Texas Redemption

by Linda Broday

  Vallens dragged Hannah down an alley while Wolf-dog chased an apple wagon much to his master’s ire. Hate overwhelmed her.

  She wouldn’t let him steal her sister.

  Keeping from sight, she followed. Luckily, barrels littered the alley. She ducked behind them, wondering why the girl didn’t scream. Then she noticed Vallens’ hand clamped over Hannah’s mouth. A discarded piece of two-by-four fit Laurel’s palm perfectly. Silently, she crept. Intent on subduing the struggling form, Vallens didn’t hear her approach.

  Cracking his head with a mighty blow, Laurel grabbed the girl and sprinted toward the bustle of town. The instant they gained the street, an arm reached out and pulled them around the corner.

  The hiss of snake rattles seemed part of some illusion, but the voice lent credence.

  “Get behind me, Lil. I’ll take care of this.”

  Brodie blocked Vallens, who’d raced after his prize.

  “Touch them again and you die.”

  Laurel couldn’t take her eyes from the bounty hunter. Surprise then anger switched places when they collided at the jagged scar. Brodie’s frigid advice suspended the bounty hunter’s hand in mid-reach.

  How or from where Brodie had come didn’t matter. Relief that he had quelled Laurel’s shaking knees.

  “Shenandoah. Or should I say Sheriff?” Vallens’s foolhardy attempt to goad a fight would buy trouble he likely hadn’t considered.

  “I don’t give a flying squirrel which you use, though if you bothered to notice, I’m not wearing a badge. I feel obliged to inform you that molesting young women does happen to still be a crime in Texas.” The Colt hung low on Brodie’s hip. His hands flexed, the cold rebel in him seeming once again to find a home on familiar ground.

  Others less accustomed to the subtle tic of his jaw, steel gray in his glint, or defiant crooked smile might’ve missed the signs. But Laurel’s and Brodie’s souls had interlaced in those long, steamy nights, weaving a sturdy cloth no weapon could penetrate.

  Only two things could unravel the threads.

  Treachery and mistrust.

  Heaven help her. She’d had plenty of both.

  A mass exodus of every onlooker who suspected abrupt flying lead brought her back to the present.

  “Don’t want any trouble. Just having a polite conversation with the little miss.” A sneer curled Vallens’s upper lip. “No law agin that, is there?”

  Hannah shivered, huddling closer.

  “Leave them be unless you be next in line at the undertaker’s.” Brodie never blinked an eye, his gaze focused.

  “You’re mighty self-righteous for one who could end up in the stockade. A word in the right ear will take care of you.”

  The air Laurel sucked in struggled to fill the ache in her chest. Why had Brodie walked into a place fraught with danger when he knew the possible result?

  Surely he couldn’t think himself invincible.

  Or think her worthy of such great risk?

  Even while Laurel denied that bit of speculation, quivers raced the length of her body. No one would spin a weighted roulette wheel against the house and think to win.

  Not on her account.

  Dear God. It forever landed on black, the color of sin.

  And the number thirteen.

  Brodie’s long legs were planted. “One thing I learned well during the war—men with holes can’t make any noise. Just give me half a reason.”

  Arrogance twisted the scarred face into a hundred different roads, all of them leading to places the man shouldn’t go.

  “This ain’t your town. You got no rights here.”

  “Why do men suddenly think they can own towns? Me and Persuader might dispute that logic. It’s a damn good day to lose a bet.”

  Finally, Vallens raised his hands and stood back.

  Brodie flashed a grim stare. “Laurel, take your friend and wait at the sheriff’s office.”

  Blinding heat of the gray-eyed rebel bridged the fortress she’d built and brazenly stole her from its sanctuary.

  Perhaps she’d wronged him.

  Perhaps the cloth hadn’t unraveled, merely snagged and needing repair.

  And perhaps he did think her someone of worth.

  Vallens spoke low, words meant for her alone. “Taft might consider a younger surrogate fair trade, I’m thinking.”

