Captive Trail (The Texas Trail Series Book 2)

by Susan Page Davis

  The barn door stood wide open, and a couple of men worked inside, so Ned rode up close and swung out of the saddle. It felt good to stand on solid ground. He let the pinto’s reins fall and stepped inside, pulling his gloves off.

  Jud Morgan turned toward him and grinned.

  “Ned! Glad to see you!” He clasped Ned’s hand. “This is Ricardo Estanza, one of my ranch hands. We’re just cleaning things out a bit and making plans for our spring roundup.”

  Ned shook hands with Ricardo and chatted for a few minutes about cattle and the weather.

  “I know you want to see Billie,” Jud said. “Let me take you inside. Ricardo, could you put Ned’s horse up, please?”

  Ned retrieved his bundle of clothing and saddlebags and followed Jud to the house. They went in through the kitchen door. A lovely blonde woman wearing an overall apron stood at a work table cutting biscuits. She looked up and gave them a dazzling smile.

  “You must be Ned.”

  “This is my wife, Wande,” Jud said.

  Beyond her, Billie whirled and met his eyes.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Morgan,” Ned said, but his gaze slid back to Billie—more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. She wore a bright red calico dress that suited her coloring, and her hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders.

  She came and held out her hands, her face slightly flushed and her blue eyes sparkling. “I am so glad you got here safely.”

  Ned dropped his bundle and took both her hands in his. He wanted to draw her into an embrace, but that wouldn’t be proper. He blushed as he stammered a thank-you. “You look wonderful.”

  “Doesn’t she?” Wande asked.

  “We’ve put a lot of effort into fattening her up,” Jud said.

  Wande’s mouth opened wide as if she was horrified at his remark. “Really, Jud, that is not the way to speak of a lady’s health.”

  Jud laughed. “One thing about Billie, she knows when I’m teasing.”

  She really did look healthy, not emaciated as she had in October. No sign remained of her injuries.

  Wande laid a hand on Billie’s sleeve. “Why don’t you take Ned into the parlor? You know Ma is longing to meet him, and I think Marion is in there too.”

  In a whirl, Ned was introduced to Billie’s mother, sister, nephews, and niece. He noticed a piano against one wall, and he had to ask.

  “Billie, did you find that you could still play the piano?” An impish smile curved her lips. “You will see later.”

  “All right.” She hadn’t mentioned it in her letters, and he sensed a surprise was in store.

  “She picked it up again very quickly,” her mother said, “but then, it runs in the Morgan family, just like the penchant for raising horses.”

  “And the flute?” Ned asked.

  Mrs. Morgan smiled. “It was as if she’d never laid it down. Of course, she had her Comanche flute, though it’s not the same. I was astonished at how much she remembered. In only a few weeks, she was reading music.”

  “It is another language,” Billie said.

  Marion laughed. “Yes, we’ve decided you are very good at languages. She’s even picked up a smattering of German from Wande and my husband, Peter.”

  An image flashed through Ned’s mind of Billie, sought after and much respected as a translator of fine literature into other languages. Perhaps people would ask her to lecture on linguistics—or music or—

  He looked at her, slightly troubled by his thoughts. It had never occurred to him, but Billie had such an engaging personality, people would flock to hear her speak about her experiences. How could he ask her to go back up north and be the wife of a stagecoach driver?

  While Ned was upstairs settling in, Billie headed back to the kitchen.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Wande shoved her back out into the next room. “You are done working for tonight. Marion and Ma will help me finish getting supper ready.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Marion said from behind her. “Peter will be here soon to eat supper with us. We’ll call you when it’s time.”

  “Take Ned out and show him around the place,” her mother suggested.

  Ned appeared at the top of the stairs, and Billie smiled at him, feeling a bit shy. “I am supposed to show you … I’m not sure what.”

  He laughed. “I’d love to see it.”

  She threw on a shawl and took him out to the barn. They found Ned’s horse contentedly stabled and eating hay. Jud joined them as they walked around the corrals, explaining to Ned some of the finer points of breeding Morgans.

  After fifteen minutes, he went off to help Ricardo. Ned walked slowly along the rail fence with Billie.

  “Ma said she would call us when Pastor Bader gets here. He’s Marion’s husband. When he comes, we will eat together.”

  “Your family’s terrific,” Ned said. “I can see that they love you very much.”

  “Yes. This time with them has been a blessing—one of those gifts God gives us.”

  Ned nodded, remembering their broken conversation about “Amazing Grace” back at the Ursuline mission. “I’m very happy for you. I can’t believe all of this is happening, and I’m finally here with you.”

