by Linda Broday
Even if his wife was unhappy, she’d keep silent. Houston had learned that about her in the short time they’d been married. Lara wouldn’t tell anyone if he spent all his time drinking and never went home. But he wasn’t doing either. It was funny how he seldom thought of whiskey these days. He wasn’t as miserable as he’d predicted. Lara was easy to be around.
He didn’t deserve a woman as fine as her. She was beautiful and caring and a wonderful mother. The house was always clean and he’d never seen a better cook. Her fluffy biscuits melted in his mouth. Last evening she’d made fried chicken, and he’d eaten so much he’d come near to exploding. But her talents weren’t confined to the kitchen. She’d whipped up curtains for the upstairs windows and the parlor, and made the house more homey, not just a place to sleep and eat.
Houston sighed. There was a lot more to Lara than skill in cooking and sewing. She constantly surprised him with all she knew—about ranching and other things too. For instance, she was familiar with overgrazing and equally knowledgeable about planting crops and treating sunburn. She was funny too, with a good sense of humor.
He could’ve done worse. Yeah, a lot worse than Lara Boone. Any man would be lucky to have her. Even a broken man like him.
If so many unwelcome memories didn’t inhabit the house, it would be a great place for them. As it stood, he could barely walk through the rooms. And sleeping—he didn’t get much.
Houston turned to his father. “I mean it, Pa, no more meddling. I’m drawing the line.”
“Well, that sounds mighty ungrateful. If you’re determined to be disagreeable, I’m going home,” Stoker declared. “I might scrounge up a game of checkers with Doc Jenkins.”
“Sounds like a good idea, Pa.”
Stoker tilted his head and squinted. “If my son was worth his salt, he’d invite me to come for supper. I’d like to spoil my granddaughter.”
“Soon, Pa. I won’t spring unexpected company on Lara. She’s still getting used to us.” His father’s rough talk and ways wouldn’t help the situation. Lara reminded him of a skittish mare that required a gentle hand.
Houston parted ways with his father and headed home. His mouth watered, wondering what Lara was fixing for supper.
A moment later, he swung the door open silently and stepped inside. A faint smacking noise in the parlor sent him in there. Lara sat there, nursing Gracie. She glanced up, her eyes wide with alarm.
Eight
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Houston quickly retreated into the entry. “I didn’t know…”
He’d never before witnessed a mother feeding her baby. Hadn’t given it any thought.
“It’s all right, Houston,” Lara called. “You startled me. I hadn’t expected you so soon. I’ll be through feeding Gracie in a minute.”
“Take your time. I’ll just…” Stand there red-faced.
After Houston regained his composure, he called, “I’ll just go into the…uh…kitchen.”
Making a lot of noise so she’d know where he was, he clomped off in search of some coffee. The stirring image of the love on Lara’s face as she held her baby girl clung to his mind like a stubborn cocklebur. Mother and child shared a bond so deep it shook him to his toes.
The need to protect Lara—them both—rose up so strong it lodged in his throat.
He had to rethink his role in all of this. How long could he remain an impassive bystander in this marriage? Even if he was afraid to open his heart again.
Maybe Lara was just as torn. After what had happened to her, she probably never wanted another man to touch her. Her prison could be even darker than his own. The thought troubled him. This arrangement didn’t affect only him. He felt something soften a bit inside.
By the time he had coffee made and sat down with a cup, she bustled in with Gracie. The wet circle on her bodice where milk had leaked drew his gaze before he quickly lowered his eyes.
“If you’ll watch the baby, I’ll tend to supper,” she said.
“Sure. Come here, Angel.” Houston reached for her.
Gracie grinned and waved her arms excitedly. She grabbed his nose and pulled it, babbling something that sounded an awful lot like “Pa Pa Pa Pa Pa.”
He’d signed on for the job but wondered if he could actually fill the role. He knew from watching Stoker and Sam that it took more than words on paper. But then, wasn’t that also true of a husband?
Houston shot Lara a glance and felt his face grow hot, deciding it was time he went outside. “Want to go see the horsie?” he asked the babe. “Lara, do you mind if I take Angel for a short walk?”
Lara’s smile was full of warmth. “She would love that. Horses seem to fascinate her.”
He returned her smile. “That’s good, since her father is a rancher. I mean…uh…”
“I know what you mean, Houston. You are her father now. You’re the only one she’ll ever know.” A look of pain crossed Lara’s green eyes.
Unsure of what to say, he nodded and told her they’d be back soon.
The short walk to the corrals took a while because of having to stop and let ranch wives coo over Gracie. All were in agreement that she was the prettiest baby they’d seen.
Finally, he joined Stoker, who was watching a wild mustang race around the enclosure. He’d been brought in bleeding from one leg, and Doc had sewn up the gash yesterday.
“Hello there, little darlin’.” Stoker reached for the babe. “Grandpa needs to spoil you.”
“Be careful. She’ll try to pull off your nose or gouge your eyes out,” Houston warned. “She’s got a grip of steel in those little hands.”
“Maybe she can break this stallion.” Stoker jabbered some baby talk to her, and the next instant he hollered for Houston to do something when Gracie grabbed two fistfuls of hair.
