Rachel took her seat, hands folded in her lap as Mava instructed. When Miz Ada showed the men into the front parlor, Rachel stared at Matt.
He obviously searched for Laine.
“Mr. Coltrane, we have not been formally introduced.”
“Now, Mava, don’t fuss the young man. He’s with me, ain’t he? Nothing more you got to know.”
“Rachel,” Matt greeted her and handed her a small candy tin. He wished the new collar on his shirt, along with the string tie he had settled on, wasn’t so tight. He nodded when Rachel thanked him and fussed with the bow on the candy tin for Laine.
“You look dashing, Matt. Like someone else.”
“And here comes Miz Ellis to join us,” Miz Ada announced.
Matt turned. His breath locked in his chest. It was his Laine, but not as he had ever seen her. She came down the stairs slowly, every inch a lady from the polished boots hidden by the hem of her long blue skirt to the silken bronze hair with tendrils curling over the lacy high neck of the shirtwaist. Her eyes met his, all smoked crystal that widened as she took in his new suit, shirt and tie.
Matt cleared his throat. “You are beautiful.”
“And you’re very handsome,” she said with a breathless little catch in her voice.
“May I help you with that?” He indicated the shawl draped over her arm, then awkwardly handed her the candy tin in exchange. “For you.”
“Thank you, Matt.” A new memory box, she thought.
Laine trembled when he stepped behind her. He draped the open work shawl over her shoulders, leaning close to inhale the warm scent of lavender. The memory of the night they became lovers overcame him. He had to close his eyes and take a step back. Both he and Laine were oblivious to the four people who indulgently watched them.
Laine grew flustered when she became aware. Matt didn’t care who knew how he felt about her.
He offered Laine his arm, bid the others goodnight, and followed Miller outside. “He likes elbow room when he drives, so you’d better sit in back with me.”
“I’ve never ridden in so fine a carriage,” she whispered.
“I wish I could offer you its like, but that will be a long time coming.”
“Oh, Matt. I didn’t mean I wanted one.”
“You folks settled?” Miller asked. Hearing they were, he snapped the reins and his high-stepping horses moved out.
Matt entwined Laine’s arm with his own. The moon was on the wane, but the stars were bright. There wasn’t a breeze, but Laine sat very close to him.
“Miller likes showing off his horses,” he mouthed in her ear.
Laine smiled. She bubbled over with happiness. She felt pretty, she had Matt, they were going to forget their troubles and have an elegant meal. She couldn’t care how long Dan Miller drove. Two trips up and down Main Street, two circuits of the courthouse square, and finally they arrived in front of the lantern-lit Butler House.
Miller tipped the young man who stepped forward to take hold of the horses. He gave him detailed instructions on their care.
Laine tried not to stare when they entered the dining room. Candlelight shone everywhere. The linens were crisp white. Crystal glasses, silverware, and china settings gleamed where they graced each table. Miller knew everyone, which meant they stopped frequently where he introduced them.
The owner and chef himself came from the kitchen to greet him with hugs and rapid-fire conversation, then he showed them to a corner table.
The chef spoke fluent English with a heavy French accent. He ordered wine for them and told them to leave all else in his hands.
“Philip was born in France, but his father owned land near New Orleans. He goes back to the old country every few years, but he loves this country. I promise you’ll never eat a meal to equal his cooking.”
Laine took a tiny sip of wine. She tried to note what women were wearing, how they styled their hair, knowing that Rachel would want details. She wasn’t paying attention to the conversation until she heard her name.
“Once Laine and I are married we’ll leave. There’s a place I camped a few times across the Rio Grande up in the San Juan Mountains. There’s a flat bench with a shale slope behind it. Branching off are canyons with good running water and hidden valleys, plenty of high meadows to cut hay for winter feed. If a man started small, he could build a sizable herd in a few years.”
“Lots of hard work for a man alone.”
“Never knew anything else.”
“Thought you might be going up by Harry’s.”
