Sixty Acres and a Bride (21 page)

W
ESTON PUSHED THE CURTAIN
past the glass. Looked like the boys were already up and about this morning. The longhorns needed to be pushed to the north pasture pond today. August had a way of making water precious.

He took his chair and pulled his boots on. Go without something for long enough and it becomes precious indeed. Like companionship. Jake and Eliza had each other. Could Rosa grow into that kind of friend?

The wood floor in the next room creaked. A drawer closed. She was awake. He fell back into the big leather chair to wait.

Cora had never stayed in that room. They had shared the master suite downstairs. Not that it should matter, but it did.

He spun the gold band on his finger and saw again the glittering drawing room in St. Louis, the vivacious bride-to-be shopping for her trousseau, and then the despondent shell that remained after a year of life here at Palmetto. Would he cause Rosa to do the same?

The ring clinked against the chair arm he clutched. He would take care of Rosa. She may never love him, but he’d do better by her than he had for Cora. God help him, his sanity depended on it.

As beautiful as her magenta gown was, Weston was glad that Señora Garner had chosen to spend today in her
ropas
Mexicanas. He’d given Eliza permission to buy Rosa a wardrobe while in town—and she wouldn’t come home until she had a trunk full—but now he was sorry. Nothing wrong with the way Rosa looked this morning.

She followed him to the stables, her skirts flashing bright colors, as she struggled to keep up with him. He should slow down. Her strides weren’t nearly as long as his, and he had all the time in the world to show her the place, but it felt like Christmas, watching someone unwrap the gift you gave.

Like an invisible wall, the clean, sweet aroma of straw and feed confronted him as they entered the stable. Sunlight filtered through the slats of the building, throwing stripes over the stall dividers. Rosa recognized Smokey immediately and offered him her hand to nuzzle.

“I think he’s your horse,” Wes said. “Always one for the ladies, aren’t you, Smokey?”

Smokey shook his head vigorously but lipped at her hand, showing his preference.

“The other horses are all in the corral, which means the boys are working somewhere near. The tack room is over here. Riding involves more than just the horse. You’ve got to have a relationship with your equipment, too. Best horse in the world won’t keep you from breaking your neck if your cinch snaps.”

He opened a small shuttered window to light the closet and took inventory of the tack. Saddle-covered sawhorses, head to tail, each with its own blanket folded neatly in the seat, lined the walls. Bridles, complete with reins and bits, hung from pegs. Stiff coiled ropes also had their place. There was even a shelf of feed bags and bedrolls—everything the horses could need short of a blacksmith and apple.

Rosa hesitated at the door. “I’d rather not go in.” She pressed her chest, holding down the ribbon of the drawstring at her collar.

“The room too small?” he asked.

She reached in to caress the cantle of the seat. He hoped the texture of the seasoned leather would help her relax.

“Everything is so tidy. This is the cleanest stable I’ve ever been in.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Well, that’s no accident. To keep it like this you have to scatter clean straw and muck it out if the horses have been inside.”

“The straw is in the barn?”

“That
is
where we keep straw, Rosa. And then the saddles have to be rubbed down with oil to keep them supple. We don’t have to do that but every other month or so.”

“When will they need their next cleaning?” She scanned the shelves, searching for something.

“Why? What are you . . . ? You aren’t cleaning them.”

“Well, I can at least shovel out the stalls. I know how to do that, but should I do it before supper or after? I don’t want you to wait on me, especially tonight if you’re eating alone.”

She had the situation confused. Out of the tack room he came.

“You aren’t cleaning stalls. Not on my watch.”

Her eyes darted around the barn. “So what is my job here? The house is Eliza’s domain, and Octavia wouldn’t even let me cook breakfast this morning.”

“That’s because she made the mistake of letting Eliza cook a time or two, and she doesn’t want that to happen again. Listen, you just came off a bronc-busting kind of a day—the whole month actually. Take time to get your feet under you. Relax.” He drew an arc in the straw with the sole of his boot.

