“It must have cost an awful lot of money,” Rachel said, aware of the amount her own father had spent on her small upright back home in Pennsylvania.
“The old man could afford it,” Conrad said simply. “Too bad it never got played. By the time they brought Jake home from the war, his piano-playing days were over, what with losing his legs.”
She couldn’t resist. “He played it yesterday. All morning in fact.”
“Miz Bryant said he’d never be able to make decent music without being able to use the pedals.”
“He managed,” Rachel told him. “Between David Solomon and John Hunsucker, they fixed things so he could play.”
“Do tell!” His eyes lit with delight, and Conrad shook his head, as if amazed at the news.
“What’s so exciting, Conrad? Good morning, Mrs. McPherson.” From behind her, Rachel heard a voice that rang a bell within her memory, and she turned to greet its owner.
“Mr. Jackson! How nice to see you,” she said courteously.
“You ever met Rachel’s brother-in-law?” Conrad asked the rancher.
“Saw him at the picnic. A war hero, I assume.” His tone was neutral, Rachel decided, as if he held his thoughts in abeyance.
“A man wounded by the surgeon’s knife,” she answered.
“A bitter blow, I’m sure,” Beau Jackson said with a nod.
Conrad spoke softly, as if he hesitated to deny her story. “Now, Miss Rachel, I heard tell he got frostbitten when he spent the night with his legs hanging down in the river, all covered with ice and snow. Someone said it was morning before he was found and it was a miracle he lived through it.”
She nodded, agreeing with his telling of the tale. “That’s what I heard too, Conrad. The head wound that felled him was a mere scratch, just enough to knock him unconscious for a time. The men around him were all dead. Cord said Jake huddled between two of them in the early-morning hours, trying to stay alive until he was found.”
“Nasty business,” Beau said. “War should be banned from the face of the earth, in my opinion.”
“I must leave,” Rachel said, turning back to Conrad, feeling suddenly that she had betrayed family confidences in the past few moments. “I’ll run by and meet with Mr. Baldridge. Perhaps he’ll be available a few minutes early.”
She walked down the sidewalk, a sense of belonging permeating her as nods and smiles greeted her progress. Conrad would load her purchases in the wagon for her. The men seated in front of the emporium would keep an eye on her supplies while she did her business at the theater. In fact, the thought of anyone pilfering another’s belongings was entirely foreign to her mind. She belonged here, she was a part of this town, and the knowledge that it was so gave her great pleasure.
Cecil Hampton stood next to Mr. Baldridge, just outside the double front doors of the new theater. Rachel’s feet slowed a bit as she approached them, as if she could somehow savor the anticipation for a few moments longer.
She was being sought after for her talent. For the first time in her life, she felt utterly selfish, absolutely centered upon her own satisfaction, her first chance for an exciting opportunity, with money to be earned.
Working for Cord McPherson had been a godsend. This happening was a bonus directly from the angels as far as she was concerned. Over and above the necessities of life, everyone needed a chance to use the talents they’d been given, needed the joy that came with some small bit of appreciation.
And then her heart began a slower beat, as if she must stop and reconsider. Perhaps Jake would be better at this than she. After all, that was what she had considered for several weeks now, once the theater had become more than just a dream. And Jake needed to be needed, perhaps more than she did.
On top of that, maybe the job would be more suited to a man. She’d borne that in mind for days, that Jake might find a degree of usefulness here in this place.
Mentally, she shook her head. Why shouldn’t a woman do as well as a man? Her heart yearned for the satisfaction she might gain from such an opportunity as this.
She’d have to be careful that it didn’t interfere with her chores at home, that the time spent in town didn’t take from her hours with her family. She brushed the thought aside, too filled with excitement to contemplate such mundane considerations right now.
“I’m purely selfish,” she whispered to herself. “And for right now, this very minute, I don’t even care.”
“You’re early, Miss Rachel,” Cecil Hampton said from his post next to the door, tipping his hat in her direction.
