A Match Made in Texas

by Mary Connealy

  Grace could see the scene as clearly as if she were standing on the streets of Fort Worth with her brother. “And you fell in love with her.”

  “Not hardly. She was an auld hag, more fit to be me nana than me wife, but her heart brimmed with a kindness that weren’t from this earth. It was she who showed me to take the cross and the Savior who bore it.”

  “Truly?” Grace balanced on the edge of her seat. “But that’s wonderful, Brian. I hope you’re not embarrassed for me to say it’s welcome news.”

  “Not a mite. And while I’m glad to hear you’ve no need of aid, I had to come offer it just the same . . . and to offer an apology, as well. You were only a wee lass when you came over. It weren’t your fault that Da and Mam died, and I showed you no kindness. I was tight in my dealings, and I come to ask your forgiveness. If you ever have a need, I’ll see to it.”

  She extended her hand across the table and smiled as he took it. Here was a miracle she hadn’t even known to pray for. In heaven someday she’d find out who’d been interceding for her brother and thank them for the gift they’d given her.

  “I cried many nights over your cruel words,” she said, “but once I fled, they didn’t haunt me. As much as I hated our situation, I think I realized that you were hurting, too.”

  “’Tis no excuse, but good of you to say.” He released her hand and slapped the table. “Enough o’ me weepy tale. Does my story affect your decision? My wife is all after me to bring you home to the wee ones.”

  Grace’s fingers danced over the tablecloth. Nieces and nephews? Better than anything the lonely homestead offered her. She could sell the ranch and perhaps afford to erect her own place on their land. She’d have some independence, but not be alone. It was the most sensible solution, if a suitable husband didn’t present himself. And it sure seemed like Clayton didn’t want the job.

  “Can I think it over? I don’t want to burden your family.”

  “Grace, would I have made this trip if I weren’t altogether certain? Ever since I received the letter from the school board, I’ve known that God wanted me to find you. He has a plan here. You just wait and see.”

  Did He? Grace leaned into the back of her seat. Going home with her brother had never been her first choice. Had God made it her only choice?

  The mid-September sun baked the hard ground beneath his feet and radiated its strength up beneath the shade of his hat. Clayton swiped his forehead. In a couple of months the heat would disappear and freezing gales would whip across the canyon lands. He wouldn’t have long to make a shelter in Oklahoma Territory. The money he’d made working for Grace, combined with his other savings, would have to stretch to get him the supplies he needed to ride out the winter, especially now that the price for his new mount had been set.

  Speaking of horses, he saw the strange one before he was within shouting distance of the house. Clayton quickened his steps. Emilie didn’t have a bay horse, and he’d not met anyone on the road. Who could it be? Another suitor? Perhaps it was for the best.

  But still, a stranger on the premises required looking into. Clayton came to the house, slowing as he approached the door. He could hear Grace speaking cheerfully, evenly, with no distress. Then a man answered. Clayton’s brow lowered and his stomach knotted. Another Irishman. They’d brought him nothing but trouble.

  “Grace?” Clayton clutched the door handle. At her answer he stepped inside. The man at the table was sitting calmly, both hands atop the table. No threat that Clayton could detect.

  “This is Clayton Weber.” Grace swept her arm toward him until she caught him by the sleeve. “If you see anything good about this homestead, he can take the credit for it. He’s repaired the barn, fixed the windmill, and organized the house. Without him . . .”

  Her words blurred beneath the roaring in his ears. His skin pricked, telling him that something was wrong. From long practice Clayton kept his scar hidden. He tilted his head and peered down at Grace as he tried to puzzle out the man’s identity. What was he doing there? Had they met before?

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Grace blinked, obviously curious to what she was missing.

  To what? He hadn’t heard half of her words.

  “He can’t take his eyes off you.” The man smiled. “And I’m happy for ye if he has good intentions. Otherwise, it’s another reason for you to come live with your brother.”

