Charlene Sands (17 page)

“He thought Tess was the perfect woman.”

Clint snorted.

“For you.” Sonny said.

“For
me?
”

“Yes, for you. He cared deeply for her. And he loved her in his own way, but he wanted to keep her on the ranch, too. It was, I believe, part of the reason he married her. He wanted to give her stability, for one, but he’d always said Tess was a match for you.”

Clint’s temper flared again, this time uncontrollably. He bounded up. “Damn him,” he muttered. “Damn him to high heaven. That man found a way to manipulate me from his grave! Not even his own death could stop him from getting what he wanted! Hell, I almost fell into his trap!”

“Having a good woman like Tess and running the Double H is hardly a trap, boy. Think on that. Think on that a
good long
time.” Sonny rose, grabbed the ax, plopped on his hat and faced Clint. “I’m done here,” he said quietly, his voice weak, his body spent. “I’ve carried out my promise. It’s up to you now.”

He walked toward his horse, then turned back around. “Take it from an old man—don’t go letting your stubbornness and pride destroy what you want in life. You and that little gal belong together. I’ve seen you together. And, remember, there ain’t a decent soul who don’t deserve a second chance in life.”

“You think Tess deserves one?”

“Hell, boy, I wasn’t talking about Tess. I was talking about
you.
”

Sonny mounted his horse and rode off.

Clint picked up a plank from the pile and flung it with all of his strength, letting go of pent-up frustration. Then he grabbed his gear and made camp, tossing his blanket down, too damn rankled to think about a meal or anything else but the fact that his father had gotten the last word.

Once again.

“A
re you sure you want to do this, Tess?” Tom asked, reading over the papers she’d handed him with the details of her life.

She sat with Laura and Tom in their kitchen, too distraught to spend another night under the same roof as Clint.

“It’s time I came clean,” she said. “The town deserves to know the truth about me. I can’t help another woman like Pearl or run Hoyt’s businesses or have the town’s respect until I tell my story. I’m counting on you, Tom,” she said, then glanced at Laura. “And I think you both should call me Theresa from now on.”

Theresa Metcalf had thought she was through running away when she’d left Turner Hill and become Tess Morgan Hayworth. She’d put her past behind her and wanted a fresh start. She’d worked for Hoyt, then married him. But she hadn’t been true to herself. She’d been hiding under a false name and identity.

If she’d learned one thing from Hoyt, it was to stand up for herself. But she’d learned another lesson, too. And the blackmailer had helped her realize that she couldn’t hide from her past. If she did, there would always be another Smiley Brown around the next turn who could hold her life ransom just by knowing her true identity. She didn’t want to live that way any longer. She needed to face the truth, hold her head up high and live her life without fear of being recognized, scrutinized or judged.

She’d earned that right and that freedom. She wouldn’t give anyone else the power to destroy her life ever again.

Laura put a hand on her shoulder. “You can always count on us, Theresa. And you’re staying here at the house. I won’t have you living at the hotel, even if you do own it.”

“But I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t be. Tom will be busy writing your story, and I…could use the company. And some help with Abby.”

Even though her heart was breaking, Theresa had to smile. “I’d never refuse helping you with Abby.”

“I know. Pretty clever of me, isn’t it?” Laura chuckled, and Theresa saw an inkling of the perky, happy woman Laura had been before she’d had Abby.

Tom lifted his head from the notes she’d given him. “We want you to stay for as long as you’d like. If you ask me, Clint Hayworth is a—”

Laura elbowed him in the stomach.

“Ow!” He rubbed his stomach. Then smiled at his wife. The old Laura was returning and Theresa saw hope in Tom’s eyes.

“Tom, be careful what you say. She loves him.”

“She’s too good for him.”

“No, I’m not,” Theresa said in a rush. Then she shook her head. “I—I mean,” she stumbled with her words, then shrugged. “We both have pasts that have caused us injury.”

“So you’re not angry with him?” Laura asked.

“I didn’t say that. I’m so mad at him you might see steam coming off the top of my head soon.”

Laura consoled her. “You need time to think things through.”

And recover from the deep ache churning in her gut. Clint had turned her life upside down. He was impossible most of the time. “I know one thing—Clint won’t bully me into changing my mind. I won’t sell him my half of the ranch. If he wants a fight, he’ll get one.”

