Sunrise Over Texas

by MJ Fredrick

  The house was bare wood and weathered, the roof patched haphazardly. The fields were overgrown, and only a cow and calf lingered near the barn, in an area where the chickens had scratched through to the earth. Was her mother still here? Was anyone still here?

  The battered door swung open and a slender woman stepped out on the porch, her face browned and lined by the sun and hard work. She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Katherine? That you?”

  Kit burst into tears. She dropped her satchel in the dirt and ran forward to embrace her mother. The older woman hesitated for a moment at the show of affection, then patted Kit’s back awkwardly.

  “It’s good to see you.” Ruth’s voice was rough with emotion.

  Kit couldn’t help comparing her mother’s primitive home to Trace’s fine, polished one. Her mother’s home was simple, built with Kit’s father’s own hands. The furniture inside was also handmade. This was what she would have had with John, had he lived. She would have been happy, content with it, had he stayed with her. Had he lived.

  Elaborating on what she had written so briefly in her letter from Austin’s colony, she told her mother of the report of John’s death, of Daniel’s illness and her own helplessness. She recounted her son’s death with dry eyes. She told her of the journey west from the fort, and of discovering John was alive. Still without a tear, she spoke of how she’d cared for him until he died, how she’d buried him.

  “And this child?” Her mother indicated her stomach. “If John was so ill…”

  Kit swallowed the first burn of tears. Only Agnes and Trace knew the truth about her child, but she couldn’t keep the truth from her mother. “The child isn’t John’s.”

  The tightening of her mother’s mouth was her only reaction. “A soldier?”

  “The man who escorted us from the fort.”

  “He took your body in payment?”

  Kit drew in a deep breath and lifted her gaze to her mother. “In love.”

  Ruth sat heavily back in her chair. “Katherine.”

  Kit’s nose burned. She would not cry over him anymore.

  “Where is he?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “Ah. You went to him first.”

  Kit didn’t know how to respond. “He needed to know.”

  Ruth’s mouth tightened more. “And he didn’t care to know.”

  “He planned to marry me. But he wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

  Ruth snuffed out a laugh. “And that was enough to send you away? Did he hit you?”

  Kit gaped. “No! Of course not! He’d never do such a thing.” But of course her mother’s experience had led her to expect very little civility from men. Kit took a deep breath. “I thought he loved me, Mother. I was wrong.”

  Ruth leaned forward then. “I don’t know where you got your ideas about love. You loved John. What did that get you but dragged around the country and widowed? You loved this other man and it got you pregnant and back home with your mama. What good is love, I ask you? If he didn’t hit you and he’s willing to marry you when you already showed a lack of morals, you’re foolish not to wed. You know your father and I didn’t have love when we wed, but we learned to respect and care for each other. That’s all you need.”

  Kit’s heart dropped like a ball of lead. Had she made a mistake, wanting more from Trace than he could give her? Was being married to him, raising this child with him, enough? She lowered her head to her hands folded on the table. Foolish, foolish.

  Her mother patted her head. “You’re worn out, no doubt. Take the bed, get a good night’s sleep. You’ll think clearer in the morning.”

  “I’m not going to take your bed, Mother.”

  “I’ll be fine on the floor. I don’t need much sleep these days, anyway.”

  Another kick of guilt. Kit had spilled all the news from her life and hadn’t asked her mother what had occurred in her life the past few years. By the looks of things, not much had changed. How could her mother bear living out here alone, everything the same day after day? Staying in the fort, even with Agnes and Mary for company, Kit had nearly lost her mind.

  Sleep would be good. She hadn’t slept at all last night, and the trip out here had been tense and exhausting. She nodded and rose stiffly. “I feel like I could sleep for a month.”

  “Everything will look better in the morning.”

  Those familiar words made Kit smile, for the first time in what seemed like days. “It’s good to see you, Mama.” She leaned down and kissed the top of her mother’s head before slipping into the other room and closing the door.

