Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four

by Vivian Vaughan

  “Should be enough to barbeque for the dance and have some left while I’m gone,” he told Molly.

  “How long?”

  “No longer than necessary, love. I’ll take the proof with me to Orange. When I get there, I’ll have to fill out the paperwork and get a judge to issue warrants for the Rangers to use.”

  “Will you arrest him?”

  “No. I’m not technically a Ranger. They’ll do that.”

  “Good. I don’t like the thought of you confronting outlaws.”

  Unlike the last dance, this one proved a great idea. Molly saw him for the man she thought he was, not as a reincarnation of the scoundrel who had left her the year before, the scoundrel he really was. Rubal, likewise was able to suppress his growing uneasiness and enjoy having her in his arms all evening.

  Ever since he’d decided how to tell her about his true identity, he had relaxed. He would wait until the day he left for Orange, which looked now to be sometime the following week. He had to wire Jubal again for confirmation concerning a couple of technicalities, and once he had the answer to those questions, saying things were like he figured, he could wrap things up in no more than a day.

  His plan was to take Molly out to her property, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. He would draw on her memories, taking her back to the dance the year before; he would tell her about his own feelings that night, describe his own miserable year—the way he could never get her off his mind, the way he hadn’t been able to hardly look at another woman, the reason he had taken his brother’s place for this job, his decision to return to Apple Springs and see if she felt the same things he felt, to see if their relationship didn’t need exploring. As things turned out, the depth of their love proved that it had.

  Explaining why he lied and kept lying would take some doing, but he figured Molly knew him well enough to be able to see the truth in what he would say: He’d grabbed hold of the first thing that came to mind to get her to put that shotgun down and give him a chance. Wicked though it was, the lie itself proved how desperate he’d been to hang around long enough to win her love.

  He would remind her of the many times he tried to tell her the truth, stopped in each instance by her expressions of hatred for “Rubal.” He would tell her how much she meant to him—the world—and that he couldn’t stand to lose her, for any reason.

  He expected her anger, her hurt, her disappointment. That’s why he’d waited until he was ready to leave to tell her the truth, he would say. He wanted to give her time to come to grips with the idea of him being Rubal. He knew she would need time alone for that.

  He would tell her how much he loved her; and that he knew she loved him as much. He would say he had no intention of living his life with anyone but her. And that they would be married as soon as he returned from Orange.

  She would be hurt, and she would cover her hurt with anger, he knew that. So at Lindy’s birthday dance, he forced himself to forget all these things and hold her and dance with her, admiring her beauty, inhaling her sweet natural fragrance, wanting to take her upstairs to that big feather bed more than ever.

  Early in the day, while he, Jeff, and Travis barbequed the venison and hams, Molly, Sugar, and Lindy had prepared a feast of salads and casseroles and relishes made with vegetables fresh from the garden, pickled pigs’ feet and eggs, and cookies of so many varieties Rubal lost count: ginger, molasses, oatmeal, and even a jelly roll. Between dances he stood beside Molly at the serving table watching the guests. Once he handed her a cup of punch, lemonade mixed with crystals Mr. Osborne had ordered special from Houston. They touched glasses.

  “To us,” she whispered.

  “Forever,” he answered.

  Molly took a sip. “Everyone’s having such a grand time, we don’t need spiked punch.”

  “It’s all that passion radiating from you and Lindy.”

  Molly blushed. The music had started again, and together they watched Lindy and Jeff spin around the floor. “You’re right,” she whispered.

  For Lindy’s sixteenth birthday, Molly had refashioned a lovely peach-colored watered silk gown that had belonged to their mother. Nipped at the waist, dipped at the neckline, it revealed just how mature Lindy really was. A poignant sight.

  “She’s excited about going to school,” Molly commented. “She wants to be a teacher.”

  “She’ll make a good one.” He watched the young couple dance. Holding each other as close as was proper, they obviously wanted to be much closer. The second time he saw Jeff’s head dip to Lindy’s ear, Rubal decided to take action. “Excuse me, Molly. Think I’ll cut in on ol’ Jeff and give him a chance to cool off.”

