Texas Redemption

by Linda Broday

  Smoke curled about Ollie’s head. “Gotta find out his plans. Don’t reckon he gave any hint of how long he’s staying?”

  “Not hardly.”

  “What’s holding you back, girl? Get busy.”

  Hotness scorched the back of her throat. It had taken too much strength, time, and planning. She wouldn’t let one steely-eyed drifter snatch it away. If he thought her a daylily, she’d make him change that opinion quick. In twenty-one years she’d already lived several hundred. A person couldn’t go through what she had without acquiring survival skills.

  “I’m waiting for you to not die on me. Luckily, I see far too much mule blood in you to let that happen. Much as I loathe the thought, I intend to satisfy your curiosity and mine.”

  “I’m coming.” Ollie’s boots struck the floor.

  “It’s my past I have to face.” Laurel stared horrified as the woman danced a jig around her and wondered if Ollie’s brain had sprung a leak. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  “Proving I’m not ready for the undertaker yet.”

  Ollie wobbled when she stopped. Quick reflexes kept her from falling. Laurel held tight, glancing about for a piece of strong rope. She spied none, not even a speck of yarn. “I do this alone. By myself. That doesn’t include you.”

  “Well, of all the ungrateful nerve,” Ollie sniffed. “It’s not as if I wouldn’t let you do all the talking.”

  “Only a case of lockjaw would save that from happening, I’m afraid. I’m ordering you back to bed. Don’t make me lock you in.”

  “You’re mighty bossy, you know that?”

  “I had a good teacher.” Laurel hugged the dear lady.

  “I’ll be more than happy to wring that fellow’s neck.”

  What a picture: Ollie squared off on tiptoes in front of Shenandoah, her bandy legs stretched, hands struggling to reach his throat. Yeah, the man had real trouble on his hands.

  Laurel kissed her thin, hollow cheek. “I love you. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

  “Quit your dadblasted worrying. I ain’t some favorite shoe that’s likely to fall out the back of a wagon first time it hits a rock.”

  Foot apparel and people didn’t bear much similarity, but both could fall from a wagon, and Ollie had run smack into a boulder once that day already. Laurel counted her blessings on the way downstairs. Minutes later, she cautiously pushed open the door to the dining room. Thank heavens. The steak and the man had both disappeared, only a shiny silver dollar left behind.

  This time the money paid for an honest living, not services of another nature. At least until they ran her out of town.

  She dropped the coin into the pocket of her yellow dress and smoothed the white apron over it. Her clothing ranged in many shades…except one. She’d rot in hell before she wore purple again. That hell she’d not revisit again.

  Shenandoah could already have spread his venom. Her quiet, respectable life might crash around her any minute.

  Her stomach felt as if she had eaten a belly full of lead instead of the town bully doing it for her.

  The bell tied to the door tinkled merrily. Laurel whirled.

  * * *

  From the shadows, Shenandoah’s mouth set in a firm line as he watched his beautiful Lil drop the silver dollar he’d left into her pocket.

  His chest hurt from trying to fill his lungs with air.

  She’d tried to deny their acquaintance. She’d not shown a flicker of happiness to see him. Nothing to indicate she remembered the feel of his arms, the taste of his kisses. A corpse would’ve welcomed him with more warmth and feeling.

  He’d thought he meant more than simply a body who shared her bed. She’d become someone he never would’ve imagined.

  The pain spread out in a searing arc.

  What Lil and he once had should’ve been enough to at least warrant a “Hello, how are you?”

  The rudeness rankled. Back then she’d have rekindled the fire right there in front of God and everybody. Unless…

  Sweet Georgia clay.

  Maybe she’d married and left her heart in someone else’s keeping. That would explain her attitude.

  Quick, jabbing pain almost doubled him, as if someone put both fists into his gut.

  He didn’t know if he could stomach her on another man’s arm. The special tenderness he cherished inside no marriage vow to another would sever.

  He had half a mind to march in there and demand answers. She owed him that much. He tossed aside the matchstick dangling from the side of his mouth and straightened. Before he could translate the thought to action, a figure strolled past.

