Texas Redemption

by Linda Broday

  “Give the lady some air. The doing will get done without you hounding her plumb to death.”

  “No law against protecting my brother. She’s hoodwinked him into believing her unsullied. She’ll break Murphy’s heart.”

  “Only mistake your brother made is having you as kith and kin. You’re not fit to wipe Murphy’s boots.”

  Brodie twitched, arching a brow. Ollie wished to take back the words. It never boded well to mess with another man’s pride or open old wounds. She’d forgotten that in her haste.

  Tension hung between them. Though Ollie shook inside, she flexed her hands and readied for a blood-letting.

  Laughter caught her off guard. All of a sudden she felt thirsty. Her parched throat welcomed a tall drink. Preferably something stronger than a sarsaparilla.

  “Probably right, Olivia b’Dam. Probably right.”

  Jovial chuckles greeted Laurel when she entered with his meal. What on earth? Peeking through the door at the dogged set to Ollie’s chin, she imagined anything but relief.

  “Girl, I just remembered I had business to tend to across the way.”

  Laurel put down the plate, wondering what had thrown Ollie in such a tizzy. The door slammed behind the slight figure. Laurel turned, looking to retreat.

  “Sit with me, Lil.” The order didn’t come with an alternative.

  Bittersweet memories rose from their ashes. She’d wished to hear those words about a thousand times. Deep in her heart, an ache throbbed.

  “You paid for the steak, not idle conversation.” The statement came hard and brittle as she faced him.

  Brodie reached into his pocket and flipped a silver dollar onto the table. The heavy coin spun for a second before clinking to rest with the woman’s profile staring up.

  “I’m paying for the company.”

  Laurel’s lips tightened and her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. “Who do you think you are to barge into my life this way?”

  “A man no one wants to know. The devil with a six-shooter.” His tone held quiet torture. “Someone who’s been to heaven and hell and half the stops in between.”

  Doubting her wisdom, she dropped stiffly into the chair Ollie had vacated, hating the swish as the hem of her skirt floated lazily against his boots. “What does such a man talk about?”

  Damn her voice for going soft on her. She blamed the glimmer in his eyes…and the smile that promised sin.

  “Pain and regret. Happy times. Four days in St. Louis. Pecan praline pie that I have on good authority is the way to your heart. Should I continue?”

  Foreboding swept her down a winding road. To follow would be inviting back the dark, unwelcome nightmares she strived daily to forget. The past lay buried beneath more grief and turmoil than any person should ever have to live with.

  Brodie swallowed and laid down his fork when she didn’t reply. He leaned forward, his intent clear. Laurel jerked her head aside and drew back. However, such tactics didn’t deter a man like him. With a firm grip of her chin, he forced her to meet the hunger in his smoky gaze.

  “I recall a hot-blooded woman on a sultry summer night. The wet eagerness between—”

  “Please…”

  “That’s what you said then, too. Begged for more. Pleaded with me to take you with me.”

  “Lil died. She doesn’t exist anymore.” A razor-sharp edge flavored the harsh reality. He’d left her in that godforsaken place with never a backward glance.

  “You’re mistaken. Lil is very much alive.” He tapped his leather-vested chest. “She’s in here for safekeeping.”

  With the barest of touches, his fingertips traced the line of her parted mouth, leaving a scorched path. A fine sheen of perspiration pooled in the valley between her breasts.

  “Kisses sweet as sun-ripened strawberries. Wonder if you taste the same as I remember.”

  “Stop.” Laurel twisted away and stood. “We can’t.”

  He touched her again, his caress more gentle than dewdrops on an early spring day. She shivered against the contact of his thumb smoothing away perspiration pooling in the hollow of her throat, then across a wildly beating pulse.

  “What’s a woman like you doing in Redemption? Surely not trying to find salvation.”

  “Is that so ridiculous a notion?”

  Brodie’s clear gaze simmered. “Think a leopard can change his spots?”

