by Sara Luck
“Mama! Look how tall I am!” Will said excitedly.
Christian stood in the back of the courtroom, watching. He was approached by Frank and W. F. Sloan.
“Well, I suppose you’re pleased with the outcome,” W.F. said.
“Yes, sir, I am. July was an innocent man, and I’m glad the judge saw it that way.”
“Is Phoebe going to pursue arson charges against my son?”
“Arson?” Frank said in surprise. “Pop, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you set fire to Phoebe’s farm. A fire that, during this drought, could have gotten out of hand and destroyed thousands of acres.”
“That’s not true, Pop! They are lying!”
“Mr. De Wet, where did you find that knife?”
“Not thirty feet from the fire line.”
“I explained that. I lost that knife more than a month ago.”
“You’re lying, Frank,” W.F. said. “I saw that knife in your hands just a few days ago. And so did several other witnesses.”
“I . . . I . . .” Frank mumbled, unable to go any further.
“I guess breaking all her eggs just wasn’t enough for you,” Christian said to Frank.
“Eggs? What eggs? I haven’t heard about this,” W.F. said.
“It was back in September when Trinidad and Cornello were celebrating at the fiesta. Phoebe was at a meeting for the water project, and when she got home, all her eggs were smashed.”
“How do you know it was Frank?”
“Frank knew about it the next day. He told Phoebe that one of her men had told him, but that was impossible. One of her men was in jail, and the other was at the fiesta.”
W.F. glared at Frank.
“Pop, I did all of this for her own good. You know she can’t make a living there for herself and Will. I thought if I forced her off the farm, she would come to her senses. I even offered to put her up in . . .” Frank, seeing the expression on his father’s face, stopped in midsentence. “I was looking out for Will. He is your grandson; I just wanted what was best for him.”
“How is Will?” W.F. asked Christian.
“He’s happy to be back with his mother. Will is a fine young man.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of him, but if Phoebe will let me, I intend to remedy that.”
“I obviously don’t speak for Phoebe, but I feel like she’d be most amenable to that. I know she grieves for your son.”
“And so do I. Frank says she was responsible for Edwin’s death, but the more I think about it, I don’t know how she could’ve been. As I see it, if Edwin was out among the ostriches, it had to be an accident.” Then W.F. smiled. “You can’t force one of those ornery birds to do anything.”
“I have to agree,” Christian said.
“Do you think she can make a good living raising those damn things?”
“She made more than a thousand dollars on just this last plucking, and according to Prinsen you can pluck every eight months. Yes, I’d say two thousand dollars a year is a pretty good living, but it’ll take her a while to get back there. She only has two adult birds left after the fire, and that’s where the prized plumes come from.”
“I’d like to make her an offer,” W.F. said, “and you seem to have some sway with her.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Phoebe is a very capable businesswoman who doesn’t need me to tell her what to do.”
“Well, perhaps you will be my arbitrator. If Prinsen will sell them to me, do you think she’ll accept ten pairs of adult birds?”
Christian smiled. “That sounds like a very reasonable offer.”
“There’s one more thing Frank has done that I need to untangle.” W.F. withdrew a folded piece of paper. “This was a lie, too. It says that I established a trust for Will that he’ll access when he’s eighteen. That’s not true. My will gives the boy Edwin’s half of my estate, and I have to say, with some humility, it’s much more than the twenty-five thousand dollars Frank was willing to give him.”
“Pop, why would you give half of all your money to that boy? We don’t even know for sure that Edwin was the father. I mean, you’ve seen how eager she’s been to give herself to a perfect stranger. She—”
“Frank Sloan, if you say one more word about Phoebe, I am going to knock your teeth out, right here in front of your father.”
“Then it would be you in jail instead of that black cretin,” Frank replied.
“I would testify that you just tripped and fell,” W.F. said.
“What? Pop, I’m your son!”
“Unfortunately, that is true.”
“But I—”
“Shut up, Frank. Just shut up. I’ve heard about all that I care to hear from you.” W.F. turned to Christian. “About this agreement. The second part is inexcusable.” W.F. handed the paper to Christian. “I suspect it has a lot to do with you.”
