Silken Thunder

by Fayrene Preston

  Wes walked Anna back to town, unobtrusively guiding her to the path that would bring them to the back of the emporium, and deliberately avoiding Main Street. Giving her a glance out of the corner of his eye, he saw that there was hardly any sign left of the woman who, just a short time ago, had rolled through the flowers with him, sharing a passion that went beyond common and usual bounds. She’d retreated behind a lovely serene expression. But she’d left her hair loose, allowing it to tumble freely down her back, and the long golden strands were still entwined with yellow and gold flowers.

  His heart swelled with emotions he couldn’t name. Things seemed to be going his way now. Anna was staying with him. Together they would have a child. The railroad would go through without a hitch. Finally he was going to have everything he’d ever wanted.

  He planned to provide Anna and his child with a life he’d never known, one without worry for anything. But he felt a shadow. …

  And because their life together was going to start today, because of their child, because of the years that were to come, he felt he owed her an explanation.

  “Anna?” With a hand on her arm he stopped her beneath a tall aspen tree. “I know that you’ve heard the talk around town about Sloan Lassiter and me. You may have even heard the fact that he thinks I was responsible for his brother’s death.”

  She nodded, her blue eyes clouding. “I’ve heard.”

  “And you’ve wondered what the truth was, right?”

  She leaned back against the tree trunk, gazing up at him. “Yes.”

  “You deserve to know what really happened. Sloan thinks I directed him and his brother to a water hole that I knew was dry.” He paused. “I’ve done a lot of unscrupulous things in my life, Anna, but being responsible for that boy's death is one sin I'm not guilty of. I didn’t know, and that’s the truth.”

  The relief Anna felt at his confession surprised her. These past few days she’d been confronted by major revelations that had ripped her life from its very roots. But while she had been learning to deal with the hurt and confusion that had assaulted her at every turn, somewhere at the back of her mind there had lurked the fear that Wesley was guilty of murder. A cool wind rustled the leaves in the branches above their heads, and she raised her face to the soothing caress of the breeze and to Wesley. “I’m glad you told me.”

  Her obvious relief eased his mind. He’d never tried to hide the type of man he was from anyone; he’d never cared what people thought of him. But now, if there was one person in the world whom he wanted to believe that he was not capable of murder, it was Anna. “I wish I could give myself a complete whitewash. But I can’t. Although I didn’t deliberately cause David’s death, indirectly I did, and there's nothing I can do to change that.”

  “I guess our lives would be a lot different if we had the ability to change things,” she said softly, as if her mind were suddenly far away.

  He reached out and lay his hand flat on her stomach. “There are a lot of things I would change if I could, Anna, but this baby is not one of those things.”

  “I know.”

  She spoke so softly that Wes had to bend his head to her so that he could hear. He wasn’t certain, but her words seemed to have held a faint trace of sadness. “How long will it take you to pack?”

  “Not long. I'd already started.”

  A somber expression came over his face as he thought of how close he’d come to losing her. He didn’t know what had changed her mind about leaving town. He could only be grateful. “I’ll be back in about an hour with a buggy. Be sure you get everything you want.”

  Anna folded the last dress and put it into the carpetbag, then turned to the dresser and the silver brush and comb that had been her mother’s. Taking them, she laid them on top of the dress in the bag.

  “You are leaving now?”

  She threw a glance over her shoulder at her father, who was framed in the doorway. “Yes.”

  “Anna — ” He paused, seeming to search for words. “You must not go off on your own like this. A voman alone does not have an easy time.” He shook his head. “But a voman pregnant and not wed — ”

  “I appreciate your concern,” she said, not entirely successful in keeping the sarcasm from her voice, “but it comes too late.”

  He dropped his gaze from hers. “It vas not my intention for matters to end like this.”

  “No, of course not,” she said, keeping her tone mild with great effort. It still hurt her to think of her father’s betrayal. She glanced around the room to see what she’d missed. “It was your intention that you keep your store. Which reminds me, Wesley will be here in a few minutes.”

  His head lifted. “McCord? Here? Vhy vould he come here?”

  “I — I think I’ll let him tell you.” She wasn’t deliberately trying to be cruel to her father. It was just that she was finding it very difficult to talk to him.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever again be able to carry on a normal, easy conversation with him.

  She heard the sound of footsteps in the next room, then Wesley appeared in the doorway behind her father. She felt an immediate sense of comfort.

  “Are you ready, Anna?” Wes asked.

  “I think I’ve got everything. I just have to close this bag,” she said, bending over it.

  “Wait.” Wes stepped around her father as if the man weren’t there and crossed the room to her. “Let me do that for you.” Quickly he fixed the fastener, then stood and motioned to the two other carpetbags by the bed. “Just these three?”

  “Yes.”

  Lars Nilsen nervously cleared his throat. “Mr. McCord?”

  Wes turned a hard gaze on him but didn’t say anything.

  “My daughter … Anna, that is … has said that you have something to tell me. Perhaps about the store?”

  Wes looked at Anna. She gazed back at him, her face totally without expression. But in her eyes he saw her hurt. Then she turned her back on the two men and walked to the window. Wes returned his attention to Lars Nilsen. The sooner he got Anna out of there the better.