  The threat reached further than Vallens intended. Brodie grabbed his throat, pinning him against the rough stone wall.

  “Should either lady get so much as a hair out of place, I’ll come for you. No rock’ll be big enough for your mangy hide to crawl under that I won’t find you.”

  Twenty-one

  Brodie Yates found satisfaction when color drained from Vallens’s face, leaving the scar a ghostly trail to a past that persisted in haunting. His grip tightened. How easy it would be to give in and snap his old adversary’s neck.

  One thing kept him from murder—the lady who held his heart.

  Each time he gazed into Laurel’s eyes, he saw a painting of two bodies, complete with heads.

  Those brief glimpses let him see the person he could become.

  The one she believed he could be.

  His hold slackened and released the rotten piece of humanity. Vallens straightened his drab frock coat. Brodie carefully watched not only the bold, but also each subtle movement, through narrowed slits.

  He’d lived with hatred of one kind or another for most of his life. Though he sent more men to glory than any judge or jury, each occurred only when things reached the kill or be killed stage. Never had he stolen a man’s lifeblood in anger.

  The depth of rage he felt now scared the living daylights out of him.

  The cold, lethal piece of steel at his side called to him.

  Scum such as Vallens had cost Laurel six years. By God Almighty, she’d have an opportunity to reclaim her soul even if Brodie had to help it along. Icy daggers he shot the man in black might’ve sent him to hell and back, except Vallens avoided eye contact, preferring to edge toward his six shooter instead.

  “Go ahead. I’d love to scratch this itchy trigger finger,” Brodie said.

  “Ain’t over yet.” Vallens’s arm dropped limply. “There’s a time and place coming.”

  “Name it. Me and Persuader will be there.”

  Brodie started toward the sheriff’s office when wolf-dog lunged with teeth bared. Motionless and quiet, Brodie’s eyes delivered a message that spoke the animal’s own language. Wolf tucked his tail and lay down, appearing bewildered by his unaccustomed encounters.

  Brodie found the two women pacing in front of the stone building of the sheriff’s office. The bright glimmer swimming in Laurel’s stare released a rush of emotion so intense he choked.

  He longed to take her in his arms, comfort her, and kiss away each sorrow until they shriveled and died. But he couldn’t. She belonged to Murphy.

  With the toes of his boots touching her lacy petticoats, he let her fresh scent pillage the best part remaining of a lost love that used to be. He prayed for strength to pull himself from the whirlpool trying to suck him under.

  “Don’t worry. The man’s not too bright, but I don’t think he’ll bother you.” At least not until Vallens got reinforcements. But Brodie didn’t share that tidbit with her. She was scared enough.

  “What happens when you’re not around? What will Vallens do then?” The half sob strangling her voice tightened his jaw.

  Great Johnny Reb.

  He’d rearrange each star in the sky and move Texas to the other side of the world if he held that in his power. Only it wouldn’t fix anyone’s problems.

  Not hers, not his, and not the ache in his chest.

  “That man, what did he want?” Except for the reddish hair and hazel eyes, the young woman who spoke could pass for Laurel.

/>   “Zeke Vallens is looking for easy money. Selling human flesh wouldn’t make him a bit squeamish.” Brodie watched the fear in her white face deepen and swore under his breath.

  “Sell me? To who?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re not about to let him, so put that from your mind.” Laurel placed protective arms about the girl’s shoulders. “This is Brodie Yates. He’s a friend.”

  “I apologize for scaring you, miss. Just be aware of the man’s capabilities.” He opened the door for them. “We don’t warn lightly. I’ll bend Sheriff Roberts’ ear about the particulars so he’ll know and watch out for you.”

  “I haven’t thanked you for coming to my aid,” the girl said.

  Laurel touched her companion’s shoulder. “Honey, there’s no need. You’d have done the same.”

  “I should’ve paid more attention. Mama says I’m too trusting for my own good.” Soft laughter stole from the girl’s lips. “I’m Hannah James.”

