Connie and the Cowboy (Outlaw Gold)

by Mildred Colvin

  ~*~

  At the outskirts of Springfield, Missouri, Brett looked around with a satisfied smile. “Home at last.”

  The light in Brett’s eyes and the eagerness in his voice brought tears to Connie’s heart. Sure as anything, she’d lose the first happiness she’d ever known.

  He pointed to the northeast. “The stores are all that direction, but Father won’t be downtown this time of day. He’s already gone home for supper.” He caught her hand as they rode close together. “Come on, Angel, let’s go home.”

  He gave her hand a loving squeeze before dropping it and nudging Fugitive forward. Connie had no choice but to follow. They passed several houses. Children playing in the yards stopped to watch as they rode by. An old man sitting on his porch waved. Brett waved and smiled. Connie kept her eyes on Brett’s broad-shouldered back, gripped the saddle horn with both hands, and lagged farther and farther behind.

  Finally, Brett stopped and waited for her to catch up. “What’s wrong, Connie? You’re not worried about meeting my family, are you?”

  She shrugged. “We shoulda sold the bay back yonder.”

  “If you’re tired of leading him, give me the rope.”

  “I never said I was tired of leadin’ him.”

  Brett fell in beside her as they moved on. “They’re going to love you, Connie. They’re good, Christian people. You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  Connie looked at him but kept her mouth shut. She could tell him a thing or two about the good, Christian people she’d met in her life. Aunt Rose for instance. The names she’d called her and the sting of her hand across her face. The women right here in Springfield who’d given her that Bible, told her to keep herself pure, then sent her to Purgatory to live with an uncle who couldn’t wait for her to grow up. Half the men who patronized Queenie’s went to church on Sunday with their wives and children. The good Christian wives who turned their eyes away when their children threw rocks at her and called her names. She knew about Christians. Brett’s good, Christian family would take him away from her. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Well, they weren’t going to! Not if she had anything to say about it.

  Brett turned and looked at her. “We’re almost there.”

  His smile caused her heart to beat a little faster. She loved him so much. She reached out to grab his hand at the same time he nudged Fugitive forward. Her arm fell limp by her side.

  “We’re here, Connie.” The excitement in his voice couldn’t be mistaken. He stopped in front of a big, white two-story house. “We’re home, Angel. We made it.”

  He turned into the long lane that led past all the way to a barn in back, and she followed wishing with everything inside her they’d never found the place. Her gaze swept the buildings and grounds. Her heart squeezed as if a hand clutched it. She’d figured the Norris home would look just this way. Clean. Well-kept. Surrounded by dark green grass and stately, old trees. Flanked by neat flowerbeds. Perfect. It whispered the truth. A family of ‘haves’ lives here.

  Brett swung down from the Buckskin and helped her to the ground. “This is it, Connie. This is where I grew up. I can’t wait to see their faces when they open the door.”

  The excitement in Brett’s voice left Connie out. She didn’t belong here. She should jump back on Chester and run as far away as she could. Brett’s hand closed around hers, and he started up the walk to the front steps.

  He kept her hand tucked in his as he crossed the wide, expansive porch to stand in front of the massive door. Brett smiled down at her before he turned to face what lay inside. He lifted the big brass doorknocker, letting it fall three times.

  Chapter 14

  The door jerked open and a man who looked a lot like Brett scowled at them. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

  Brett laughed. “Have I been gone so long you don’t know me?”

  The man’s eyes widened while his face lost all color. He stared as if seeing a ghost. “Brett?”

  “Yes, Father. It’s me.” Brett dropped Connie’s hand and took a step forward. “It’s really me.”

  Connie moved to the side. Sure would be nice if she could disappear, although she didn’t know why. Brett’s father hadn’t spared her so much as a glance.

  “Mary! Girls! Come see who’s here.” The man called back into the house before grabbing Brett in a crushing embrace.

  Connie watched the reunion while her mind whirled. Brett’s father was tall like Brett, but heavier and slightly stooped as if he carried a heavy load. No wonder. Brett had been gone five years without a word. Tears ran down Mr. Norris’s lined cheeks when he released Brett.

