by Sandra Brown
Banner knew there was a bond between him and her parents, especially her mother, that was secret and sacred. They never spoke of it. It was a topic never discussed. But with the intuition of a child, Banner had always sensed that it was there. Whatever it was, she was glad of it, because it kept Jake in their lives.
She looked at her mother now as she and Ross came even with the first pew. "I love you, Mama," she whispered.
"I... we love you too," Lydia whispered back, including Ross in the endearment. Tears were standing in her eyes, but she was smiling.
Banner smiled on them both before facing the minister. Ross took his position between her and Grady.
"Who gives this woman in marriage?" the ;minister asked.
"Her mother and I."
Ross looked down into Banner's face. His green eyes were misty. He squeezed her hand, then slipped it into Grady's. He joined Lydia on the front pew.
Banner heard the shuffle of the crowd as everyone sat back down. She gazed into her groom's face, knowing that no woman in the world had ever been happier man she was at that moment. Grady was the man she had chosen to spend her life with. They would love each other the way Mama and Papa did. She would make him happy every day of his life, no matter what it took. She was just as certain of Grady's love as he looked down at her.
The minister began the ceremony. The poetic words took on new meaning for Banner. Yes, that phrase perfectly expressed what she felt for—
Crack!
The racket shattered the serene stillness in the church. The reverberation fell around Banner like pricking shards of glass.
Screams.
A rushing murmur rose from the congregation.
Banner whipped her head around.
Grady slumped against her.
A gaping wound bloomed red against his dark wedding suit.
TWO
"Grady!"
Beneath his sagging weight, Banner collapsed to the floor. He fell atop her. She struggled to a sitting position and gathered his head into her lap. Automatically she began loosening his necktie and collar. Small hiccupping sounds of pure terror stumbled from her throat. His eyes were opened and glazed with shock. He moved his lips uselessly but no words came out.
But he was still alive. Banner whimpered prayers of thankfulness as she covered the wound with her bare hand in an effort to stanch the flow of blood.
In the split second it all happened, Jake drew his pistol and whirled toward the man standing just outside the nearest window. He held a pistol aimed toward the front of the church.
"The bride gets it next." The warning was issued in a raspy, malevolent voice. It was underlined by a jabbing thrust of the pistol toward the altar.
Not only Jake but the River Bend hands attending the wedding had all drawn guns. They were trained on the man in the window. Frightened women leaned forward to bury their heads in their laps, covering them with their arms. Men were hunched down between the pews shielding their children from a threat that hadn't yet been determined or identified.
"Drop all them guns," the man shouted maniacally.
"Ross?" Jake said.
"Do as he says." At the first sound of gunfire, Ross had reflexively ducked and reached for his Colt, only to find it wasn't there. Who would have thought he would need his six-shooter at his daughter's wedding? He cursed viciously under his breath.
Jake regretfully tossed his pistol to the floor. The River Bend hands followed suit. Only then did the man at the tall window swing one leg over the low sill and step into the church. He pulled a young woman in behind him and shoved her forward with his palm in the small of her back.
"I'm Doggie Burns and this here is my precious girl, Wanda."
The two needed no introduction. Doggie Burns distilled the best moonshine in east Texas. He had customers who would travel miles for a supply of his West Virginia recipe. Few gave the man more than the time necessary to transact their business. He was shifty, wily, dangerous, downright mean, and anybody who had ever heard of him knew it.
He and the girl were filthy. Wanda's mousy brown hair hung lank and oily to her shoulders. The underarms of Doggie's shirt were ringed with generations of sweat stains. Their clothes were tattered and ineptly mended. They were a desecration to the pristine chapel, especially decorated as it was for the occasion. Like a fissure in an otherwise perfect diamond, they were all anyone could see and blotted out the beauty around them.
"Much as I hate to interrupt the proceeding," Burns said sarcastically, tipping his hat to Lydia before clamping it back on his greasy hair, "it's my duty as a father to stop this here weddin' from takin' place."
