by Linda Broday
Good fortune and hope deserted. In the space of a heartbeat, Shenandoah wrenched Jeb’s arm behind his back. “Where I come from a man don’t treat a lady like some common saloon girl. Show respect or I’ll break it in half.”
Unease pricked worse than a stiff horsehair petticoat. Reference to a lady of ill repute might’ve been pure chance had it come from another.
A diner named Mabel averted her gaze. No one ever said how the woman made a living. Her manner and eyes full of shame gave her away. Those things Laurel recognized.
Beads of sweat dotted Jeb’s forehead. “Didn’t mean no harm, Laurel.”
“Miss Laurel. Call her miss.”
“M-m-miss Laurel.” Jeb’s face twisted into an ugly caricature.
Shenandoah dipped into Jeb’s pocket. “For my steak.”
Prater stumbled for the door, forgetting his confiscated revolver. Shenandoah straightened his leather vest.
Laurel whirled from the searching gaze that had the ability to heat each cold corner inside. But she couldn’t outrun the pursuing hiss of snake rattles.
“Show’s over. Go back to eatin’,” Ollie shouted.
Memories of the pungent stench of sulfuric bath water drenched the taste of her spit. Others equally as tormenting rose.
How long before she could sleep without fear?
And how much time to erase the hurt of betrayal? She pushed through the door. Sagging, she buried her face in her hands.
What rotten luck. She’d thought nothing would find her in this town tucked quietly on the banks of Big Cypress Bayou.
Ollie breezed in minutes later. “Someone die, girl?”
“Shenandoah… I know him.”
“Every man, woman, and child west of Kentucky’s heard of the legendary rebel spy.”
“I enjoyed his company toward war’s end.” A brittle laugh broke free. “I learned the value of his word to return. He’ll destroy everything.”
“Maybe he didn’t recognize you.”
“And maybe I’ve grown horns from the top of my head.”
“You worry too much. He’s simply passing through.”
“And if not?” Her bones didn’t lie. She couldn’t stop the tremor in her heart much less the quake in her voice.
Ollie patted her shoulder. “If he thinks to hurt my little girl, he’ll have to step over my dead body first.”
“That’s cheery.” Despite the image of Olivia lying cold and still, the loyalty touched a deep chord in Laurel.
“Relax. Got you this far, haven’t I?”
Tightness squeezed. The irascible lady had delivered her from wretched hands when no other dared. Laurel could never repay that.
Laurel kissed the weathered cheek. “You truly have.”
“Now quit your brow-wrinkling and cook that steak. Hunger makes a man meaner than a lop-eared polecat. I’ll serve the rest of those whey bellies.”
Laurel eyed stacks of dirty plates lining the sideboard and ladled simmering soup into a bowl. “Most left. Take this to old Jonas and we can get Shenandoah out of here quicker.”
“Ring the bell when that cow quits mooing and I’ll fetch it.”
A fine mist covered her eyes. The meat on the grate covering the hot coals could’ve been a fence post for all she could tell. An unbreakable bond existed. Risking your life for someone tended to do that. Not that Ollie spoke of it. Laurel respected that, same as the gut feeling that Ollie ran from something, too.
With no destination in mind, the wind carried them to Texas. Murky swamps and marshes had righted an upside-down world.
Redemption was a place of being. What lurked in the bayou’s water lilies and deep shadows had reborn her spirit. Majestic cypress knew her here and sympathized with the raw break she’d gotten. They forgave her sins.
She could become a whole person. Peace lay within grasp.
Damn Shenandoah. Damn him for appearing from the blue and scaring her witless.
Two
Mystery surrounded the funds Ollie had used to buy the café and small living quarters overhead. Seemed strange for a parlor house cook to fork over such a sum. Still, that was neither here nor there. Laurel respected another’s affairs. Besides, a desperate lady shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Everyone had secrets…some more than most.
She flipped the meat and stirred the hot coals.