  Her brother? Clayton’s throat lurched. The brother she’d fled years ago? What kind of trouble had he brought? Clayton jerked his arm free of Grace’s grasp and looked the man straight on.

  The man’s eyes widened. His face drained of color. Recognition shone in his eyes, too. But from where? Clayton’s hands clenched into fists.

  “What’s happening, Clayton? Why are you so quiet?”

  The man rose out of his chair. “You—the lad from Fort Worth? I can’t believe you’re here in the flesh.”

  Clayton tasted bile. This man? He’d been one of them? The scene flooded back over him. The angry taunts, the gang surrounding him, accusing, attacking. This man’s actions had changed Clayton’s life forever. All the pent-up rage of an adolescent boy falsely accused threatened to spew over, but no longer was he a scrawny child caught unaware. He was prepared this time.

  “You remember me?” His throat clenched. “You remember, and you have the gall to stand before me?”

  “I’m glad to see you, lad. I’d always wondered what happened to ye. It’s a mercy that you healed so clean.”

  “That’s all you have to say? You think I’m pleased with your handiwork? I’ve dreamed every day that I would get a chance to pay you back.”

  “Clayton? Brian? What’s this about?” Grace turned in her chair and gripped its back. “Do you know each other?”

  O’Malley stood, his hands raised, palms out. “If I could take back that night, I would. It’s no untruth to say how I regretted my part. I should’ve stopped them—I wish I had. My horror over what happened to ye is what brought me to me knees. It showed me what a filthy scoundrel I’d become.”

  “Congratulations.” Clayton balled up the word and threw it at him. “You stayed safe instead of speaking up for me. You satisfied your anger, and then you satisfied your guilt. Unfortunately, I had to live with the consequences. It’d be fair, don’t you reckon, if I lost my temper now? Maybe I can repent at a more convenient time.”

  Grace stood and angled herself in front of him. “Clayton, what’s the matter? Brian’s not here to cause trouble. He’s offered me a home.” Her brow creased with confusion, and the fact that she couldn’t understand his anger only made it grow.

  “You would go with him? You would trust him after what he did to me?”

  “What did he do?”

  She’d lifted her face to his, gazing where no one wanted to look. Was he willing to destroy her acceptance? Did he want her to know that she’d been tricked into admiring a man that no one else would want? Apparently he had one scrap of pride left, for he couldn’t bring himself to ruin her image of him. Clayton was at a loss.

  “Aye, this is a conundrum,” O’Malley said. “To think I had a chance to help the man who’d someday fall in love with Grace.”

  “Love? What are you talking about?” Grace’s hands shook as she held them out, begging for answers. But Clayton wouldn’t acknowledge either charge.

  “Lad”— O’Malley’s brown eyes implored with a directness that Grace’s could no longer muster—“there’s nothing I can do to cure the harm I’ve done. Nothing I can say besides I’m sorry and tell you I’m not the same man. Grace knows full well how selfish and small-hearted I was, and that’s why I’m here—to make amends. I never imagined God would give me a pass at both of ye at the same time.”

  Tears quivered on Grace’s lashes. Clayton stabbed O’Malley with his glare. “For what you allowed them to do to me and for what you put Grace through, you don’t deserve another chance.”

  “Don’t judge him for my sake,” Grace said. “If I can
forgive—”

  But Clayton wouldn’t hear any more. He spun around. The room blurred away—the cabin, the barn . . . they all fell behind as he stalked across the rough land, fleeing the pain that had chased him even to this isolated homestead.

  Grace reached, but Clayton had fled before she could touch him. The scorching wind blew through the open door, carrying the sound of the wind chimes angrily crashing into each other.

  “I don’t understand,” Grace said. Had Clayton changed for the worse as much as Brian had turned toward good? How else could she explain the furious man who’d threatened Brian and stalked out?

  “I told you that I’d played a hand in brutality.” Brian’s chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. “Well, the man we cornered, he was a lad, more like.”

  Grace’s heart dropped. She fell into her chair, nearly missing the seat. “Clayton?”