Grady groaned in pain and clutched the wound in his shoulder. "Please, somebody," Banner cried. "Help him." She had swept back her veil. Her eyes looked huge in her face. Lydia passed her a handkerchief to blot at the bleeding hole in Grady's shoulder.
"He ain't gonna die, girlie," Burns said, shifting his nasty wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. Brown rivers of its juice stained the lines around his mouth. "If I'd've intended to kill him, he wouldn't've felt the bullet what hit him. All I done was to put a stop to the weddin' on account of what this bastard's done to my girl."
By now the congregation realized that the situation posed no threat to them. Tentatively heads were raised. Burns's coarse language set up a murmur of righteous protest and a number of fans to waving.
"What do you want?" the minister demanded. "How dare you offend the Lord in His own house?"
"Just hold your horses, preacher. You'll get to recite them purty words, but it ain't gonna be over the two of them."
Lydia had come to her feet with the bullet's blast. Ross had kept a protective arm around her. Now he withdrew it and stepped forward. "All right, Burns, you've got everyone's attention. What do you want?"
"See this here belly my gal's got on her?" He pointed the barrel of his pistol at the girl's swollen abdomen. "It's pumped full of Sheldon's kid."
"That's not true!" Grady croaked.
"Why are you doing this? I don't understand!" Banner exclaimed, suddenly becoming aware of what was going on around her. Until now, Grady, in his pain, had commanded her full attention. "Why would you come in here and ruin my wedding like this? Why?"
Everyone in the church was enthralled. This kind of drama never occurred in a small town like Larsen. It would be a tale to entertain gossip circles for decades. The audience clung to every word.
"Justice," Burns said, flashing a disgusting smile. "Ain't right and proper for you to be marryin' up with him when he's done put a kid on my Wanda, now is it?"
Grady stirred and, despite Banner's restraining hands, struggled to stand up. Reeling drunkenly with pain, he focused on the Burnses. "She's not pregnant by me."
That very word being spoken aloud sent another ripple of murmurs through the witnesses.
Banner came to her feet, took Grady's arm and defiantly faced the father and daughter who were doing their best to ruin her perfect wedding day, her perfect life, her perfect future. She didn't even notice that the front of her lovely gown was stained red with her fiancés blood. Nor did she give heed to the speculative comments that were arising from the congregation.
Several men in the crowd had guiltily lowered their eyes. Lee was shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. He wouldn't meet tine rabid eyes of Doggie Burns, or look at the sullen and silent Wanda. Micah was swallowing convulsively. Ma Langston was staring at him with an inquiring glower that would have made an archangel feel guilty.
"Well, Wanda says it's you, Sheldon," Doggie said sneeringly. "Don'tcha, Wanda?" He nudged her forward so everyone had a clearer view of her abdomen, distended by pregnancy.
There was no shame in the eyes that slyly moved over the crowd. Her mouth wore a smug pout. Those men in the room who were guilty of furthering Wanda's sluttish reputation rued the day they had touched her and only thanked the Lord it was Grady Sheldon who had been named. Numerous pledges of abstinence soared he
avenward.
"It's his, all right," Wanda said sulkily. "He wouldn't stay away from me, kept comin' 'round when my daddy weren't home. Pesterin' me. He... he..."
"Go on, Wanda baby, tell 'em what he done."
She paused theatrically, then lowered her chin to her chest, picked at a piece of lint on her dress and mumbled, "He had his way with me."
"That's a damn lie!" Grady shouted over the furor that rose out of the pews.
Burns stepped forward, brandishing the pistol again. "You callin' my sweet daughter a liar?"
"If she says I forced her, yes."
Grady went white from more than blood loss and shock and pain. He realized in that instant that he had trapped himself. His eyes sliced first to Banner, who was as pale as her dress, then to Ross, who looked as dark as the devil himself. "I... uh... I mean..."
Ross lunged at him and grabbed his lapels, jerking him up so they met eye to eye. "Have you been keeping company with this slut while you were engaged to be married to my daughter?" he roared.