  “I’m not the person you thought. Despite what you choose to believe, I had no control over my situation. I do have that luxury now, however.”

  “So you say, Lil.” Brodie’s lazy drawl scraped across raw nerves, silk over sandpaper. “Time does tell all.”

  Memories tumbled end over end, colliding with temptation that she wasn’t positive she had strength to resist.

  Her head whirled in tune with a thundering heartbeat as she flew from the dining room into the kitchen. Splashing water from the porcelain bowl beneath the pump, she cooled her heated cheeks.

  Please let me come. I promise I won’t be any trouble.

  Not now, darlin’. Can’t, but I’ll be back.

  He’d heard nothing over the roar of his lust. He’d closed his eyes to her shame. In all fairness, he never knew they’d kept her prisoner. By the time she decided to trust him, he’d waltzed out the door. And left her behind.

  The roughness of her tooth scraped her tongue.

  Angry rattles coupled with easy footsteps aroused alarm. She pivoted and found herself staring at the man who she wanted more than anything on earth.

  He approached with slow, deliberate steps.

  “Didn’t get my dollar’s worth of conversation.”

  “I didn’t ask for or take your money. I owe you nothing.” Laurel backed up until her shoulder blades flattened against the wall.

  “You saying I can’t pay for favors?” He took a step.

  “Yes. I told you I’m not the same…” A roar began inside her head. She eyed the approaching storm, knowing it was too late for help.

  “You saying you won’t give that little moan like you used to if I touch you?” He progressed two steps this time.

  She licked her parched lips. Didn’t the man understand? Persisting would only awaken sleeping dogs that had no reason to stir from their slumber.

  “Do I dare to find out if your lips will remain cold and lifeless?” He inched closer, narrowing the space between them more.

  So close. A trickle of sweat slid down her back, soaking the tight waistband. The fragrance of leather and fresh-cut hay meandered up her nose. God help her. His mouth pressed to hers would rekindle the love she still felt for Brodie Yates. She wasn’t made of stone…just flesh and blood and more regrets than she could count.

  The lazy half smile indicated enjoyment. He knew his nearness suffocated her thoughts.

  He meant to strip every shred of her newfound dignity.

  He intended to kiss her.

  And perhaps more? She gasped for air but found little.

  “Convince me. For old times’ sake?” He reached for a dark curl. “Show me I’m no longer in your blood, and I’ll leave you alone. I dare you.”

  A rabbit in a snare had a more reasonable chance. His hand slipped behind her head. Laurel sagged weakly against his chest, tired of fighting forbidden attraction. Beneath her ear, his heart raced, perhaps chased by memories on a fast horse.

  “I’ve dreamed of this for so long.” His breath stirred the hair against her throbbing temple. “I’ve relived every detail of those nights in my mind. The faint scent of rose water behind your ears, the tiny pulse in the hollow of your throat. I remember every whispered endearment.”

  “Please…stop. I don’t—”

  His mouth smothered the plea. Her body betrayed her, responding to desire born from hopeless fear long ago.

  Laurel welcomed the thr
usting tongue, and when her breasts ached for his caress, he covered them with his palms, rolling the nipples to hard peaks. Delicious, shameful thrills played tag up her spine.

  Soft mewling escaped from somewhere deep inside, a place where lies could not hide. A place she’d never thought to revisit in this century.

  The arousal bulging from his trousers into her soft belly spoke of equal need. Passion became a raging inferno that threatened to scorch everything in its path…including her lofty goals of good intentions.

  Low moans rumbled in his throat when she wound her fingers in the thickness of his hair.

  What she wouldn’t give to pretend he meant nothing. Simply a man she used to know. Or maybe just some nameless wanderer who’d ridden into town looking to put food in his belly.

  Truth and lies, pleasure and pain. Seemed she couldn’t have one without plenty of the opposite. She’d pay any price if he’d up and disappear from her life one more time.

  But wasn’t the greater sin in denying that he made her feel alive again?