Matt smiled. “He invited me if I ever got back that way. But my choice is New Mexico. I can build a place before winter sets in.”
“Snows get deep up there. And what makes you think it’s there for the taking? Some other fella …”
“I filed on the water rights. No water, no raising any stock. I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I went home. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Laine sipped her wine, more to keep quiet than because she wanted it. This was the first she knew of his claim to any water rights.
“Shrewd, son. Mighty shrewd.” Miller’s gruff laugh brought attention their way along with their first course.
“I’ll warn you two. Philip has cows, sheep and goats. Makes all his own cheeses. Never will tell me which is which. Don’t matter. It’s all good. But he likes spice. So don’t burn your pretty mouth, missy.”
Laine, about to taste the delicate pastry and its creamy filling, set her fork down. The aroma was delicious, and she wanted to taste that along with the pickled vegetables on a bed of salad greens. Another sip of wine was in order. She didn’t interrupt the resumption of the men’s conversation as she began eating. She had no idea Matt’s plans were so advanced. His time alone on the trail had been well spent.
She listened and grew proud of the thoughtful answers Matt gave to Miller’s astute probing questions. Their plates were cleared, a thick creamy soup presented, and Miller excused himself to greet a newly arrived group of men.
Laine looked up to follow his progress and blanched. Claiborne stood in the lobby surrounded by men she knew.
“Matt!” she whispered, reaching for his hand beneath the tablecloth.
“I see him. I wish you hadn’t.”
“He’s not looking this way.”
“Even if he did, what’s he going to do? Start a ruckus in here?”
“Sometimes your calm makes me want to scream.”
He gently squeezed her hand. “Do you want me to go shoot him?”
“No. Lord, no.”
“Want me to punch him?”
“Stop teasing. This is serious.”
“So’s the fact that your delicious soup is getting cold.” He set down his spoon. “Laine, I’ve taken precautions. We’re safe. I need you to trust me.”
Miller was returning to the table. He blocked her view, and when she looked again, Claiborne was gone with his men. But a good part of her joy was also gone, despite the spicy flaked fish, followed by venison with wine sauce and tiny vegetable tarts. Laine barely tasted the cheese course served with fruits preserved in liquors. She wanted out and away, so afraid that Claiborne would return. Coffee arrived in small china cups, quite strong, along with plates of prettily iced pastries.
Laine drank more wine. Matt, she saw, had no trouble with his appetite. She shut out their idle talk of range conditions and spreader dams and who knew what else. She was feeling lightheaded. She knew Miller waited for the chef to appear to offer his compliments. Laine emptied her wine glass. Matt covered her hand to still her nervous tapping.
When Philip arrived, flushed from the heat of the kitchen, she managed gracious thanks for an unforgettable supper. It earned her a smile and an invitation to return.
Matt pulled her chair back and helped her to stand. Laine was glad of his support. The room swirled around her.
“Am I going to have a tipsy wife?”
“Never. But help me walk out of here on my own two feet.”
Just as they left the dining room, one of the black-clad waitresses stopped Miller. She handed him a dinner plate covered with one of the large napkins.
Matt hustled Laine outside, where she swayed against him. He swung her up onto the plush backseat.
“I was planning to walk you back.”
“Matt, I never drank so much in my life.” She gripped his arm. “Claiborne’s going into the hotel. Don’t move.”
Matt did. He straightened, noted how Laine ducked her head, and hated the feeling of having to hide.
Miller rejoined them. He handed Laine the plate. “That’s for the little lady. I suppose the others will want a share of those pastries, too.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
“Well, I did. Tell her to enjoy them. Matt, you gonna come back for brandy and cigars with me?”
“I’ll pass tonight. I’ve got horses to work in the morning.”
Laine was thankful he drove straight to the boarding house. Matt leaped out, set the plate on the seat, and carefully lifted Laine down. Holding her tight to his side, he retrieved the plate, and they both bid Miller a goodnight. Miller drove off. Matt carried the plate. It made doing what he wanted awkward, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.