  His mouth went dry as the man pushed inside the café. The passing of eight long years didn’t dull recognition.

  Shenandoah untied Smokey. “Might as well get you bedded down, boy. No use waiting around for hell to freeze over.”

  One last backward glance assured him the moisture on his face wasn’t from melted ice. It was way too warm and he’d run out of wishes.

  Three

  Laurel pivoted, expecting to encounter roguish disdain. Relief bathed her to find Murphy Yates instead.

  “Is that any way to greet your betrothed? You’d have thought you’d seen a ghost.” Long strides covered the short space. He pulled her into his arms.

  Little did he know how accurately he described what the afternoon breeze had spirited down the main street of town. She shuddered to think how quickly this man of the finest cloth would put her from his life at the mere hint of scandal.

  She forced cheery lightness. “Nothing more than a devil in disguise. That’s certainly not you. I’m frazzled, that’s all. Dueling in the streets tends to do that. Did you see or hear the shooting?”

  “Bank business kept me busy inside, but Sheriff Tucker gave me the gist of it. I’m surprised someone hasn’t taken the wind from Prater’s sails before this. I always suspected his bluster would get him in deep water sooner or later.”

  A gentle touch on her back strayed lower to pat her behind.

  “My goodness, Murphy.” Laurel stepped back.

  A pair of rebel gray eyes could easily set disaster in motion. She wouldn’t give Shenandoah any more provocation than existed.

  “I don’t care who sees. We’d have tied the knot days ago if I had my way.”

  She juggled dirty dishes and tried to ignore the grumbles. Bothersome thoughts plagued her as she hurried toward the steaming washtub. Wedding Murphy would bring everything she coveted.

  Why then did she drag her feet, pushing the date further away?

  The question barely formed before guilt rose. The gentle man had waited his whole life for the right woman to come along. He deserved the best. Lord knows she wasn’t even in the running for that distinction. She owed him more than the high road to hell she would saddle him with.

  Sure, he’d probably try to whitewash over her past at first, being the true gentleman he was, but regret would show with each new day.

  Murphy tagged behind with a load of plates. “Let’s go to Jefferson right now. Within two hours you can be my wife.”

  How tempting to muzzle each rational thought and just accept. Perhaps through enough trying and hard work he’d never realize he’d gotten a jaded lady instead of the noble wife he sought.

  Respect and caring came near enough to love. Didn’t it?

  Close perusal revealed nothing displeasing. Never mind that everything was worn a bit too perfectly and to crisp precision. Murphy’s nicely trimmed hair brushed his collar in rich, sandy waves, each strand neatly in place. The bow tie and starched white shirt added a distinguished air. A gleam came from below.

  Her reflection glimmered in the high gloss of his shoes.

  …the face she couldn’t bear to see in the mirror.

  Laurel jerked away, setting the dishes in the was
htub. “We’ve discussed this. We can’t rush—”

  His mouth smothered her objections. The earnest kiss caused no disruption in her heart’s steady rhythm. She wiggled away, trying not to notice hurt in his soulful gaze. Plain ordinary wouldn’t satisfy her and to be fair, it wouldn’t him either.

  “I hope that settles any questions you have regarding my true feelings. You’re the lady that I’m going to build my future with.”

  “I believe you care for me. That’s not at issue.”

  “Goes a hell of a lot deeper than that.”

  For now. Rueful whispers would dodge her attempts to bottle them.

  “What’s wrong with wanting everything fitting and proper?”

  “Enough fuss and bother. Seems an odd reason for concern.”

  Before a reply came to mind, Ollie ambled in from the alleyway door, blocking a furry blob with a quick foot. “Durn cats. They break their fool necks to get inside. At least something likes the taste of your cooking, Laurel girl.”

  The woman slapped her sides, enjoying the joke. Except for a slight pallor that remained, a body would have mistaken her for the picture of health.

  Murphy covered his awkward position. “Afternoon, Ollie.”

