Hope Reborn (10 page)

Like he figured, Jean Paul didn’t need him, had everything well under control, but watching the men work proved a welcomed distraction. He even swung the post maul a few times on the fence post.

Manual labor was good for the soul, especially a troubled old fool’s. He resisted the urge to match whops with Jean Paul’s biggest cousin. What did they just call the guy?

Henry hated it that he wasn’t good on names; Sue had been so handy. If he couldn’t remember, she’d figure it out and call the person by name. He looked skyward.

She understood. Right?

A sweet peace settled over his soul. He’d fulfilled his vow—until death do us part—just like she had fulfilled hers not to remarry without her father’s blessing. And he’d even gone beyond.

She’d been with the Lord six years, and he still loved her as much as he ever did.

But mercy, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted a woman in his life until May Meriwether strolled into his line of vision. He chuckled to himself. Reading three of her books had given him such insight to the woman.

She reminded him most of Marge in the one where the lady married that rich guy.
Lady Luck’s Apple Orchard Romances
or something sappy like that. What an imagination May had. Well, he wasn’t a thing like W.G. Preston, except he did have plenty of money.

But apparently, so did May.   

“There.” May blotted the page. “That’s enough for today.” She leaned back in her chair.

Mary Rachel lifted her quill then looked up and smiled. “Your timing is perfect. My hand…” The girl blotted her own page then shook her fingers. “But I can do more if you need me to.”

May daubed her neck with her lace-trimmed hanky. “No, I’m ready to do something different, and I’m sure you are, too. Let’s go see if we can help Mammy and the girls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

May loved the expression on Henry’s face when he noticed her coming in carrying a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes. She loved it even more when he took her hand for the blessing.

Not that the prayer would do any good, like if there was a God up there, he could make bad food better. Certainly, Mammy’s fried chicken didn’t need any help.

Absolutely exceptional, like the rolls and gravy. Simply exquisite; everything was delicious. Had she eaten anything the lady cooked that was inferior?

“Daddy, we want to go, too.”

The man set his fork down and faced the girl who sat next to Mary Rachel, Gwendolyn if May had it right. His seating them in age order helped her. “Go where?”

“In the morning. With you and the boys. CeCe and I want to go. We’ll stay in the wagon, but we think it’ll be fun.”

He looked from her to the lady next to Mammy’s son. “What about you, Laura, do you and Lacey want to come along, too?”

“No, sir. I’ve seen enough of them ugly hogs. We’re happy to stay right here.”

“How about you, my wee Bonnie Claire?”

“No, sir, Daddy. I don’t like hogs. I want to stay here with Lacey.”

“Well.” He turned his gaze back to Gwendolyn. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, not without someone to watch over you.”

“Oh, Daddy. That isn’t fair.” The girl pouted then immediately smiled with widened eyes. “What if Mary Rachel goes?”

“No, Gwen. I’ve got work to do.”

“Wait, we can both go. I’ve never been hunting before.” May could not believe the words that just came out of her mouth. Was she so desperate to be around the man?

He turned toward her. “Can you handle a gun?”

“I certainly can. Chester taught me.”

He shrugged. “Fine by me. It’s settled then.” He smiled. “Breakfast at four. We need to be in the bottoms before the sun.”

What? Four o’clock in the morning?

Good gracious, what had she agreed to?

He expected her to get up in the middle of the night?

“Ma’am?”

May forced one eye open. Mary Rachel stood by her bed holding a way-too-bright oil lamp in one hand and a steaming porcelain cup that she hoped held coffee in the other.

“Time to get up.”

She rolled over, scooted back, then accepted the cup. “Thank you, dear. How long do I have before breakfast?”

Turned out not near enough, and instead of the usual civilized sit down meal, Mammy's fabulous biscuits and homemade pear preserves, slabs of ham, huge slices of ruby red tomatoes, and possibly the best gravy she'd ever eaten were gobbled on the fly.

She’d not given a thought about what to wear the night before and ended up in a rather unflattering calico dress that Chester had bought for her in Jefferson.

The man usually had better taste. One look in the full length mirror, and she wanted to change, but Mary Rachel insisted her father would leave without them. And her hair, goodness gracious.

Why had she ever volunteered to go hog hunting? They should've warned her how insanely early they left. Surely Henry would take one look at her today and run the other direction.

But then it didn't matter after all. He and the other men and boys rode ahead as if they cared less whether or not the wagon even followed. The man’s New Blue and three or four other mongrels ran after them.

Riding the hard bench through the pitch black night—well, morning, but might as well have been night, it couldn’t possibly be any darker—had her second-guessing her decision.

