Texas Redemption

by Linda Broday

  She took off her shoes and padded silently down the hall. But outside her door, guilt set in. The dear woman could be lying in the agonizing throes of another spell. Pausing to carefully listen, the racket brought a wry smile. The snoring recital from beyond stifled any worry.

  Inside her room, she became all thumbs as she undressed and pulled on her nightgown. Shaking hands betrayed the turmoil.

  Shenandoah…Brodie Yates seemed hell-bent on yanking away everything, and she hadn’t the power to prevent it.

  A mental list of options ran through her head.

  To call his bluff, if indeed it be that, held unknown risk. Pushing him could lead to a dire, quick end.

  No greater satisfaction came to mind than to beat Brodie at his own game. It would destroy him though. She couldn’t do that to the gentle man.

  The gamble could cause them both public disgrace.

  Maybe she should quietly break off the engagement as Brodie advised. While that wouldn’t spare Murphy hurt, it might be the best hand to play.

  A third solution chilled her bones…leaving Redemption in the dead of night, never to return.

  And that meant giving up what she’d gained in a final, everlasting way.

  In addition, Brodie would win a decisive victory.

  Locked in the desperate tug-of-war, Laurel reached for a small music box. Through pleading, bargaining, and tears, she’d managed to hold on to the gift from her mother long ago. The feather mattress sank with her weight. She cradled the treasure. Fighting back a crush of images, she wound it.

  Strains of the old childhood favorite fed a starved soul.

  She imagined Mama’s soothing touch and murmuring, “It’ll be all right, my sweet darling. Everything will be right as rain.”

  Ollie knew of Mary and Ben James. Laurel had talked for hours about them and the piece of land between Marshall and Jefferson—the same farm from which Taft and his cohorts abducted her. Strange how Ollie sensed her desire to be near her family again, as if somehow their spirit would lend healing and strength. That is if they still lived there.

  She hadn’t gotten up enough nerve or spent enough time forgetting to find out.

  Six years away from those she loved. An eternity.

  They’d had seven hungry mouths to feed when she left, quite possibly more now. And suppose her father had perished in the war?

  Her family presumed her dead and she’d leave it at that. Far too much pain and a mountain of shame to regain what Will Taft stole. Besides, he’d first look for her there when he came.

  No, it was better this way.

  A soft rap made her jump. Never one to stand on ceremony, Ollie barged in.

  “Dadburn it. Knew the minute I heard the tinkle of your music box trouble’s come a callin’.”

  Laurel brushed tiredness from her eyes. The comical woman’s nightcap drooped over one ear, half on and half off, giving the fading reddish tangle a life of its own.

  “Sorry I woke you, although it seemed unlikely judging from the snores raising the roof.”

  “Trying to get smart with me, aren’t you? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Merely getting that homesick feeling again. You know.”

  “Yep. But this lump in my chest says it’s a bit more than that.” Ollie plopped down and forced Laurel to meet her gaze. “My grandpappy, bless his poor soul, always warned, ‘Girl, lying will only git you to hell on a fast horse. If you don’t have good reason, it pays to speak the truth.’”

  Did it count that Ollie suffered from a bad heart and required peace and quiet to live out her days? Or that their hard work had come to naught? Laurel bit a trembling lip.

  “Go ahead, spit it out. I ain’t leaving until you do.”

  “It’ll keep. Go back to bed.”

  “Yours is sturdy enough. Reckon it’ll hold the both of us.” Ollie patted the covers. “Appears comfortable, too.”

  “Pity’s sake. Remember you insisted, so if you keel over, don’t blame me.” Laurel took a deep breath. “Shenandoah is Murphy’s brother.”

  There, she’d said it. And hearing it from her lips brought more misery than when it sat quietly in her head.

  “He’s what?”

  “Murphy’s brother. His true name is Brodie Yates. Shenandoah is an alias he took up.”

  “Well, I’ll be a suck-egg mule.”

  “Brodie gave me a week to break off the engagement.”

