but she clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.
Toward dawn, he dozed off for a few minutes, then came wide awake when his mother’s keening voice shattered his dreams.
“She stole her! That awful girl stole my baby.”
“Ma, stay still.” Tom jumped up and placed strong hands on his mother’s shoulders to keep her in her bed. “You’re sick. You’re talking crazy.”
He scratched at the day’s growth of beard. Probably looked a bit scraggly at the moment, but shaving his face was the last thing on his mind. Damn it, but what was he supposed to do with his mother now? The thought of leaving her alone worried him, but he had to summon help.
“I want you to stay in bed. I’m riding into town. I’ll get Mrs. Phillips and have her come out here to take a look at you.”
“No. Get Abner.” The words wheezed out between labored breaths. “Please, Tommy. I want to see him.”
Did she remember the quarrel they’d had? Did it matter? Obviously not. For that matter, he probably wouldn’t remember it either, judging from the amount of alcohol the pair of them had consumed.
His mother might not make it through another day, and if she died now, he would be responsible. He was the one who’d left her lying out in the cold, wet mud. He’d been the one too angry to help, too bitter to care.
KeepingFaithCole Page 12