Texas’ August heat was unbelievable, even so early in the morning. The creak of leather and subdued conversations to the fore indicated she and the girls in the noisy catch wagon remained on the right path.

She hadn’t a clue how Mary Rachel knew which way to go. The girl slapped the reins. “Ho now, mules.”

Proficiently handling the team, she proved May’s premature apprehension pointless. The harnessed beasts obeyed her every command. The young woman truly was remarkable, a lot like her father.

“This is one of the two wagons Mama and Daddy took on the Jefferson Trace back in ’32, the year before I was born. Carried eight bales of cotton on each, two tons per wagon at five hundred pounds a bale.”

“My goodness, that’s a lot of weight. How did your mother ever get it loaded? I had no idea a wooden wagon could –”

“Normally they couldn’t, but these were built extra sturdy, and I haven't one notion how Mama got the lint aboard, never thought to ask. Levi'd know though.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Mama’s first husband—a man named Andrew Baylor—and his brother used them for hauling timber, so they could handle the heavy loads just fine.”

What an interesting tidbit. “Your mother was married before?”

“Yes, ma’am. Her first husband and his brother both passed in an accident right after they got to Texas. That’s why she raised Levi.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Anyway, on that trip to market in New Orleans is when my parents fell in love. You should get Rebecca to tell you all about it once she gets back. She’s an excellent storyteller.”

So, Sue had been a widow; made her all the stronger to survive out in this wild territory. And with two children. May sat a bit taller, since Henry's wife had been a widow, and now him a widower—maybe there was hope after all.

“Yes, I will. What about your father? Had he been married before?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. He only loved Mama."

"How sweet.” May forced herself to smile, but for some reason, it hurt her heart to hear such a thing. She could hardly imagine the kind of woman Sue Baylor Buckmeyer must have been.

She figured full well, a scribbling novelist could never hold a candle in comparison. No, the dead wife would always stand between her and Henry—and his children—if May ever got him to pay her any real attention.

What was she even thinking? The man would never be attracted to the likes of her, not when he could take his pick. She allowed herself a ray of sun amongst her morose musings.

She’d certainly be able to put this hog hunt into one of her Lone Star novels. She grinned in the darkness, and a little laugh escaped.

“What's funny?”

“Oh, I was only laughing at myself thinking about including this middle-of-the-night adventure in one of my future Wild West stories. It tickled me that I’ve obviously conceded to writing more than one Texas Romance novel.”

Except she’d make hog hunting a bit more exciting. Maybe not mention the hard bench seat.

"Whoa!" She grabbed her hat and the side of her seat. Or being jarred to death rolling over the rough terrain in the dark. “Gracious! Why is it so bumpy?”

“Cracks in the ground. It’s been a dry summer, and this black land is notorious for opening up. Plus the hogs. They can root up a pasture something terrible.”

The eastern sky lightened some by the time Mary Rachel drove the mules over a heavy timber bridge that spanned a wooded creek.

“Just down there.” She pointed south. “That’s where Mama's first husband and Uncle Levi’s daddy were killed. The oxen slipped, and the wagon tumbled.”

A shiver ran up May's back. Had Sue hated passing the spot? She turned her gaze forward, didn't want to see the macabre place where two men died.

Vague shapes became distinguishable ahead. The dogs ran among the men on horses. Each species seemed oblivious to the others.

“It must have been terrible for your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am. She was expecting, too. Rebecca came seven months later.” The girl slapped the reins over the mules’ backs.

The pair strained to pull the wagon up the little rise on the creek’s far side. Once at the top, she reined them to a stop. A field stretched out before the team, bounded on the far side by a thick line of tree-shaped shadows.

The expanse of dark earth melded into the morning’s grays and blues all the way to the sky. Mounted men moved silently in the distance, but there wasn’t enough light to see who was who or much of anything.

Seemed a bit foggy or misty.

May touched Mary Rachel’s arm and whispered, “Why are we just sitting here?”

“Daddy said for us to wait once we crossed the Langford. Said the sounder’s been rooting in this field of a morning. The wagon’s trace chains might spook ‘em.”

“So what are the men doing?”

“They’re circling around ‘em. Once it gets light enough to see good, they’ll sic the dogs on ‘em.”

With each tic of Chester’s gold watch—wherever it and the man happened to be at the moment—the bench seemed to get harder. Though plenty warm, at least the temperature wasn’t so oppressive in the darkness of a new day.

And to think she could be back in that most wonderful feather bed of Mary Rachel’s. But no, she had to open her mouth and agree to come so the little girls could. Who was she trying to impress?

