Comanche Rose (26 page)

"You don't have to go."

"Yeah, I do. But I'll be seeing you at supper, and then there's that drink afterward I'll be holding you to. Later, when I'm old and gray and cantankerous, I'll be back here boring your kids with my stories. Drive 'em plumb crazy, having to listen to me."

"I'd like that, Hap. See you at supper."

As Hap started toward his room at the other end of the sprawling house, he felt immensely relieved. He and Clay had come to an understanding, and that made leaving a whole lot easier. If he never made it back, they'd have that last bottle to remember. For a moment he paused, thinking of Clay's kid, knowing he might never see him. Maybe he'd start that book, even if he never got a chance to finish it. It'd at least be something to leave to Clay's boy.

CHAPTER 18

The San Saba River twisted and meandered through the pretty, peaceful valley. It was benign now, nothing like that September day when he'd found it flooded. As he splashed across Peg Leg's Crossing, he couldn't help thinking about that, remembering the awful exhaustion, the terrible hopelessness of knowing he'd failed. He felt a whole lot different this time.

There was a real anticipation, an exhilaration at the thought of seeing Annie again. For a hundred miles he'd thought of nothing else, and now he was nearly there. As Old Red cleared the bank, Hap reined in and slid to the ground. He'd been in the saddle four days, and he didn't want to ride in on her looking like a damned saddle tramp and smelling like a polecat.

After he tied the horse in a stand of chaparral, he stripped down buck naked and, carrying a chunk of lye soap, he eased his body into the river. The water was cold as he ducked under it, then came up. Thoroughly wet, he soaped himself from head to foot, then tossed the bar onto the bank. A few more quicks dunks, and he crawled out, shaking himself like a dog.

Letting the hot air dry his skin, he filled his pan with water, positioned his mirror on his saddle, and lathered his face.
It's a waste of time. She's going to think you're a rough-looking cuss, anyway.
Yeah, but there was no sense going in looking any worse than he had to. He paused to study his face in the mirror, wondering if the mustache made him look older. Deciding it did, he got rid of it. The way he looked at it, he needed every bit of help he could get. For good measure, he splashed on some of the lilac water he'd bought at Fort Richardson. Given the heat, he probably needed it.

The hair he couldn't do much about. When wet, it lay in ringlets against his head. Sighing, he took his comb from the saddlebag and tried to stretch the curls out, to slick them down into the hated waves. He'd meant to get some Harrison's Hair Balm to fasten it down with, but none of the places he'd stopped had any. So it was just going to have to do what it wanted to, he guessed. It had a mind of its own, anyway.

Giving up, he pulled on clean clothes, stowed his gear, and swung back into the saddle. Annie Bryce might not be impressed, but he'd got himself all gussied up for her. Now all he had to do was persuade her she wanted to give the folks in Austin another try before she took off for the Comancheria.

Knowing it would be awhile before she came back, if ever, Annie hoed the weeds from the flower bed on Ethan's grave. She wanted to at least leave it looking nice. Kneeling to brush away the last of them, she poked the pointed end of a trowel into the ground she'd softened the night before with water. Then she carefully separated the uprooted wildflowers she'd gathered, plugging each plant into a hole. It was something she had to do, in case she didn't make it home. At least they'd reseed themselves, and there'd be something pretty there to mark the place.

Satisfied with her handiwork, she stood up and dusted her dirty hands on the apron covering her blue gingham dress. Well, that was that. Now, as soon as Jim Willett came to get the cats, the goat, and the chickens, she'd be ready to make the trip into town for provisions.

Standing back, she faced the wooden cross the rangers had placed under the tree. In black paint Hap Walker had printed, ETHAN BRYCE, HUSBAND AND FATHER, D. SEPT, 1870.

"I'm going back for Susannah, Ethan," she said softly. "I'm going back for our little girl. I know she's alive, Ethan, I can feel it."

"Annie! Annie Bryce!"

Startled, she whirled around, her heart in her throat. And for a moment she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Riding that big roan horse, Hap Walker was coming across the field. Gathering her skirts, she ran to meet him, then stopped self-consciously just short of the pen fence. Her first inclination was to hide her hands. Instead, she pushed her damp hair back from her face and waited. He swung down and walked toward her.

