An Endless Love to Remember: A Historical Western Romance Book

by Lorelei Brogan

  “Yeah. Well.” Uncomfortably, Riley cleared his throat.

  Sam, somewhat surprised by his intended’s reaction, wondered if this were possibly an honest emotion, at last. Thus far, he had seen very little of that. And, having arrived ready for an unpleasant confrontation, now he felt deflated, with all the wind being taken out of his sails by confrontation with a whole other matter entirely.

  Where to go from here with this exasperating young woman? Well, nowhere at the moment, really. Only one person was concerned, and that was Miss Sophie Clark.

  “Ma’am, I’m right sorry to hear about your troubles,” he ventured into the silence. “Dunno what there might be, but I hope you know that I’d like to help out in any way I can.”

  Riley was nodding and smiling, as if some private opinion had been vindicated. “As a matter of fact, son…”

  He went on to disclose more of that earlier discussion, between Sophie and himself, about the necessary consultation with a specialist set up in San Antonio, and proposed arrangements.

  “And that’s where you come in, Sam.”

  The plan for this future member of the family to serve as chauffeur, escort, and all-round bodyguard had him hesitating not one whit.

  “Sure enough, Mr. Clark. I’d be happy—and honored—to drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “No objection to your bein’ gone a while from folks at home?” Riley’s gray brows were as squiggly as a caterpillar making its way across a tree branch.

  Given present circumstances—the questionable state of Sophie’s health—Sam was far too well-bred to let out a snort of derision. Because Buckley Marsden would just about walk over hot coals barefoot, if by doing so he could make inroads upon the tight Clark family ties for the future of his son. And, by association, himself. Sam had no worries at all that his father would not countenance any amount of time spent at the Yellowstar in a worthy cause.

  “No, sir, there won’t be any problems a’tall on that front,” said Sam quietly. “You just tell me what I’m s’posed to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “Well, a lotta this depends on my sister. What’s your feelin’ about how soon you wanna leave, Soph?”

  “Good heavens, Riley.” For the first time during this discussion, she sounded flustered. “You must give me some time to adjust to this. I only mentioned the idea a few hours ago, and here you are, already—”

  “May’s well strike while the iron is hot, girl. And there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow?”

  “But—there’s—I must find—”

  “Settled. Tomorrow, then.” He flipped shut the pages of his ledger, as if that completed the matter.

  “Riley, be practical,” Sophie leaned forward to implore. “I can’t leave you here all alone, without household help. There will be meals to prepare, and cleanup, and—”

  “Good chance for Jess to take over runnin’ the place, then. She’ll be doin’ it on her own, one a these days, in her own home.” He shot a glance toward his elder daughter. “Right handy experience to have, doncha think?”

  “Papa, if Aunt Sophie must travel on this journey, then I’ll go with her. She’ll need a woman along, in case—in case—well, just in case…” Jessica finished up less strongly than she’d started.

  “Ahuh. And you’ll be together with Sam, here, I take it. Did that by chance enter into your calculations?”

  Jessica dimpled and tossed a collection of ringlets back over one shoulder. “Well, certainly, that’s part of it. But Lydia Prentiss will be here to take over, and—and—”

  “Vickie?” asked Riley, since she seemed to be fumbling.

  The girl’s lip curled. “Exactly.”

  Time for Sophie to intervene, before family histrionics could once more blow up a semi-convivial meeting. “I must admit, I would appreciate Jessie’s company. And it’s kind of you to offer, dear.”

  “Huh.” Begrudgingly, the Yellowstar’s master looked from one to the other. If either figured to pull the wool over his eyes, they had another think coming. He hadn’t been born yesterday, and he understood a lot more about the wiles of human beings than given credit for. “All right. Tomorrow okay with you, Sam?”

  “Absolutely, sir.” He didn’t exactly stand and click his heels together, like the humble servant of some monarch, but he spoke with alacrity.

  “Let’s say ten o’clock. You show up here with your gear, Sam, and you three can take the surrey. Too bad there ain’t no train depot nearabouts, but you can make a good drive of it.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Jessie sounded suddenly breathless with excitement, no matter her aunt’s condition. “So I can go? I’ve never been to San Antonio.”

  This time the censorious glance came from both males in the room. Poor taste, insinuated one. Selfish bit of fluff, implied the other.

  Ignoring the comment—Riley might be favorably affected by today’s doings, but he could not change his personality overnight—he went on, “Might not get in to see this fancy doc right away, and it’s a long enough trip anyways—don’t want Sophie gettin’ overtired. Find yourselves a nice place to stay, and spend a couple, three nights if you need to. Get this gal checked over from top to bottom, y’ hear?”