  ***

  Kit fell into old patterns the next few days, working around the farm, taking some of the responsibilities from her mother, making note of what needed to be taken care of. Already she had decided she wasn’t staying. She didn’t know where she’d go—back to Trace or back to Texas. Both would require swallowing pride. She didn’t savor either option, but she wouldn’t stay here, raising her baby alone with her mother on a failing farm.

  At least she felt rested and productive in a way she hadn’t since they left the fort. After an afternoon rainstorm, Kit dragged out the ladder from the rickety barn and climbed up to the roof of the house to hammer down some loose shingles. Her mother shouted protests as Kit maneuvered up the ladder, having to take her swelling belly into account as she climbed.

  Her mother gripped the base of the ladder. “You always were too stubborn for your own good. Be careful with my grandbaby.”

  As the words came out of her mouth, Kit tripped on the hem of the skirt of her old homespun, which she’d left mostly unbuttoned because of the fit and the heat. She caught herself before she slid down two rungs, splinters from the ladder digging into her palm.

  “Kit!” Ruth cried.

  “I’m fine.” She stopped, hiked her skirt up, tucking it into the waist of her dress before she continued up the ladder, now cautious of where she placed her hands, sore and bloody where the slivers of wood had embedded into the skin.

  She crawled on the roof on all fours, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a hammer and nails.

  “Kit!” Another urgent call from the bottom of the ladder carried up to her as the echo from her hammer faded.

  When she turned to see what her mother was worried about now, she saw the dust rising along the road.

  “We have company,” Ruth said needlessly.

  A lone rider on a horse. A familiar roan.

  She stood on the roof and shaded her eyes, straining for sight of Trace. It had to be him. She cursed her heart for racing with excitement, for swelling with hope.

  Her mouth felt dry as he came into view, his hair flopping beneath a grey felt hat, shoulders square and tight, though his hand was loose on the reins. Yet she couldn’t move as he drew his horse in and dismounted, sliding his hat back as he looked up at her.

  “Katherine, get my baby off that roof.”

  His words made her stiffen with temper. She pressed her hand to her stomach and looked into his exasperated face. “We are fine. And we’re not done yet.”

  He strode to the ladder, chasing Ruth out of the way, and took her place at the bottom, gripping the wooden posts in both hands.

  “Then I’ll come up there.”

  “Why are you here at all?”

  He placed a booted foot on the bottom rung. “For you.”

  Her heart did that traitorous flip again. “You didn’t want me when I came to you.”

  He climbed another step. “I did. I’ve wanted you since we were at the fort, when I saw how strong and brave you were.” Another step. “I saw how deeply you loved, how deeply you mourned, but you kept going anyway.” Another step. “And then you turned to me. So beautiful, so generous. You needed me, I needed you. And then you didn’t need me.” He halted halfway up the ladder.

  She’d stopped breathing, waiting to hear what he’d say next. But he seemed to be waiting now to hear from her.

  “I came to you an
d you were—you weren’t the same man I loved,” she told him. “You weren’t anyone I knew, anyone I wanted to know. I came to you carrying your child and you acted as if I was unwelcome in your life.”

  “I was an idiot. And scared.” He continued climbing, and was close enough for her to touch. “I’d lost you once. All I could think of when I saw you, when I saw—” He nodded toward her belly. “I lost everything that I loved before. Everything. All I could think of was that I couldn’t live through that again. So I pushed you away.”

  She swayed a bit. She’d known that was his fear, but she couldn’t give him assurances, not about the birth, not about three years down the road, not about anything but right now.

  “I know how you felt. If anyone knows, I do. There are no guarantees, Trace. We don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or when you get back on Atrius. All I can promise is to love you.”

  He climbed up on the roof and gripped her shoulders.

  “I know that. I understand that. It doesn’t excuse me from being an idiot. I love you, Katherine. Can you forgive me?”