  “Or what?”

  “He’ll tell everyone and run me out of town.”

  “The dirty, low-down rascal. One week, huh?”

  “That’s the threat, and no doubt he’ll do it.”

  “That’s right charitable of him,” Ollie remarked dryly. “Any stipulations on how you go about it?”

  “He left that up to me.” She fidgeted with the soft cotton threads. “I suppose I could claim second thoughts.”

  “Wouldn’t work. Men pester the living daylights out of you unless you kick ’em right in the seat of their pants.”

  “That’s awfully shabby treatment.”

  “No other way. Want your own heart, your dreams, dragged through the mud?”

  “They already have been. I thought this time I might succeed in trying to break free.”

  “Stop with that. Never thought I’d see the day you’d give up without a fight.” Ollie squeezed her shoulders. “A body can have anything they desire as long as they have fire in their belly.”

  A sob lodged in Laurel’s chest. She clenched a fist. “I want to outwit Brodie so bad I can taste it.”

  “From my dealings with men, actually quite a few, what sends them packing faster than anything is to let it slip you’re sweet on someone else. They normally don’t stick around long once another has stolen your affections. Hard on their pride.”

  “And who can I pretend to love?”

  Anyone except a rebel-eyed gunslinger with a searing touch. She couldn’t pit brother against brother. The war had done that.

  “Just tell Murphy you was set to marry years ago and your beau joined up to fight. You got word they buried him on the battlefield, but recently learned of the mistake.”

  Lord knew how close Ollie came to the truth.

  “I suppose it might work. I’m no good at fibbing though. He’ll see through me like daylight through a windowpane.”

  “All’s you gotta do is dirty up the window a little.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Never underestimate the value of tears and lacy handkerchiefs. Worked for me. We’ll buy one of them fancy hats with dark net that hides your eyes. He’ll never suspect.”

  A flicker of hope rose. The plan might save them.

  Suddenly, diamondback rattles and the two-legged snake who wore them flashed across her mind. How long would he keep silent?

  “I just had an awful thought. Brodie might demand something else after we go through with this charade. Or he could have a slip of the tongue. The right word in the ear of a busybody like Florence Kempshaw, and everyone in fourteen counties will have the news.”

  The petite woman whistled through her teeth. “I see what you mean. Some gents take pure delight in watching you squirm. Cain’t trust Yates far as we can spit.”

  Once, in a dark room that reeked of filth and broken spirits, she’d thought she’d found a true man of honor. Maybe somewhere deep inside him, that man still existed. She’d like to think so.

  “He taunted me throughout the entire evening. This is a game to him. Each moment the words threatened to spill, he’d pull back. Despite everything and no matter how much she rebelled against it, she was still in love with the man she’d known only as Shenandoah.”

  Memories in the midnight hours were still steeped in passion and lustful cravings she couldn’t deny. When she’d seen him standing there with Murphy, it had
been all she could do not to run her hand along his stubbled jaw.

  God help her.

  “In my world, that means he intends to make your life worth nothing more than one of them goldarned Confederate notes.”

  Ever been to St. Louis, Miss James?

  “You hit the nail on the head, Ollie.”

  Ollie shot her a sharp glance. “You think it’s high time to whistle up the dogs and douse the fire?”

  Six

  “Leave? Give up?” Laurel couldn’t believe her ears. The Ollie she knew would find the idea preposterous. “You made it clear from the start you had no sympathy for quitters.”

  “Those strong words don’t apply here.” Ollie pulled the blasted pipe from within the folds of her nightgown. “Son of a bluejacket. Left my tobacco and matches across the hall. Don’t suppose you’d be a good girl and traipse over there?”

  “Smoking is bad for your health. Besides, it’s late.”

  “If I wanted a sermon, I’d go to church.” Ollie stuck the cold pipe between her teeth. “I ain’t calling it quittin’, mind you—merely moving on. A world of difference between the two.”

  “You’re splitting hairs. It’s the coward’s way out no matter how you cut it.”

