When Love Comes

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Haven’t you finished dusting yet?” her mother asked.

  It was impossible to finish dusting in Texas. By the time she finished with the last piece of furniture, a new layer of dust had begun to settle on the first. “Yes, I’m done.”

  “Then what are you doing standing there?”

  “I keep wondering what Papa meant when he said I was to look to the secretaire if we were in trouble. I read every piece of paper in it without finding anything helpful.”

  “Did you look in the secret drawer?”

  It was hard to describe the effect that question had on her. She felt as if the ground had fallen away from under her at the same time she felt an upsurge of hope. “What secret drawer? Papa never said anything about a secret drawer.”

  “Of course not. It wouldn’t have been secret if he had.”

  Amanda bit back the response that sprang to her mind. “You never said anything about a secret drawer.”

  “I was too upset when your father died to think of it.”

  “He’s been dead over a year. Why didn’t you say something about it before now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

  Swallowing another response she decided not to utter, Amanda shrugged in defeat. “I don’t see how knowing there’s a secret drawer in that secretaire is going to help us when we don’t know where it is or how to open it.”

  “You forget this used to be my father’s desk,” her mother said. “He showed me where it is and how to open it.”

  Amanda’s tingle of excitement was tempered by her doubt the drawer could contain anything that would solve their problems. “Can you open it now?”

  Her mother shrugged and walked over to the secretaire. She opened it, reached under a decorative piece of wood that fronted the base of the row of cubbies, and pushed something that caused the piece of wood to slide less than an inch forward, revealing itself as the front of a long, shallow drawer. Her mother gripped the drawer with her fingertips and pulled it open.

  Some papers occupied the right corner of the drawer, but Amanda’s eyes were drawn to the gold coins scattered across the majority of the drawer. She didn’t know how much money was there, but she was certain it was more than enough to pay off the debt on the bull.

  It took a moment for her to catch her breath, to calm her racing heart, before she could speak. “Did you know about this?” she asked her mother.

  “Your father never discussed business with me.”

  “Why didn’t he tell you about the contract for the bull? Why didn’t he tell you about the money? You said he told you everything.”

  Her mother looked abashed. “He might have, but I didn’t want to know. My mother taught me it was unsuitable for a lady to interest herself in anything beyond the household accounts.”

  Her grandmother could never have anticipated a war that would change the way her daughter would have to live. “Well, you need to be interested in everything now. Let’s see how much money we have here.”

  Why had her father not told anyone about the money? They could have sold the secretaire and never realized what was hidden inside.

  “What are you doing?” Eddie’s eyes grew wide when he saw the gold coins. “Where did you get all that money?”

  “It’s Papa’s money,” Amanda said. “I mean it’s our money. Papa hid it in the secretaire for us.”

  “Did you know?” Eddie asked.

  “No.”

  Eddie studied the coins a moment. “Do we have enough to buy me a horse?”

  Her mother paused. “You have three horses.”

  “They’re no good. I want a horse like Broc’s.”

  “Have you considered selling your three horses for one really good one?”

  Clearly Eddie hadn’t, but he was apparently giving it serious consideration now.

  By the time Amanda and her mother finished, they had counted more than two thousand dollars. Her head was spinning from the double shock of finding so much money and realizing the future of the ranch was assured. “I think we ought to put it in the bank,” she said to her mother.

  “Your father never trusted banks,” her mother reminded her.

  “And because of that, we nearly lost the ranch. What if you’d sold the secretaire?”

  “I never would.”

  “But what if you had? What if lightning had struck the house and it had burned?”

  “Does gold burn up?” Eddie asked.

  “No, but it can be lost or stolen. I think we ought to put the money in the bank. It’s what Broc would do,” she said when her mother looked doubtful.

  Her mother wasn’t convinced, but she shrugged. “You know more about all this than I do. Do what you think is best.”

  Amanda gathered up the coins and put them back in the drawer. “I’ll ride into town as soon as the weather clears. Right now I want to see what’s in these papers.”

  Amanda moved to a window to take advantage of the meager light coming through. The first sheets of paper were deeds to the ranch, the saloon and diner, and several bills of sale, including one for the bull. There was some tax information, business records, and several other sheets that she put aside to be read more closely when she had the time. The last document stopped her in her tracks. Certain she must have misunderstood something, she went back to the beginning and read the entire document over again. Nothing changed. She had understood every word. She was so angry she had trouble breathing.

  “What’s wrong?” her mother asked. “You look white as a sheet.”

  “The son of a bitch! The goddamned son of a bitch!”

  “Amanda Liscomb!” her mother exclaimed. “I will not have that kind of language in my house. I can’t believe those horrible words actually came from your mouth.”

  “If you had read what I’ve just read, you’d be cussing, too.”

  “Nothing could make me lose such control of myself,” her mother stated with a kind of stiff-necked pride that inflamed rather than cooled Amanda’s anger. She thrust the document into her mother’s hands.