It took some doing, but he finally managed to pry her hands open. “Now keep her away from your face and head, Pa.”
“You’ve got quite an excitable child, son. She grabbed me before I knew what was happening.”
“I tried to tell you.” Houston watched her bright eyes as she followed the mustang’s movements. He wondered what she was thinking. “I may have a horsewoman in the making. She hasn’t taken her attention off that mustang.”
He couldn’t help but wonder how Gracie would turn out.
“Yep,” Stoker said. “Gracie is going to be quite an amazing horsewoman. She seems to have Till Boone’s fine blood in her.”
Houston rested his forearms on the rail of the corral and spoke of the worry he’d been too ashamed to admit to himself. “Don’t forget her rotten father. Who knows what the bastard tainted her with. What exactly have I committed myself to?”
Stoker’s voice seemed husky. “Just a sweet babe. It’s how you raise a child that matters. Show her love and you’ll get love in return.”
That still weighed heavy on Houston’s mind thirty minutes later as he carried Angel back to the house.
Maybe Pa was right. He hoped so. Still, he’d heard about outlaws whose boys followed down the same path of robbing and killing without ever knowing their kin. It had to be in the blood a little. But when the little darling gazed up at him with that slobbery grin, his heart did a somersault and all worries vanished.
* * *
After finishing the supper dishes, Lara sat in the parlor with Houston. He’d brought her rocker from upstairs and she enjoyed the comforting creak of the wood as she pushed the chair back and forth with her feet.
This time of day was her favorite. Except for Becky’s ghostly presence and sorrow that oozed from every corner of the house, she found her new life with Houston easy and smooth.
She let her gaze drift to him and how he tenderly held Gracie in his lap. This stranger she’d tied her lot to looked every bit a father and the baby adored him. Lara was worried, though. Just as they were settling into a routine, he
would be leaving on the cattle drive. They’d have to start from scratch upon his return. What would his absence do to Gracie? Children were resilient, but her daughter already watched the door for her papa to come home. The separation would deeply affect her.
And what about her own relationship with Houston? What if he found someone prettier? Someone who’d jump into his bed.
Someone without a hideous scar.
Gracie yawned.
“She’ll go to bed soon,” Lara said. “Her eyes are starting to droop.”
“I ’spect,” Houston agreed. “Won’t be long for me either. My belly’s full and all I want to do now is go to sleep. I’ve never tasted better beefsteak and potatoes in my life. And then you had to tempt me with that fresh, hot bread and gravy. I made a glutton of myself.”
“I’m glad my cooking pleases you.” At least one thing did.
A sound rumbled in Houston’s throat before he growled, “It does a damn sight more than please. I grew up with cooks that put a lot of memorable spreads on the table, but everyone pales next to you.”
Unsure what to say, Lara gave him a smile and let his deep voice curl down past the hurt and settle upon her weary soul.
“This day has been one trial after another,” Houston continued, “but you make every setback disappear.”
“I’ll listen if you want to tell me what happened.”
Houston sighed. “This cattle drive is about ready to start but Albert can’t come. I don’t know how in hell I’m going to find another cook on such short notice.”
“Can one of the other men do it?” she asked.
“None of them want anything to do with cooking. I’m afraid I’ll have a rebellion on my hands if I don’t get some decent food into my drovers.”
“You can’t expect them to put out such grueling work without feeding them solid meals,” Lara agreed.
“It takes someone with experience to do the job right. I can’t just point to one and say they’re the new cook.” Gracie sagged in Houston’s arms as she gave up the fight. He smiled and leaned to kiss her cheek.
His tenderness made Lara’s heart flip over. If only there was a way to keep them all together.
Abruptly, she stopped rocking and leaned forward. “I’ll go. I’ll be your cook.”
“No. It’s out of the question.”
Lara raised her chin. “Why not? You need a cook and I’m offering.” It would solve everything.
“For one thing, you’re a woman and a pretty one at that. You’ll distract my men from their job. And you’d need more privacy for…” He flushed. “Well, you know. Besides, you’re my wife. The first time I caught one of the drovers looking at you, I’d haul off and knock him sideways. Then he’d quit and leave me shorthanded. If a bunch did…Lara, I can’t handle two thousand longhorns by myself with only your brothers to help.”
“Those are excuses. What is the real reason?”
“There’s the baby. What would you do with Gracie?”
“I’ll take her. I’d never leave her behind. She’ll be fine. We both will. We won’t ask for any special favors. You’ll treat me like one of your drovers.” And it would solve this tension. Despite how peaceful things were between them, she hated living in this house and she knew he hated it too. Reminders of what he’d lost were everywhere. Getting away would be good for all three of them.
Except, Houston didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm.
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “It’s hard work. I’m not sure you know what you’re getting into. You’d have to get up long before the others and won’t get to bed until late. It can take a toll on you.”
“This drive will take a toll on you too,” she pointed out. “I heard my father speak about a woman, Margaret Heffernan Borland, who drove a herd of cattle up the Chisholm Trail from Victoria with only her two sons, five hired hands, and a cook. Her nine-year-old daughter and six-year-old granddaughter went along.”