“But I want to do my share. You gave us a lot of money, more money than we made in three months. I can never repay you for stepping in when you did, but maybe I can help you recoup your loss.”

“Loss? I don’t consider getting married a loss.”

“I’m not talking about being married. Why would you think that?” Her eyes snapped. “I’m talking about the loan you took out for us. Yesterday I was a charity case, but I don’t intend to be one forever.”

Weston was poised with pointed finger to straighten her out when he heard his name called.

“Garner! Are you in there?”

In stomped an irate Nicholas Lovelace, his ruddy face already affected by the midmorning heat, with his sister at his side. Terrific! Weston didn’t want to get riled, but Nicholas’s appearance was like yelling “Sic ’em” to a dog.

“I knew it!” Nicholas huffed. “Rosa, get in the wagon. I’m taking you home.”

“She is home!” Weston growled.

“No, she’s not.” The last word squeaked out as Weston stepped closer. Nick’s eyes widened.

The young man had more spunk than Weston had credited him for. Still, there could only be one bull in a pasture, and Nicholas made him see red.

“Nicholas, I’m going to stay here for a while,” Rosa said.

“But you don’t have to.” Nicholas backed out of the stables into the yard, bumping into Molly in his retreat.

“Yes I do. I don’t have a choice.”

“You do have a choice. I looked it up,” Molly said.

“Rosa, why didn’t you come to us if you needed help? I wouldn’t have made you marry me,” Nicholas added.

Molly slapped Nick’s arm. “I told you. He’s not forcing her. It’s her fault.”

Weston rolled his eyes. Weren’t they in a pickle? Either he ruthlessly took advantage of a penniless young widow, or Rosa snared an innocent man, shameless hussy that she was. How’d they get in such a mess? Time to clean it up.

“First off, Nicholas, you don’t have any money. If your pa said that to me, then we might have a conversation, but you haven’t made a red cent in your life. You’re an adult, and you’ve yet to put your hand to a plow, or a ledger, or a saw. How about loaning and giving your own money instead of telling others what to do with theirs?”

Weston took another step forward. “As for you, Miss Lovelace—”

“Weston, please.” Rosa took Molly’s arm. “She has every right to speak her mind. I’ve been no kind of friend to her. Will you wait on us, Nicholas?”

Rosa had befriended even Molly? Weston’s eyebrows lowered as the women moved toward the stable.

How much time had the Lovelaces spent at Louise’s? Weston’s absence had lasted over a month. Didn’t mean Rosa hadn’t had other visitors. Might explain Nick’s fire.

“You can wait in your wagon.” Weston didn’t trust himself to stay civil to the man. He needed to meet the ranch hands coming in from the corral and stop messing with this foolishness, but a new thought ate at him as he stomped away.

Yesterday morning Weston had assured Rosa he didn’t expect love in a marriage. Whatever she had to offer was more than he deserved. But what about her? He’d given himself little time to consider that she might expect to be cherished, or worse, that she already was cherished by someone else.

He’d insisted they marry. How long did he expect her to wait for him to get his act together?

Molly had trouble dragging her eyes off the beautiful home dominating the estate. She should be the mistress, and if she played her cards right, she might be yet.

It was the blessing of all blessings that she worked at the courthouse. She knew the judges, and a certain Judge Rice didn’t mind giving her some free legal advice. Especially after what he’d seen in his office.

“I know how it looks, Molly, but you have to believe I never intended for him to marry me.”

Seeing Rosa dressed in her frumpy peasant clothes softened Molly. She didn’t really believe Rosa was conniving enough to have orchestrated this affair, but neither was she willing to give up so easily. Of all the men her parents had paraded before her, Weston was the only one they could agree on, and she still held hopes of gaining his regard.

“If you didn’t want to get married, there’s a way to fix it.”

Rosa’s eyes narrowed. “I thought so. Weston said there wasn’t.”

