Deborah Camp (39 page)

Zanna nodded, relieved that he’d at least reached that conclusion. “Those years have left scars on me. In here,” she said, tapping a place over her heart. “Fear is my closest relative, but one I dislike. It comes between me and the light. It keeps me from doing things that I want to do.” She sighed, feeling it inside her. “Nothing seems to conquer it.”

“‘Perfect love casteth out fear,’” Grandy quoted, smiling faintly.

“What’s that from?”

“The Bible.” His smile became cocky. “You’re not the only one around here familiar with it.”

“The Bible,” she said, mulling over the words. “Then it must be true.”

The sound of an approaching rider sent her to the narrow window next to the sideboard.

“Who is it?” Grandy asked, coming up behind her.

“It’s Doc Pepperidge. Wonder what brings him out here.”

“Old deaf, dumb, and blind bastard.”

“Grandville, please.” She placed a restraining hand on his forearm. “Don’t make a fuss. It’s all history.”

He shrugged, turning aside as she went through the house to welcome her caller.

From the window Grandy watched her greeting the doctor, who had tended to her broken bones and broken spirit and had not lifted a hand to prevent further injury.

It amazed him to think how quickly things could change. Yesterday he’d been ready to beat a path away from Zanna’s door and now he couldn’t see himself clear to do it. He’d told her he would stay until she was on an even keel again. But when would that be and did he really want to leave her then? She had come to mean so much to him. This place—he considered the memories he had of the kitchen alone—had come to mean so much to him. He hadn’t had a home since the day he left his parents place. Primrose had become a nurturing place for him, a place of belonging.

Last night as he’d lain awake in his single bed he had tried to summon up excitement for returning to his riverboat life, but he couldn’t. The nightly hours, the forced laughter of the saloon women, the choking cigar smoke … Funny, now he was dwelling on all the bad
things about gambling and a month or so ago he could think only of the good things.

Zanna did this, he thought. Zanna has ruined me forever.

He started toward the front room, but his steps slowed as a new thought struck him. He should continue to keep a distance between himself and Zanna. After all, he was a free man and Primrose belonged to her, not to him. Once she solved her problems with Duncan, she wouldn’t need him hanging around. Hadn’t she told him more than once that her dream was to live here alone, with no man to answer to? If anyone deserved a dream come true, it was Zanna. Even if it meant he’d have to sacrifice a fantasy of his own about staying on willingly … lovingly.

As Grandy approached the front door, he heard Zanna saying something about a barbecue.

“What barbecue?” Grandy asked, stepping onto the porch. “Hello, Doc.”

“Hi, there, Adams. I heard in town that you’re a free man.”

“That’s right.” Grandy motioned toward the rocker. “Sit a spell.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” The ruddy-faced doctor waited for Grandy and Zanna to settle on the swing before he lowered his spindly frame into the rocker. “Mighty pretty day, isn’t it? I saw that cotton field out there. Looks good. Did you plant it, Adams?”

“Yes. Guess I’ll pick it in a couple of weeks. Now what was this about a barbecue? I haven’t been to one of those in a couple of years.”

“It’s an annual barbecue at Primrose,” Zanna explained. “Every Fourth of July. I’d forgotten about it completely …” She looked at Grandy, knowing he’d understand how it could have slipped her mind considering the events of late. “Doc Pepperidge has reminded me that the Fourth is only a little over a week away. Time sure has dashed past me lately.”

“Maybe we should skip it this year,” Grandy said, giving her an excuse if she needed one. “The cotton will be ready to pick by then and we’ve got to do something about those ticks—they’re eating the steers alive this summer. That’ll take weeks and—”

“No, it’s tradition,” Zanna said with sudden firmness. “I’ve always enjoyed the barbecues. I can’t think of any reason why we can’t set aside one day to have a fine old time. Can you, Doc Pepperidge?”

“Nope, sure can’t.” The doctor took off his black hat and fanned himself with it. “Wouldn’t feel right without the Primrose barbecue.”

“Then consider yourself invited,” Zanna declared. “And tell everyone in town, too.”

“I’ll spread the word,” he assured her. “Adams, how’s that back of yours doing? Did you put that medicine on it like I told you?”

“Yes. It’s healed.”

“Mind if I take a look while I’m here? I’d like to check out your ribs, too.”