“Yes, I know the story. Folks are still talking about that…and how she checked into a hotel in Wichita and promptly died.” Houston reached for her hand. “Gracie needs a mama.”
Lara’s hand tingled from Houston’s warm touch. Her fingers curled boldly inside his. “She has one and will continue to. Just because Mrs. Borland died doesn’t mean I will,” she said softly. It felt nice to have him concerned for her. She could tell he meant his words. “Mrs. Borland wasn’t the only woman to take the trail. Granted, it’s not very common, but others have as well.” Lara could see him weakening. “What other choice do you really have?”
“I could call it off until I get things all squared away.” Houston’s smile flickered then faded, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined it.
“By then it would be too late.” She leaned forward. “You’re already driving them late in the season, and this is a very narrow window. If you miss it, can you afford to wait for next spring?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “The ranch is floundering. I’ve got to trim our herd before winter. With so little grass, they get weaker by the day.”
“Do you think they can endure the rigors of the trip?”
“There’s good grass up north, I’m told. I’ll stop for a week or two and let them graze. They’ll make it.” He met her gaze.
Lara yearned to smooth the worry lines from his face. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe one day soon she could touch her husband without thinking about Yuma Blackstone, and the pain he’d taken joy in inflicting.
Without realizing it, she tugged free of Houston and ran her fingers across the scar.
“Does it hurt?” Houston asked quietly.
Lara jerked her hand away. “Sometimes it pulls. I’m fine. No cause for concern.”
“I admire you in so many ways.” His penetrating brown eyes studied each angle of her face. She squirmed under his gaze. “That scar is nothing to be self-conscious about. The only people without scars are the ones who never fought for anything. You fought to live and you survived pure hell to do it—it’s the mark of a survivor. Hold your head high, Lara.”
She’d never thought about her ordeal that way. Survivor. She liked that.
“You’re a kind man, Houston. You gave up a lot for me and I hope one day I will be worth the sacrifice.”
Houston’s eyes blazed. “I don’t want to hear you talk like that. I didn’t give up a bit more than you. You’re worth ten times all other women. And if you need to prove it to yourself, then I guess I won’t stand in the way. How soon can you get ready for this trail drive? I’m taking you with me.”
A smile broke across Lara’s face. “I’ll be ready by morning. After breakfast, I’ll go over the contents of the chuck wagon and see if I need to add anything.”
As though on impulse, Houston laid his hand on her knee, sending warmth through her. “I hope I don’t regret this,” he said, though he sounded like he was teasing.
“You won’t.”
“You know I’ve hired Henry as the cook’s helper. Do you think between the two of you, you can drive the chuck wagon? I don’t think I can spare anyone for that.”
“Don’t worry, Houston. My brother and I will be just fine. I’ve been around horses and wagons my whole life. When we moved to our current ranch, I drove a team of four the whole way by myself…with Gracie. I had no trouble crossing the rivers. Even the mighty Brazos.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard where you moved from.” Gracie stirred in his arms. He removed his hand from Lara’s knee to give a soothing pat to the baby’s small back. She loved watching him with the baby. His immense size seemed to swallow Gracie, yet he was always gentle and had taken to the role of father with greater speed than she’d dared imagine.
“I lived at Amarosa.”
“Isn’t that south of here near Abilene?”
“Twenty-five miles.” Lara’s mind drifted.
Gossips in the town had made it impossible to stay. The women had looked down their noses and blamed Lara—for the attack, and for her precious baby. The talk had been vicious until Lara gave up on going into town at all. Finally, her father had pulled up stakes.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why the move?” Houston asked.
“It was just best that…” Laura got to her feet. “I think it’s time I called it a night. Will you carry Gracie up?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He turned down the wick in the oil lamp and followed her up the stairs. His tall presence was reassuring. Without a doubt he had questions and one day she’d have to tell him what had happened.
Only one thing remained unclear. Would she tell him the part no one knew?
Or could she keep that secret buried?
Nine
Almost as though on cue, the sun peeked timidly over the horizon and blinked hard at the same moment Houston waved his arm, signaling the start of the long trek to Kansas.
He breathed the Monday morning air, taking in the pink glow that spread across the sky like a young girl’s blush. But when his gaze swept to Lara, inching the chuck wagon forward behind the long line of hide and horns, knots twisted in his stomach.
Houston prayed he hadn’t made a mistake. If she or the baby got hurt or killed, he’d never forgive himself. Nor would he go home to face Till Boone. Death would wait for him on the Lone Star, because Till would surely kill him. If Lara’s brothers didn’t finish the job first.
Tugging on the reins, he turned his Appaloosa and rode toward Lara and Henry.
“We’ll go upstream to Doan’s Crossing and ford the river there,” Houston explained. “I’ll be close in case you have a problem. And if you need help with the baby, I can take her for a while.” He winked. “I’ll make a horsewoman out of her yet.”
The rising sun caressed her face, tilted up beneath the wide-brimmed hat, and for a moment, all Houston could think about was kissing her. The golden rays softened the angles of her features and he had to strain to see the scar. Although it was impossible, the jagged gash appeared to fade a little more each day.