  Brian cleared his throat. “When we got our horses at the livery that night, the stable owner had words for us. Called us drunken Paddies and hooligans. We were seeing red, we were.

  “We stumbled to the stables, and there was a lad with the horses. I didn’t recognize him, but someone claimed he was a known horse thief. That’s all it took. We couldn’t strike at the livery man, but this boy was defenseless. They got ahold of him and took their turns beating him. I spurred them on, feeling good that finally I’d found someone who was even lower than I was. But then they held him down while Kennedy got a riding whip. He said he’d mark him so everyone who saw him would know what kind of criminal he was. That’s when I lost the stomach for it. I slunk away, but not before I heard the blows.”

  A sob wrenched from her chest. She could picture the young man, her young Clayton, and his surprise, his frustration at the unwarranted attack. “What a shock for him to find you here.”

  Brian grunted in affirmation. “I wish I would’ve found him after, but I fled. Never thought I’d meet him like this.”

  Grace had no answers. She’d seen evidence of Clayton’s scar. Emilie had mentioned it, too, but she hadn’t guessed how it represented a wound much deeper.

  “I thought I’d finished causing you pain, and here I’ve hurt you again.”

  Grace stood. She couldn’t reassure Brian, not yet. First she had to look after Clayton. Her loyalty was with him.

  She motioned Brian to the door.

  “I’ll be back in the morning.” He huffed as he pulled himself into the saddle. “My offer of a place still stands.”

  And she must consider it. It was perhaps her only option.

  How was it that one of his monsters, the villain of his nightmares, had the same fair coloring and proud features of the woman he loved? Clayton watched by the barn as O’Malley rode away. Grace stood with her arms wrapped around herself, her brow creased with worry. Or was it pity?

  O’Malley had told her, no doubt. Now she could imagine Clayton as she had Mr. Newman—pathetic, unattractive, and unwanted. O’Malley hadn’t protected him back in Fort Worth, and once again he was marking him so even a blind woman would see his shame. Well, Clayton’s time with Grace was at an end. The arrangements for the inspection of his work had been made, and after tomorrow he’d have no business messing with this family any further.

  Clayton’s heart clutched as Grace took the first tentative step away from the house. Her feet touched the stone pathway and she sped toward him. He barely had time to dodge into the barn before she reached him.

  He couldn’t face her. Couldn’t speak. Not yet. His thoughts clashed as they tried to reconcile the events of his past with the meek man he’d confronted. Through his confusion, though, one thing was clear. Clayton didn’t want to hear Grace’s plans. He couldn’t promise her that he’d be all right. That he’d forgive. Not when O’Malley’s deeds were the only things keeping him from declaring his love for her.

  Easing to the wall, Clayton leaned heavily against it. She still wasn’t comfortable in the barn. If he didn’t move, maybe she’d leave him alone with his regrets and self-pity.

  The sun squeezed through the gaps in the rough construction, striping Grace with gold. “Clayton? Are you here?”

  He filled his lungs with the stale air and waited. Her dark brows pinched together. One hand extended as she slid her foot forward. “Can you hear me? I want to talk.”

  His tan shirt blended into the wall. He wasn’t talking. Not yet. Her coiffure had slipped astray, allowing her dark hair to frame her face. Her slim figure advanced another step.

  “I want to tell you that I understand your shock. Brian told me about your encounter. He confessed the worst, and I’m not surprised. I knew him then, too.”

  His fists clenched. Grace tilted her head. Her jaw rose as she leaned in his direction. Two more steps.

  “No one expects you to forget what he did. We just want . . . I want . . . what’s best for you. Forgiving Brian will do more for you than for him.”

  Perhaps, but was it possible to forgive him? Not yet. Not until he forgot about Grace and the love his scar had cost him.

  A low trough rested before her. Another five feet and she’d trip over it. Should Clayton move it? He straightened. Her body tensed. “I know you’re here,” she said. “I can sense you. Remember? I can feel you looking at me.” She turned left, directly toward him and stepped forward. Her arm extended until it touched the wall not a foot from him.