  Her mother read it through with such painful slowness, it was all Amanda could do to keep from taking the document and reading it aloud. Her restraint finally had its reward. When her mother reached the end of the document, she raised stunned eyes to her daughter.

  “Show me how to put bullets in that gun. I intend to shoot that man.”

  Amanda burst into Corby’s office, pointed an accusing finger at him that still shook from anger, then turned to the sheriff, who had followed in her wake. “Arrest that man for a liar and a thief. He has refused to pay his debts and tried to steal my family’s share of the saloon and diner.”

  Corby couldn’t have looked more surprised if the ghost of his dead partner had climbed out of his grave to accuse him. “You’ve been very worried and probably working too hard,” Corby said, “but that’s no reason to start acting like your mother. I don’t know what has gotten you so upset, but I’m sure if we—”

  “This has gotten me upset.” It was all Amanda could do to keep from shouting as she waved the document in front of Corby. “You told us Papa had sold you the diner and the saloon. That was a lie. And you never said anything about agreeing to make Papa’s payments for the bull—even when you knew that judge in Crystal Springs was trying to collect the debt from us.”

  Corby lost color but didn’t act like a man caught in a web of guilty lies. In a way he actually seemed relieved. For a moment, Amanda had a horrible feeling something still more shocking was about to be revealed.

  “I wasn’t trying to steal the diner or saloon from you,” Corby said. “You might say I was saving them for your family.”

  “How?” Amanda was so flabbergasted by his attitude, she couldn’t find words to express her feelings.

  “Your father didn’t want to buy that ranch,” Corby told her. “He only bought it because your mother wouldn’t give him any peace.”

  Amanda hated to admit Corby was rig
ht, but all three children had been witness to her mother’s relentless campaign to force her husband to find a more respectable way to make a living.

  “Your father loved towns and people,” Corby continued. “He didn’t know anything about cows and didn’t want to learn. He was afraid the ranch would fail, so he was determined to hang on to the saloon and the diner for his family. We agreed that after he was gone, I would get his share of the income from the business until his debts had been paid off. After that, the income would revert to the family.”

  “Why didn’t he tell us that?” Amanda asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Your father knew he was sick. He wanted to make sure there was someone to take care of you and your family after he was gone. I was his partner and I wanted to marry you. I was the logical person to be his confidant.”

  Amanda felt like the stuffing had been pulled out of her. She didn’t want to believe Corby—she still didn’t believe he’d acted ethically—but too many things made sense. Her father didn’t trust his family enough to tell them about his illness or his businesses. He didn’t trust anyone when it came to money. “What about paying for the bull?” That was one thing Corby couldn’t explain away.

  “I told him he was paying too much, but he insisted it was the only way the ranch would be a success. When he died, I figured I’d paid enough, so I didn’t pay any more.”

  Any court of law would declare Corby guilty on several counts, but somehow he’d managed to slither beyond the range of her outrage. She didn’t agree with what he’d done, but according to Corby’s own twisted thinking, he’d performed admirably. Even worse, it appeared her father had been the one to put the ideas in his head. Amanda felt the ground had been washed from beneath her feet.

  “You have signed a contract to pay Mrs. Sibley a specific amount of money,” the sheriff told Corby. “You have to pay it whether or not you think it’s a fair price. As for the rest, I would prefer you work out your differences with Amanda and her family,” he said, turning to Amanda. “As I see it, he hasn’t done anything illegal. Basically he withheld the same information your father withheld.”

  Amanda wanted to scream that Corby deserved some kind of punishment. He’d used their ignorance to try to force her to marry him, to keep her and Gary working in the saloon, to lock her family in a perpetual state of anxiety. Added to that was her sense of personal outrage. Corby said he loved her and wanted to marry her. Yet he thought so little of her as a person, he had attempted to coerce her into marriage. She was nothing more than a business arrangement.

  She wanted to hit him so hard in his smug, self-righteous face that his nose would end up behind his left ear. If he had owned up to the debt, Broc wouldn’t have had to go to jail. He wouldn’t have had another reason to think he was an unsuitable husband for her. If Corby hadn’t been so jealous, Broc would still be working with her at the ranch, working with her in the saloon, becoming so much a part of her life he could never think of leaving.

  “I want a full accounting of everything the diner and saloon have earned from the day my father died,” she told Corby. There wasn’t much more she could do. It was clear the sheriff wasn’t going to arrest him. “I want to know down to the penny how much you owe my mother, and I want you to see that seven hundred dollars is paid to Mrs. Sibley as soon as possible.” She turned to the sheriff. “If he hasn’t done everything by this time tomorrow, I want you to arrest him and put him in jail.”

  “I think you need to allow him a little more time,” the sheriff said. “I expect the information you want will take a while to gather.”

  She supposed the reason Tom Mercer was such a successful sheriff was his habit of looking for a way to peacefully solve disagreements. For once, though, she would like to see him lose control and lock Corby in jail.

  “I will have to explain all of this to my mother,” Amanda told Corby. “If you don’t want her to learn how to put bullets in a gun, you’d better have that information and money ready when she comes banging on your door.”