  Abruptly, he pushed away. “Got my answer. The fire still burns hotter than ever. Cloak yourself in self-righteous claims that mean nothing. You still care for me. Admit it.”

  Laurel recoiled, wishing him into the nearest grave.

  “You low-down double-crosser. I didn’t throw myself into your arms. You came to me. You took what belongs to your brother.”

  The imprint of his touch lingered on her skin like a hot brand.

  He barked a laugh. “I didn’t notice any resistance.”

  Seven

  Laurel steeled herself against the hurt and knowing Brodie was right about loving him. Still, she itched to wipe that grin off his face.

  “It’s in your blood, darlin’. I’ve no doubt should I want you in my bed, you’d come willingly…for a price.”

  “My, you flatter yourself, Yates,” she said wryly. “Given a choice of jumping into a pool of quicksand or crawling up beside you on dry land, I’d choose the quicksand and meet my fate. Your bed? Not for any price.”

  The lie left a foul taste in her mouth. Admitting his kiss, his touch, ignited embers of a long-cold fire courted disaster. She couldn’t say what she wished, even though it meant denying her heart.

  “Stay away from Murphy.”

  Warmth where he’d pressed against her belly still burned.

  “And you?” The whisper gorged the space between them.

  “I’m immune to your tricks, Lil.” Brodie flashed a crooked smile. “But should you find yourself sinking in that quicksand, my door is always open.”

  The brimstone glare she shot should’ve blistered the tall broad figure that left the same way he came.

  Laurel collapsed into the nearest chair, emotionally drained. She wouldn’t have known Ollie bustled in were it not for scurrying movement too loud for mice.

  “I hope you enjoyed your little refreshment.”

  “Reckon you got a right to spit nails for me deserting you.”

  Remorse nicked her anger. Ollie needn’t bear the brunt. Laurel had unfettered the bridled desire to be kissed and caressed the way a woman yearns.

  The fault lay with no one but her.

  In all fairness, Brodie would’ve backed away had she positively insisted. She knew that.

  He’d never exhibited cunning or evil.

  But devilish, maddening, and charming?

  Always.

  Honest truth never hurt a body. She hadn’t wanted to deny the pleasure that enveloped each tiny, sensuous nerve ending and made them throb with life after a long sleep.

  “I’m not mad at you.” Laurel marched to the brine barrel and reached in.

  “You’re ready to throttle someone. Only one other name comes to mind. Better tell me what that rascal did. I’ll badger you until you do.” Smoke billowed from the overworked pipe. “Is he the one making you cry?”

  A sweep of her sleeve brushed away tell-tale signs. “This darn brine makes my eyes water. To which rascal do you refer?”

  “Shenandoah or Yates, whichever name he’s using today.”

  A band of soothsayers had to sit on a branch of Ollie’s family tree. The way the woman braced a hand on her hip made Laurel suddenly curious. The pose appeared natural for someone comfortable with strapping on a pistol. How odd to consider it.

  “What makes you think he did anything?”

  “I can see it on your face. Then there’s the tears.”

  Laurel sighed, dropping the meat she’d plucked from the barrel onto the counter. “I give up. After you left, he waylaid me.”

  “The sneakin’ skunk. Yates didn’t pay no more mind to my warning than to a flea. What else?”

  “Nothing.”

  She dare not speak of warm breath that nuzzled the corners of her mouth and weakened her knees.

  “Spit it out,” Ollie demanded.

  “He talked about leopards and spots. He said I’d never wash mine off.” That was close enough.

  “Did you haul off and wallop him?”

  Hiding her face, she lifted a long knife and set to work slicing the slab of pork. “It wouldn’t have done a lick of good.”

  “Thought I taught you to have some gumption, girl.”

  “I’m facing facts. Despite how hard I try, I may not save the woman William Taft turned me into after all.”

  Ollie closed her right eye and squinted with the left. “Unless you fight, you ain’t fit for toad spit.”

  “Years of struggle don’t buy back a stolen life.”