He used his foot to pull over a rocking chair and set his burden down. He had Laine in his arms despite seeing the lace curtain twitching as someone peeked out.
“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you tonight.” He kissed her with all the pent-up passion he had denied. When she trembled, when her mouth clung to his, when the hunger rose as hot and needy as his own, he eased his lips from hers and just held her for long moments. He felt he suffered the tortures of the damned to let her go. He retrieved the plate, which she gripped when he handed it to her.
He kissed the tip of her nose and knocked on the door.
“Sweet dreams, love.”
Whistling, he was gone.
Laine drifted inside, smiled, handed over her burden, and went upstairs. She did dream, sweet and heated ones, until the nightmare came and she woke whimpering. She saw herself wearing widow’s weeds.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Matt began his work early. Today he alternated between two horses while still giving the chestnut a little attention. He noted Will hanging around, then he was gone. Aaron took his place. But all was quiet. There wasn’t even much of a crowd this morning, which to Matt’s thinking was all to the good. He couldn’t deny he was tense with waiting for Claiborne to make a move. Even the air felt heavy like a storm coming.
The big hammerhead roan proved stubborn when it came to trusting Matt. He kept at him for a while, then switched to a bay. And so his day went. As the late afternoon shadows crept across the corral floor, Matt gave some thought to quitting for the day. The bay accepted the bridle, but refused the saddle. The roan was completely opposite.
A pretty sorrel mare was persistent in demanding his attention. Matt gave it to her. She rewarded him by not only taking the bit and bridle, but the saddle, too. He gave her a thorough brushing before he saddled her once more and rode her out of the gate. He kept her to an easy canter as he rode around the corral fence away from the crowd. She wanted to run, and Matt was tempted to let her go. But he was tired.
When Matt drew rein in front of Miller, the sorrel wasn’t pleased, tossing her head, trying to get the bit between her teeth, but Matt’s firm hand on the reins and his soft voice made her stand quiet. He saw Tater running toward him waving his arms as the dog ran flat out.
“Little gal’s got a mind of her own,” Miller remarked. “Like most women.”
“If she’s eased into what’s expected of her, she’ll make a good riding horse.”
A voice came through the crowd. “Unlike you, Coltrane. You’ll never make a good anything. You came from trash, and trash you remain. Wait. I’ll amend that. You’d make a good corpse.”
Muttering went through those nearest to hear.
“Miller, get the boy clear. Tell Laine everything I have is hers. There’re papers …”
“Son, you don’t need to stand alone. I got the measure of the man you are.”
“I’m not alone. Go with him, Tater.”
Leave it to Claiborne to come up behind him. As much as Matt trusted his judgment about horses, the sorrel was green broke. Matt had no idea how the animal would react to gunfire. If it came to that. A ripple ran over the horse’s skin, showing how Matt’s tension affected her.
“Coltrane, you’re a coward!”
“You’re a liar!” Tater yelled. Miller had his arms wrapped around the boy, but no matter what he whispered to him, he could not quiet him.
“Ain’t got a word to say for yourself?” Claiborne taunted. “This man’s a traitor.”
“Liar!” Tater shouted.
“He’s a traitor and he’s wanted for murder, robbery, destruction of property. There’s a whole passel of them we’re hunting down.”
“Not true! Not true!” Tater cried out, bewildered why his hero wasn’t answering him.
Matt settled his hat to shade his eyes. When he turned, he’d face the setting sun. All the advantage to Claiborne.
Matt worked out his every move, ignoring the continued goading. He knew his silence and his stillness worked to unsettle his enemy. He heard it in the rising voice, the encouragement he made to have the others join in calling him a coward. Matt wiped his hand on his thigh. He timed the swing of the horse and drawing his gun to the second.
He wondered where the hell the boys were. He knew it was a mistake to count on anyone else to help.