  “I know. It has been wonderful to be here these past few months, but all the time I was waiting—waiting for you.” She lowered her head and focused on the ground. Ned here beside her—the reality she’d waited for so long almost took her breath away. Every anxiety she’d had over the past few months slipped away. Ned hadn’t forgotten her or tired of her—silly notions, those. Over the winter there had been no more Comanche raids along the stagecoach route. He had come through the season in good health, and he’d made the long journey safely. Ned was here—the answer to a thousand earnest prayers.

  He stopped walking and snaked his arm around her. “Billie, I love you.”

  Her heart swelled with contentment, and she smiled up at him. “This is what I have wished for.”

  He squeezed her gently then let go of her and leaned on the top rail of the fence. “I never saw horses like these. There’s not a sorry nag in the bunch.”

  “That is true.” She stood beside him in silence. What had caused this sudden change of mood and topic? The last rays of sun tinged the sky orange and pink as they watched the horses.

  “I can’t imagine you’d ever want to leave this place,” Ned said at last. “It’s so beautiful here, and your family loves you so much.”

  “I feel safe,” she said. “But …”

  Ned straightened and looked at her somber face. “But what?”

  “But I love you, and I want to …” He waited.

  She glanced up at him then looked away, afraid she had been too bold.

  “Please say it, Billie. Do you want to be with me? Would you marry me and come back to the ranch?”

  The blazing colors seemed to leap from the sky to her heart. “Yes. Oh, yes, Ned.”

  He engulfed her in his arms, and she held on to him.

  “I love you,” he said. “I’d marry you tomorrow, or next week, or I’ll come back again in the summer if you want.”

  “Will we live in the ranch house with Señor Garza and his children?”

  “We could build a house of our own if you wanted. That might be better. We could stay with Tree’s family until it’s built. Or I could go home and build it first.” He kissed her, and she knew she didn’t want to wait. She wouldn’t insist on a perfect house. She’d lived in a tepee for years, and she could adapt to nearly anything, so long as she was with Ned.

  “I think maybe tomorrow is too soon,” she whispered, “but next week … Hmm.”

  Ned drew back and studied her face. “Really?”

  “I think my mother will insist on at least that long. The Morgans are big on celebrating properly. There will be baking and cleaning and sewing. Maybe even two weeks. Were you going to stay that long?”

  For a moment, Ned seemed speechless, then he let out a whoop. “I exp
ect I’d better go talk to your brother again. Whatever you and your Ma decide on for time, I’ll abide by.”

  “Thank you,” Billie said. She wasn’t going to let him get away so easily, though. “You can talk to Jud after supper.”

  “All right.”

  She felt very daring as she slid her hands around his neck and drew him down to meet her. Ned pulled her back into his embrace without protest.

  EXCERPT FROM The Long Trail Home

  PROLOGUE

  WACO, TEXAS, 1858

  That one right there—he’s your mark.”

  Annie Sheffield slipped past her daddy and peeked around the corner of the building. A handsome youth with wheat-colored hair stood in the dirt road in front of the mercantile, a shiny pocket watch dangling from his fingers on a silver chain. Annie squinted when a shaft of light reflected off the watch, and she blinked several times, refocusing on her prey. A much younger boy with the same color hair reached for the watch, but the older boy lifted the treasure higher to safety.

  The older boy’s look was stern but gentle. “No, Timothy. Remember this watch was Grandpa’s. It’s very old, and we must be careful with it.”

  The younger boy’s face scrunched up but he nodded. Then the comely youth bent down and allowed Timothy to hold the shiny watch for a moment before he closed it and put it back in a small bag, a proud smile on his handsome face.

  Ducking back into the alley, Annie leaned against the wall in the early evening shadows. She glanced at her daddy. “Do I have to?”

  “You wanna eat, don’tcha? We need that watch.”

  “But that boy looks so proud of it.” Her father narrowed his gray eyes. “I’d be proud if’n it was mine.”

  Annie sighed. If her father possessed the watch, he’d just go hock it or gamble it away.

  “Go on with ya.” He flicked his thin index finger in the air, pointing toward the street. He tugged down on the ugly orange, green, and brown plaid vest that he always wore. “Scat!”

  Annie peered around the building again, taking a moment to judge how fast she’d have to run and where she could hide once she’d taken the watch. She’d come to hate being a pickpocket. Ever since she heard that street preacher several months back in Galveston hollering to a small crowd of spectators that stealing was breaking one of God’s special laws, it had nagged her worse than a swarm of mosquitoes. But she was hungry, and they had no money.

  She studied the boy’s long legs. Could she outrun him? And what about his little friend?

  Her daddy was an expert pickpocket. He could snitch a wallet and disappear into a crowd like a crow in a flock, but when it came to running away from a target, well, that’s where she came in.