  Sensing this was the end of the conference, Sam rose then, reaching forward to shake the older man’s hand. “Consider it done, Mr. Clark.”

  * * * * *

  “Now can we finally have some time alone together?” Jessica demanded sarcastically, as she and Sam exited the library. He followed her, wandering across the hall, through the kitchen, and out into the sweet fresh air surrounding the garden bench.

  Destination reached, he soberly surveyed her. So much for familial concern towards the woman who had raised her from childhood. “You don’t reckon we’ll have enough tomorrow, headin’ east?”

  She gracefully took a seat, spreading her expensive skirts to their best advantage, and patted the cushion beside her. “Do sit down, Sam. It makes me a trifle nervous, you towering over me that way. Well, certainly we’ll have time, once our journey begins. But not alone. There’ll be no privacy.”

  “Ahuh.” Instead of accepting her invitation, he stuffed both hands into his back pockets, hoisted one boot onto one of the cast-iron brackets, and stared off into space. “We need privacy, do we? All right, then. Have at it. What is it we need privacy for?”

  Fair brows arched, she gave a deprecatory little laugh. “Why, Sam, I don’t know why you seem to enjoy putting me on the defensive. But it makes me rather unhappy, dear. I had hoped you would come today ready to apologize for your awful behavior at the creek with—with—”

  He looked down at her with puzzlement. “You mean with Vickie? What’s wrong, Jess, you can’t even speak her name now?”

  “I don’t wish to. She has treated me in the most dastardly way.” Storm clouds were threatening—not on the horizon, but on her lovely face—and she appeared more than unhappy. If he didn’t miss his guess, that was pure fury boiling up across her syrupy-sweet complexion. “And I’m still waiting for that apology, Samuel.”

  “Gonna wait a good long time, then, ma’am, ’cause I ain’t makin’ one. Toldja, what you come across at the crick was just horsin’ around, like when we was young’uns.” His mouth had hardened with impatience; he could be just as pig-headed as she. “Why cancha just let it go, ’steada harpin’ so on one topic?”

  “I have the right to harp all I want, and to demand answers to my questions! And the kiss? How much of that did you do when you were mere children?”

  He snorted. “None, o’ course. There ain’t no romance between a couplea kids, no matter what you might be thinkin’. That kiss you saw was pure accident, that’s all. What is it with you, Jess—you spoilin’ for a fight?”

  Looking up at him, she allowed her pretty blue eyes to well up with tears. “I merely want us to have the basis for a happy marriage, Sam. But when there’s a trust issue involved—”

  “Trust!” Bending, he picked up a small stone, bounced it back a
nd forth between both hands a few times, then flung it with a mighty pitch far into the garden. “If I never strayed with another girl, all through the War, and after, when I’d vowed to be true only to Vickie, why—”

  He stopped dead. Mentally replaying the words that had just involuntarily burst out, he shifted slightly. His dazed expression and dawning grasp of something hitherto lost to the mists of time gave Jessica all the ammunition she needed to throw a hissy fit.

  Swinging upright, heedless of a hem which had gotten caught by splinters, she hissed at him like a panther ready to spring. “So, you’re still on that tack, are you? No wonder you refuse to apologize! I am peeved with you, Samuel Marsden; almighty peeved.”

  “Well, let me tell you, Miss Snooty Pants, that the feelin’—”

  “And you’d better come tomorrow prepared to treat me as nicely as I deserve, or—or—” Furious, she jerked free of the snag and stormed away.

  “Or what?” he demanded of her retreating posterior.

  Silence.

  Well, two could play that game.

  For one thing, he was mad as a wet hen himself, and needed to cool down.

  For another, he needed some quiet time, to think over what he’d just blurted out and to see how the pieces fit together into this puzzle being completed in his head.

  Slapping his hat on his head, he stalked to the front yard and climbed into Blackjack’s worn saddle.

  All the while wondering just where Vickie had been hiding out today.

  Chapter 14

  She hadn’t been voluntarily hiding. She’d been ordered away.

  Thanks to a solicitous aunt troubled by the possibility of more fireworks between the sisters, Vickie had disappeared after harvesting a basket full of produce from the garden. Easy enough to find plenty of work about the ranch; there were always animals to tend, what with feeding and watering, and cleaning up after, and checking for health concerns.

  At the moment, all was well with her little group.

  She wasn’t really in the mood for a gallop on Petunia, even though both horse and rider could benefit from some exercise. She had no desire to set off for Whistle Creek and the comfort of Valentine’s support, as their last encounter in the Clarion’s office had left her feeling distinctly unsatisfied and vaguely ashamed. Nor did she, after her most recent disastrous experience in that realm, seek to go and build mud pies in the creek.