Jake had moved like quicksilver and was standing at Ross's elbow. When Grady began to moan with pain and sputter objections to Ross's rough treatment, Jake bent down and retrieved his pistol. Burns said nothing and made no move to stop him. The collective censorship had shifted. The congregation, assuming one personality, had turned their disparaging glances from the Burnses to Sheldon.
Jake cocked the Colt and shoved the long lethal barrel of it into the soft underside of Grady's chin. "Well, mister, we're waiting."
Grady threw both men a look of pure loathing. "Maybe I was with the girl a few times." Ross's knuckles turned white against Grady's dark coat. A feral growl rumbled in his chest. Grady stammered, "N-n-nearly every other man in town has bedded her. It could have been anybody."
"Every other man in town wasn't marrying my daughter," Ross snarled. He released Grady so abruptly the man almost buckled to the floor again.
"How could you?" Banner asked in the tense silence mat followed.
Grady swallowed hard and staggered toward her. "Banner," he said, reaching out imploringly.
"Don't touch me." She actually recoiled. "I can't stand to think of you touching me with the same hands you..." She turned to look at Wanda Burns, who was standing with one hand on her outthrust hip, wearing a gloating expression.
Banner spun on her heel and marched down the aisle of the church. This time her carriage and tread were militant, haughty, proud. Her mother went behind her, equally as undaunted. The Langstons scrambled after them. The River Bend cowboys, like a small army, filed out and closed ranks around them in the churchyard while they mounted horses and climbed into rigs.
Still at the altar, Ross was so furious he was rocking on the balls on his feet, visibly quaking with fury. His eyes were molten with rage. In front of the whole town, the preacher, anyone within hearing distance, he warned, "If you ever come near my daughter again, I'll kill you. Understand? And before I finish it, you'll be begging to die."
He spun around and stalked from the church. Jake held Grady a captive of his icy cold stare for a small eternity. Gradually he lowered the pistol and replaced it in his holster. "I'd love to kill you right now." The ring of his spurs was the only sound in the church as he went down the aisle.
When he stepped outside, Banner was sitting in the buggy enveloped in her mother's comforting arms. Her weeping was heart-wrenching. Her supporters were subdued. No one was meeting anyone else's eyes.
Jake vaulted into the saddle of his borrowed horse. Since Ross's primary concern was for his daughter, Jake assumed the role of leader. "Micah, Lee, hang back. If anyone follows us, let me know. Everyone else fan out. Keep, your eyes open." They followed his orders without question, forming a shield of feudal, loyalty to protect the family.
Jake nudged his horse toward the buggy leading the others. Ross, his face as hard as granite, was handling the reins while Banner and Lydia sat huddled together, weeping quietly. Ross glanced at Jake as he pulled his horse alongside them.
"Thanks."
Jake nodded tersely. Words were unnecessary.
* * *
River Bend was decorated for the wedding reception that would never take place. The lane leading up from the river road to the main house was the first insult to Banner's sensibilities. Each whitewashed fence post was decorated with ribbons and flowers.
Her misery was intensified when she looked at the house. The railing encircling the front porch was draped with garlands of blooming honeysuckle. Sprigs of yellow forsyth-ia had been used to decorate potted plants. Long tables had been set up in the front yard to accommodate all the food and drink that had been prepared days ahead of time for the multitude of guests who would never come. It was like looking at a nursery that had been lovingly prepared for a baby who had been stillborn.
Ross dropped to the ground from the buggy and assisted Lydia down. Jake dismounted and reached up for Banner's hand. She sat paralyzed, so benumbed by dismay that she didn't even notice Jake until he touched her arm and spoke her name softly. She glanced down and saw the sympathetic expression on his face. She smiled wanly as she accepted his hand. Laying her other hand on his shoulder, she let him swing her to the ground.
The cowboys rode toward the bunkhouse. A usually jovial, rowdy bunch, they were uncharacteristically glum. One of Anabeth's children was crankily complaining that he was thirsty. The baby was crying against his father's chest. Hector patted him, a little too hard. As silent and bleak as pallbearers, they trouped into the house.