  Molly watched him go. How lucky that she hadn’t been able to run him off. How lucky she was! And so much in love. She watched him twirl Lindy around the room to the tune of “Buffalo Girls Won’t You Come Out Tonight.” How good he was with the children. She knew she’d never forget the night he lit into Lindy and Jeff. That night had been a turning point—for all of them. That night they turned the corner into a bright new future.

  Willie Joe and Little Sam munched cookies from the refreshment table. Molly took Little Sam’s hand.

  “Come dance with me.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Naw.” Molly watched him turn his attention to a little girl in a pink dress with blond pencil curls dipping to her shoulders.

  “I wanna dance with her.”

  Molly grinned. “Well, go ask her.”

  “I don’t know her name.”

  “Ask her.”

  “How?”

  “Just go up to her, say, ‘I’m Sam Blake, what’s your name?’ When she tells you, ask her to dance.”

  The little boy ducked his chin to his chest.

  “Go ahead. She won’t bite.”

  “Miss Molly,” Sugar called from the doorway.

  Leaving Little Sam to his own endeavors, Molly hurried to the kitchen to add the final touches to Lindy’s birthday cake. They had waited until the dance started to make it, so Lindy would be surprised. Like they figured, once the dancing began, she and Jeff were too caught up in each other’s presence for her to give a second thought to the kitchen.

  When the sixteen candle holders and candles were in place, Molly left to round up the children. Travis was sitting on the front step with Rubal and Jeff and Lindy. Willie Joe was eating cookies. She looked around for Little Sam.

  He tugged on her dress from behind. When she looked down, he had his finger in his mouth and a forlorn expression on his face. Kneeling, she removed his finger. “What is, honey?”

  “Her name is Ginny and her said no.”

  Molly’s eyes widened, then she remembered—the little girl in pink. She pulled Little Sam’s head to her shoulder. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” Looking into this solemn little eyes again, she encouraged, “Don’t give up. There are other little girls here. After we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Lindy, ask one of them to dance.”

  Lindy was delighted—and surprised—with her birthday cake. When they finished singing, Molly stood back beside Rubal, watching her little sister serve cake to the guests.

  “She’s grown up. And so beautiful.”

  Rubal’s hand slipped around her waist, pulling her to his side with a squeeze. “She takes after her big sister, Molly love.”

  They danced the rest of the night in each other’s arms. “That’s ‘Moonlight in the Pines,’” he said once, wishing he could tell Molly how that tune had played and replayed through his brain the past year.

  “We always play that at our dances,” she explained. “My grandmother started the tradition. It’s kind of appropriate, since Apple Springs is in the heart of the Piney Woods.”

  Pride shone from her eyes and sounded in her voice. Rubal recalled Sugar saying that Molly had given the townsfolk as hard a time as they’d given her. He didn’t buy that, not for a minute. But he was beginning to understand her reasons for wanting to live in Apple Springs.

  When time
came for the last dance, the traditional “Good-bye, Old Paint,” Rubal was as guilty as the other men of keeping the chorus going, adding verse after absurd verse, just to hold her in his arms, while visions of that feather bed danced through his brain.

  “Sometimes I wish I’d never seen that danged feather bed,” he whispered in her ear.

  Two days later Rubal was still mentally rehearsing his confession to Molly, knowing no priest would ever be harder on a penitent, when Cliff Parker arrived to discuss cutting the timber to send Travis to school.

  With the family gathered around the big pine table in the kitchen, Rubal took a back seat, while Parker explained. Travis had followed Rubal’s advice to learn all he could about timbering in preparation for this discussion, and Rubal beamed with pride in the boy.

  He could tell Parker was impressed, too.

  “You don’t recommend clear-cutting?” Travis questioned.