He reminded himself he didn’t need to be fast. He just needed to be accurate. There were too many bystanders to risk wild shots.
Suddenly a rope snaked out and settled tight around his arms and chest. He was dragged from the saddle before he could rip it free.
“Matt!” Laine screamed just as a second rope settled around him. Matt grabbed hold of both ropes. She didn’t know how he managed to keep to his feet being pulled as he was.
Her first thought was to shoot Claiborne.
She went with her second choice.
Laine aimed and fired at the taut ropes. So did Will and Law. One sprung apart.
The shock of shots fired and by the woman they saw stopped the men with the ropes. It was all Matt needed. He tore the ropes from his body.
“Laine, don’t!” He was afraid that she would shoot Claiborne and be killed by his cronies.
Finally Will stood in front of her with his rifle aimed at Claiborne. “Give me a reason!”
Matt wiped sweat from his eyes. Men with drawn guns and rifles encircled Claiborne and his men. Beside Will there were the Owens brothers and Law; the other men he didn’t know.
Laine stood off to the side with Rachel gripping her arm. He had a feeling that Rachel stopped her sister from shooting Claiborne. Laine appeared a fierce warrior ready to do anything to protect her own.
He felt the same way.
With his gaze pinned on the man responsible for the destruction of his home, for threatening Laine, insulting her, and every other cowardly act he’d accused Matt of doing. Matt moved forward. Claiborne tried backing his horse, but Capt. Tate darted in, nipping at the horse’s legs, preventing his escape until Matt reached up and yanked him from the saddle.
Not a sound passed Matt’s lips. He sunk his fist into Claiborne’s belly. From the look of surprise on his face, Matt knew he had expected denials or accusations. Instead, he was getting a beating much like the one Matt had given him years ago.
He hit Claiborne for Laine, for every misery he had visited on the folks they had rescued. Punches given for those he had robbed, solid fists for those likely murdered.
It wasn’t enough. Nothing short of his death would be enough.
Matt didn’t have it all his own way. He took his own share of hard blows. Claib
orne was heavier, with a longer reach. Matt had forgotten his liking to jab, jab with his right fist, then land a powerhouse punch with his left.
His belly bloomed with fire. His side burned with pain. Matt went down and barely rolled aside to avoid a boot to his head. Someone was yelling for him to get up. He was trying. With the next attempted kick, he managed to grab hold of Claiborne’s foot, twisted, and using his own foot, snapped a kick at Claiborne’s knee.
Claiborne howled and went down.
Half blind and choking from the dust, Matt was up on all fours, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears when he heard women scream. He staggered to his feet, wild-eyed. The move saved him from being knifed in the back.
That, and Laine, who shot Claiborne’s hand.
Claiborne couldn’t get up. Matt thought he broke his knee. He stepped on the man’s arm and wrested the knife from his bloody hand.
He saw no one but his enemy. The man who had destroyed so much, who tore his dream asunder, and stepped on the backs of bloodied Texans, his own people. All in his greedy climb for power and money. Matt stared at the knife he held.
The need burned inside him to use the knife. Take his life. A moment out of time. A finish.
Through the black cloud surrounding him, insulating him from all, Matt heard Laine whispering his name.
She wouldn’t judge him. Few of these men would.
But he judged himself.
He was sworn to make a new beginning.
“I should plant this deep to end your miserable life, but you have crimes to pay for and men willing to see that you do.”
Matt felt the strength go out from his legs, but strong arms wrapped around his waist.
“Lean on me, Matt.”
He could barely see Laine’s face. “Don’t touch me. I’ve got his blood on me. Tater,” he called. When the boy ran to him, he told him what he wanted and Tater ran off.
“Laine, stand clear.”
“No. Nothing matters. It’s you I care about. It’s you I love.”
Will came up to them before Matt could absorb what she said. He set Matt’s gun back in his holster and slipped the thong over to hold it in place.
The Homecoming Page 18