“Come inside, won’t you?” Mr. Baldridge invited, holding the door open with a flourish.
Rachel held her skirts, navigating the three steps, and entered the large building. It smelled of newly painted walls and fresh lumber. Perhaps roughly finished to the sophisticated observer, it looked like a dream come true to Rachel.
“I came as soon as I could,” she told Mr. Baldridge, folding her hands before her.
“Mrs. McPherson, your husband was told a while back that we might like to have you play for rehearsals in the future. It might only be an occasional thing, unless you were willing to take on the position of an on-hand manager.”
“I wasn’t sure your husband would agree to your spending that many hours here,” Cecil Hampton put in quickly.
Rachel considered that idea. “I can speak to him. As to the other, the working with those who need an accompanist in order to rehearse for their performances, I should be able to do that with no trouble.”
Mr. Baldridge nodded slowly. “In the future, when the schedule fills in, as we are certain it will, a man in town will be necessary to keep order and handle things for us.”
“You expect a lot of performers to head this way?” Rachel asked. The thought was more than she could conceive, although she welcomed it wholeheartedly.
“Yes. There are a number of theaters on this order, all on the railway line. Their schedule will allow our artists to go from one town to another, then start all over again, with a new program to offer.”
“It’s doing big things for our town already,” Cecil said proudly. “We have interest in a new stockyard on the far west end of the town, what with the cattle drives coming this way more and more all the time. There’s a mill being built down by the river and a ladies’ dress shop being considered next door to the newspaper office.”
“I’ll talk to Cord,” Rachel said. Surely he would agree.
“We’ll wait to hear from you.” Mr. Baldridge lifted his hat and ushered her back to the front door, Cecil Hampton nodding as she favored him with a smile.
Her steps were light as she walked back to the emporium. To think that she might work with real profes sionals, playing their music as they prepared for concerts. She imagined herself at the theater piano, music spread across the rack, a hushed crowd sitting on the edge of their seats.
Before the play began, she would play music that put the audience in the mood for the performance. During intervals, she would fill in the time until the curtain should be pulled aside for the next portion of the play.
She denied the urge to skip down the sidewalk, fought the delight that coaxed her to sing aloud as she made her way back to Conrad’s store. Her wagon was ready to roll, the purchases tucked neatly inside the box, and Conrad watched from the doorway.
“Take care, Mrs. McPherson,” he called cheerfully, careful not to use her given name, lest he cause gossip to follow her wagon home.
She waved, her smile wide, holding her happiness inside until she passed the last building marking the outskirts of Green Rapids. The schoolhouse lay just ahead, a scattering of houses on either side of the road, and she waved at several youngsters who played in the dusty yards. A dog barked at her, his tail wagging furiously as she passed, and she even waved at him.
A song burst from her lips, an aria she could not begin to do justice to, but she sang it anyway. The sound rose on the air, losing itself in the trees that shaded the road for the
first mile out of town. The river ran not far from here and she cast a glance to where it glittered in the sunshine, the whole world assuming a patina of brilliance to her eye.
She was on the upside of a shallow slope, the horse clipping along at a nice trot when the wagon lurched. The horse hesitated, his gait broken, and then with a terrible shudder, the wagon tilted to one side, throwing Rachel from the seat. She landed in the middle of the road, bonnet over her eyes, dust clogging her nose, and shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.
The left front wheel was gone and she spotted it across the road, leaning against a rock, as if it had been placed there by an unseen hand. Her food stuffs were in disarray, a bag of sugar spilling with slow precision from a small hole punctured in one corner. Rachel stood quickly, grasping the bag and halting the flow, then stood there with dust and dirt covering her from stem to stern as she debated what she would do with the sweet stuff.
A cardboard box had a vacant corner and she stuffed the sugar into it, then busied herself with arranging the rest of the food. Her bonnet was in the middle of the road, her hands were covered with dirt and her dress was enveloped in dust. She had begun to shake her skirts, managing to feel downright sorry for herself, when she heard a horse approaching at a good pace just behind her.
