The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (33 page)

Not that she cared. She was happy living at Willow Hill. She was happy, period. Each day of their marriage brought them closer, each night strengthened the bond slowly growing between them. This morning when Tye collapsed on their bed following a particularly physical bout of lovemaking, he’d smiled at her so sweetly, so lovingly, that all thought had flown from her mind and left her stuttering for words. Claire had begun to hope that in time, he might actually let down his guard and come to love her.

“Auntie? Can we take him the cookies?” Emma said, her tone suggesting she’d repeated her question a number of times.

Claire wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course. Let’s go find your uncle, shall we?”

They had to look a few minutes, but finally located him on the second-floor front veranda, busy replacing the porch rail spool Ralph had chosen for a chew toy. They all sat, drinking milk and eating cookies while Tye shared the details of his meeting with Claire. “Getting the house built is going to take longer than I’d figured.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tye,” Claire replied. “I think—”

“Look at this,” Emma interrupted, standing at the railing and pointing toward the bottom of the hill.

Katrina’s eyes went round. “Look at all the people!”

“Are we having a party?” Maribeth asked. “It’s a good thing we baked those cookies.”

Claire glanced at the drive, then toward her husband. He appeared as perplexed as she. “I count five wagons and there must be thirty horses. Are we having a party, Tye?”

“Not that I know of,” he replied, frowning.

The five of them lined the veranda, peering out at the gathering crowd. Katrina said, “I don’t think anything bad has happened, do you? Look, most everyone is smiling.”

“Uh, oh,” Maribeth groaned. “There’s Mrs. Peters. She’ll turn us in to the truancy deputy, you just wait and see.”

“Could it be a shivaree, Tye? A couple weeks late and the wrong time of day for it, I know, but what else…?” She allowed her voice to trail away when she heard Emma’s soft gasp and saw Tye’s grip clamp like a vise around the rail.

“Good Lord,” he murmured.

Tears spilled from Emma’s eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. “Uncle Tye?” she begged in a little voice.

“What!” Maribeth demanded. “What is it?”

“The second wagon,” Tye replied in a raspy voice. “Son of a…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Girls, quick. Look at the second wagon!”

If a ladybug lands on your right arm, you will have good luck
.

CHAPTER 19

THE TWO YOUNGER GIRLS strained forward, then Katrina let out a long, high-pitched squeal. Maribeth didn’t take time to make noise; she whirled and dashed into the house. Claire squinted toward the crowd, trying to identify the source of the excitement while Emma repeated, “Uncle Tye? Please, is it true?”

His hand shook, Claire saw, as he oh-so-slowly lifted it in a wave. “Yeah, 1adonna’, I do believe you can believe this.”

When a figure—a man—stood in the bed of the second wagon rolling up the hill and returned Tye’s wave, Emma moaned and melted, sinking to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

“Emma!” Claire moved toward her, but Tye reached the child first. He looked haggard, yet joyous, as he scooped young Emma into his arms and exited the veranda without a word to his wife.

Taken aback, she turned once again to the commotion brewing in the front yard just in time to see the man jump down from the wagon and hit the ground running.

At the same time, Katrina and Maribeth burst down the front steps.

The man’s arms reached, opened wide, and even before his hat flew off revealing an extremely familiar face, Claire realized who it was. He dropped to his knees, arms outstretched, as Tye stepped into view and set Emma down so she could run with her sisters.

Tears stung Claire’s eyes at the sound of the most beautiful music in the world—the McBride Menace’s joyous voices lifted in the cry of a single word: “
Papa
!”

Trace McBride had come home.

And judging by the size of the stomach on the woman who approached the blubbering father-daughter foursome, he’d brought his Jenny home with him.

Claire observed the reunion through blurry eyes. She smiled as Tye wrapped his sister-in-law in a hug. Her breath caught on a sob when the identical brothers shook hands, hesitated, then pulled each other into an embrace.

“Thank you, God,” she prayed, wiping her eyes and smiling and trying to ignore the worry pricking at her brain. The McBride family celebrated below while she stood apart. Alone. Very much afraid she had just run out of time.

***

HALF AN hour after his brother’s arrival, Tye leaned against the doorjamb in the parlor, his arms folded, a sappy grin on his face as he watched the Blessings demonstrate Spike the fortune-teller fish’s amazing capabilities.

Jenny lay stretched out on the sofa, her feet propped up by three pillows—one from each daughter—while Trace sat on the floor in front of her, all but covered up in ecstatic little girls. And a dog. And, when Spike did a double-left flop, one out-of-water fish.

The laughter in the room was sweet enough to steal the tart from one of Claire’s rhubarb pies. Tye remained silent, however. He doubted he could force so much as a sigh past the boulder-sized lump in his throat.