  What she really wanted was a quiet sojourn somewhere far off, with a book and a blanket and a nice cool Mason jar of fresh lemonade. And possibly Shep beside her, could she entice him away from the cowboy haunts he loved.

  Second best would be the solitude of her room, behind a locked door.

  Sneaking into the silent kitchen, she armed herself with edible supplies, skirted past the low hum of voices in Riley’s office, and scooted hastily up the stairs.

  Safely secure, Vickie slipped off her shoes and got herself comfortable on a settee near the window. She sighed. Once upon a time, this chamber had represented sanctuary. The place where she could go to hide out from the hurtful world beyond this ranch, where she could bring her wounded feelings to recover.

  No more.

  Her sister had destroyed that illusion when she had entered without permission to search for and burn that precious packet of letters. All that remained of memories, and requited love, and cherished dreams of the future—gone, into flames and smoke, leaving behind only gray ashes as dead as faith and trust.

  Vickie, with book in hand open to the next chapter, blinked back tears.

  Would she ever stop falling victim to this weak and whiny emotion that was triggered by every sight, every thought, of her lost love? Introspective, intelligent, she realized that, after such a tiny little split in the fabric of time, dedicated to joy, she had been overtaken by pure grief ever since.

  The marriage of Sam Marsden to her sister seemed to be almost accomplished fact. She needed, so desperately, to free herself from the coils that bound her to this man from the past, to put old history behind her forever and move on.

  But, oh, the pain left festering by this decision was like a thing alive, a keen-edged stiletto shoved slowly deeper and deeper into her very core. Would the blade soon reach her heart, so that invisible blood would eventually leech away her life and she would simply collapse?

  Sighing, she laid aside the book. How could one possibly find interest in a make-believe story when such a dismal mood had laid heavy hands upon her? Once upon a time—the point before Sam had been torn away from her by war and privation—life had held delight and joy, fascination, anticipation, excitement.

  Life had held love.

  The sigh had become a slight sniffle.

  “Self-pity is a useless emotion, you namby-pamby milksop,” she chastised herself, though with a lesser amount of censure than usual. “Pull up your stockings, re-roll your garters, and get a handle on things. Like planning a new future.”

  A movement from down below caught her attention. Shifting position, Vickie leaned upon the windowsill to peer out. Jessica, of course, headed for the garden bench. Followed by that useless sheep, Sam, as if he had nothing better to do.

  She would never deliberately eavesdrop upon a conversation. Except the couple were too far away for her to hear any words, anyway. Curse the luck. Except, from what she could see it was not the most congenial of trysts, especially for two people supposedly adoring of each other.

  By every indication, the relationship between her sister and that turncoat to whom she had gotten betrothed was not faring well at all. Sharp, jerky gestures, frowns, and soon the usual reaction from Jessica when she wasn’t being given exactly what she wanted—a storming off from the scene.

  Well, well, well. Things seemed to be not so wonderful in Paradise. Perhaps a serpent existed in this one, just like in the original Garden.

  Vickie waited for the anticipated thump of her sister’s angry footsteps sprinting up the stairs, and the succeeding slam of the bedroom door, before concluding she should find out what on earth was going on around here. The last she’d noticed, she was a member of this household, too; she ought to be included in any discussions or decisions.

  Her aunt, she discovered, after some time spent searching, was seated at the outdoor table, soaking up sunshine and fresh air. Oddly enough, Sophie’s position was unmoving; her hands, usually so busy, were folded quietly together in her lap, holding not a speck of fancy work to be sewed or bowl of turnips to be peeled.

  “Auntie?” Warily Vickie approached this phenomenon.

  When had anyone ever witnessed her bustling aunt without something to do? It was if she were ill, or something. It was if…

  An apparent shadow lay across her aunt’s expressive face, giving a lie to the golden rays slanted benevolently around the back yard. New lines seemed to have shown up overnight—the kind caused by worry and distress and an unavoidable fate.

  Suddenly frightened, but not understanding any reason for such fear, Vickie grabbed at Sophie’s forearm even as she plunked down beside her. “Aunt Sophie? What is it, what’s wrong?”

  She started. Had she been so lost in some other world, for however long she had been sitting here, one might wonder, that she was unaware of life moving on around her?

  Then she mustered up the old familiar smile. Reassuring. “Why, hello, my dear. I’m sorry; it got to be so pleasant out here I nearly fell asleep.” A keen glance, that took in her niece’s look of confusion. “I expect you’d like to find out what’s been happening today, wouldn’t you?”