  “You’re just the one to put the bloom back in our girl’s cheeks. Reckon you heard about the ruckus?”

  “Yeah, didn’t get the particulars though.”

  “Started right here over a man’s lunch. Laurel got caught smack dab in the middle of the whole shootin’ match.”

  “Sheriff mentioned the stranger stood up for her.”

  “Dadgum truth of it. And he did a fine job.”

  “Horsefeathers.” Laurel had to damper the steam before the train jumped the track. “You both know by now I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. Misplaced heroics caused two grown men to put pride over common horse sense.”

  Ollie turned a deaf ear and squinted at Murphy. “Do you know that fellow, Shenandoah?”

  “Might say so. Puzzles me why he’s come though.”

  Laurel choked and collapsed into a chair.

  “You do? Who… How?” Ollie’s words echoed her own.

  Murphy pulled out a pocket watch and flipped the lid. The gold chain’s jiggling motion matched her thoughts. “Certain matters demand my attention at the moment, I’m afraid. Our discussion isn’t over. I’ll be back soon so be thinking about what I said.”

  Shock of his admission had scattered her thoughts. She’d taken all the jolts she could stand. “But what about—?”

  “Later, Miss Curiosity.” Murphy tweaked her nose.

  “Men! How infuriating to leave me in suspense.”

  “Ain’t no changing ’em. That’s God’s own truth,” Ollie grumbled.

  An hour later Murphy returned wearing a happy glow. “If you won’t marry me today, will you accept a supper invitation?”

  “I truly don’t see how it’s possible, Murphy.”

  “I have a surprise for you, my love.” His eyes twinkled.

  He’d snagged her interest. Besides, she needed to get some answers. “In that case, I can’t very well refuse, now can I?”

  “How’s six thirty, after you serve the crowd?”

  It wouldn’t leave time to clean up the mess until after she returned. It would mean a late night. “Six thirty it is.”

  He cast Ollie a cautious glance before giving Laurel a quick peck on the cheek.

  When the tinkling bell announced his exit, Laurel exploded. “That low-down, four-flushing, two-bit gunfighter!”

  “Simmer down. Murphy wouldn’t give you a supper invite if he’d gotten a hint of your dealings with Shenandoah.”

  “He might if he were baiting a trap.”

  Ollie lit the pipe before she argued. “Oh, stop. If either believes for one measly second I’ll stand by while he destroys you, he’s got another think coming. Hell and be damned, I’ll fight Satan himself…with his own pitchfork.”

  * * *

  A handful of regulars wandered in that Tuesday evening, along with a dozen passengers from a steamer bound for Shreveport. Laurel’s shoulders ached by six o’clock. Only after she made sure Ollie could take care of a few stragglers did she dash upstairs to freshen.

  “I can beg off or make a tardy appearance,” she’d offered.

  “Go get gussied up now.” The woman had swatted, shoving her toward the overhead quarters. “I ain’t gonna keel over.”

  That particular worry moved in bag and baggage, the uninvited guest accompanying Laurel to her room. Being alone again haunted every waking minute. Her tongue scraped the reminder of what she’d escaped. She shuddered.

  Cold bumps on her flesh rose when she stripped off the yellow dress. St. Louis and death bore the same name. She clenched her fists. They’d best come armed and expecting a fight.

  She stood gasping until the ticking clock finally penetrated the terror. Better hurry or Murphy would wonder what happened. Her gaze strayed to the wardrobe. She opened the doors, fingering the green calico print. Too plain. The pale blue with a row of lace around the high collar? Too girlish.

  Her most prized—a rose-colored silk Ollie bought to celebrate her freedom—settled it.

  The fabric rustled when she smoothed down the skirt. Giving her hair a quick brush, she pulled back the sides and secured them with shell combs. The rest rippled down in a mass of loose curls. She gathered her shawl, not once glancing toward the mirror hidden behind a drape of heavy black cloth.

  Out in the street, light fog rolled in from the bayou, like quiet tears of a lost soul that yearned for things it couldn’t have.