  “Charles, what is it?” A soft voice preceded the woman with faded blond hair who crowded into the doorway. “Is something wrong?”

  Before Mr. Norris could answer, her mouth gaped open and she put one hand to her heart. “Brett! Oh, Brett, you’ve come home.” Tears filled her eyes.

  With one arm still around his father’s shoulders, Brett reached for his mother, too. He drew her close until they all three stood outside on the porch.

  “Don’t cry, Mom.” Brett rested his face against the top of her head.

  Movement behind Brett and his folks caught Connie’s attention.

  Two young girls filled the doorway, wide smiles covering their faces.

  Brett looked up, and his eyebrows lifted. “Will you look at my little sisters. Hey, you two, come here.”

  Their parents stepped back, giving the girls room to hug their brother. The tall, dark-haired girl spoke first. “Welcome home, Brett.”

  The little red-head just smiled at her brother. The others all talked at once. Their words buzzed in Connie’s head like a hive of angry bees. She caught a few words, but didn’t try to understand them. Chester stood a few feet away. If it wasn’t for Brett, she’d ride as far from all these people as she could. Then she heard the word married, and the entire group turned to stare.

  Under their unsmiling scrutiny, her skin crawled like she was a loathsome creature who’d slithered into their clean, well-ordered lives. All her days she’d seen that self-same expression of distaste on people’s faces when they looked at her. They were going to take Brett away. Had already started. She shrank farther back, fighting the urge to run. Then, Brett stepped to her side. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her forward.

  “This is my wife, Connie.”

  Love and pride of possession rang in his voice. She belonged to Brett, and he belonged to her. They couldn’t steal him. She wouldn’t let them. Her shoulders straightened, her chin lifted, and she met their curious stares with a steady gaze.

  “Connie, this is my family—or at least part of them. Father, Mom, Nora. And the little red-head is Lucille, Lucy for short.”

  Connie looked from one to the other as he introduced them, daring them with a glare to try to take him from her.

  “Well,” Mary wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, this is certainly a surprise—a pleasant surprise. We never thought of Brett being married. But we’re happy to have you, Connie.” She put a tentative hand out and touched Connie’s shoulder. “Welcome to our family, dear.”

  Connie stood her ground, moving a bit closer to Brett. She didn’t say anything, and Mary dropped her hand.

  Brett’s father cleared his throat and looked from Connie to Brett and back again. “I must say, Mary is right. This is quite a surprise. Brett was little more than a boy when he left. But five years is a long time and what’s done is done. Welcome, Connie.”

  He leaned down and kissed her cool cheek. Connie knew his kiss meant nothing, but the image of Sheriff Burns flashed into her mind, and she shrank from him against Brett. Brett tightened his arm around her, giving her the support she needed.

  “Ahem.” His father cleared his throat. “I guess that’s that. We were just sitting down to dinner and unless you’ve changed in the last five years, I imagine you’re starving.”

  Brett laughed. He clamped his hand on his fath
er’s shoulder. “I’m always ready to eat.”

  “Then let’s get inside and eat your mother’s good cooking. We can get caught up on your news over dinner.”

  Connie sat beside Brett at the Norris’s lace-covered mahogany table. She’d never been in such a fancy place. All the furniture gleamed right along with the floors and the rich, dark woodwork on the walls. After her first quick glance around, she kept her eyes turned on her plate, listening to Brett tell his family about his ill-fated association with Fagin and his gang.

  “I remember you telling me, Father, that the Lord sometimes has to hit a man between the eyes with a two-by-four to get his attention. That’s what happened to me. I never for a minute thought I’d be found guilty of a crime I didn’t commit. Before I had time to catch my breath, I’d been tried, convicted, and sentenced to die within twenty-four hours. I wasn’t ready to face eternity. But I am now, Father. Four weeks ago in a dingy jail cell, with the sword of Damocles suspended by a cobweb over my head, I called out to my Savior and he answered.”