  Or keep crumbling dreams from falling about her feet.

  “Like grandpappy said, ‘There’s a lot more to buildin’ a fire than pickin’ up a couple of sticks.’”

  The knife slipped. “Darn it, you’re distracting me.”

  “Then put it down for a minute. Changing things means you gotta do more than just say it. A good fire takes finding the right kind of wood. Then you gotta get some leaves and such to stuff underneath it to catch the flame. But picking the right spot is most important of all. Cain’t—”

  “Spit and thunder. I don’t need fire-building lessons.”

  From Ollie’s openmouthed stare you’d have thought Laurel had sprouted horns.

  “I ain’t no big bag of wind.” She took Laurel’s hand, stroking the back. “Pick the place you want the change to begin. Start with the little things to get your flame to catch, then add big logs gradual-like. Gotta warn you, though, let that fire get outta control and it’ll burn you alive.”

  Considering the inferno inside, it already had.

  “Are you finished? I have work to do.”

  “One thing you gotta do before anything else and that’s change the opinion of yourself.” She released Laurel’s hand and jabbed a finger into her chest. “Inside here.”

  “I’m making headway.” Whenever she didn’t feel like a cross between someone’s dirty laundry and a shrinking bar of soap.

  Ollie took her face in her hands. “Girl, I wish to high heaven I could turn back time to the day Will Taft took you. I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “That’s why I love you despite how difficult you make it.”

  Had she only stayed with her brothers and not wandered off to pick blackberries alone. How quickly life can change.

  Ollie sniffed at the backhanded sentiment. “You’re a fine woman, Laurel girl. Sometimes I think it’d be a sight easier for you living with a broken neck. All I’m saying is you gotta make do with what’cha got. And one other thing…a feller would have to be blind as a bat not to see you have rare beauty both inside and out.”

  Suddenly she wasn’t that scared little kid clutching a stranger’s coattails anymore. She stuck out her jaw. “I’ve made my decision, Ollie.”

  “How soon you want me to saddle the horses?”

  “No one�
��s going to threaten me into leaving. I’m about to prove to the world, including Brodie Yates, who Laurel Lillian James is and what stern material she’s made of.”

  * * *

  Murphy strolled into the café that evening. Laurel turned a deaf ear to Florence Kempshaw’s grumbles and met his wide grin. She dodged his reach, tucking her hands into the apron.

  “What a pleasant surprise. Did Etta forget to cook?”

  “I prefer yours, particularly when I might steal a kiss.” Eager light flashed. “Etta can’t do that for me.”

  Florence lifted her fork, cocking an ear toward the table Murphy took. Each nasty rumor in town originated from her.

  “Shh.” Laurel nodded toward the old spinster.

  “Sweetheart, we don’t have to hide. I’m going to marry you. Tonight if I could.” His hand joined hers inside the apron pocket. The glint in his eyes said he wanted her more than ever.

  Guilt settled faster than layers of silt in Big Cypress Bayou. How could she tell him? And yet the words wouldn’t come.

  Cluttering Murphy’s life with someone like her would not repay the debt she owed him. But neither would she let his flinty-eyed brother dictate to her. She had rights.

  “Murphy, I have to speak to you after everyone leaves.”

  “Sounds serious, my love.”

  Before she could go further, Florence began furiously waving her arms in the direction of the window where two young boys flattened their noses against the pane. The silly woman resembled General Lee ordering a dozen regiments into battle.

  “Shoo. Get away, you little heathens.” Florence turned. “I wish to finish my grits and fatback in peace, Miss James.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Most likely they’re hungry.”

  Laurel expected them to scatter when they heard the knob rattle. Instead, two sets of sad, brown eyes stared up. The oldest child couldn’t have seen his eighth birthday.

  “Anything I can help you boys with?”

  The spokesman wiped his nose on the sleeve of a torn, dirty shirt that hung from his thin bones. “We ain’t hurting no one.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t harm a soul. You look a little lost though. Want to come inside?” She smiled warmly.