Hungry flames licked the raw edges of the steak, consuming, scorching. The hiss and spit of juices dripping onto the fire mimicked her heart’s loud protest.
A proper marriage to Murphy Yates could disappear into the thin air of a desert mirage. Instinct urged her to flee somewhere, anywhere safe from the familiar gray-eyed rebel.
Yet such a place didn’t exist, not even in her dreams.
Through a haze she watched until an evenly dark color signaled the meat’s doneness. She pulled it onto a plate and shook the cowbell.
The door swiveled on the hinges almost immediately. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ollie plummet. The pipe flew from the woman’s mouth, skidding across the floor. Laurel rushed to her side.
“What’s wrong?”
Frightened eyes in the chalky face stared up. Ollie clutched her chest, gasping for air.
“Oh Lord. What can I do?”
Laurel stretched her on the floor then wet a cloth. Loosening the top of the threadbare bodice, she placed it on the clammy brow.
If only the town had a doctor instead of a dentist. Jake Whitaker would have no inkling how to treat anything more than the usual chigger bites and earaches.
A lifetime passed before the pain eased. At last Ollie managed to speak. “Didn’t mean to let you see this, girl.”
“I’m going to get help. Even Jake—”
“Might as well dig a grave and throw me in.”
At least the suggestion put a bit of color back in the wan cheeks. “He’s better than nothing. At least give him—”
“Hmph! Reckon you don’t recollect how that quack gave me pyrexia poisoning when he pulled my tooth.”
Darn the ornery woman. Ollie suffered a grievous problem and it was no time to split hairs. Besides, she couldn’t prove Jake made her puke up her toenails and put her abed with a fever. But the stubborn set of her lips left no room for mind-changing.
“We’re closing the café. I’m taking you to Jefferson.” Laurel wouldn’t let Ollie die and leave her all alone again. “I’ve heard they have fine doctors. The Lizzy Belle will come through tomorrow morning. We’ll be on that steamship or else.”
With considerable effort, Ollie sat up. “I dadgum sure am not going. A pure waste of time an’ good money. Ain’t nothing wrong with me. Besides, if I’m gonna die, I don’t want the good Lord to find me with those carpetbagging leeches and riffraff.”
“I beg to differ about the time and money part.”
“Just my old ticker wearing out, something to look forward to when you get up in years,” Ollie wheezed. “Nothing to fret about. Help me up so’s I can get to business. Be a good girl and hand me my pipe if you can see where the goldarned thing went.”
“You’re going upstairs and I won’t hear a word about it.”
Pain distorting Ollie’s face matched the dull ache in her heart. Laurel lifted the frail form into a chair.
“Cain’t abide a girl more contrary than me. Don’t let Shenandoah get a good look, you hear? Give him his meal, then skedaddle back here.” Ollie stopped for a breath.
Thankfully, it left a small crack to get a word in. “Yes, General Applejack b’Dam. I’ll handle things.”
Perhaps the root of their worry had left.
After Laurel located the errant pipe, she peeked through a crack in the door. Most of the patrons had vacated, leaving coins behind for their meal.
Yet there sat Shenandoah pretty as
you please, with his back against the wall, Colt within easy reach. If trouble called, it’d not take him unawares. A glimpse of his hat again brought chills up her spine and a shiver through her bones.
He’d developed into a calloused, toughened hired gun. And she’d become a lot wiser. The question remained how wise.
Nothing short of divine intervention would help in surviving this meeting. And Laurel had learned at fifteen that miracles didn’t happen for someone in her shoes.
Whispering a desperate plea, she slid her arm under Ollie’s shoulder and helped her stand.
No, the good Lord reserved such things for the good and pure of this earth. That pretty much eliminated her.
Occupied with propelling Ollie up the narrow stairs, Laurel’s heel caught on an uneven plank when she stepped onto the landing. Her shoulder jolted into the wall, causing her tongue to scrape the small chip in her front tooth. Anger of that long ago night flashed as she slammed open Ollie’s bedroom door. The crack of it bouncing off the wall recalled the noise of her head hitting the floor. She clenched her fists.