“They’re healed as well, but you can check if you want.”

“Yes, do.” Zanna stood up and motioned toward the inside of the house. “I want him checked over, doctor. I’ll be out in the henhouse. I’ve still got to spread fresh straw there.” She patted the doctor’s arm. “See you on the Fourth.”

“I’ll arrive with bells on and an empty stomach.” Doc Pepperidge watched her step off the porch and around the side of the house before he preceded Grandy inside. “Just take off your shirt, son, and I’ll have a look-see. I bet you’re left with some scarring.”

“Yes, but that’s nothing new.” Grandy removed his shirt and turned his back to the doctor, who pulled him closer to a window.

“Yep … scarring, but they’re all healed. No infection.
That’s fine, fine.” He pressed at Grandy’s ribs. “Still tender?”

“Just a mite. The third one is slow to heal.”

“So it is. I guess you’re happy about being a free man again.”

“Yes.” Grandy pulled on his shirt and buttoned it. “It’s nice to be treated kindly again. Take you, for instance. You made me feel like a mule instead of a man.”

“Sorry about that, but you
were
a convicted horse thief.”

“I thought doctors were supposed to heal. Innocence or guilt is decided by a judge, Doc.” He slanted the physician a barbed smile. “And what I was accused of was not nearly as disgusting as wife beating or causing the death of an unborn babe. Did you treat Fayne Hathaway like he was a rotting carcass or did you kiss his ass?”

“I beg your pardon!” Doc Pepperidge’s mouth tried to form words, but his voice failed him.

“You knew what was going on right under that long, crooked nose of yours,” Grandy charged. “You knew Zanna was living in hell and begging for help and you turned your back on her misery! What kind of doctor are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The doctor jerked at the lapels of his black coat in a huffy gesture. “Zanna’s been filling your head with all kinds of—”

Grandy reached out and grabbed him by the lapels, bringing his long, skinny nose right up to his own pugnacious one. Doc Pepperidge’s eyes grew enormous and his mouth dropped open.

“Be a man and admit it,” Grandy said through clenched teeth. “That sweet, gentle woman needed your help. She needed someone to step in and tell Fayne to keep his damned hands off her. She needed good neighbors, good friends, a doctor who
really
cared; who didn’t just patch her up and send her back into the lion’s den. You failed her, Finis Pepperidge. What’s more, you failed your own
profession. Doctors take an oath—I know all about it—and you’ve gone back on it. Haven’t you? Admit it!” He shook the old doctor, then pushed him away. “You disgust me.”

Turning away from the older man, Grandy ducked his head and forced himself to calm down. He was taking out a lot of frustration on Pepperidge. Yes, the man deserved a dressing-down, but Grandy knew the doctor had just happened to show up when Grandy was itching to make restitution for Zanna’s past pain and terror.

“You’re absolutely right,” Doc Pepperidge said, his voice thready and wavering. “I didn’t know what to do! I knew he was beating her, burning her with cigars, defiling her. He kept telling me she was clumsy … stupid, but Zanna just wasn’t that way! She’s as graceful as a doe and as sharp as a tack. Anybody can see that.”

Grandy nodded. “And anybody should have been able to see that she was reaching the end of her rope.” He turned slowly to face the doctor again. The old man’s eyes were watery and the tip of his nose was red. “How would you have felt if you’d been called out here one day to find her hanging from the end of that rope, Doc? She came mighty close to it, you know. Mighty close.”

“Oh, God.” The doctor covered his face with one hand for a moment, then looked up as if a thought had struck him. “God intervened! I knew He would. Fayne was struck by lightning and that put an end to it all.”

“Is it that simple? You can forgive yourself so easily?” Grandy shook his head, his upper lip curling slightly. “No, Doc, I won’t let you off the hook. Not until you apologize to her.” He pointed a finger at the old man. “That’s the least you can do. Tell her you were wrong not to come to her aid. Tell her that no one—not even the great Fayne Hathaway—has a right to beat another human being. You tell her that, or so help me God, I’ll tell everyone who’ll listen what a chickenhearted bastard you are.”

Doc Pepperidge gave a great sniff, then squared his
shoulders with a degree of dignity. “Of course I’ll apologize to her and admit I was wrong not to have helped her more. I would have done that without your threats.”