  Why would Brett tell his family there’d been a sword over his head? Did they really think a cobweb could hold it up if there had been? Connie started to set them straight when his sister spoke first.

  “You were saved.” Nora let out a breath. “Oh, Brett, how wonderful. We’ve prayed so long for that.”

  Brett’s stepmother, seated across the corner from Connie, pressed her hand to her heart. “Praise the Lord!” Tears streamed down her face.

  Charles, at the head of the table, clasped his son’s hand. “You don’t know how I’ve longed to hear those words, son.”

  Connie looked at her new in-laws. They sure were emotional. More than anyone else she’d ever met. Brett’s parents both smiled through the tears running down their cheeks. His dark-haired sister across the table from him grinned like she’d just turned up a winning hand. Connie looked at the redhead. Their gaze met, and the little girl smiled.

  Brett took Connie’s hand where it rested on the table. She met his gaze, unsure why he wanted to hold her hand. His eyes were also damp, but his loving smile was all for her. “I found salvation and Connie in Purgatory.”

  “Purgatory?” His father laughed. “Seems like a strange place to find salvation. Or a wife for that matter.”

  The others, including Brett, laughed.

  Connie pulled her eyebrows together in a puzzled frown.

  He still chuckled. “Purgatory is a place of punishment.”

  They all knew that, even the little one. She was foolish because she didn’t know. She was nothing but a weed among flowers. Her chin lifted almost of its own accord. “I reckon I knowed that, too.”

  “I met Connie while I was in jail,” Brett still held her hand. “The sheriff was her uncle.”

  “Do your parents live in Purgatory, Connie?” Mary smiled at her.

  Connie clung to Brett’s hand. “No, my parents are dead.”

  “I’m so sorry, dear.” Mary laid a sympathetic hand on Connie’s arm. “Have they been gone long?”

  Connie eased her arm away from Mary’s warm hand. “Yes, they have. Brett if you’re done eatin’ we need to take care of the horses.”

  “Of course.” Charles pushed his chair back. “I know you must be tired, Connie. You stay inside and visit with Mary and the girls. I’ll help Brett with the horses.”

  “I always take care of my own horse.” Connie clutched Brett’s strong hand, silently begging him not to leave her alone in this big frightening house with his mother and two beautiful sisters.

  Brett leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll take care of Chester for you. You stay and get acquainted with Mom and the girls.”

  Brett stood and threw a casual arm over his father’s shoulders as the two men walked out the door. Away from her. The ceiling came down and the richly paneled walls closed in on her. She was four years old and locked in Maggie’s wardrobe. She couldn’t breathe. Panic gripped her.

  “Connie, dear, are you all right?” Mary touched her shoulder.

  Connie blinked and the walls and ceiling receded. She stood and collected her and Brett’s dishes.

  “You don’t have to do that, dear.” Mary took the plates from her hands. “You’ve had a long, arduous journey. Come, just keep us company while we clean up.”

  Connie followed them to the large kitchen and sat down in the chair Mary pulled out for her. “You rest,” she said, “and tell us all about yourself while we take care of these dishes.”

  Connie shrank from the older woman’s friendliness. She couldn’t tell her about herself. She’d never let her stay with Brett if she knew. “There ain’t much to tell.”

  Mary, her hands now in dishwater, looked over her shoulder at Connie. “I’ve never heard of Purgatory. Is it in Missouri?”

  “No, Arkansas,” Connie answered.

  “Was your father a farmer?” Mary slid the silverware into the dishpan.

  “No, he wasn’t no farmer.” Connie looked down at her hands then smoothed her skirt over her knees. She remembered Davis’s letter. “Well, he did have a ranch once, I reckon.”

  “Oh, how nice. What did he do later?” When she didn’t answer right away, Mary said, “Brett mentioned that your uncle was the sheriff, was your father also involved in law enforcement?”