  “Amanda, your mother can’t—”

  She turned to the sheriff. “Whatever you’re about to say, save it for my mother.”

  With that she turned and strode from Corby’s office.

  It was a good thing Amanda’s horse traveled the route between the ranch and town so often he could do it on his own, because Amanda’s thoughts were consumed with impotent anger. Corby had put her and her family through months of fear that they’d lose the ranch, weeks of stress over a debt he should have paid, and forced her to work in the saloon after long days at the ranch. What gave him the right to decide what was best for her family?

  But if Corby hadn’t tried to welsh on his debt in the first place, Broc would never have come into her life.

  Thinking of Broc improved her mood but didn’t relieve her anxiety. It was impossible to think of him without smiling, without feeling an upsurge of hope, without remembering his kisses or how wonderful it felt to be held in his arms. For the first time in her life, she had someone who thought of her first, someone who loved her without expecting her to do anything to earn his love. He didn’t even require that she be beautiful.

  She tried to find words that could describe how she felt, but every word that came to mind failed in one or more ways to encompass the breadth or the depth of her happiness. Or to take into consideration the sadness, the regret, the sheer anger that she felt every time she thought of Broc being hurt because of his scars. She ached to protect him, to strike back at anyone who dared treat him as anything less than the wonderful man he was. It wasn’t his fault other people were too shallow to see beyond a surface imperfection.

  Remembering their night in Crystal Springs caused heat to flood her body and make her squirm in the saddle. At least a dozen times a day the memory of his lips on her breasts would cause her to forget where she was or what she was doing. What could she say to her mother or Leo to explain why she would suddenly be lost to her surroundings? Why she didn’t know how to respond to their questions.

  She couldn’t explain to herself why Broc’s love had affected her so profoundly. She’d always hoped to be loved, had anticipated it would be wonderful, but she hadn’t expected love to transform her life. It was hard to understand, impossible to explain, how she could feel more grounded yet at the same time feel less in control of herself. Even more surprising, this state of confusion didn’t worry her. It bewildered her, yes, but it brought so much joy and hope that she welcomed the confusion, even embraced it, because it meant Broc was an integral part of her life.

  She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the approaching horseman until he was practically upon her. She was surprised to see it was Carruthers. She had thought he was still confined to his bedroom. He looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. Priscilla had said her father had periods when he didn’t even know his wife or daughter.

  “You.” The single syllable indicated surprise rather than anger.

  “How are you, Mr. Carruthers?” She didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t very well tell him he ought to be at home where people could make sure he didn’t hurt himself. She wondered if anyone knew he was gone, or if they were already out looking for him. Maybe she could coax him into going back home. “How is your wife?”

  “She asks about you. She hopes you’ll come for a visit so she can repay you for your hospitality to Priscilla.”

  “That’s nice of her. I’ll try to find time to drop by in a day or two.”

  “You’re not doing anything now,” Carruthers said.

  Amanda wasn’t in the mood to pay a social call. “I need to get home. I have things to discuss with my mother.”

  “It won’t take long. Besides, my wife has something she wants you to take to your mother.”

  Amanda didn’t want to go anywhere with Carruthers, but he appeared to have gotten over whatever it was that had caused him to go a little crazy. He seemed almost afraid she wouldn’t accept his invitation. Rathe
r than take a chance that refusing him might cause a relapse, she decided she could spare an hour. She wanted time to cool down, and a visit with Priscilla and her mother might be just the distraction she needed. “Okay, but I can’t stay long.”

  Carruthers nodded and turned his horse, coming around behind her. The sharp blow to her head was totally unexpected. Just before darkness closed around her, she heard Carruthers say, “What was good enough for your bull is good enough for you.”

  Broc rode with a loose rein, his mind too busy wrestling with conflicting thoughts to care if his horse stopped to graze on a particularly inviting patch of grass. Ironically the judge in Crystal Springs was responsible for a large part of his indecision.

  Broc had made up his mind that if he went to jail, he wouldn’t return to Cactus Bend. He couldn’t bear to saddle Amanda with a jailbird for a husband. But the judge hadn’t sent him to jail. Broc didn’t know whether it was the partial payment he’d brought Mrs. Sibley, or Mrs. Sibley’s intervention on his behalf, but Broc had spent a week traveling with the judge, sitting through all the trials, taking notes on the proceedings, and keeping a record of the judgments. He had done so well, the judge threatened to sentence him to a lifetime of being his personal assistant. Instead he’d let him go with a parting admonition to forget his scars.

  Broc found it incredible that Amanda wasn’t bothered by his disfigurement, but he was sure she couldn’t have let him make love to her otherwise.

  Memories of their loving had dominated his dreams every night since. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his body shaking from the intensity of his need for her. He could chide himself for letting the physical attraction between them influence his thinking, but he couldn’t help himself. From the beginning, it had been difficult to hold Amanda in his arms and not think of going much further. Now that they had, his love for her encompassed every part of her being.

  But would her life be more difficult if he married her or if he didn’t?