Atop his big gray stallion, Beau Jackson rode at a full gallop. “Miss Rachel! Are you all right?” he called out, sliding from his mount as he reached her side.”
She nodded once, shifting her shoulders and moving her arms, and then, to her everlasting mortification, she burst into tears.
Chapter Eighteen
Beau Jackson’s hand patted her shoulder, as if he would lend his sympathy to her plight. The yearning for Cord’s wide chest upon which to shed her tears gripped her with all the agony of a toothache, and she sobbed anew.
“Miss Rachel…Mrs. McPherson…Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Beau’s words were hurried, his voice harsh, and she nodded her head abruptly, anxious to assure him of her well-being.
And yet, she didn’t feel well at all. Her stomach churned with a terrible nausea, and her head was spinning as though she’d just jumped from a merry-go-round going full tilt.
A lurching within her signaled imminent disaster and she stumbled to the side of the road, leaning forward over a patch of weeds. The contents of her stomach erupted and she swayed as she lost every bit of dignity she’d ever possessed.
A strong arm snaked around her waist and a wide palm supported her forehead as she suffered another session of gagging and retching.
“I’ve got you, honey. Just relax.” Beau Jackson’s soothing voice was a comfort, she had to admit, leaning heavily on his support. His hand left her forehead, returning just seconds later with a wrinkled, but thankfully clean, handkerchief.
With a deep breath, she muttered words of thanks, wishing only for the privacy of her bedroom. Throwing up was an indignity itself. Doing it with an audience was probably the most embarrassing thing she’d ever done in her life.
She wiped her mouth, blew her nose and stood erect, horribly aware of the man behind her. Finally, unable to put it off any longer, she turned to him, brushing stray wisps of hair from her face.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jackson. My stomach must have reacted badly to the fall I took.” She looked up at him and her gaze met a crooked grin.
“No problem, ma’am,” he said with merciful courtesy. “We’ve all chucked our cookies once or twice.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “You dizzy, ma’am? You’re still pretty pasty-looking.”
Rachel shook her head, then promptly wished she hadn’t. The sky and earth changed places for a few seconds, whirling with an audible buzzing in her ears, and she found herself carried in strong arms to the other side of the road.
Beau settled her on the ground and eyed her cautiously. With a brisk movement he removed his hat and began waving it with a slow tempo, wafting fresh air across her face.
Rachel groaned. “I feel so…” She drew up her legs, dipping her head to rest against them.
“Sick?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “No, just embarrassed, mostly. A little dizzy yet, but better since I…”
“Threw up?” he supplied.
Drat the man! Why couldn’t he just disappear and leave her alone in her misery?
Now his hand was beneath her elbow and he was dragging her to her feet. “Miss Rachel? I think I need to get you home.”
She waved her other hand distractedly at the wagon and the horse, standing dejectedly with its harnesses hanging askew. “What about Cord’s horse?”
“We’ll leave her here. I’ll get some help and be back in no time to fix the wheel. I don’t think you’re in any shape to help with it, and I’m not real interested in doing it alone.”
“All right,” she agreed, willing to do most anything to get back to the ranch, where soap and water and a clean dress would be the first order of business.
He gathered up his horse’s reins and mounted, slipping his left foot from the stirrup. “Can you reach your foot up here?” he asked, hoisting her with an arm beneath her shoulders.
It was a simple matter, and within seconds, Rachel was astride behind him, tugging her skirts to cover as much of her legs as possible. The big stallion set off at a gentle pace and Rachel placed reluctant hands at Beau Jackson’s waist.
“Hang on good and tight,” he told her cheerfully. “I don’t want you rolling in the dirt again. You scared the bejabbers out of me the last time, when I saw you take a header off that wagon seat.”