  Brodie jerked about. No wonder she resembled Laurel. The warning shake of Laurel’s head begged him to keep quiet. She hadn’t told the girl who she was. He wondered why.

  Hannah suddenly hugged Laurel. “Take pity and tell me again who you are so I won’t feel like an imbecile.”

  Laurel gently pushed Brodie. “Go on inside. Hannah and I want to gab a bit out here. Lady talk.”

  “I suppose, but don’t wander off.”

  Laurel pretended to adjust the laces of her high-topped shoe. Excitement of seeing the girl had swept aside caution. A fake name? A harmless thing really. Others likely did it on a regular basis. No one would know.

  Except herself.

  And living with lies grew old. Adding more could further hinder reaching the pinnacle of the thing she most coveted.

  She took a deep breath. “My name’s Laurel.”

  “That’s pretty. I once had a sister by that name.”

  Pain spiraled, gouging a deep swath inside before it lodged in her chest. How foolish to risk discovery. Still, she couldn’t stifle a thirst for tidbits about her loved ones.

  A million questions poised on the tip of her tongue.

  “I gather from your tone you’ve suffered tragedy.”

  “It’s dreadful.” Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes.

  Laurel shifted her gaze to a distant spot, wishing she’d have moved the conversation to talk of a colder winter or how many drops of water it took to fill Big Cypress Bayou.

  “Then, you shan’t speak of it. Let’s enjoy the sunshine.”

  “How silly of me. Mama says we must go on. Some days it’s very hard. I miss my Laurel as much now as the day she vanished. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  Laurel swallowed a startled gasp before she quickly replied, “I regret I don’t.”

  “That’s a pity. I can’t imagine life without family.”

  Excruciating torture came in being unable to forget that very closeness. She’d not shared her family with anyone but Ollie.

  “Your mother… Does she live near?” Laurel’s voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “And what of your father?”

  “We have a place on Turkey Creek. They continue to farm the same parcel of land they’ve owned for thirty-odd years. Of course, they couldn’t now without my brothers’ help.”

  The news made her breath quicken. Less than a half hour away by buggy. So near. And yet so far.

  Hannah’s tentative smile raised haunting memories. “Where’s your home, Laurel?”

  “Miles down the bayou,” she answered vaguely.

  “Papa and my brothers keep a tight rein. I’ve not traveled more than ten miles from the farm. I guess I can’t hold that against them, considering what happened.”

  William Taft’s ugly face loomed in her memory. Hannah didn’t realize what evil awaited those who strayed unprotected from home.

  “Here’s a piece of advice from someone who knows—you haven’t missed out.”

  “You’ve probably been just about everywhere. I think someday I’d like to visit St. Louis.”

  “No!” The word resounded like a rifle shot. Hannah jumped. Laurel softened her voice. “I’m sorry. I only wish to stress you’re better off for having stayed close to home. The most precious things in life are here. Don’t throw away what you have believing life is more grand and interesting elsewhere. Believe me, it isn’t.”

  Her family had celebrated birthdays, Christmases, and baptisms without her. She’d missed each holiday and fun time.

  She wondered about Jeremiah and his pet raccoon. About Millie who no longer had need of the baby blanket Laurel had sewn with uneven stitches.

  And about the fading of her mother’s hair.

  But to get the answers to her questions carried too steep a price with no guarantee.

  “Thank you again, Laurel. I almost felt my sister had returned.” Hannah glanced up and down the street. “My brothers Quaid and Rafe must be worried about me.”

  “They’re here?” More ripples swept through Laurel.

  “Most likely at the saloon. The bottle eases powerful blame over letting our sister disappear. Papa’ll have their hides though if they’ve gotten liquored up again.”

  Laurel’s heart lurched. Other casualties lay in the wake of the crime. How ironic to have thought herself the sole victim.

  Less than an hour later, Laurel straddled the big Appaloosa in front of Brodie. She was a tangled mass of nerves. Her sister walked out of her life again and ripped open unhealed wounds. Heaven only knew when she’d get that close to family again.