  “I’ll do it, if that’s what you want. Fact of the matter, it’s a hell—uh, pardon me, ladies—a heck of a lot easier and quicker than taking trees out piecemeal. But as to recommending it, if we were talking about my own property, I’d say no. Save as many hardwoods as you can.”

  “What good will they do us, the hardwoods?” Travis questioned.

  “Plenty, son. Ask Jarrett, here. The railroad will need oak for ties to lay track. And the market for cypress and other hardwoods will pick up once the rail lines are in operation. Left alone until they’re needed, they’ll help the forest retain its balance, keep the natural habitat for the critters who live there, and allow natural protection for sprouting loblollies.”

  “How many trees do you suggest taking?” Molly asked.

  “How much money do you need to realize, ma’am?”

  “Master Taylor says we should plan on a hundred dollars per semester, including room and board. I suppose we could cut enough for several semesters and put it in the bank.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” Parker returned. “Much as I’d like the business, my feelings are, you’ll come out ahead in the long run taking only what you need for the next few months.”

  “Why’s that Parker?” Rubal put in when the logger didn’t continue.

  Parker shrugged. “Hell, Jarrett, you should know the answer to that good as anyone, since scoutin’ for a new rail line brought you to town.”

  When Parker perused the group, Rubal hoped he missed the knowing expressions on several faces.

  “Once the rail line’s in, your timber’ll be worth more. I wouldn’t doubt you’ll see five to six dollars a thousand board feet more with the rails.”

  Sugar served lemonade and coffee, and Parker sat back, allowing the family time to mull over his offer.

  “What do you think, Travis?” Rubal questioned at length. “Want to call in some other folks, hear what they have to say?”

  Travis, sitting at the head of the table, which had become his usual place in both the kitchen and the dining room, shook his head. “Not unless the others do.” He and Rubal scanned the group.

  “I’m satisfied,” Molly said.

  “I am, too,” Lindy replied. “Except, I’d like to ask a question.”

  “Shoot,” Parker offered.

  “How much timber do we have? I mean, how many semesters worth of timber do you think we can cut?”

  Parker shook his head. He scanned the table. “Let’s see now. Sayin’ you only use it only for schoolin’…There’s four of you, right?”

  The children nodded.

  “I’d say…enough to last through your children’s time, young lady.”

  Lindy and Travis exchanged big smiles.

  “When do you figure you could get started,” Rubal asked, “sayin’ the family wants you to do the work?”

  “End of the week, if the weather holds. Let’s see, this is Tuesday? Say next Monday for sure.”

  Cliff Parker was hired, the papers signed, and the rest of the week passed with rising expectations for all—except for Rubal, whose mind remained occupied with the confession he would make to Molly. And with the things he wanted to accomplish beforehand.

  By Friday he had wrapped up the paperwork in Lufkin and awaited only a response from Jubal before he could set out for Orange, armed with enough evidence to put Victor Haslett, if not behind bars where he belonged for the next fifty years, at least out of commission as a timber thief for a generation or two.

  He arrived back at the Blake House by midafternoon. Molly was hanging clothes on the line when he rode up the lane. She turned and watched him draw rein and dismount. Her hands stilled on the clothesline, as she watched him approach.

  He knew what she was thinking. With every step he took toward her, he knew she was thinking the same thing he was—recalling the last time he had come home early of a Friday, where they had gone, what they had done. By the time he reached her, his breath was short.

  Lifting a hand, he cupped her chin, lowered his lips, and kissed her, quick and gentle. “Wanna go for a ride?”

  He felt her pulse quicken, read her passionate response in her eyes. “Let me finish here.”

  “Go get your bonnet. I’ll finish hanging the clothes.”

  By the time she returned, he had the sheets on the line, a bit lopsided, but off the ground, which he figured was the whole idea. Hand in hand they walked to the barn, where he caught up her mare, saddled it, and lifted her into the saddle.

  When his hands spanned her waist, his eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face. “You did more than fetch a bonnet.”

  She blushed.