Well, that wasn’t a hard question.

The little Buckmeyer ladies’ good-looking father, that’s who. But he focused all his attention on stalking the stupid pigs, instead of her. She let out a heavy sigh then yawned.

When would she ever learn?

In the quietness, she admired the expanse of Texas as the pre-dawn lightened the sky above the treetops. Never dreamed she’d be out in the middle of the night to chase hogs though.

Neither could she have imagined that she’d meet a man like Henry or accept his invitation to move into his home—sit in his dead wife’s chair. But no regrets. Quite the contrary, so very glad she’d decided to come to the Lone Star State .

With all these adventures and experiences, she might just write a whole series of novels set in the wonderful new addition to the Union.

“Look!” CeCe sat behind her, right in front of the big metal cage and pointed over May’s shoulder. “There they are. Can you see ‘em? Over there! And there’s some more.”

For a heartbeat, May didn’t see the hogs, then someone hollered, and all the hounds raced toward the middle of the field. The quiet, still morning erupted into a melee of running, squealing hogs, shouting men and boys, and the barking of canine.

Throw in the little girls right behind her shrieking and clapping, and May decided instantly that she hated hunting and would never go again—ever.

Watching the men fascinated her though. Real quick, they had a passel of hogs surrounded. What had Mary Rachel called the bunch of swine?

A sounder. What an odd name for a herd of hogs. It’d be interesting to find out how it came about—if she could. Her policy had been if she thought it interesting, her readers probably would, too.

The dogs closed in on the wild hogs and bunched them up for the mounted men who rode toward them, tightening their circle. If they weren’t going to shoot them, what were they going to do?

“Ho now.” The girl slapped the reins over the mules’ backs. “Easy, boys.” Mary Rachel held the leather between her fingers as though she’d been driving all her life, probably had.

She pulled the wagon up close to the edge of the circle. The smaller porkers squealed from the middle of the cluster, while the bigger ones held the outside perimeter lunging at the dogs.

May closed her eyes and imprinted the sounds on her mind’s ear. She had to get this right because she never intended to come again. She breathed in the scents, the fresh plowed earth mixed with the horses, dogs, and hogs smells.

A faint hint of jasmine mixed with the other harsher odors.

Sudden, high pitched screams all around her pulled her eyes open. The Buckmeyer girls screeched and pointed wildly.

On the ground, Little Bart held onto a rope attached to a huge hog at the other end. Charley lay tangled on top of him in the dirt. The horse they’d been riding backed away.

And the biggest hog of the sounder raced toward the boys, the rope securely around his middle.

No! May’s heart leapt into her throat.

She stood.

The boys would never survive the swine’s attack. Her head and chest pounded. She didn’t want to see, but couldn’t turn away. Her scream erupted of its own.

The black blur streaked toward the helpless children.

Suddenly, Henry’s mount slid toward them almost sitting on its hind haunches. In one motion, the man stepped off the horse, set Houston to the side, then dove toward the hog and grabbed a back leg.

He yanked the charging boar away from the pile of little boys, swinging him off course.

The biggest of Jean Paul’s cousins joined the man, and quicker than May would have bet possible, the giant porker grunted in the cage behind her. It charged the bars.

Jerking back every time, she chided herself for being a sissy, not that she wasn’t. And not that she cared if anyone knew it. She hated hunting all the more. No amount of money could….

How in the world Henry had saved those boys. Subdued the brute. She could barely believe—even though she witnessed it with her own eyes. What kind of man was he?

How had he gotten off that horse and sat his boy on the ground then grabbed that pig in a blink of an eye?

Later, with the last hog stowed safely in the cage, he caught her staring at him. Her heart fluttered, but she didn’t look away. Instead, her lips spread into a wide grin.

She shook her head, then mouthed amazing. He tipped his hat and returned her smile. Had she ever known such a man as this Texian?

That question echoed from her heart to her head as the sounder was transported to the holding pen, then accompanied her all the way back to the big house. She hated that she’d not had any time alone with the man.

So many questions kept rising that she wanted to ask him.

A part of her wanted to go straight upstairs and write it all down, but no need to worry. She’d never forget this morning, going from total boredom to complete chaos in a single beat of her heart.

Never would she have believed it would have come off like it did. She poured herself a cup of coffee and retreated to the front porch. Before the third sip, footfalls set her heart to pitter-pattering.

But it was the boy, not his father.

His golden locks must have come from his mother. His beautiful blue eyes, identical to his Pa’s looked into hers. For a long minute, he just stood at her knees and searched her eyes then finally spoke. “Miss May?”