Miracles? She’d gotten only one—getting away from Taft alive. And at the moment she questioned the blessing in that.
A few minutes later, with Ollie tucked in bed, she braced for the chore at hand. Down in the kitchen she lifted the plate and took a deep breath.
One small hope stood between her and salvation.
Perhaps Shenandoah truly hadn’t recognized her. She’d worn her hair loose and flowing in those days, not pulled back in a severe knot on the back of her neck as she did now. She straightened her shoulders and strode into the dining room.
Walk briskly. Feel nothing.
Shenandoah’s intense gaze burned, luring her concentration from the brisk, firm walk she’d planned. The faint smell of leather, bay rum, and cheroots jogged her memories.
Nights when her world seemed less hopeless.
Nights when she first dared thoughts of a new life.
Nights of passion.
Her steps lagged.
The crooked half smile disturbed her far more than the shock of hair that dangled rakishly across his forehead. Rivulets of sweat trickled down her back. That devilish grin touched a longing deep in the locked chamber of her heart where she could lie to herself and pretend she was worth saving.
Laurel willed herself forward, a desperate prayer sticking in her throat. She plunked the meal onto the table and turned on her heel.
Not quick enough.
He captured her hand.
“Much obliged. Sit with me a spell, Lil.”
Cold fingers of doom clawed their way inside, wrapping around what remained of her soul.
Lavender Lil. No one had called her that since… She gave the other two patrons a skittish glance. Their forks never slowed from plate to mouth, indicating they’d not heard.
“Sorry, cowboy.” She meant to add the layer of flint. The bitterness surprised her though. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
Shenandoah pulled her into the chair beside him. Not a forceful tug, but one that offered no escape. The gentle touch spoke of remembrance and insatiable desire.
A crack in the floor came under her intense scrutiny.
How could so much dirt get into such tiny places? It would take a good scrubbing to get it clean.
“Nice try. I’d recognize that silky black hair and those violet eyes in the midst of a horde of saints at a church social, the last place I’d expect to find you…even if I wore a blindfold.”
His husky drawl lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her fickle heart. Dear God, for another lifetime, another chance.
“You’re mistaken.”
“And certainly if you spoke.” He brushed aside her denial. “I’ve never heard another with your throaty voice.”
She swallowed the lump. “My name is Laurel James.”
Release of his hold gave false hope, for he merely changed locations. She flinched when he cupped her jaw. Damning the touch that bound without rope or chains, she had no choice but follow where he led. His rebel gaze reflected the futility of her lies. Her stomach twisted into a knot.
“Surprised to find you here. A bit far from St. Louis, aren’t you, darlin’?”
“Please…don’t—”
A loud yell from outside interrupted her desperate plea.
“Hey, you in there! I’m calling you out.”
Jeb Prater. Shenandoah shifted in his seat. A glimmer of disquiet crossed his features before it vanished, replaced by the cold, hard mask of a seasoned warrior.
“Face me now, meddler. I double-dog dare you. I’m gonna show a yellow-bellied, chicken-livered maggot we don’t cotton to your kind here.”
Shenandoah sighed and gave the succulent meat on the plate a longing glance before reaching for his hat. The rattles shook, filling the silent room with foreboding as he settled it on his head. Prater was the worst kind of fool, Laurel decided. And I’m the second, without a doubt.
“Keep this warm.” He towered above her when he rose to full height. “You and me have unfinished business.”
The soft trousers clung to lean thighs. His long stride and easy calm spoke of a man who had no need to prove anything to anyone. He knew who he was and didn’t give a tinker’s damn about the rest. Laurel drank in the sight.
Of all the ones they’d forced her to entertain, he was the only one who gave of himself. He fit into a special class. She thought his caring genuine. In the long nights and wee hours of the mornings she fantasized he’d come for her. What a foolish notion.
He never had.
Until today.