  She picked up her steps and lifted the heavy brass knocker a few minutes later. Deep in the house, the grandfather clock boomed the half hour. Murphy opened the wide portal.

  “Sweetheart.” He pecked her cheek and led her inside. “I see you’ve worn my favorite. What a happy occasion.”

  A tall man stood with his back to them, gazing into the courtyard in which Murphy took pride and joy. Had the fog not muted the colors, bright flowers would’ve splashed warmth into the room. She wondered who the guest was and why Murphy’s secrecy.

  “I’ve waited a long time for this homecoming.” Murphy beamed and tugged her forward. “Laurel, meet my prodigal brother.”

  The stranger turned, the soft hiss of rattles disturbing the tranquil mood.

  “You!” The word spewed from Laurel’s mouth before she could stop it.

  Brother? Blood pounded in her temples.

  Murphy’s gaze swung from one to the other while Shenandoah glared.

  “You’re going to leg shackle yourself to her?”

  The barb pierced the small bubble of hope for sealed lips.

  Suspicion etched Murphy’s face. “You act as though you’ve met somewhere before.”

  “No… I mean, yes… I mean…” She rushed to recover. “I’ve never laid eyes on your brother before.”

  Fingers crossed behind her back should bring forgiveness for the lie. She’d admit nothing.

  “Don’t look at me.” Shenandoah’s dark glower promised no help. He’d given her enough rope to hang. The rat.

  “Well, of course I met him a few hours ago, although I didn’t know who he was. The shock of coming face-to-face with the object of the day’s turn of events took me aback. I never expected to find such a man here. Then to discover he’s your kin… Ollie called him Shenandoah.”

  “It seemed prudent to take that name during the war,” the familiar voice answered for Murphy. “To protect us both.”

  “Yep, he’s my brother, Brodie Yates.” Pride lay in the tone. An affectionate grip rested on his brother’s shoulder.

  Of a heartening nature—Brodie hadn’t known of betrothal plans. That translated to mean he hadn’t yet spread news of her tarnished reputation. Befor
e the evening expired she’d finagle a private word with Mr. Insolent. She’d protect her secret if she had to beg, cajole, or strike a deal with Lucifer to do it.

  Laurel forced a smile and stuck out her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Murphy speaks highly of you.”

  More fibs added to the list. A magic lamp granted three wishes. What did three lies get you other than a splitting headache? She rubbed a throbbing temple with shaky fingertips.

  Although Murphy did mention his brother once in passing, he hadn’t provided a name. And she could classify seeing her old love again as pleasurable. At least the bumping of her heart against her ribs indicated proof of it.

  The man who aroused excitement and irritation, both at the same time, hesitated for the barest of seconds. Her hand got lost in his large palm. Unexpected warmth sent delicious shivers up her arm to that darn fickle heart of hers. Thank goodness he couldn’t see the mess left in its wake.

  “Which name do you prefer, Mr.…?” Good heavens, was that squeaky voice hers?

  “Brodie will do while I’m here.”

  “How long might that be?” She wished her words didn’t burst in breathless rushes. “If you’re at liberty to say.”

  The happiness of several lives depended on a clear head. She tugged her hand free of his hold, relieved when he didn’t press the issue. She backed away.

  “Until I wear out my welcome, I suppose.” He smiled.

  He’d worn that thin at the outset, so he might as well move along. She rubbed dampness from her skin. Her annoyed gaze tangled with his. The sudden quirk of a brow relayed satisfaction in knowing the mayhem his touch had left. The room grew overheated.

  You’re going to leg shackle yourself to her?

  Recollection of his curt disdain aroused bristles anew. He was the pot calling the kettle black.

  Murphy interrupted her thoughts. “Dearest, I know you’ll come to love my brother once you get to know him. He’s not always a prickly-tongued cactus. You’ll soon think of him as family.”

  Laurel certainly doubted that. Family man numbered at the bottom in the ways she remembered.

  “All horns and rattles, am I, little brother?”