  The tall cowboy was probably only a few years older than her thirteen years. He motioned to the younger boy, and they hopped up on the boardwalk, and strolled toward her, completely unaware they were being spied on. He held one hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, as if wanting to keep him close. Now that they both faced her, she could see their resemblance. They had to be brothers. The big boy glanced at his watch bag, tucked it in his vest pocket, and gave it a loving pat.

  Annie jumped back. “He’s coming,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  Her father scowled. “I want that watch. Go!”

  He gave her a shove. She stumbled forward and turned.

  The youth’s blue eyes widened. “Hey, look—”

  They collided—hard. Annie was knocked backwards, arms pumping, and her cap flew off. The youth grabbed her shoulders, and in a quick, smooth move that had taken Annie her whole life to master, she slipped his watch from his pocket and into hers. She ducked her head and stepped back. “Sorry, mister.”

  Her apology was more for stealing his treasure than crashing into him. She spun around and ran, hating the baggy trousers her father made her wear so she’d look like a boy. Hating the life she was forced to live. Hating that the handsome youth would hate her. She ran past a bank and a dress shop, then ducked down another alley. Behind the building she turned right instead of going left and back toward her daddy. Right now she didn’t want to see him.

  “Hey! Come back here, you thief!”

  Annie’s heart lurched, and she switched from trot to gallop. She could no longer see the watch’s owner, but she knew it was him hollering. Bumping into that young man had flustered her. She hadn’t expected him to be so solid, not for a youth not even full grown yet. Men grew taller and tougher here in Texas than in the other cities of the South where she’d mostly grown up—a different city every few weeks. A thief wasn’t welcome in town for long.

  Loud footsteps pounded behind her. She ducked under a wagon that sat behind the smithy, rolled, and dove into the open doorway. She crawled into the shadows of the building and curled up behind a barrel that had oats scattered on the ground around it. She took several gasps of air, and listened for footsteps. The watch pressed hard against her hipbone, causing her guilt to mount. A horse in a nearby stall snorted and pawed the ground. Annie’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as she listened for her pursuer’s footsteps. Would he thrash her if he found her?

  She peeked between around the barrel. The tall boy stood in the doorway, looking around. She shrank back into the shadows like a rat—like the vermin she was.

  After a moment, he spun around and quick steps took him away. Annie leaned against the wall, hating herself all over. Why couldn’t she have been born into a nice family who lived in a big house? She’d even be happy with a small house, if she could have regular meals, wash up every week or so, and wear a dress like other girls.

  But, no, she had to be born the daughter of a master pickpocket.

  The blacksmith—red-headed, with huge shoulders and chest—plodded over to a shelf directly across from her, pulled something off it, then returned to the front of the building. He pounded his hammer, making a rhythmic ching.

  What would he do if he found her hiding in his building? Would he pummel her like that he did horseshoe? He’d have to catch her first, and surely a man that muscled couldn’t run very fast. And if she was anything at all, she was fast.

  Annie yawned and glanced at the door. Was it safe to leave yet?

  Nah. She’d better wait until dark. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early this morning, when her pa stole a loaf of bread right off someone’s table. The family had been out in the barn, doing chores, and he’d walked right in as if he owned the place. He’d laughed when he told her that the only person who saw him was a baby in his cradle—and he wasn’t tattling.

  The sweet scent of fresh straw and leather blended with the odor of horses and manure. Annie leaned back against the wall, wincing when it creaked, then closed her eyes. She was so tired of her life. Of moving from place to place. If only her daddy could get a real job and they could live in a real house….

  Riley Morgan chased the boy, running until his side ached, but the little thief had disappeared. He bent and rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard as he watched the street for any sign of the pickpocket. Few people were on the streets of Waco this late. Most businesses had closed before suppertime, except the saloons. The lively tune of a piano did nothing to dampen his anger. How could he have not noticed that thief had slid his grandpa’s watch right out of his pocket?

  Movement drew his attention to a couple strolling arm in arm on the far side of Main Street. Maybe he should ask if they had seen the pint-sized robber, but then they only seemed to be looking at each other. Riley glanced toward the boarding-house where his family’s wagon was parked. They’d stay there tonight, then travel to their new ranch, a few miles outside of town, along a river called the South Bosque.

  Riley heaved a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets. He studied the small town that sat all cozied up to the Brazos River. He hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place—and neither had his mother. Their old farm had been perfectly fine, but his father said there were new opportunities in Waco and inexp
ensive land, too. Riley scowled and blew a heavy breath out his nose. He hadn’t wanted to leave his friends, especially Adrian Massey, a pretty neighbor girl he planned on courting once he was a few years older. He hoped that she would follow through and write to him as she promised.

  His mother’s tears hadn’t swayed his father, though they made Riley’s heart ache. She wanted to go back to Victoria where her family and the rest of the Morgans lived. But not Pa. He loved his siblings, but he had a need to be independent, to play a part in developing Texas—and now they were even farther away.