She clung a bit tighter, peering past him as she watched for the turnoff that would lead to the ranch. “It’s just ahead, Mr. Jackson,” she told him after a few minutes.
He nodded, glancing back at her as the horse cut the corner. “You feeling all right back there? I was thinking maybe I shouldn’t have put you up on the horse. You’re not…there isn’t any chance you might be…”
Rachel frowned. Whatever was the man trying to say? A little spell of dizziness was to be expected after a jolt. And she’d felt a bit queasy several times lately. Probably just a touch of stomach discontent.
“You think you might be in a family way?” The words were blurted out in a rush, as if Beau Jackson worried that it were true. He slowed his horse to a walk, waiting for her reply, and Rachel felt a blush climb slowly from her chest to cover her face with a heated glow.
“Really, Mr. Jackson…” Her voice trailed off as she considered his question. Of course she wasn’t…that way. Surely any woman would recognize it if she were to be…Her brow furrowed as she considered the thought.
“I should have gone with her.” Cord’s grumbling had gone on for more than half an hour already, and Sam Bostwick muttered his opinion of the whole situation.
“Dang it all, Cord. You act like the girl don’t know how to drive that wagon. She was holdin’ the reins long before you ever met her. You can’t ride a green horse when your mind’s on a woman. That’s a fact, son!”
Cord picked himself up from the dust of the corral and slapped his hat against his leg. He was aching in several spots already. Damn horse was about the most hardheaded cayuse he’d ever had the dubious pleasure of hanging a saddle on.
“Well, whatever you say, Sam, she’s been gone long enough to get her runnin’ around done, and then some.” Cord gathered up the reins in his left hand and waited for his chance. The horse rolled his eyes and turned in a circle, Cord tightening his grip and closing in as they maneuvered in the middle of the corral.
He saw his moment and seized it, his foot snatching at the stirrup; and with a single, graceful movement, he attained the saddle. The horse bunched beneath him and he tightened up on the reins, his knees gripping, his thighs taut, his backside still throbbing from the last spill he’d taken.
“Wal, what the hell’s that?” From the corral fence, Buck’s voice caught his attention, and Cord’s head swung to where the youthful cowhand was straddling the topmost rail.
&nbs
p; Just beyond the house, where the long lane wound between a line of fencing on either side, a big horse approached, two riders taking their good old time about getting to wherever they were going.
The animal between his knees jerked sideways and Cord followed the movement with an automatic reflex, wincing as his bottom hit the saddle with a thump. Damn, he was getting the worst of this ride, he decided, and in no mood for company.
Allowing a quick glance at the approaching riders, he swallowed an oath. Rachel! The horse spun and he lost sight of her.
“Well, I’ll be a suck-egg mule! What’s Miss Rachel doin’ riding double with Beau Jackson?” Sam’s gruff drawl penetrated his concentration, and Cord cast a quick look over his shoulder.
Damn if it wasn’t Rachel, her arms hugging the neighbor, and him looking like he’d just had a good laugh over something.
Cord’s bottom left the saddle and he felt the reins snatched from his gloved hand. The sky turned to dirt and he landed with a thump, his head touching down first. For just a second’s time, he felt the thud of ground meeting skull and then his back slammed against the hard-packed earth. With a mighty whoosh, he lost every bit of breath in his lungs.
“Cord!” It was a single, whispered sound, yet the echo of his name resounded over and over again in her mind.
“Hang on there, ma’am,” Beau said tightly. “Don’t you be falling. One of you on the ground at a time is enough, and you already had your turn.”
She’d watched Cord twist his neck to see her, noted the frown he wore, and then her gaze had followed his descent to the ground, arms and legs spread wide as he hit with a thud.
Now she slid from behind Beau Jackson and fell into Buck Austin’s arms. He righted her quickly and she ran to the corral. Sam and Moses were bending over Cord, Shamus kneeling at his head.
The Wedding Promise (Harlequin Historical) Page 24