“But that’s not what you really want.”

Theresa wanted to go home, back to the Double H, where her heart belonged. She loved the ranch, the friends she’d made there—and she still loved Clint desperately.

“No, I don’t.” She wouldn’t give in to her bouts of melancholy. She couldn’t allow her heartache to destroy every stride she’d made thus far. “And, Tom, at the end of that article you write for the
Herald,
please put in an announcement that the Hayworth Extraordinary Ladies Partnership will hold its next meeting on Wednesday in the hotel dining room. Tea will be served at three.”

“I’ll be there,” Laura said. “I’ll stand beside my dear friend.”

“Thank you,” Theresa said, appreciating the support. It was a risk but one she was willing to take. She hoped the town would forgive her the deception. She wasn’t that weak, frightened girl anymore. She’d do whatever she must to make things right again.

Tom set aside the papers she’d given him and rose from his seat at the table. “Can I get your bags from the hotel now?”

Theresa looked from Tom to Laura, who was nodding her head in agreement. “Yes. Thank you, Tom.”

Laura took hold of her hand and squeezed gently. “I’m glad you’re staying with us. And you’re doing the right thing, honey. I’m proud of you.”

That’s all Theresa Metcalf Hayworth could ask for at the moment.

Clint sat at the kitchen table, the big house empty and quiet but for Greta slamming cabinet doors and banging pots around.

She slid a plate of overcooked ham, runny eggs and burned biscuits over to him. “Breakfast, Mr. Hayworth.”

Clint stared at the food. Then scrubbed his jaw. “Looks good.”

Greta slammed down another pan on the stove. “Grits will be coming up.”

“Grits? Hell, Greta, I hate grits. You never cook them.”

“Hmph.”

He craned his neck around to find a deep frown pulling at her expression. “What’s eating at you, anyway?”

She waved her arm through the air. “You do not know what you have done sending Mrs. Hayworth away.”

“Why do you care? You never wanted her here.”

“You are wrong. She is a
goodt
woman.”

Clint knew Tess had left last night. He’d gotten a report from Randy the minute he’d ridden up this morning: “Mrs. Hayworth lit out of here with a full carpetbag. She was crying.”

Randy had looked at him with accusing eyes. Clint had brushed past him, ignoring that look, telling himself it’s what he wanted.

Yet, strangely, he found no satisfaction in her leaving. But she was gone and soon she’d give in to his demands. He’d buy her out and sell off parcels of Hayworth land. “She’s a liar, Greta.”

“We have all told a lie at one time. That does not make us liars. If we live true to ourselves, then we tell the truth.”

“Is she living true to herself?”

Greta gave a sharp nod.

“How?”

“I did not make it easy, no. But she is strong. She honored your father’s wishes. She works hard for the ranch. She has helped…many.”

“You knew what Sonny was doing, didn’t you?”

Greta set a kitchen cloth over her shoulder. She sat down. “I did not know all. When I found out, I
toldt
him to stop, but he
wouldt
not. He told me of your father’s plan. Then I see…your father was a smart man.”

“You don’t mind what he had Sonny do?” Clint pushed his plate aside. Greta had made her point. The food did not appeal. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

“No. You are a
goodt
man. Mrs. Hayworth is a
goodt
woman. You
shouldt
be together like you were the other night.” She pointed her finger at him. “You will make beautiful children.”

Clint didn’t need a reminder of the nights he’d lain with Tess. She’d been pliant and giving and generous. The heat they’d ignited on that bed could cause a wildfire. He couldn’t get enough of her.

He’d come to admire her, too. She handled herself around the ranch. She kept the books straight and made sure the payroll was met. She had won over the crew. They respected her.

Clint ran his hands through his hair.

Greta’s comment about children whipped through his mind. He’d never thought he wanted a family. Lord knows, he’d never thought he’d want to be a husband. Not after the bad example his father had made.

But his mind flashed a scene of Tess holding Laura’s baby in her arms. Everything inside him softened at the image.

His mind muddied up and he was sure he needed to clear his head. He left the house in haste.

Leaving behind the bitter taste of Greta’s words.

Theresa sat with Laura and Marla in the big, lavishly decorated hotel dining room. It was precisely ten minutes past three. But only three women were in attendance for her second HELP meeting.