Emma, especially, stayed plastered against her papa. It was she who finally turned the tide of the conversation away from the girls’ activities of late with the questions Tye himself had been burning to ask. “Where were you, Papa? Why didn’t you come home? They told us you drowned and that was a very horrible thing. Uncle Tye told us you were all right, that he felt your connection, but still it was…hard.”

“Ah, Emma.” Trace’s voice was rough with emotion. “It breaks my heart you had to go through that. Your mama and I didn’t know the ship sank. We didn’t know you’d be so worried.”

“We were scared to death,” Katrina exclaimed in an accusing tone.

Tye pushed away from the doorjamb and strolled into the room. “What did happen, Trace?”

His brother’s lips twisted in a grim smile. “Jenny got stubborn and apparently saved our lives, that’s what.”

The woman in question smiled a 1adonna’s smile. “Remind me to remind you of it when the shipment arrives.”

Shipment?
Tye quirked a brow at his brother.

Trace nodded. “The day we were due to leave she meets a native woman and falls head over heels for the lady’s dress.”

“Now there’s a picture,” Jenny said ruefully, frowning at her baby-filled belly.

Grinning, Trace lifted his hand to pat her stomach. “Anyway, my Jenny balks at boarding the ship. She wants to travel inland to the woman’s village and purchase Caribbean cloth for Fortune’s Design. She refuses to listen to reason, so I write a letter for you explaining our change in plans and give it to the ship’s captain. He promised to telegraph, too, in case the letter took too long getting home. With that supposedly settled, Jenny and I rattle away in a rickety wagon bound for an island village whose name I never did learn to pronounce.”

Tye grimly added, “And the ship sailed off to sink.”

A moment of silence filled the room as the occupants considered the vagaries of fate. Then, with eyes rounded in wonder, Maribeth broke the silence by saying, “Maybe you should make another wedding dress out of the cloth you bought, Mama. Talk about good luck.”

“What I think I’ll do is say extra prayers for those poor people who lost their lives.” Glancing at Tye, she added, “Maybelle Davis told us the news about the ship’s loss. It came as quite a shock.”

After that, they spent some time discussing the rest of their trip and catching up on all the happenings back home. Tye chafed to explain about the Wests, but didn’t want to drag all that baggage out in front of the Blessings. Of course, from the looks of things, it might be a year or more before they let their beloved parents out of their sights.

Occasionally Tye thought about Claire, wondering why she’d made herself scarce. Once or twice he started to go look for her, but he couldn’t quite make himself leave his brother.
Hell, I’m just as bad as the girls
.

Having heard the news of her employers’ safe return, Mrs. Wilson blew through the front door in a whirlwind of happiness. As Jenny repeated their story to her, Trace wandered over to where his brother stood. “Something tells me we’ll be telling this tale till we’re sick to death of it.”

“Why don’t you give an interview to Wilhemina and let her print it up in the newspaper?” Tye suggested. “That would ward off a few of the questions, anyway.”

“Good idea. I might just do that.” He paused, his gaze drifting back to where his wife sat surrounded by his children. A pained grimace etched his face. “It must have been hell for them.”

“Emma took it the worst. She didn’t completely believe me when I told her you were all right.”

His brother shot him an intense look. “You felt…?”

Tye shrugged. “For me, the connection never disappeared. Faded, maybe, during the bad years. But since I’ve come to Fort Worth it’s grown as strong as when we were boys. I knew you were safe. I knew you’d come home when you could.”

Trace blew out a sigh. “Thank you, Tye. For everything, but especially for making my ‘death’ easier on the girls.”

Emma approached as her father spoke. “I always believed you, Uncle Tye. It’s just that sometimes I got so very scared I didn’t think straight.” To her father, she said, “Uncle Tye took care of us real, real good, Papa. Why, he even saved us when our wicked grandmother tried to steal us away to New Orleans.”

“What?” Trace’s gaze snapped toward Tye. “What wicked grandmother? Surely not…”

Had Tye his druthers, he’d have eased into that story a little differently. “Afraid so. Once news of your demise got around, George and Beatrice paid us a little visit.”

“How the hell did they find us? Except for the letters we exchange through my attorney about the Louisiana property, I’ve had no contact with them since Constance died. How did they find me?”

Tye winced. “I’m afraid that’s my fault.”

“What happened?”

“Papa,” Emma cried, pouting her lip. “Don’t get upset. Please, don’t get upset.”

Chastened, Trace gave his daughter a hug even while his eyes demanded an explanation from his twin.

Tye twisted his mouth and scratched behind his ear. “It’s a long story.”

“You’re not gonna tell him about the spelling bee plan, not already,” Maribeth protested. “He just got home. I think we should at least get one day before the punishment starts.”

“Spelling bee plan? Punishment?” Trace eyed his daughters sternly. “What in heaven’s name have you Menaces done now?”

“Blessings,” Tye corrected automatically. “They’re your Blessings. And Maribeth, don’t worry about punishment. I can’t explain about your grandparents without talking about the spelling bee, but I’ll make sure your father understands that as far as punishment goes, I’ve taken care of it. You three have been through enough.”