  “Back in my dabbling days with betting and men who did, I learned a true gambler knows when to ride out a bluff and when to toss in the whole damn bunch of cards. This may be the time for foldin’ and laying ’em down. I won’t fault you for it.”

  “I can’t expect to run from trouble all my life. Once a body starts, they have to keep on until there’s no place left.”

  For her, Redemption represented the end of running.

  “Girl, I’ve known you the better part of a year and you have no shortage of courage. One day you’ll stand your ground and dare the world to knock you cross-eyed. No harm in waiting until you get more wind in your sails. Until a big gust comes along, there’s merit in getting while the getting’s good.”

  Laurel rested wearily on Ollie’s shoulder. A loving pat on her cheek chased the chill. Damn the runty skinflint for sneaking under the barricades when she wasn’t looking.

  “My heart says stay—my head urges run and hide.”

  “You’re the closest thing to a daughter I’ll have. We’re sailing this ship together. If you want to plant your feet here, I’ll fight alongside and dare anyone to come get us.”

  A curtain of tears blocked her vision. “You’re quite lovable…for a crusty old coot.”

  “Now, don’t get all-fired mushy on me. I love you, too, but I don’t need to go around saying it.” Ollie snatched off the nightcap that drooped onto one ear before it finished its slide. “I don’t know why I wear this fool thing. No need for a rash decision. Sleep on it. Like my grandpappy always said, ‘Never jump off a cliff less’n someone pushes you. A feller could find himself eyeball-deep in dirt.’”

  * * *

  By daylight the next morning, Laurel’s churning stomach matched the deep whirlpools on Big Cypress Bayou. A sleepless night had brought more questions than answers. Six days left.

  Ollie was sipping a cup of black dredge when she went down. The woman’s idea of a drinkable pot of coffee resembled thick river bottom. Although Laurel tried her best, Ollie wasn’t prone to taking instruction. At least not with any degree of patience.

  Avoiding questions in the eyes staring over the chipped cup, Laurel lifted her apron from the nail and tied it around her waist before she marched to the dwindling brine barrel.

  Meat supplies had gotten awfully low. The promised shipment should’ve arrived by now. Odd that it hadn’t. She fished out a piece of tender beef, wishing it was the scoundrel’s head she plopped into a large pot.

  Spit and thunder, he could ruin a day.

  A week.

  …A life.

  The squeaky pump handle broke the silence as Ollie drew a pitcher of water and handed it to her. “Morning, girl.”

  “At least you didn’t add ‘good’ to it.” Laurel emptied the pitcher into the pot, splashing water onto the stove’s cast iron plate.

  “That can wait a minute. Have a cup of my coffee. I brewed it exactly the way I like it.”

  Contention dripped from the statement. Ollie delighted in jabbing her with a sharp stick merely to test her mettle. She raised her head from the vegetable bin only after filling the draped apron with onions, carrots, and potatoes.

  “That stuff you drink might plug the hole in a dyke, but it won’t stop lunch from coming.”

  “Nothing sinful in asking for a measly bit of conversation.”

  Vegetables spilled onto the table. The smile gracing Ollie’s face when she complied told who had won that round.

  “We’re family, and most of the ones I’ve known parlay over breakfast.” Ollie shuffled to the stove to pour Laurel a cup. “Worriment won’t go away simply by pretending it ain’t there.”

  She pushed aside the thick liquid. “If we must talk, I’ll have hot tea, thank you.”

  “Well, forevermore. You never let on you had something against my concoction. It’ll learn you to stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”

  The laugh dispelled the gloom, at least temporarily.

  But by noon Laurel’s nerves had knotted into one huge ball.

  “You’re jumpier than a horse thief in a noose,” Ollie remarked. “Think I can’t see how you watch the door?”

  “Brodie will likely make an appearance if for nothing more than to keep me off balance. He favors that tactic.”

  “This old gal might have a few tricks of her own to teach that gun-totin’ blackmailer.”

