by Jodi Thomas
Aggie frowned. Hank still wasn’t looking at her. “Did he say why he tried to kill my husband?”
The sheriff nodded. “He said a man in Fort Worth paid him. Said this fellow made an offer in a bar to anyone interested that if they’d see you had a horrible honeymoon he’d give a hundred dollars.”
Aggie couldn’t believe it. “You mean someone tried to kill Hank for a hundred dollars?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Not kill, just bother. The fellow you put a bullet in swears he planned to knock Hank out and set the barn afire. But he panicked.” The sheriff pulled out a chair for her as Aggie melted into it. “The good news is he’s in jail. It seems he was wanted for a few other crimes as well, and we’d been looking for him for months. We know the man who made the offer in the bar, but it’ll just be his word against this lowlife, and no jury would take the story of a criminal over a railroad executive.”
Aggie felt horrible. Hank being hurt was all her fault. She didn’t have to ask a name, she knew only one railroad man, Potter Stockton. “What’s the bad news?” she managed.
The sheriff looked at Hank as if waiting for permission to continue.
Hank covered her hand with his and nodded.
“The bad news,” the sheriff mumbled, “is that the guy says there were two men that night in the bar who took the railroad man up on his offer.”
Aggie felt as if someone was choking her. “Someone else is out there?”
The sheriff nodded. “He may have given up and gone back, but I came out to warn you to keep a lookout for trouble.”
The sheriff left, with Blue by his side. Blue had picked up the box of repaired guns and said he’d be back from town in an hour.
When they were gone, Aggie stood beside Hank’s chair and waited for him to say the first word. If he hadn’t married her he would have been working today, not losing money while laid up with a broken leg. She wasn’t even good company since she’d spent the day upstairs. He couldn’t have even climbed up to see her.
Finally, he reached for her hand. “I should have guessed Potter was a hothead. He must have sent that drunk at the train station to stop me, and when that didn’t work he planned to at least see that we couldn’t be happy.”
She moved closer and leaned her shoulder against him. “I am happy, dear. I hate that he broke your leg and somehow I’m probably to blame, but you must know that I’m happy—here on the ranch—with you.”
He looked up at her then as if he wanted to believe her, but something deep inside stopped him. She thought he was about to argue, but he only said, “I want you to promise to wear my Colts today. Don’t take them off.”
She nodded.
“I can’t just sit here and wait for trouble to come, but I can work in the barn. I’ll have Blue move my workbench so that I can keep an eye on the house and my rifle will always be within reach.”
“I’ll bring my tools out. It’s warm enough for me to work in the barn.”
He pulled her into his lap and held her gently. She thought of a hundred things that needed doing, but it felt so good to have him holding her. She’d almost woken him last night to ask if he would. She knew he liked her here but didn’t completely believe her when she’d told him she was happy. Maybe it was the way they married with no promises of love. Or maybe it was more deeply rooted in his past, when mother left him and never returned.
Aggie kissed his throat and Hank stilled as if returning to reality.
“We’d better get to work,” he said.
She nodded and stood, wishing he’d kissed her back just once.
An hour later Blue returned with another load of broken revolvers and a few rifles from Jeb, and a box of new tools shipped in from Wichita Falls. Aggie was so excited she went right to work, hardly noticing Blue moving Hank’s bench to the other side of the barn doors.
They worked all morning, their backs to one another. Hank sat on a stool with his leg propped on the crossbar of his workbench. She preferred to stand when she worked with rifles. He asked her to pick up a hammer he dropped, and once she asked if he’d help her pry a jammed cartridge shell out. Neither talked of anything else.
At noon Aggie went to the house and brought back leftover meat and cheese for lunch. She insisted he rest his leg while he ate. She talked about a few of the problems with the rifles, but he said little. His eyes were always looking beyond the barn.
When Blue returned that evening, Hank asked if the hired hand would lend him a shoulder to brace against so he could make it to the house.
Aggie almost cried. He’d worked too hard. He should have turned in hours ago and gotten all the weight off his leg. She grabbed her tools and ran for the house. “I’ll work upstairs for a while,” she said as she passed the two men. “You rest, dear.”
“I’ll want no supper,” Hank answered. “I think I’ll call it a night.”
She wanted to argue that he needed to eat, but she didn’t want to nag in front of Blue. Instead, she went to her little space above the kitchen and worked, telling herself tomorrow would be better.
She worked until the box of guns was repaired. When she finally crawled into bed, she wished there was something that could make Hank happy, or at least make him believe that she was happy. At some point, when he’d been little, he’d stopped believing he could be loved. That’s why he could offer the partnership—it had been safe, there wouldn’t be a disappointment, for love wasn’t part of the deal.
Shoving a tear away, she silently scolded herself for crying, then she realized why she couldn’t stop. Hank didn’t believe in love and she loved him. She might never be able to say the words or make him believe, but she loved him.
An idea struck her. Slipping from the bed, she ran back upstairs. Within minutes another quilt was hung, this one on the blank wall of their bedroom. Tomorrow, no matter what the weather, Hank would wake to a sunny day filled with sunflowers and morning glories.