“Weston wouldn’t know.” She led Rosa into the stable, out of earshot of Weston, Nick, and the cowboys. She unrolled the paper, flattening it on a barrel top and read, “‘An annulment is a decree that a marriage was invalid from the onset. Invalid marriages include lunacy, consanguinity’—that’s not it.” She squinted over the page. “Here it is: ‘or marriages made under threat, force, or duress.’”

Rosa grimaced. “Weston didn’t threaten me.”

“But you were under duress. You didn’t have a choice.”

“But I could’ve said something to the judge. It’s too late now. Isn’t there something I could do that wouldn’t hurt his reputation?”

“Your actions precipitated this event. It’s up to you to correct it.”

“What kind of nonsense are you peddling now?” Weston entered with his ranch hands following close behind.

Shielding the papers with her body, Molly hugged Rosa, carefully passing them into her hands. “Go on in the house, sweetie. Send word if I can help you.”

Weston let Rosa pass between them. His suspenders stretched with each angry breath. Molly watched the cowboys depart with their gear, one by one, and knew when the last one left, he was going to unload.

She might as well get the jump on him.

As soon as Willie was out of earshot, Molly flounced toward him and took his hand in both of hers. “You can’t reward her conniving. This is a sham. I can tell. You don’t love her.”

“And you consider yourself her friend? Amazing!” He pulled his hand free. “Don’t try to influence my wife under the guise of concern. I can smell what you’re cooking up.”

“I don’t blame her for what she did. I’m only ashamed I let her talk me out of doing it myself.”

“As far as you’re concerned, I’m a happily married man. Before you wrangle Rosa into some sort of divorce, don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ll be grateful. Your brother is already in the wagon, and I expect you to join him.”

“After all the years I spent waiting on you—”

“Then I’ll not waste any more of your time.”

And he stomped out.

Dismissed? Just like that? How had things gone sour so quickly? Her dream squashed in seconds?

She’d declared herself to a man and he’d walked away. Was there anything more embarrassing?

“Well, paint me pink and call me tickled.” Bailey stepped out of the tack room, crunching on an apple. “I’m surprised at you, Molly Lovelace, throwing yourself at Weston like that.”

“How dare you eavesdrop!” She could feel her bonnet quiver as she thrust her arms down.

“I’m not the one behaving badly. I’m not professing my love to a newlywed.”

He’d heard the whole thing? Still withering from Weston’s rebuke, Molly didn’t have much fight left in her.

“I’m not staying here to be mocked. Excuse me.”

“Not so fast, missy. You did a lot of talking a second ago. Allow me a turn. I don’t know why you’d set your cap for Uncle Wes. Seems like you might do well to aim for a younger man, but that’s your business. One thing you need to get straight, though. I’ve been watching Uncle Wes lately, and if he ain’t in love with Rosa, then I don’t know a jackrabbit from a Jersey. I’ve seen them dance together, I’ve seen them fight, and I’ve seen how he watches her when she doesn’t know he’s looking. So whatever hopes you have can be buried six feet deep. It’s over.”

“Thank you for your advice,” she sneered. “If you think of anything else you need to tell me, please don’t hesitate.”

“Actually there is something else—I’ll be sleeping in the barn tonight if you’re looking for a husband. Worked for Rosa.” He winked and walked off.

Where did a cowboy like him get the nerve to talk to her that way? And why hadn’t she ever noticed before how much he favored his uncle?

Molly dragged her tail feathers to the wagon. She’d endured enough humiliation. She wasn’t ready to try again. Not for days, anyway.

R
OSA SAT IN THE PARLOR,
unsure what to do with herself and the papers Molly had thrust into her hands. The formal-sounding words confused her, and she wasn’t about to ask Weston to explain them. She heard the front door open and barely had time to cram them between the sofa cushions before he entered. He pulled the door closed behind him and turned the key. Her eyes widened.

“Are you locking me in?”