Her story had been in Sunday’s edition of the
Herald.
Theresa hadn’t been about town much since then. But today she had walked toward the hotel with head held high, wearing a high-collared russet gown with white lace at the base of the sleeves. The dress was one of her favorites, making her feel good about herself in a way only a woman would understand. She found that today she needed the extra boost. Several shopkeepers had turned away, pretending not to see her on the streets. Others had just plain veered a wide path from her. Of course, the hotel staff was cordial to her. She employed them. But whispers behind her back were evident.

“Have faith,” Laura said. Little Abby slept in a basket beside their seats.

“We can have our meeting anyway,” Marla said, taking out the handkerchief Theresa had given her when they’d met here last time. She placed it on the table and stroked over the crimson roses delicately.

The gift reminded Theresa of all she still wanted to accomplish. “Yes, we will have our meeting.”

A waitress came into the room, her gaze darting around the empty tables set with china cups and plates. She held a tray of tea and pastries with both hands. “Mrs. Hayworth? Shall I serve the tea now?”

Theresa lifted her chin and smiled. “Please do.”

A minute later two women entered the dining room wearing their rose-embroidered handkerchiefs pinned to their blouses. “We’re sorry we’re late, Mrs. Hayworth.”

Laura grabbed her hand under the table and squeezed. Theresa straightened in her seat. “Please have a seat. Tea is just being served.”

And another minute later three more females entered the room and took their seats. They acknowledged the others in the room and one by one took out their own handkerchiefs, placing them somewhere on their person where they could be seen.

Several more ladies walked in, their steps tentative.

“Come in, ladies. We’re just about ready to get started.”

Theresa decided to think of the meeting room as half full rather than half empty. She stood and thanked everyone for coming. “Having you come today means a lot to me, ladies. As you may very well know now, I’ve made a few mistakes in my life—and the worst of all was lying to people who trusted me. So the first thing I want to do is introduce myself to you.” She cleared her throat. “Hello, I’m Theresa Metcalf Hayworth and I hope you will find it in your hearts to give me a second chance.”

Laura interrupted to add, “That’s what these meetings are all about—getting a chance at a fresh start. We’re all here to support each other as women, right?”

Many ladies nodded and some spoke up, encouraging Theresa.

“We heard what you did for Pearl Cowper, Mrs. Hayworth. It was real decent of you.”

“You might’ve saved her life.”

“You can’t choose who your relations are, any more than you can choose a sunshine sky over a rain cloud.”

“We aren’t here to judge anyone.”

Theresa’s heart opened wider to these women whom she’d feared would judge her harshly. But they hadn’t. They’d accepted her. Many might have similar stories to tell, and she hoped that by finally confessing about her life, others would trust enough to confide in the group.

Tom had written her story. He’d outdone himself, his prose and sentiments depicting Theresa’s life telling of her struggles with a violent father and an outlaw brother. He’d written in a way that asked for no measure of pity but for simple Christian understanding.

“Is it true, Mrs. Hayworth? You’re gonna build a home in town for our meetings? And…a place for women to come if they need help?”

“Yes, it’s true.”

It had been something brewing in her mind for weeks now, and once she’d told Laura about it, her friend had become excited by the prospect. She’d volunteered to run the home, something she could do while raising little Abby.

Laura had helped Theresa so much when she’d first arrived in Hayworth that she couldn’t think of a kinder or more supportive person to oversee HELP at Home. Laura had dreamed up the name of the house, and Theresa thought it perfect.

Tom had penned the first lines of her story well, entitled Meet Mrs. Theresa Metcalf Hayworth.

Instead of giving in to a blackmailer’s demand, she decided her money was better spent opening a home to support and encourage women. The home would be open to those who’d been victims of cruelty and mistreatment. To meet Hoyt Hayworth’s widow is to know the real Theresa Metcalf Hayworth.

Tom had started her story from her early childhood memories, exposing her life for the town’s scrutiny. Theresa had faced worse things and she’d bear the weight of her life story if it meant she’d be given a second chance.

She belonged here in Hayworth. This was her home now. “Now, ladies, since we’ve decided to open this home, let’s put our heads together. I’ll need your help and suggestions.”

After a full hour of discussion, Theresa concluded the meeting, marking a date for the next meeting. A dozen women left the room, buzzing with excitement.