Laughing to herself, Aggie slipped out of her nightgown and into his flannel shirt. Then she crawled in beside her husband. As she moved close to his warmth, he circled her and pulled her against him. His slow steady breathing told her that his action was more instinct than thought. She molded against him and whispered, “Good night, dear,” a moment before she fell asleep.
Chapter 14
In the darkness Hank came awake one pleasure at a time. Aggie’s hair tickled his nose, her cheek lay against his heart, and her breast pressed into his side. For several minutes all he could manage was breathing. He’d been in a bad mood all day yesterday, battling pain and the fear that someone might try to hurt Aggie. After an hour of berating himself, he’d decided she probably didn’t want to come to bed with him.
But she had. She’d not only shared the bed, she’d curled up against him. He’d managed to live another day without her running out on him.
Finally, he slipped his hand along her back and cupped her round little bottom. She wiggled with his movement, then settled against him. Hank smiled, thinking he’d try harder. “Aggie,” he whispered.
She raised her head, her hair wild around her. “Is it morning already?”
“No.” He shoved her curls away from her face. “But close. The horizon is already beginning to glow.”
“Are you all right?” She rose to her elbow.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you. I hadn’t meant to say your name out loud.”
Aggie fell back against the pillow and pretended to snore.
Hank laughed. “Don’t you want to stay awake and watch the sun come up?”
“I’ll catch it tonight, then turn it over in my mind.”
He scooted up and propped the pillow behind his back. “Come on. Wake up and watch. Sunrise is the best part of the day.”
Like a grumpy groundhog, she crawled out of her warm hole and sat beside him.
After a few minutes, he asked, “Are your eyes open?”
“Is it here yet?”
“Almost.”
“Jus
t let me know and I’ll open them then.”
Hank couldn’t resist—he tugged her to him. He wanted to pull her shirt off and repeat all they’d done before, but for now, he had to let her set the pace. Just because he couldn’t advance physically with making her his, didn’t mean he couldn’t move forward.
“Listen, sunshine, I’ve been thinking.”
She was busy settling atop his chest.
“Are you listening?”
She made a slight sound, half yes, half yawn.
“I don’t think I’m going to build another bed. If you’ve no objection, I think we should just share.”
He felt her nod.
“I mean from now on, not just while I’m laid up with this leg.”
She nodded again. “I understand. Except for the few months I had after all my sisters left, I’ve always shared a bed. It has advantages. Someone to cuddle with on cold nights. Someone to talk to when you can’t sleep.”
“Aggie, sharing a bed with a man is different.”
She stilled. “I know.”
He waited for her to say more. The easiness between them was gone. She lay stiff at his side. “You know,” he whispered, “I would never hurt you.”
“I know,” she said again. “This isn’t what I thought it would be like between us.”
He understood. When he’d handed her his gun, he’d thought he was making a partnership that at best would keep her safe and offer him company. But now, it was already more, far more.
Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, loving the sweet dawn taste of them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her as she turned the kiss to liquid passion.
Hank fought to keep it light, but his hands slipped back over her bottom, tenderly gripping each hip and holding her close.
She broke the kiss and shoved away, and reason fought its way into his brain. He tried to find the words to say he was sorry for something he wasn’t, but before he could speak, she unbuttoned her shirt.
“Touch me again, dear.” She opened the flannel and in dawn’s first light he saw her beauty.
All reason vanished as he lowered his mouth to her breast.
She cried out in surprise, then arched her back and allowed him his fill of her flesh.
By the time sanity returned, the sun had cleared the horizon. He kissed her long and hard, letting his hands continue caressing her breasts, now moist and full from his careful inspection. She’d complained only when he pulled away.
In the lazy stillness while they each remembered to breathe, Hank spread his hand across her stomach and made lazy circles over her flesh. “There’s more,” he whispered, loving the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed.
“I figured there might be.” She moved her cheek against the side of his head.
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready.” He didn’t bother to say ‘if you’re ready.’ After the way she reacted to his second touch, there was no doubt where they were headed.
She sighed.
“It might mean children.” He’d heard of a few ways to prevent pregnancy, but doubted any one would work all the time. “You wouldn’t mind children?”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t mind your children. I think I’d love them dearly.”
He tried to keep the sadness from his voice. “That’s more than my mother did.”
“That’s not true.” She shoved away, unaware how the sudden sight of her beauty stopped his heart.
He shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. My mother left me before I could talk and never looked back.”
“No,” Aggie shouted as she scrambled off the bed. “No!”
As she backed against the wall, he saw the quilt for the first time. “Where did that come from?” He knew nothing of crafts, but he could see that he must be looking at a work of art. No clumsy blocks, no crazy designs, but an intricate picture painted with tiny bits of fabric and fine stitching.
“Your mother. She loved you and must have spent years making these.”
“These?”
“Didn’t you know they were in the trunk? Beautiful masterpieces of the seasons. The finest work I’ve ever seen.”