  “The store is yours free and clear. I’ve burnt the notes.”

  Her father’s face cleared. “That is vonderful. ”

  Wes hid his disgust for the older man under words that were terse, calm, and free of any emotion. “Anna and I were married a few days ago. She’ll be living with me now. You’ll be able to see her, but only if that’s what she wants. And if you come to the house, I’ll make damn sure I’ll never be there.”

  At the window Anna listened and realized that what Wesley wasn’t saying was more interesting than what he was saying. It was obvious to her that Wesley condemned her father, and still more obvious he didn’t feel he had the right to cast stones.

  “Anna?”

  She turned toward Wesley. “I’m ready to leave.”

  He nodded and picked up her carpetbags. “The buggy’s downstairs.”

  “In the front of the store or the back?”

  He met her gaze. “The front,” he said firmly.

  Anna looked at her father. “You have what you want now, Papa. You’ll be fine.”

  “But Anna — ”

  “Good-bye.”

  Wes stowed Anna’s bags in the back of the buggy, then helped her up onto the seat. “Be careful,” he cautioned.

  She smiled down at him. “I’m not made of glass, Wesley.”

  He grinned. “No?”

  The sight of the cozy familiarity between Wes McCord and Anna Nilsen was enough to make Mrs. Fitzpatrick stop in her tracks on the boardwalk a few yards away and frown with disapproval. “Why, Anna, my dear, I didn't know you were planning on going away.”

  Instinctively Anna started with guilt. One impulsive act of walking hand in hand down Main Street earlier this afternoon hadn’t entirely wiped out the habit of months of clandestine meetings.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick went on. “And your hair. Really, my dear, whatever has happened that you haven’t had time to comb it and put it
up?”

  Anna’s hand flew to her hair in horror. It still had flowers in it.

  Wes turned on the woman. “I think Anna’s hair is beautiful just the way it is, and since Anna has done me the honor of becoming my wife, how she wears her hair is now my concern, and only my concern.”

  Now it was Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s turn to show shock. “Your wife!”

  My wife. It was the first time Wesley had used those words and it both startled Anna and filled her with a buoyant warmth.

  From the buggy Anna had an excellent view of Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s face turning the color of ash as she suddenly realized she had seriously offended Wes McCord. Silly woman, Anna thought. She waves a red flag in front of a bull and realizes the danger only after she’s been gored.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick moistened her lips nervously. “Oh, well, how simply wonderful. But, really, how was I to know? I’m sure that no one else in town knows. Or I would have found out. I mean — ”

  “We wanted our wedding to be private,” Wes said smoothly. “I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Absolutely. But, of course, the news will get out.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “The mayor and I insist on giving you and your lovely wife” — she bestowed a beaming smile on Anna — “a reception.”

  Wes swung up into the buggy and took the reins in his hands. “That’s very kind of you, but my wife and I are planning a small reception at our home. Just a few of our closest friends will be invited.” With an abrupt flick of the reins he set the horse into a trot. “Good day, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”

  “Good day, Mr. McCord,” she called after them, then hastily added, “and Mrs. McCord.”

  “Stupid woman,” Wes muttered.

  Suddenly Anna felt a bubble of happiness form inside her, and she started to giggle.

  Wes cast her a look of surprise. He smiled. Then he, too, started to laugh.

  Anna stepped through the front door of Wesley’s house and gazed around her with wonder. Everything looked somehow different, which was strange, because she was as familiar with most of the rooms of this house as she was with the rooms above the emporium.

  Maybe it was she who was different.

  She was Wesley’s wife now. That meant this house was her home. Would she ever get used to it all, she wondered.

  “I’ll take your bags upstairs,” Wesley said, coming in the door behind her.

  She nodded. He brushed past her, but she didn’t look at him. She felt awkward and uncertain. How would they get along together? Here in this house that had been the scene of so many illicit meetings. Man and wife now, instead of lovers.

  Wesley’s wife.

  What did he expect from her as his wife?

  What did she expect from him?

  The last question, she decided, was the easiest of all to answer. Nothing. She expected nothing.

  He’d given her his name. Protected her from gossip. Now he was sharing his house with her. That was all she could expect.

  An incredible sadness engulfed her. She turned, then went still as she saw the clumsily arranged vase of buttercups and marigolds on the hall table. Her cheeks flushed as the implication of the flowers hit her. When Wesley had left her at the emporium, he must have gone back to the meadow and picked this bouquet.

  She reached for the vase and brought the flowers to her face. Their brilliant colors and velvet beauty brought back the enchantment of her and Wesley’s time in the meadow.

  She heard him coming down the stairs and quickly replaced the vase on the table but kept her gaze on the flowers.

  When he reached her, he looked down at her and smiled. “You must have been smelling the flowers. You have the faintest touch of gold on your nose.”

  A sudden shyness made her voice soft. “I’m sure that I have the color of the flowers all over me.”

  “Me too,” he said huskily.

  For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he simply brushed a gentle fingertip down her cheek.“Come to the kitchen with me. You need to eat something.”

  He took her hand and led the way down the hall.