“Then why haven’t you done it before now?”

The doctor picked his hat from the tree and put it on. “I’ll speak to her this minute.”

“Doc …”

The old gent turned to eye Grandy with some wariness. Grandy held out his hand and offered a smile.

“Thanks. It will mean a lot to her.”

The doctor shook his hand. “You’re quite a man, Grandville Adams. I only hope some of your honor will rub off on me.” He inclined his head with Old World charm. “Good day, sir.”

“May I have this dance?”

Zanna whirled around, ladle in one hand and pot holder in the other. She smiled at Grandy, feeling flustered and preoccupied with the responsibility of the barbecue.

“I can’t! I’ve got to stir these beans and slice up some more bread and—Grandville!” she protested as he plucked the ladle and pot holder from her hands and gave them to a twittering Darnella.

“Would you please take over for just a few minutes while I dance with my wife?” Grandy asked Darnella.

“Of course. Y’all go on. I’ve been trying to make Zanna slow down ever since this shindig got under way.” Darnella shooed them off with her hands and a high giggle.

“I really shouldn’t,” Zanna said, glancing back over her shoulder at the long tables piled high with barbecued beef and pork, bread loaves, baked beans, jugs of cider, and buckets of water.

“Don’t worry. Folks know how to feed their own faces,” Grandy said, positioning her in front of him while Perkins, who would call the square dance, took his place on the back of a flatbed wagon along with a fiddler, guitarist, and banjo player. “Get your mind off baked beans and on dancing, Sooz.” Grandy propped his hands at his waist, anticipating the first call.

Bewitched by his mocking scowl, Zanna took a moment to appreciate the snug fit of his new white shirt tucked
into black trousers. He’d even put a new shine on his boots, she noted, then her gaze swept back up to confront the eyes she would never forget. Hazel with gold starbursts, framed by long lashes, and accentuated by expressive brows.

It was good to be near him again after days of being kept at a distance. At the supper table he sat far away from her. His nights were spent in his own room with the door firmly closed against her. Zanna had missed his touch, his manly presence in her life. She knew the loneliness of young ones being weaned from their nurturers. Grandy was weaning her from him and her pain was fierce. It had been like living with his ghost, but she could touch him now and glory in the flesh and blood of him. Impulsively, she touched a fingertip to the scar on his chin. His brows shot up.

“You look handsome today,” she said, snatching back her hand and wondering if she’d embarrassed or shocked him … or both?

“What? This old thing?” He spread his hands across his crisp shirtfront and laughed with her. “And you look good enough to eat in that get-up. Lordy, lordy,” he murmured, edging back for an even better view of her tight bodice and draped skirt. “Green sure is your color, Sooz.”

“Thank you,” she said, sweeping her gaze from his in a sudden wave of vanity, but the opening bars of music brought her head back up. She rested her hands at her narrow waist, mirroring her partner’s stance, and listened for the instructions.

“Gents, bow to the ladies. Ladies, curtsy to the gents. The music is a-playing and away they all went,” Perkins chanted to the square dancers. “Let’s do-si-do and give a holler, then grab her hands and make her foller!”

Zanna laughed at Perkins’s butchering of the language, but followed along as directed. The steps were simple and lively with the men swinging their laughing ladies around
in circles, high-stepping as they went, their boots pounding on the wagon canvas held in place on the ground by driven pegs.

Half the county had turned out for the barbecue, which Zanna had been working on steadily for a week. The noticeable absentees were Duncan and Theodore. Rumor had it that Duncan was attending a cattlemen’s gathering in Houston, but Zanna liked to think he’d stayed away because of Grandy’s orders. Theo had sent word that he had gone to Dallas to visit his sister and her family, as was his custom every Fourth and Christmas.

By the time the dance ended, Zanna was winded. She pressed a hand to her runaway heart and accepted Grandy’s arm. He escorted her to a circle of women, far away from the tables where she’d been toiling since noon.

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” he told her, handing her over to the other women. “Ladies, please keep my wife occupied, won’t you? She’s spending too much time at the bean pot and not enough with her lovely guests.”

Zanna sent him a chiding grin, thinking he must have been a charming rogue in the gambling palaces.

“We were just talking about the news of your revoked sentence, Mr. Adams,” Mrs. Timmons said with a congenial smile. “It must have been a godsend.”