His memory hadn't done her justice. She wasn't skinny now, and a few months of good food had put more color in her face, making her lovelier than ever. He stopped a few feet in front of her, drinking in everything about her, like a thirsty man at a well. The way that bright, hot sun played off her hair, the slightly flushed, damp skin, those bright blue eyes, the swell of rounded breasts beneath that prim, schoolmarmish dress, the slender waist. Just looking at her made his mouth as dry as cotton.

"You're looking damned good, Annie," he finally managed to say.

She smiled. "You're looking pretty good yourself, Hap." He seemed bigger than she remembered. His collarless white shirt was open at the neck, showing sun-darkened skin. Her gaze traveled upward. "You got rid of your mustache," she said foolishly.

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"It makes you look different."

"Better or worse?"

"Just different." She stepped back. "I didn't think you'd be back, you know."

"I was kinda passing through," he lied. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I've got a job offer over in Karnes County. I'm thinking about being a sheriff there."

Her eyes widened. "That's Helena, isn't it?"

"Yeah. They get a little trouble every now and then," he added in an understatement.

"A lot of killing, anyway—or at least that's what I've read." Recovering somewhat, she started to hold out her hand, then thought better of it. "Well, I'm glad you stopped by. Come on in, and I'll put on some coffee." She caught herself and looked up at him. "I forgot—you hate coffee, don't you?"

"Yeah, but water's fine."

"You can stay for supper, can't you? I mean, you don't have to go right away, do you?"

"I got a couple of extra days."

"Good." Given the way they'd parted just before Christmas, she felt awkward. "Well, you're welcome to stay here, but I was planning on leaving in the morning. I guess I could stay another day maybe, so we could catch up. I'd like to hear about how things have been going for you."

"Yeah, I was coming by to talk to you about that— leaving, I mean. Tell you what—you get in where it's cooler, and I'll put Red in the barn. Then I'll be right on in."

"I need to wash my hands, anyway. I was trying to get some flowers planted before I left."

"Go ahead."

He watched until she'd disappeared into the house before he led his horse toward the corral. Well, he was here, and he'd seen her, and she still had the same effect on him. Now he just had to figure out how to deal with it. It was one thing to meddle in a body's affairs when he was asked, quite another when he wasn't. But he was going to make it his business, anyway. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't.

On his way to the house, he stopped at the pump and got his hands wet enough to slick his hair back. And just outside the door, he unbuckled his gun belt and took it off. Inside, he hung it on the coat peg, then went into the kitchen. Annie'd washed up and was standing at the table, slicing a loaf of bread. She looked up, smiling.

"I thought you probably hadn't eaten, and I made this this morning. With a little jam and butter, I was hoping it'd hold you till supper."

"Thanks."

She reached for the crock of butter, murmuring, "If you'll kill a chicken, I'll stew it and make dumplings for you. I've got a real good recipe for them."

"Always liked dumplings," he admitted. "I'm not a hard man to please, Annie."

She turned around at the way he said that, then noticed, "You're not wearing your gun. I hope you didn't leave it in the barn, because Henry will have already eaten the holster by now. If it weren't metal, she'd eat the Colt, too. She'll probably try, anyway."

"I brought it into the house." He tried to smile but couldn't quite make it. "Actually, I was thinking it wouldn't look right to come courting with it."

She froze, her eyes widening, and the color drained from her face. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He hadn't meant to be so blunt about it, but now that he'd blundered, there wasn't much he could do but lay out his case. He took a deep breath, then plunged ahead.

"You need a man, Annie. I know what you've got in mind—you're wanting to go up into the Comancheria to look for your little girl. Well, you can't do it alone—be a fool thing to try it. A woman out there in a buckboard's a sitting duck for 'em. Before you start yammerin' Comanche at 'em, they'll have you killed, and then where will your kid be?"

"At least I'd be doing something. At least I'd be trying to get her. I can't leave her to be murdered by the army. But it's not your affair, Hap."