“No, I’m locking everyone out! Awfully nice of Eliza and Jake to leave us so we could have some peace and quiet.” She caught him murmuring something about strangling. “You want something to do? Go help Octavia pack up the fellows’ dinners. The horses are ready. Let’s get out of here before another wave of concerned citizens invades.”

Within ten minutes they were mounted, fried chicken in a tin pail, and a jug of spring water tied behind Weston’s saddle. Carefully wrapped in cheesecloth, the sugar-covered apple fritters smelled so good Rosa popped one into her mouth before they reached the pasture.

They rode through the tall dry grass, sending field mice scurrying and jackrabbits bounding until they located the herd. Bailey, Willie, Rico, and Red did their best, but the parched cattle stubbornly refused to leave the shade and the puny remains of a creek they’d found.

Rosa watched Weston direct the cowboys, telling them where to position themselves so the cattle couldn’t turn back. No one questioned him out here. His word was law. She sat straight in her saddle, amazed to be friends with such a man.

And until this week he’d been just a friend, although a friend she found overwhelmingly attractive. His dark eyes gauged every movement of the procession before him. The reins barely moved as he guided his horse with his legs. She liked when he was busy and she could study him uninterrupted. He’d caught her a few times but never seemed to mind.

But even if he hadn’t had the dark Garner looks, she admired him and had sorely missed his company over the last month. She hadn’t realized how much she’d looked forward to his visits until they ceased.

Yes, Weston had been her friend, but she’d ruined it. She’d let herself imagine that his interest in her was more than a family obligation. She stood corrected. He enjoyed her friendship but didn’t consider her courting material.

Until yesterday.

A handful of steers ambled their way out of the cedars. The cowboys made progress, and Weston worked his way back to her.

Maybe with time their friendship could’ve recovered, but now it would never happen. They would never have equal footing. He was at her side not because he wanted to be, but because she’d forced her way into his home, his life, his future. Could she repay him, or should she leave before she owed him more?

She could be the best friend he ever had, but no wife.

Once the cattle were pushed from their shelter and pointed north, the cowhands gratefully refilled their canteens, took a few pieces of chicken and a handful of fritters, and followed after them.

“They eat in the saddle?” Rosa was still getting used to the constant movement beneath her.

“They’d sleep in the saddle if I let them, but we can get down for dinner.” Weston urged Pandora toward the creek, and Smokey followed undirected.

Ducking beneath the branches, they found a spot unsoiled by the recent denizens, spread a bedroll, and broke out the remaining victuals. Weston dipped his bandanna into a clear pool and handed it to Rosa before washing his own face and hands. Once he settled on the blanket, she passed him a half a chicken and munched on the savory leg she’d kept for herself. He drank deeply from the canteen, letting a trickle glide down his jaw.

“Amazing what a difference a few drops of water make on a hot day.” She reached for the offered drink.

“‘Every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.’”

“That’s a fitting description of me.” Rosa lowered the canteen and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “No money, but hungry and thirsty. Is that from the Bible?”

“Yeah, but it fits all of us, don’t you think? Can any of us be satisfied without God? Can any of us afford all that He’s given us?” He motioned to the trickling stream before them. “Those longhorns don’t want to leave this creek because it’s their security. It’s all they can remember. Never mind that it’s drying up and will leave them parched. They don’t trust us enough to follow.” Weston took a fritter from the bundle on her lap and munched on it before continuing.

“I’m learning that I’m a lot like those dumb steers, pleased to stay in the same place and shrivel up. Thankfully, God didn’t let me do that. Reckon that’s why He’s called the Good Shepherd. He showed up with a cattle prod and drove me into new territory—whether I was ready to move or not.”

A line of sweat ran from her neck down between her shoulder blades. Seemed like he wanted to talk. Twice she’d heard about Cora’s death, but never from him. Was he ready?

“The cattle are going to the north pasture. Is that the pond?”