  “I can, if you can give yourself to me, heart and soul, no matter what scares you. I want to be your partner, the one you turn to, the one you talk to. That’s the man I love. That’s the only thing I can accept.”

  “I want you to be my wife no matter what the conditions. I want you by my side every day. I want to wake up with you and go to bed with you. I want to look across the room and feel my heart kick because you’re standing there.” He eased closer, sliding his hands up to the back of her head. “I want to watch my child grow inside you.”

  Her gaze flickered at that, and he curved his fingers over her chin, drawing her gaze back to his.

  “We’ve been through enough. We can get through anything else together.”

  Tears sheened in her eyes. “I hope that’s true.”

  He stroked his fingertips over the soft hair at her hairline. “We have a life to start, and decisions to make.” He stepped back, taking both her hands in his. “Do you want to stay in Louisiana, or do you want to go back to Texas?”

  She laughed through the tears that choked her. “The entire time I was in Texas, I wanted to come back to Louisiana. Now, all I can think of is getting back.”

  He chuckled and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “It’s too crowded in New Orleans now. As soon as the baby’s born and you’re strong enough, let’s go home to Texas.”

  Epilogue

  The screams from the bedroom twisted Trace’s gut. They remained strong, though, not weakening as Angelina’s had. Kit battled to bring their child into the world, and the midwife wouldn’t let him in the room. So he paced the hall outside the door. Hours had passed. Kit’s next scream, dying into a groan, was all he could take. He busted through the door to see her leaning against pillows propped on the headboard, hair loose and plastered to her head with sweat, her face red and damp, her nightgown shoved up, her knees bent as she bore down.

  He was vaguely aware of the midwife shouting at him as he reached the side of the bed, curved his arm around her shoulders, felt the tension there as she strained to push the child out. Then the tightness eased and she rested her head against his shoulder.

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” she panted.

  “I can’t let you do this alone.”

  The midwife reached up to dab Kit’s face with a washcloth. Trace took it from her and eased it over her forehead. She tilted her head back so he could wipe her mouth. He pressed his lips to her temple.

  “You’re a strong girl.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “But you have a strong child here. And big.”

  “Not too big.” Alarmed, he met the midwife’s gaze.

  “Your wife has good hips, Mr. Watson. She’s not having a problem. These things take time, and you should go—”

  Before she could finish, he felt Kit’s muscles gathering, watched her jaw tense as she gripped her shins and bore down, air coming in a hiss through her teeth.

  “Coming, coming,” the midwife murmured encouragingly. “Just a few more pushes and you’ll be holding your baby.”

  Kit pulled in a breath as the next spasm hit her.

  “There’s the head. Give a little more, Mrs. Watson.”

  “Don’t have much…to give.” But she pushed, and with a sucking sound, his son slid into the world.

  Kit laid back against Trace, panting hard as he held his breath, waiting for the baby’s cry.

  “Big boy, your son,” the midwife murmured, her hands working briskly over the baby’s face. A lusty cry filled the room and Trace freed the air from his lungs as the midwife lay the child on Kit’s belly. Trace curved his hand over the baby’s dark-haired head and smiled at his exhausted wife.

  “Welcome to the world, George Daniel Watson.” And he kissed Kit with all the hopes and dreams for their future.

  About the Author

  MJ Fredrick knows about chasing dreams. Twelve years after she completed her first novel, she signed her first publishing contract. Now she divides her days between teaching fourth grade students how to write and diving into her own writing, traveling everywhere in her mind, from Belize to Honduras to Africa to the past.

  She’s a four-time Golden Heart finalist, and she won the 2009 Eppie Award with Hot Shot. Her romantic suspense titles include Hot Shot, Breaking Daylight, Beneath the Surface and Don’t Look Back. Her first book was a contemporary romance, Where There’s Smoke.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9054-3

  Copyright © 2010 by MJ Fredrick

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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