"Hear me out. I'm not much for speechifying, but I've thought a lot about this, Annie. I'd a whole lot rather be trying to get somebody in Austin to do something, but—"

"They won't. I've already been there," she said bitterly. "I wrote the governor, the president of the state legislature—everybody I could think of. You ought to read what I got back from them. They don't care, Hap—they don't care! I finally went to see them in person, and it didn't matter! They
still
didn't care! It's like they all think I ought to just forget she ever lived—but I can't!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you? Or are you like every other man who's come around here since I've been back? They all seem to think I need a man, too, that I'm some kind of harlot that can't live without—without—"

"I don't think you're a harlot, Annie. I never thought that. But you didn't let me finish—I've got something to say."

"I'm sorry. I just don't want to argue with you or anybody, that's all," she said wearily. "I'm tired of waiting. I've got to do something."

"Those fellows wouldn't be coming around if you were a married woman, you know. What I'm trying to tell you is I'll go for you, if that's what you want. If that's the only way, I'll go, Annie."

"You'll go?" she echoed, stunned.

"Yeah. If that's what it takes, you can count me in."

"But
why?
I don't even have any claim on you, Hap."

It was now or never, and he knew it. "I reckon if I was your husband, you'd have all the claim you needed." Not daring to meet her eyes, he studied the checked tablecloth. "I've got a lot of rough edges to me, Annie, and I'm not trying to deny it. But you aren't going to find any gentlemen that'll go up there for you. I will."

"Oh, Hap—"

"I'm what you need, Annie. I can be as mean and ornery as they are. And I've never been a coward. Anything I've ever said I'd do, I've done. If I can't, I'll die trying. I'm thirty-seven, and you're thirty. 'Way I look at it, we've both got a chance to start over, and we ought to take it." Daring to look up now, he added, "And I haven't had but one bottle of whiskey since the last time I was here, so you won't be getting a drunkard."

Closing her eyes, she swallowed. "I can't, Hap, I can't."

"Because you can't stomach the thought of me?" he dared to ask, his heart pounding.

"No, not that. I can't stomach the thought of any man. If Ethan were here, I'd not be able to bear it." Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and her body shook. "I can't," she whispered. "I'd just cheat you."

"Here, now." Moving behind her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Cheatin's when a man doesn't know what he's getting, Annie. Me, I've got a fair notion." Turning her around, he slid his arms around her shoulders. "I've been a gambling man all my life, Annie. I'm willing to take the chance I can make things different for you."

"But what if I can't change? What if I never get over this? What if every time you look at me like—like you did last Christmas, what if it makes me sick to my stomach?"

Holding her close, he stroked her hair with his hand. "I don't know what they did to you, but I'm stubborn enough to believe I can make you get over it."

"But what if you cannot?"

"I've never forced a woman in my life. If you never change, I won't have any less than I've got right now."

"Why, Hap? Why would you want to do this?" she whispered into his shoulder.

"I want a home, Annie. When this is over, I want a place to come home to. Me, you, and the kid." And as he held her, saying the words he knew Annie wanted to hear, he almost believed he could find the little girl. "You don't have to answer right now. I reckon you're needing time to think it over."

He was rock solid, making her feel safe within his embrace. Savoring the strength of his arms around her, she rested her head on his shoulder. "I was going to get provisions in the morning. I've already made arrangements for Mr. Willett to come for the animals. I couldn't just leave them here."

"You can stay here with 'em. As soon as you tell me, I'll go"

"I have to go. How else will you know her? I have to go, Hap."

"Then we'll do it together."

"I don't know, Hap—I don't know."

"Like I said, I've got time. They aren't expecting me in Helena for a few more days. And if you decide to take me, I don't have to go down there at all."

CHAPTER 19

As she sat beside him on the buckboard seat, the tension between them was palpable, as though they were two tightly wound coils, either of which could break at any moment. They'd made most of the trip in silence, each afraid to say anything that might disappoint the other.

Her mind was in turmoil and had been ever since he'd sprung his totally unexpected proposal on her. Unable to sleep all night, she'd tossed and turned until both of the cats had abandoned her bed in disgust. If she didn't stop worrying over it, she was going to make herself physically sick.