Weston’s face softened as he studied the weak rivulets of the stream. “Until recently I thought my life ended there, too. Everything I wanted to be—responsible, husband, protector—was crushed.” He picked up a smooth stone and troubled it between his fingers. “I tried to blame God, but I couldn’t talk to Him about it. I’m still afraid He holds me accountable. That it was my fault.”

“How could you be blamed?” Not a rhetorical question. Rosa was linked to this man for a time and wanted to know the truth. Was he responsible in any way?

He swallowed hard. “First off, I married her. Cora was a fine city girl, never been out of town at all. I should’ve considered how hard it’d be for her to adjust. From the first she didn’t take to ranch life. She grew listless, bored, and nothing I did could keep her spirits up, but then the next minute she would be frantic, worried about utter nonsense. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. . . .” He tossed the stone and drew one knee up.

“Got to the point that all I knew to do was to call Doc Trench. He got her some laudanum for her nerves—to let her sleep, you know—but then she had to take it more and more. When I finally put my foot down, she thought her life depended on that little vial.” He shook his head. “But to see what the medicine was doing to her—draining her soul away until the spark was squelched . . . She became a very, very sick woman.”

“You didn’t know what to do.”

“And I thought she was stronger. I thought we’d just push through, and it’d all be better on the other side. I misjudged.”

A mistake that had taken a life. Could there be any greater remorse? Based on what she’d heard from the rest of the family, Weston alone held himself responsible, but that didn’t lessen his pain. Was there anything she could do?

Rosa remembered the night on Mary’s porch when she’d decided to pray for him. She’d wanted to comfort him then but had no right. Would he push her away now? Would her offer of friendship be misconstrued?

He’d stayed with her in the church closet. He’d returned the day Tillerton scared her. Surely he would understand her desire to console a hurting friend. She decided to take the gamble.

Rosa slipped her hand under his, and he grasped it without hesitation, clinging to it as if it were his most valued possession. They sat and listened to the birds, swishing horse tails, and the distant lowing of the cattle.

“So that’s where I’ve been corralled: afraid to care, afraid to hurt. I accepted my miserly creek as the best I would ever have, because I knew I didn’t deserve any better.” He rubbed her golden band with his thumb and gave her a half smile. “Then you shoved me out into the scary unknown.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “I told you, God knows what He’s doing. You might have misapplied Aunt Louise’s Bible story, but this is where I need to be. If it weren’t for the circumstances forcing my hand, I don’t know how long it’d be before I got my life back.”

“You’re an incredible man, Mr. Garner. You’ve saved my ranch and reputation, yet you carry on like I’m doing you a favor. I don’t understand.”

He squeezed her hand and released it.

“You don’t have to. Just be happy.” He stretched out full length on the blanket and pulled his hat over his eyes. “And unless you’re in a hurry to skedaddle back to the house, I think I’ll catch me a little
siesta
.”

One eye peeked out from behind the hat. Looking for her reaction? Was he afraid she’d lie down next to him? Probably so after the barn incident, but she didn’t trust herself to get too close. Rosa got to her feet quick enough but didn’t know what to do next. Hands on her hips, she took the measure of the majestic cottonwood spreading up and over their heads. She walked around it once and found the two lowest branches were within reach. Satisfied, Rosa came back to the blanket and unlaced her boots. She wiggled out of her stockings and thought she caught Wes watching, but when she looked closer, only saw shadows beneath the hat brim. She must’ve been mistaken.

She hopped to get both hands wrapped around the lowest branch, then laced her fingers over the rough bark and walked her bare feet up the trunk. Hanging horizontally, she took one more furtive glance toward Weston and, seeing the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, threw her leg over the branch and rotated until she was sitting atop it. The first perch was always the hardest. Once she stood on the branch, it was almost as easy as going up a ladder.

What was it about climbing that appealed to her? Perhaps the giant tree dared her to conquer it. As long as it towered over her, she was not the victor. And after a string of failures, this ancient cottonwood offered a chance for a small accomplishment. Maybe the combination of the mental and physical tests challenged her. Maybe reaching the apex brought her satisfaction. For whatever reason, there was nothing she’d rather do at that moment.