When she least needed rescuing.
Blue blazes. His appearance destroyed the belief he’d died a hero on some battlefield, a preference to the bald truth.
Still, despite fear he’d ruin her new life, she couldn’t help wishing for something that could never be. Crazy but true.
Though she abhorred the practice of gun play, she pressed her nose to the café window. Suppose Jeb got lucky. Suppose Shenandoah’s pistol misfired. Suppose the man she hadn’t been able to forget found his place in the hereafter before her eyes. Her stomach landed in the middle of her throat.
A piece of lead would keep her secret intact. Her heart hammered. A weakness swept over her for allowing thoughts that aroused more panic than did his sudden arrival.
“You don’t have to do this.” Shenandoah’s voice carried through the thick glass. “No way to settle a score.”
The familiar hand hovered over the polished grip of the revolver. Solid and firm, he projected confidence in abilities that could prove most dangerous to a body’s health.
“Scared, mister? Afraid now that I’ve strapped on a six-shooter?”
“It’d take more than a snot-nosed kid. Don’t do anything stupid. Back away and we’ll both win. You draw that iron and one of us will lose. Care to gamble it might be you, boy?”
He presented a powerful argument. For a moment, Jeb wavered, appearing to listen. Shenandoah must’ve shared her thoughts for he turned slightly toward the café. The small motion set the rattles hissing in the quiet street.
“Watch out!” Laurel clutched her apron into a wad. She was afraid to look but found it impossible to turn away.
Before Jeb’s pistol cleared his holster, Shenandoah pulled and fired in a fluid movement. A thick puff of gray smoke enveloped the figure from her past. Prater lay moaning in the dirt, gripping his bloodstained leg, and cursing the men who came to carry him into the saloon. The scene sickened.
War had ended and men continued to fight. They’d never learn that violence only dug more graves. Sudden nausea had her running toward the back before she lost the contents of her stomach.
Gulps of air and a glass of water helped. Ten minutes later, she eyed the mess left by the dinner crowd, mindful of the
ticking clock. Only a few hours before suppertime. Besides, Jeb had asked for what he got. And avoiding Shenandoah seemed more prudent than before. Ollie would spout she couldn’t lollygag around. Speaking of which, she needed to check on her.
Heavy-hearted, she climbed the stairs.
“What was all that ballyhooin’ down there?” Ollie asked before she barely crossed the threshold to the room.
“Stupidity.” Laurel straightened the frayed patchwork quilt. “Jeb discovered his mistake in drawing down on Shenandoah. Probably walk with a permanent limp from now on.”
“A man goes spewing his mouth, he’s liable to get it filled with something besides a chicken leg. Reckon he found lead a bit harder to swallow.” Ollie cackled, puffing on the pipe. “Jeb never cast a shadow across anyone of this caliber.”
Laurel veered away from that subject. “How do you feel?”
“Fit as a four-legged mule.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed, dodging Laurel’s attempt to feel her forehead. “Don’t need any mothering neither. Save it for your younguns.”
“Don’t have any.” Nor did the prospect seem likely. Laurel lowered herself onto a chair beside the bed.
“Won’t get any either, less’n you learn to stifle that god-awful sassy tongue.”
“No use trying to change my ways now.”
“What happened to Shenandoah?”
“Eating, I suppose. Jeb interrupted his meal again.”
“Fool boy. Just ain’t right in the head.” Ollie stared into her face. “Well?”
She knew what Ollie asked, but recognized what more worry would add to a bad heart. “Well, what?”
“Did he remember you, that’s what.”
No use trying to plead ignorance with the crusty dear. “He called me Lavender Lil. Spoke about unfinished business.”
“Son of a bluejacket.”
“I tried to deny it, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how to fix this mess.” Her nerves were tightly stretched bowstrings. Each breath rasped over them in a quivering rush.
“Appeal to his better side. Did you ask for his silence?”
“Jeb stole that chance.” Even had she found the words, she couldn’t have gotten them out.