  Clayton couldn’t turn away. Her eyes held enough sadness for both of them. The clean scent of her kitchen soap caught him unprepared. He filled his lungs with it and then didn’t dare release the breath he’d been holding.

  “I wish you’d speak.” Her usual confident demeanor had broken. “You know I don’t want to live on charity. Brian’s coming solves several needs of mine, but it also creates one. I hate to leave Dry Gulch without knowing that you’re going to be fine. I don’t want to leave until you find peace.”

  She waited. So close, so beautiful. So beyond his reach.

  Grace ducked her head. The hem of her skirt brushed against his boots. Years of hiding from the ladies, keeping quiet when he wished to speak, and bowing out just when life got interesting kept Clayton welded to the wall. He’d become a master at fading into the woodwork, and now his skills were being put to good use.

  “I’m sorry that knowing me reminded you of past harms,” she said.

  Did she have any idea of how beautiful she was?

  “I won’t bother you again.” Using the wall as a reference, she turned and made her way out of the barn.

  Clayton covered the wall where her hand had been, imprinting his palm in the very spot she’d just left. He’d had almost a week and a half of promise. A week and a half of possibilities that he’d relinquished along with his innocent optimism. That time had passed. He could now go to Oklahoma Territory and pray God would let him start anew. At least Grace would be cared for.

  But he was left wondering why God would afflict him so. The woman he loved, the man he hated—they were of the same blood. Could he make peace with the man who’d stolen his appearance and reminded him every time he saw his reflection that he was the son of a thief? Could he give up the grudge he’d nursed for years over a woman he’d known such a short time?

  He could, but there was no call to. Grace wouldn’t have him either way.

  His work was completed. Although the banker seemed confused by the situation, there was an account set up for Miss O’Malley, and he agreed to help Clayton claim the amount due him. After an inspection, Clayton could buy Mr. Danvers’s horse and head to Goodwin to register for the race.

  He took an ax off its pegs in the barn. He wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. He might as well get a store of firewood set by for Grace, or whoever would spend the winter here.

  Chapter 9

  Clayton hadn’t come in for supper. With movements dulled, Grace returned the clean dishes to the shelf. Lack of sight couldn’t hide Clayton from her. He’d been in the barn, but he hadn’t answered her. While their spats had always been spiri
ted, perhaps he now saw them in a different light. Did he wonder if the family resemblance ran deeper than dark hair and a fair complexion?

  And then there was the issue of Mr. Newman. Grace still didn’t understand Clayton’s reaction. She’d hoped he would be pleased that she rejected the man. Either she’d misread the growing intimacy between her and Clayton, possible since she couldn’t see him, or Clayton desperately wanted her married and off his hands. How could she not believe the second?

  She wouldn’t go outside again. Better to leave well enough alone.

  Judging from the lack of golden squares on the wall, the sun had already set. Grace rubbed her temples. Her eyes stung. Her head throbbed. She hoped it wouldn’t be a sleepless night, but how could she rest knowing Clayton was troubled? Knowing that their time together was so short? She would always wonder what life would’ve been like if Clayton had answered a husband notice instead of one for a hired hand. She should’ve asked him from the first day.

  Grace changed into her nightgown and removed the pins from her hair, placing them carefully on the dressing table next to the bed. Could she go with Brian without Clayton’s approval? She climbed into bed and kicked the quilt to the foot, knowing she’d be drenched in sweat in the stuffy room, if she could sleep at all. Instead, she found herself going over every conversation, every discussion she’d had with Clayton. She’d seen the narrow white valley that cut through his brow and cheek, but she’d thought nothing of it. Perhaps seen in its entirety, it was gruesome. But no. Hadn’t Emilie raved about Clayton’s good looks? Hadn’t she described how the ladies noticed him?

  But she’d said something else, too. She’d called him bashful. Said that he wouldn’t look her in the face, but as far as Grace could tell, he’d never failed to face her.