  Between Zeke Vallens, the parting with Hannah, and half expecting a contingent of soldiers to surround the hated rebel spy any second, a hot frying pan looked more enticing by the second.

  * * *

  “Smokey, take us home, boy.” Brodie gave a gentle nudge amid the creaking of saddle leather.

  In horse-talk, the snort and toss of his head might’ve said the animal thought it high time to get out of hostile territory.

  “I should’ve sailed back on the steamer,” Laurel said from her place in front of him on the horse.

  Male heat where her bottom rested snugly against Brodie’s lap aroused yearning she’d worked night, day, and four years to forget. Such ridiculous ideas came half past late.

  Notions and feelings change, he’d said.

  “Not a chance, pretty lady. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “You expect Vallens to make good on his threats?”

  “I may have given him second thoughts when I told him what to expect with his persistence. But I’m not much of a betting man.”

  The clipped statement left no doubt as to what had transpired. Brodie must’ve laid down some strong advice, although it brought meager comfort. Icy fear held her in a glacial clutch.

  “I’ll stretch anyone out on a marble slab who tries to harm Hannah, without batting an eyelash. What those monsters did to me they will never do to another member of my family, not while I live.” Laurel’s granite tone left no doubt of her feelings.

  “So Hannah James is truly your kin?”

  “My younger sister. Our meeting almost seemed designed by fate.” She wished she could say likewise for the muscular arms resting on each of her hips, holding the reins.

  His light touch made her feel most protected…

  Most safe and valued…

  She just wished that the bridge between them hadn’t already washed out. Hope of crossing back over had long passed.

  “I fail to understand why you didn’t tell her who you are.”

  “Discovering the facts would add more grief, not ease it.” She gripped the saddle horn tighter. “What can she remember, anyway?”

  “Plenty. Why in God’s name don’t you go home?”

  “I can’t.” The lump of hard clay sat in her stomach muc
h easier than the bitter truth. “I won’t.”

  “You can live with them fearing what happened yet never knowing the truth?” His voice held deceptive softness. “That’s not the lady I knew.”

  “They believe I’m dead. That’s the way it’ll stay. That’s my final word on the subject. It’s much better for everyone.” Laurel despised the brittle edge that again snuck into her voice. She could no more help it than stop loving the wrong man.

  “Better for everyone except you.”

  The answer came like the soft, whispering wind. His breath ruffled the top of her hair, sending shivers down her spine. If he knew the effect of his nearness, the fire their closeness ignited, he’d hustle her back to the Lazy Jane faster than lightning could split the heavens and singe a body’s eyebrows.

  “I’ll be fine.” Eventually, she added silently.

  Smokey meandered through tall pines toward home. Moss-bearded water tupelo in the bayou reflected Laurel’s spirit, for they also appeared old and weary from keeping constant vigil. Approaching fall also brought yellow color to the river birch and scarlet turning of black gum. A pair of loons played catch-me-if-you-can across the placid swamp.

  “Have you ever seen a more beautiful place?” he whispered in her ear, his arms stealing around her waist.

  Sick of fighting, Laurel relaxed. Thinking to rest against his hard chest for the barest moment would be a mistake. Still, she couldn’t help it. Beneath flesh and muscle beat a steady rhythm she’d have to be dead to ignore—along with the rigid bulge poking her skirts, his erection clearly disputing his claim of notions fading.

  A bittersweet smile formed. What she’d give to be free. Respectability and doing the honorable thing presented more difficulty than she’d dreamed.

  “Sunlight on your hair would turn a raven green with jealousy. Your strands are so dark they’re almost blue.”

  Laurel kept silent, torn between stopping what they both couldn’t live without and fear he would. Lord knew she’d love nothing more than to have the gray-eyed rebel stroke her bare skin. Tingles fluttered up and down, inside and out.

  Before she could nip passion in the bud, Brodie nuzzled her neck. The same gentle caress from long ago, his lips traced a path up to her jaw.