  And deep within her, fledgling hope was born.

  “Usually I eat at the cafe or the hotel,” Wes was saying, “except for the days when Mrs. Elliot comes in to clean. On those days she also shops and cooks for me” He grinned. “We’re lucky. She came today and there’s a pot of stew on the stove.”

  “I’ll heat it up,” Anna said, glancing around. “Do you have an apron?”

  “No.”

  The humor she heard in his voice made her look at him. She smiled. “No, I guess you don’t. It doesn’t matter.” She poked through drawers and shelves until she found a dish towel and wrapped it around her waist.

  “I’ll do it. You just sit down and rest.”

  She looked at him, astonished. “Wesley, I’m used to putting in a full day’s work at the store, then cooking dinner. Heating up a pot of stew is not going to hurt me.”

  He shrugged and took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “All right, you can do a little around the house if you want. But no heavy work, understand?”

  She nodded, turning to the stove. He was concerned for the baby. After all, she reminded herself, that was why he had married her. “Mrs. Elliot bought some nice apples. I can make a pie for dessert.”

  “That would be nice,” he said. He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, feeling a deep, almost primitive sense of satisfaction. Dreams were so ephemeral, sometimes a person couldn’t catch hold of them long enough to see what they were made of. Maybe in the deep, secret darkness of his mind, he'd envisioned having Anna in his kitchen, in his home, in his life. He didn't know if he had or not.

  But she was here now. This was no dream. He had a wife. He was going to be a father.

  His attention was drawn to the towel at her slender waist. “I’ll buy you some aprons,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

  “Well, you obviously won’t be able to get that dish towel around your waist much longer.”

  Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her and he cursed himself for being a clumsy fool. “Come here, Anna.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, she did as he asked. As soon as she was close enough he put his arm around her waist and drew her between his legs. “I’m looking forward to the months ahead when your waist thickens and your stomach grows larger and larger.” He pressed the side of his face into her belly. “My child,” he said softly. “I can’t wait until I can hear his heartbeat.”

  Touched, Anna threaded her fingers through his hair. “His heartbeat, Wesley?”

  “Or hers.” Gently he rubbed his face back and forth over the softness of her stomach. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’d like a little girl who was as beautiful as her mother.”

  Tears rushed forward, clouding Anna’s vision as her fingers tangled in Wesley’s hair. Would she ever be able to deal with this man’s many complexities and moods, she wondered. Heaven knew, she wanted to learn everything about him. And now she was beginning to hope that perhaps she would have the time to do that.

  Chapter 11

  “Brianne!”

  The door of the bedroom burst open.

  Brianne’s head jerked up in surprise as she saw Henrietta hurtle into the room. While she watched in puzzlement, the older woman pushed the door closed and turned the key in the lock, her face white and tense. Brianne flung aside her sketchbook she’d been studying and immediately went to her friend. “What on earth’s wrong?”

  “He’s here. That — that man is here!”

  It took Brianne no more than a second to figure out about whom Henrietta was speaking. “Your husband, Mr. Bartholomew?”

  “That’s right. He walked into the hotel, big as you please.” Suddenly her voice dropped and she pressed three fingers into the center of her forehead. “He’s come to take me back with him, but I’m not going. And if he forces me to go with him, I — I’ll just run away again.”

>   Brianne took hold of Henrietta’s hand and led her to the green velvet sofa. “No one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, Henrietta, but you must calm down.”

  Once seated, Henrietta paused to take several deep breaths. “You’re right, I know. It’s just that I was hoping he wouldn’t find me. I guess what I was really hoping was that he wouldn’t come looking for me at all.” She made a sound of disgust. “You should have seen him, Brianne. He was holding this awful bouquet of flowers in his — ”

  “Flowers? Really?” Her brow wrinkled. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  Henrietta looked at her in surprise. “Said? I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. I took one look at him and ran up here.”

  It was definitely time for some frank speaking, Brianne thought. She rose, walked to the rosewood dressing bureau, where a pitcher of water sat, and poured a glass for the distraught woman. Returning to Henrietta’s side, she handed it to her. When she indicated she’d had enough, Brianne took the glass and set it on a side table. “Henrietta, I want you to hear me out. I’ve learned a lot in the last couple of weeks, and one of the most important things is that you have to accept the bad qualities of the man you love along with the good.”

  Henrietta shifted restlessly as if she wanted to in-

  terrupt, but Brianne continued before she had a chance. “I know you’re not in love with your husband, but have you considered that you might have fallen in love with him had you stayed and gotten to know him? After all, you traveled all that distance from Philadelphia to California in answer to a mail order bride advertisement. That in itself shows you have an adventuresome and romantic soul.”

  Pink stained Henrietta’s cheeks, and despite the fact that the older woman was twisting her hands together, Brianne was encouraged. “I’m sure that Mr. Bartholomew frightened you in his haste to consummate the marriage. But perhaps hitting him over the head with a pitcher and taking the first stagecoach out of town might have been a bit precipitous of you.”

  Henrietta could no longer control her agitation and jerked to her feet to begin pacing the room. “My dear, I know you mean well, but a young girl such as yourself can have no idea about the carnal nature of men.”