Christian read the document. “This explains a few things.”
“To be honest, my respect for Phoebe has grown tremendously. I think I’ve misjudged her all along.”
• • •
Christian sat in the back of the courtroom watching as everyone congregated around July.
He couldn’t take his eyes off Phoebe. She was so animated and effervescent, did he dare hope that she had refused to sign Frank’s paper because of him? He had told W.F. that she was a capable businesswoman who didn’t need him, and that was true. For a moment, he was concerned that, with the new birds, she didn’t really need him.
But then he smiled. There was one thing all the money in the world couldn’t satisfy for his Phoebe.
• • •
Phoebe noticed that Christian wasn’t among the celebrants. She looked around and found him sitting at the back of the courtroom, a huge grin across his face.
She walked back to join him. “You look like the Cheshire cat.” She took a seat beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me you found Edwin’s knife?”
“I planned to, but then we got so excited when Wapi came home, I forgot.”
“I’m glad he was one of the survivors.” She lowered her eyes and they began to cloud. “I guess I was too prideful. I thought my money troubles were over and I thought you would be working for the water project, but now I know both of those things are not to be.”
“Maybe I could take Cornello’s place. You know he’s never coming back.”
“With only two birds producing prime feathers, I’m afraid I couldn’t pay you very much.”
“Maybe you can.”
“How?”
“Your father-in-law just offered to buy you twenty adult ostriches.”
“He did not!”
“No, he really did. He said he’s misjudged you and wants to make it up to you. And he gave me this.”
Christian handed her the paper W.F. had given him.
She took one look at it and ripped it in two. “No. If he expects me to sign that thing, he can keep his ostriches.”
“He said he admired you because you didn’t sign it. He doesn’t have a trust for Will.”
“Then I didn’t lose anything, because—”
“Because you wouldn’t sign a paper saying you wouldn’t get married.”
Phoebe nodded her head.
Christian chuckled. “He isn’t going to hold you to that either. He says that his grandson is definitely in his will.”
“Hey, you two,” Gwen called. “We need to get going. Crecy and Ina Claire are cooking up a big celebration dinner for July.”
“For me?” July asked. “How did they know the judge would rule in my favor?”
“Crecy said that she divined you would be found innocent.”
“She divined it?”
“Never question Crecy,” Phoebe said. “If she tells you she’s divined something, you’d better listen to her.”
• • •
When the Prinsens’ surrey pulled up, closely followed by Phoebe’s buggy, Will was the first to jump
down. He went running into the house, calling out at the top of his lungs, “July’s here! He’s out of jail!”
By the time Christian, Phoebe, and July reached the house, everyone was in the foyer to greet them.
When the congratulations were over, Ina Claire led them all into the dining room. “Crecy made a rib roast and I’ve been smelling it all afternoon. I can’t wait to try it.”
During the meal, talk was of the trial, of how it was obvious Frank had set the fire, and the new revelation that W.F. wanted to partially replenish Phoebe’s troop of birds.
“He wants to buy twenty birds from you, Yhomas—that is, if you’re willing to sell them,” Christian said.
“I’m in the business of buying birds, not selling them. If it was for anyone else but Phoebe, I’d say no.”
“I appreciate that, because I may be taking on two new hands.” Phoebe looked toward Christian and smiled. “I know July can do the work, and I think he can teach a greenhorn what to do.”
“A greenhorn? You couldn’t have found a better ostrich wrestler than me,” Christian said, continuing the banter.
“What makes you think you’re the one I’m going to hire?” Phoebe cocked her head to one side.
Christian’s eyes opened wide. “It’d better be me!”
“Well, I think the first thing we ought to do is go round up some birds. I assume you want them as soon as possible,” Yhomas said.
“I’ll go,” Buck said.
“All right,” Yhomas said. “I think the birds pastured on the north forty will be the easiest to move.”
“You’ll need help,” July said. “I’ll go, too, if Crecy will hold back another piece of that apple pie.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Crecy said. “I’ve got a whole pie that has your name on it.”
July smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
When July and Buck were gone, Crecy and Ina Claire began clearing the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this has been a very rewarding day,” Clarence Woodson said as he rose from the table. “Our friend July has been exonerated, W. F. Sloan has been rehabilitated, and Phoebe gets her livelihood back, but there is something else I’d like to say.
“I am an engineer, and by definition I like to tinker; if something doesn’t work right, I want to know why. You’ve all heard the story of how Christian saved my life by shooting a mountain lion. What you don’t know is that Christian was complaining about the balance of his rifle.
“I took it upon myself to inspect that rifle, expecting to find that the butt plate was a mixture of lead and brass, instead of the standard copper-and-zinc alloy. But I was wrong. It was just as it should be.
“Christian was right. The rifle was out of balance, but everything seemed to be standard-issue for a Martini. I took it upon myself to remove the butt plate, and I’d like to show you what I found.”
Clarence stood and left the dining room. When he returned, he had the rifle and a screwdriver. He handed both to Christian. “If you’ll remove the butt plate, I think you’ll find the cause of the imbalance.”
When Christian took off the plate, several small items fell from the hollowed-out section of the stock. Christian’s mouth fell open when he saw what looked like octahedron-shaped alum crystals. “Raw diamonds. Where did these come from?”
Clarence laughed. “Well, they certainly didn’t come from Arizona. Where did you get this rifle?”
“Mrs. Van Koopmans gave it to me before I left Cape Town. It’s funny when I think back on it. It caused such a problem getting through customs that I almost got rid of it, but because it had been a gift from Mrs. Van Koopmans, I kept it.”
“Do you think she knew about the diamonds?” Yhomas asked.
“We’re talking about Marie Van Koopmans. Was there anything going on that she didn’t know? More than likely some IDB runner came through and needed money and he sold her this rifle.”
“An IDB runner? What’s that?” Phoebe asked.
“An illicit diamond buyer. Until Cecil Rhodes consolidated De Beers, there were almost as many diamonds stolen as sold.”
“What do you think these are worth?” Yhomas picked up a couple of the stones.
“It’s hard to say”—Christian looked at Phoebe—“but I’d guess it might be pretty close to twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Phoebe smiled broadly. “A pretty good inheritance.”
• • •
A single candle burned on the bedside table, its light casting shadows on the wall of a man and a woman making love, not hurriedly or furtively, but with slow, sensuous kisses and strokes, a giving and taking of shared possessiveness.
Then, after mutual, satisfying climaxes, they lay together, naked skin against naked skin.
“Oh, what a wonderful day this has been!” Phoebe said. “Will is upstairs in his own bed, July was found innocent, W.F. is replacing the birds”—she snuggled closer to Christian—“and I’m in bed with the man I love. This day could not possibly be better.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. There is something that would make it better.”
“What’s that?”
“If you tell me you’ll marry me.”
Phoebe sat up and looked at Christian, his face gleaming gold in the candlelight. “Is that a proposal?”
“Yes. I’m asking you to marry me.”
“Let me think about it,” Phoebe teased.
“All right, think about it, but I have to warn you, there is a time limit on the offer.”
“How long would that be?”
“Oh, I’d say about seventy years or so. If you haven’t agreed to marry me by then, I’m going to take the offer back.”
“Well, if you’re going to be that way about it, I guess I’d better say yes now.”
“I guess you had better.” Christian put his arms around Phoebe’s neck and pulled her down to him.
“Oh, my,” she said after a long, deep kiss. “Again?”
“I want to keep trying until I get it right.”
SARA LUCK is the author of eight previous romantic novels of the American West: Susanna’s Choice, Claiming the Heart, Tallie’s Hero, Rimfire Bride, Marci’s Desire, Hearts Unbound, Hearts Afire, and A Family for Maddie. For six years, she taught school in Alaska, spending much of that time in Point Hope, two hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle. Married to a retired Army officer who is also a novelist, Sara and her husband live on the beach in Alabama with a Jack Russell terrier named Charley.
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ALSO BY SARA LUCK
Susanna’s Choice
Claiming the Heart
Tallie’s Hero
Rimfire Bride
Marci’s Desire
Hearts Unbound
Hearts Afire
A Family for Maddie
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ISBN 978-1-5011-0355-1
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