Hank shook his head. “I never looked. I figured it would be her clothes and I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to be reminded of a mother who never touched me.” All his old feelings of being abandoned washed across his thoughts. “Besides, quilts in a trunk mean nothing.”
Aggie had reached the edge of the quilt. Without a word she turned the fabric over and he saw a small square in the corner. Even from five feet away he could see the stitching. Three words: “For my son.”
He sat staring at the quilt as Aggie buttoned her shirt and ran upstairs to get the others. When they were all spread out on the bed, Hank could no longer deny they were for him. Each one had the same three words carefully embroidered on the back. She might have left him, but she hadn’t forgotten him.
A knock sounded a moment before they heard the front door creak. Aggie jumped like a rabbit at the sound of gunfire, and in seconds she was dressed.
“Hank?” the sheriff’s voice boomed. He opened the bedroom door while Aggie stood behind it finishing buttoning her shirt. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t think you’d be in bed. You all right?”
Hank tried to think of some reason he’d still be in bed after sunrise. He knew a very good one, but he wasn’t about to tell the sheriff. “I was just getting dressed.”
Aggie slipped out behind the sheriff, then managed to act like she was just walking in. “Oh,” she said, “good morning, sheriff.”
“Morning, ma’am. I got some good news. They found that other fellow in Fort Worth who Stockton hired to bother you. He was still drunk in the same saloon, claiming he thought the offer was a joke. So you can stop worrying.”
“Good.” Hank drew a long breath. “How about some coffee?”
The sheriff nodded. “I wouldn’t mind if I do. I saw Blue in the barn. I’ll run over and tell him the news and be right back.”
He disappeared. Aggie ran to put coffee on and Hank dressed. When the sheriff returned they were both at the kitchen table.
After a cup of coffee and small talk, the sheriff stood. “I best be getting back.” He lifted his hat. You folks have a good day.” He took a step toward the door, then added, “That sure is a fine little rocking chair you’re building out there, Hank.”
Hank smiled, remembering how he’d worked all day on it and Aggie had been so busy she’d never asked what he was making. “It’s for my wife. The one on the porch is too big for her.”
The sheriff looked at Aggie. “You’ll like that, Mrs. Harris.”
“I’ll need it,” she said calmly. “I’m going to have a baby.”
For a moment Hank thought he’d be embarrassed, but suddenly he couldn’t stop smiling. He shook the sheriff’s hand and limped to the door to say good-bye.
Aggie moved beneath his arm to steady him while they waved the lawman away.
When they were alone once more, Hank whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with my partner.”
“I’m afraid I am too.” She smiled up at him.
“But, Aggie, you’re not pregnant.”
She frowned. “We’d better work on that, dear, before the sheriff finds out I lied.”
Hank looked up at the bright morning sun. “Lucky for us it’s almost sundown.”
They turned toward the house and stepped inside. For the first time since he’d built the place, Hank locked the door and they made love beneath each season of quilts.
A Shade of Sunrise
DEWANNA PACE
To
Debbie Hunt:
Lover of literature,
friend, and slot-machine enthusiast extraordinaire.
You fixed me when I was broken.
Thank you.
Chapter 1
February 19, 1916
Wind rattled the pane, warning that winter might stage a final battle before
giving in to spring. Briar Duncan stared out the window at the variety of humanity that had arrived in Amarillo daily since the new year. Strangers strode along the depot’s platform, tipping their straw boaters and Stetsons to the ladies disembarking. Lingering wisps of frontier gun-smoke made Amarillo a meeting place for past and present these days. The city sprawling golden across the Texas Panhandle had suddenly become host to an influx of men posed to fight—a back-porch base to El Paso where other fortune hunters, adventurers, and doughboys positioned themselves for Pancho Villa’s next move.
Seeing no sign of his coworker among the new arrivals, Briar decided Nathaniel must have chosen to stay in St. Louis longer than expected. If he didn’t get back soon, the telegrapher would miss his opportunity to be part of the excitement. William Randolph Hearst had used every telegraph and teletype machine west of the Mississippi to keep him informed of the security of his cattle herds and silver mines. Briar had been so busy with taking care of Nathaniel’s job that he’d had little time to do his own as station master. That left even less time to waylay his daughter’s latest shenanigans.
“If you don’t hurry home,” Briar admonished the train as if it were his longtime friend, Nathaniel, “Violet will outgrow those dresses you’re bringing back.”
Thoughts of his seven-year-old daughter’s latest growing spurt made Briar focus his attention on the hobbled skirts and new ankle-length war crinoline worn by some of the women. Wind whipped at the crinoline, making the fuller skirts billow. Parasols dipped to block dust and soot from blasting the feminine faces.
A dull throb started a rhythmic beat across Briar’s brow and threatened to become a full-throttled brain buster. Blazes. Choosing clothes for Violet was worse than shoveling coal to feed the firebox. He had as much fashion sense as a cow had wool. Still, it was his duty to see that his daughter was accepted into genteel society one day. If that meant reading ladies’s catalogues and taking heed of the latest feminine finery, then he’d do so until he could tell bustle from bonnet.