Trace’s sternness melted into amusement. “You’re going to protect my daughters from their own father?”

Shrugging, Tye replied, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“But you’d do it.” With a laugh, Trace clapped him on the back. “If I read you right this story is better told without an audience. How about you and I adjourn to my office? I feel the need for a cigar coming on, and my wife turns green in the face at the scent of smoke these days.”

A keen sense of anticipation hummed through Tye’s veins as he followed his brother toward his office. Crossing the foyer, he hesitated and glanced up the stairs. Briefly he considered asking Trace to wait while he located Claire. She was part of the Blessings’ shenanigans and she could help relay the story.

Besides, a part of him wanted her with him during this momentous conversation. She knew the truth about him, and he’d like to have her at his side witnessing the moment when he finally earned his redemption.

But, he realized, if he asked her to join him, then he’d have to explain about the wedding right off. He’d have to tell the story backward. It was probably simpler to keep the telling of this tale between brothers for the time being.

So minutes later, settled into deep leather chairs, cigars in one hand, whiskey for Trace and plain water for himself in the other, Tye started the story with his nieces’ misbegotten efforts to make a match between their uncle and Loretta Davis. Trace just about busted a gut laughing during some of it. He buried his head in his hands during other sections. Twice Tye thought he saw tears in his brother’s eyes.

The difficult part came when he spoke of the Wests’ arrival. “When the girls were missing and I found Beatrice’s letters to you in Emma’s room, I felt I had no choice but to contact them. But I never dreamed they’d show up later in Fort Worth trying to take the Blessings away. Such a possibility never once occurred to me.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of it either,” Trace agreed. “So what happened? How did you, to use Emma’s words, ‘save them from their wicked grandmother’?”

Tye pursed his lips and studied his fingernails. “Well, little brother, I got married.”

Trace dropped his cigar in his lap. “You
what?
”

“I got married. It neutralized the most serious arguments the Wests had against my continued guardianship of your daughters.”

“Married. Are you saying you got married just to save my children?”

Tye shrugged, wanting to downplay that aspect. “Partially, yes. Of course, my bride got something out of it, too. She had her own set of troubles that marrying me solved.”

“Good Lord, Tye, I think I left you with my daughters too long. Sounds like some of their mischief-making rubbed off on you. Who? Who is she and what did she get?”

“You know Claire. Claire Donovan, your tenant?”

In the process of brushing ashes from his lap, Trace froze. “You married Claire Donovan?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

A slow grin blossomed across Trace’s face. “You ‘sort of’ married Claire Donovan?”

Uncomfortable with his brother’s reaction, Tye stumbled a bit through the explanation. “It’s not a real marriage, but…well…an arrangement. It was convenient for both of us.”

“I imagine you did find marriage to that beauty…” he stressed the word “…
convenient
. Most men would.”

“Now, Trace, it’s not like that.”

“You mean you’re not bedding her?”

“Well, uh…”

“Yes?” he asked, smirking.

Tye stubbed out his cigar. “Hells bells, Brother, that’s none of your damned business.” Trace’s chuckles soon turned to guffaws that pricked Tye’s temper. “Why don’t you stick that Havana back in your mouth before my fist takes a notion to fill the spot, all right?”

Emerald eyes twinkling, Trace said, “Sometimes I amaze myself. I predicted this, you know. I told Jenny that Claire was dangerous to your bachelorhood. Damn, but I like being right.”

The smug expression on his face drove Tye over the edge. “Well I wouldn’t trumpet too loudly if I were you. That’s what started all this trouble to begin with. The Blessings heard you say I should marry Loretta Davis, so they set about making it happen.”

“You said you married Claire, not Loretta.”

“That’s right. But your daughters wanted me to marry Loretta, and it was that misguided matchmaking that led to the foolishness that caused me to wire the Wests, which brought them to town and me to the damned altar.”

All seriousness, Trace asked, “You didn’t want to marry Claire?”

Tye wasn’t certain how to answer that question, and his uncertainty pricked his temper. “No, I sure as hell didn’t. The woman’s not normal, and she has me tied up in knots. What I wanted, Brother dear, was to defeat Beatrice West I wanted to protect your children. I wanted—God help me—to do something for you that was so important, of such value, that it balanced the scales and made up for what I did to hurt you.”

“Constance,” Trace spat, laying it out between them like a filthy rug.

“Yeah, Constance.”

Trace rattled out a vicious stream of cuss words long enough and vile enough to turn the red light district of Fort Worth blue. “If you’re not dumb as a box of rocks. You don’t think saving Jenny’s life last winter was of value to me? Hell, Tye, you busted the scale on that one. And besides, did I not accept your apology? Did I not come right out and say I forgave you for that mess with Constance?”

Tye lurched to his feet and pounded his fists on the desk. “But I can’t forgive myself, Trace. I can’t forgive myself.”