Fearless now with the knowledge that a leafy layer hid her from view, Rosa scaled the tree, unconcerned with modesty. Soon, her blue skirt was tucked into her waistband, revealing legs the color of bread crust.

As the limbs grew smaller, Rosa slowed her ascent, making sure to have three grips at all times—two hands and one foot, or two feet and one hand. She hugged the now slender trunk and worked her way around to a break in the foliage.

Her breath caught. Before her spread most of the county. She saw Palmetto’s impressive yellow bulk against the dry prairie. The creek was just a scratch until it joined with another branch to make a dark scar across the landscape. She tracked the bare wagon trail through the trees to a doll’s house resembling George and Mary’s. Could those be people? Why, Mary herself was walking with one of the girls skipping to the barn. Fascinated, she watched the mundane scene as if it were something holy.

How little they looked! No more important than the mice that scurried away from Smokey’s hooves. Did God see her that way? No, she believed what Eli had taught her—God cared very much. The verse Weston had quoted said God offered to fill her, to care for her, and to love her. Sometimes He used miracles and sometimes He sent His people to bridge the gap. In her time of need, Weston was God’s provision for her.

Thank you for him, Lord Jesus. I pray that you’ll straighten out this mistake. He doesn’t deserve the trouble I’ve brought him. Help me make amends.

As she scanned the broad landscape, she felt proud to be a part of this community. The people shared a bond here, a bond formed from hardship and blood, and she would do her best to keep it strong. True, she had no idea what her role would be, but she was pleased that the Garners’ precious land hadn’t fallen into evil hands because of her. Someday she might be a godmother to Susannah’s children. She might sew a wedding dress for a daughter of Eliza. As long as she contributed.
Please let me bring some form of blessing to those who have given me so much,
she prayed, looking up at the unbounded sky.

As much as it delighted Rosa to climb, once she reached the top, she wouldn’t linger. Couldn’t relax in a treetop. So after committing the scene to memory, she began her descent.

Slowly moving from branch to branch, the arch of her foot found hold on each rounded limb. She lowered herself gently through the years of growth until she was sitting on the giant bottom branch. Looking down, she searched for a good landing spot, not wanting to drop barefoot onto a jagged stone. She spotted a pile of rotting leaves before she swung down, and plopped into them—a perfect shot.

The rustle of the leaves disguised the queer noise. There it was again.

“Don’t move,” Weston ordered.

She froze, the tone of his command instilling her with fear.

She heard the dry grass under the blanket crackle. Weston moved, but she couldn’t? Still crouched with her skirt gathered, she obeyed with everything but her eyes, which frantically tried to locate the sound. Another rattle and some leaves fell away, revealing a coiled snake just inches from her bare ankles. She tried not to flinch but had to steal a glance over her shoulder.

“Shh,”
he whispered. “You can’t outrun him. Be very, very still.” Weston slid his gun from its holster and smoothly held it level.

Another rattle brought her attention back around. Could Weston even see it? She was standing between the two, and the snake was half obscured by the leaves. She stared at its malicious eyes and flexed neck. Its sinister head drew back tightly; tongue flickered to taste her air. It seemed to take a breath, and then . . . with an explosion it disappeared.

Where did it go?
The leaves thrashed, a whip lashing frantically about in them, but the snake was headless.

Wes sprang to his feet, but before he could reach her, she turned and whistled low.

“You did that? You made it vanish? But I was in the way. Did the bullet go between my feet?”

“It was the only clear shot I had.” He holstered his gun and checked his hands. They were steady. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“All right? I’m amazed! You stopped it from all the way over there.” The close call had her blood pumping. She looked again at the deadly whip he’d rendered harmless. “Tuck and Samuel will want to hear this. They say their Uncle Weston is the toughest piece of jerky around. That’s good, no?”