Banner sustained another assault. Lydia had decorated the front parlor with baskets of flowers. Wedding presents that had been delivered, but were as yet unopened, were stacked on one of the several tables covered with lace cloths.
Banner shuddered on a sob. Ross came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Princess, I—"
"Please, Papa," she said quickly, not wanting to submit to tears in front of them all, "I need to be alone."
She hitched her skirts up in a way that poignantly reminded them of her tomboyishness a few years earlier, and raced up the stairs. A few seconds later, they heard the door to her bedroom slam.
"Sonofabitch," Ross said under his breath. He whipped off his coat and wrestled with his necktie. "I should have killed that bastard with my bare hands."
Lydia didn't even reprimand him for his language. "I can't believe it of him, really I can't. Oh, Ross, that Banner's heart should be broken like this, I..." She went into her husband's arms and began to cry. Ross led her into the parlor.
Ma confronted the situation practically. "Anabeth, take the young'uns into the kitchen and cut them a piece of that fancy cake the baker man brought out yesterday. No sense in it going to waste. You, Lee and Micah, take it out to the bunkhouse when Anabeth's done with it and tell the boys to polish it off.
"Marynell, you can start ladlin' up glasses of punch. I imagine everybody could use some. Hector, you sweat more than any man I ever did see. Take off that coat and tie before you melt."
Banner's wedding had provided an excuse for the Langstons to have a reunion. The family had traveled from Tennessee to Texas with Ross and Lydia. A friendship had developed between the Colemans and the Langstons that neither distance nor time had affected.
Ma Langston filled the role of grandmother to both Lee and Banner. Still tall and stout, she was an impressive woman, physically and spiritually strong, but gentle. Her scoldings were ear-blistering, but always love-inspired.
Zeke Langston had died so long ago Banner didn't even remember him. For a few years after his death, Ma had tried to work their homestead in the hill country west of Austin. During that time two of her children, Atlanta and Samuel, had died in a scarlet fever epidemic.
Fortuitously Anabeth, the eldest Langston daughter, had married a neighboring landowner and rancher, Hector Drummond. He was a widower with two young girls. They now had two boys of their own. He was managing the Langstons' land along with his. He had a small herd of beef cattl
e he was hoping to enlarge.
Marynell was somewhat of a bluestocking, having left home to attend school in Austin. She had worked as a Harvey House girl, waiting tables in the restaurant in the Santa Fe railroad depot to pay for her tuition. Now she was a teacher. She wasn't married and, if anyone asked, she declared she didn't intend to be.
Ross and Lydia had persuaded Ma to come live with them at River Bend when Hector took over the operation of her homestead. Ma hadn't agreed without laying down conditions. She refused to accept the Colemans' charity. She would work for her keep and so would Micah, the youngest Langston, who had been hired as a cowboy.
Ross had built Ma a small cabin. Behind it, in a field she cleared and cultivated herself, she grew and harvested all the vegetables eaten at River Bend. She also sewed for the family and ranch hands, as Lydia had never developed a talent with the needle.
The Langstons were as close as kin to the Colemans. Ma had no compunction about issuing orders whenever circumstances called for them. No one thought to question her instructions now and everyone scattered to obey them.
In the parlor, Jake was pouring Ross a tumbler of whiskey. He extended it to him wordlessly. Ross thanked him with his eyes. When the first rush of Lydia's tears had been dried, she lifted her head from her husband's shoulder. "I must go talk to her, but I don't know what to say."
"Hell if I do either," Ross grumbled, and tossed the whiskey down.
Lydia stood and smoothed her skirts. Before she left the room, she went to Jake and laid her hand along his cheek. "As always, we could count on your support."
He covered her hand, pressing. "Always," he said meaningfully.
* * *
It seemed fitting that her dress was covered with blood. She felt that her heart had been ripped out. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't believe that only hours ago she had gazed at herself—happy, unsuspecting, innocent.