  A record number of customers kept her hopping. When she watched the last of them depart without Brodie Yates darkening the café, Laurel drew a sigh of relief.

  Busy clearing away the remains of chaos, she barely heard the late arrival. The sound drawing her attention came no louder than the whimper of a mouse caught in a trap.

  She whirled, her heart sinking.

  The deep husky tone enveloped her in a heavy embrace. “Too late for a man to get a bite to eat?”

  Laurel tried to turn away from the smoky warmth, but found her focus riveted to the shadowed square jaw and damnable crooked smile that made her remember all that she’d lost.

  “Never too late…for feeding a rumbling belly.” Ollie had wandered in from the back. “What’ll be your poison?”

  “Another beefsteak, if you will, Miss James.”

  The petite war wagon swelled in height over the dismissal. Laurel tried to speak, but instead floundered in his stare.

  Once more Ollie interjected, “Leave that hogleg of yours on the counter and we might consider it. Don’t allow shootin’ irons in here. I done told you that.”

  The knot in Laurel’s stomach grew. She held her breath, unable to wrench herself from the bold scrutiny. The familiar hiss followed each twitch as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Ollie crossed her arms. “Go fetch the sheriff, girl.”

  Long seconds ticked by before Brodie finally unwound his tall frame from the seat. His hand slid to the muscular thigh. The thin leather strap keeping the holster secure on his leg fell away with a gentle tug. Inching back to his waist, he unbuckled the wide belt with one hand. Only after he handed it to Ollie did Laurel dare move…or swallow.

  “That suit you?”

  “See? It’s painless,” Ollie said. “Now, we’ll rustle up some grub.”

  Laurel strode for the kitchen.

  “Do you want to get yourself killed?” She pulled Ollie behind the door. “You succeeded in antagonizing him further. He came to start a fire and you provided the match.”

  “Men like Shenandoah don’t need reasons. They wake up with ’em every morning. Don’t worry. I got him under control.”

  It sure looked like it. A gnat meeti
ng Goliath.

  “You have got to quit thinking yourself bigger…” Laurel’s sentence trailed, cut short by a vanishing swish through the door.

  Ollie stood on the other side, full of purpose and righteous vigor. She squared her shoulders and marched straight for the threat who’d propped his legs on a chair in front of him. The gun-toter’s carefree pose didn’t fool an old war horse like her.

  “We need to come to an understandin’.”

  Brodie removed his feet and pushed the chair. “Whatever you have on your mind might best be said sitting, ma’am.”

  “Olivia. Olivia Applejack b’Dam.” She perched on the edge. No need to get comfortable. This wouldn’t take long. “My friends call me Ollie, only you don’t qualify for that.”

  “Something eating you, Olivia Applejack b’Dam?”

  Ollie narrowed her gaze. “Take that silly grin and those nice manners back where you came from, mister. I’ll thank you to leave Laurel alone.”

  “Lil, you mean?”

  “I didn’t stutter. Name’s Laurel and don’t ever forget it.” She jabbed the table with a finger.

  “No need to get hostile. What did she tell you?”

  Heat rose like sweeping fire over dry prairie grass. “Enough to warn you to watch your tongue or someone might happen to put you to bed with a pick and shovel. I’d sure take it as an honor if it were me what did it. When you refer to Laurel, it’d pay to use a big helping of respect.”

  “Plain language for a short, scrappy pipe-smoker.”

  “Short or tall, don’t need fancy words. My grandpappy, who was a mite taller’n a tadpole, bless his soul, said, ‘Say it plain, girl, an’ save some air for breathin’.’”

  “Awful defensive, aren’t you, to not be family?”

  “I’m the nearest thing the poor darling’s had in a long while. I ain’t gonna let you or anyone else sling mud across her good name.” She met the scowl without flinching a muscle.

  “This is between Laurel and me. It would behoove you to stay out of it.”

  “You’ve got a fight if that’s what you want, sonny boy.”

  “Keep her away from my brother, then.”