  Why couldn’t the woman just leave it alone? Do-gooder Christian women with all their prying questions were all alike. She should tell her the truth. After Davis was killed the do-gooder she’d been left with asked questions, too. The truth had shut her up and put Connie on the stage to Purgatory. It wasn’t always smart to tell the truth, but she wouldn’t lie, neither.

  She still remembered Davis telling her, “Never lie. Not to yourself. Only a coward refuses to face the truth. Not to anyone else. If you gain the name of a liar, you will not be believed when you do tell the truth. And never lie to God. Especially not to God. It’s useless. His eyes run to and fro throughout the whole earth. He sees everything we do.”

  She wouldn’t lie—not because she cared what anyone, including God, thought of her—but because her daddy had told her not to lie. This little woman wanted to know about her family. Well, she’d tell her. She lifted her head and looked directly into Mary Norris’s curious brown eyes.

  “My mother died when I was eight years old. She entertained a lot, and she never had much time for me, so I never missed her much. Besides, after she died I had my daddy. He was in the bankin’ business. About three years ago he was killed durin’ a hold-up. After that I went to Purgatory to live with my Aunt Rose and Uncle Everett.”

  “Oh, you poor child.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears.

  Connie looked back down at her clasped hands. Her daddy had told her not to lie, but he’d also told her a person could be truthful without telling everything they knew.

  ~*~

  “Look, Connie! It’s my rock collection. And my butterflies. Mom didn’t change a thing.” Brett hadn’t settled down since they’d arrived at his childhood home.

  Connie looked around his bedroom. The place where he had grown to young manhood. The books on the shelf were his. He’d spent hundreds of nights sleeping in the high bed with its woven counterpane; dreaming his boyish dreams. Perhaps dreaming of the beautiful, pure girl he would someday marry. Not dreaming of her. Never dreaming of her.

  She admired the rocks and exclaimed over the poor dead butterflies imprisoned behind glass, their beautiful wings forever stilled. She moved to the washstand and poured water from the big porcelain pitcher to the matching basin. Afterward, she undressed and folded her clothes in a neat pile. Using the soap his mother had provided when she brought the pail of warm water to fill the pitcher, she washed her hands and arms, and face and neck. Finally, she dried herself on the thick, soft towels the dark-haired sister had laid on the chair.

  She unplaited her hair and took her brush with its cheap Celluloid back from the dusty, stained feed sack she’d packed a lifetime ago in Purgatory.

 
Brett washed then lay back on the bed, his hands folded beneath his head. She felt his eyes watching her pull the brush through her hair. He talked about his older sisters and the babies that’d probably been born to them while he was away only he hadn’t had time to ask about yet. He said how grown-up Nora and Lucy were, and how much older his father seemed. When he spoke of his father, sadness tugged at his voice.

  “Father asked me to come work for him.” The statement came into the room as a barrier between them.

  She lay her brush down. “You’re gonna, ain’t you?”

  He avoided her gaze. “It’s good to be home. I should never have left.”

  “Brett, is that what you want? To work with your father?” She sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t know.” He hedged. “Maybe for a while. He said they need a man in charge of sales. I’d make good money.”

  “You’re a cowboy.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I was a cowboy for five years. I drifted from one job to another never having two coins I could rub together for long.” He looked around his room. “I never had a home. Seldom slept in a real bed.”

  “That sounds like your father talkin’.”

  Red crept up his neck, but he shrugged. “He’s right. I want to give you the best. To provide a home for you so you can be a ‘have’ like you want. Remember, that’s what you always wanted.”

  She stared at her hands. She wanted to be a ‘have’ so Brett wouldn’t have to work in a stuffy office. He could be free to do what he wanted. She didn’t care about herself anymore. All she wanted was to be with Brett and for him to be happy.

  “We could go look for my gold. Then we’d be ‘haves’. We could buy a ranch and you could do the work you want.”

  “Come to bed, Connie.” His voice sounded soft and husky. He touched her arm, slipped his hand down to hers, his fingers intertwined with her fingers as he pulled her toward him. She snuggled close, and he whispered in her ear. “I’m glad I left here. If I’d stayed, I would never have met you.”