  His eyes swept her body, properly clothed in riding skirt and waist, at least on the outside. He squeezed her corsetless waist. “What else did you leave behind?”

  “Wait and see.”

  Riding past the Apple Springs Bank, Rubal muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Molly turned in time to watch a squat man in logger’s overalls stride up the boardwalk. He raised a hand as they passed. Rubal returned the greeting.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Victor Haslett.” Rubal watched the logger enter the bank. “I’d say he has about as much gall as any man I’ve ever known. Of course, I haven’t known too many thieves.”

  The pace they set on the way to the property was as erratic as their heartbeats. They galloped, they trotted, they walked—always conscious of each other, of what lay ahead, of how long it had been since they had lain in each other’s arms, of the desperation they had felt daily to return to the forest and experience the joys of their mutual desire.

  Rubal made a stab at conversation. “Looks like I’ll be headin’ out for Orange come Monday.”

  Molly’s heart skipped. “Monday? Why so soon?”

  “Sooner I leave, the sooner I can return…” He looked across the way at her, held her worried gaze, “…to you.”

  She swallowed her fear, or tried to, but her heart beat in her throat. She turned her attention to the red rutted road, unable to speak. But what was there to say? Certainly she couldn’t beg him to stay; his job was important. She couldn’t ask to go with him; that would be unseemly. “Then why don’t you leave today? You’d get back that much sooner.”

  “I’m waiting for a wire,” he told her. “From L&M. I can’t leave until we’re sure we have all the information we need to wrap up the case against Haslett. That way it’ll only take one trip.”

  “Good. You think it’ll come Monday, the wire?”

  “Hope so. I should have heard already.”

  “Does that mean there’s something wrong?”

  “Can’t say.” He winked at her. “We’ll worry about that later, though.”

  She warmed, knowing he had made time for them to be alone again before he left. He was without doubt the most thoughtful man she had ever known. And he was hers.

  Her heart sang. But there was one thing they had never discussed. “Jubal, are you certain you’ll be happy living in Apple Springs?”

  “With you? We won’t be living in
Apple Springs, Molly love, we’ll be in heaven.”

  She sighed.

  “Don’t worry about me. While I’m in Orange, I’ll apply for that job scoutin’ the rail line.”

  “Good.”

  “Since I’ve already done most of the leg work, I should be high on the list.” He shrugged. “If not that job, I figure getting in with L&M like I have, they’ll have a position for me somewhere close by.”

  “I hope so.” She turned serious eyes on him. “But if they don’t…I mean, if you must go someplace else to work, I’ll go, too.”

  “Molly…”

  “Really. I won’t mind leaving Apple Springs. It won’t matter where I live, as long as we’re together.”

  Drawing up in the middle of the road, he reached over and took her reins, pulling her horse to a stop, too. Leaning across the space, he kissed her, long and hard and deep. Loving her, wanting her, needing her.

  “Molly, Molly. I love you more than I ever knew it was possible to love someone.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Me, too.”

  His lips claimed hers again, leaving her breathless and weak. Finally she drew back with a laugh. His heated gaze seared to her core.

  “I’ll race you to the property,” he challenged.

  But when they arrived, they didn’t recognize it.

  Molly cast her eyes left and right. “We’re in the wrong place.” Her voice was strained, doubtful. “This can’t be my property.” But in the distance she saw the little hill where the log cabin that had been built by her great-grandfather Maybray stood, the cabin Cleatus wanted to demolish to build their grand home.

  “Maybe not,” Rubal commented. “I don’t remember that cabin.”

  “It was hidden by the forest…before…” Tears stung her eyes. She scanned the ravaged land through blurred vision.

  “That sonofabitch,” Rubal hissed.

  “What…?” Molly’s words faltered. The question was pointless.

  Rubal dismounted, came around her horse, took her reins in one hand and reached for her. She slipped out of the saddle, into his arms, stood in his embrace.

  He held her close while she buried her face against the truth that was too frightful to accept. He could feel her shaking.