The Texan's Bride (37 page)

“I know, Martha, it’s just that he’s so little, and it’s February—”

“And it’s an absolutely beautiful, warm, windless day outside. Bring the boy to the doin’s, pumpkin; he’ll be tickled over it when he’s grown and can tell his own babies that he witnessed the birth of the Lone Star State.”

With a surrendering shrug, Katie cuddled her son and left the room. Walking down Colorado Street toward the statehouse, Katie listened as Rowdy Payne, who had joined them in the hotel lobby, described the plans for the ceremony inaugurating the new state officials. Due to the large crowd expected and because the weather had cooperated, the chairs and benches had been removed from the representative hall and senate chamber and placed on the long gallery east of the capitol building. Flags and greenery decorated the area, and hundreds of citizens congregated on the lawn waiting for the formalities to begin.

Rowdy turned to Katie and said, “I sent Andrew along quite some time ago to reserve us a good spot for the watching’. He took that handkerchief we washed with the red long johns to tie onto a stick and wave so we could find him.”

They wandered through the crowd, shaking hands with politicians, nodding greetings to diplomats, and trading looks of amusement at some of the silly fashion on display. One particular lady’s hat caught their eye, and Martha and Katie burst into giggles at the sight of the stuffed prairie chicken nesting in a froth of ribbons and straw.

Katie and her friends found Andrew and had just settled onto the quilt spread across the ground when the President and governor-elect made their appearances at the podium.

Conversation ceased; a hush of expectation draped the area like a shroud. As introductions were made, Katie glanced around. Faces displaying a mixture of joy and sadness watched the proceedings with rapt attention. The Honorable R.E.B. Baylor rose and recited a prayer rich with fervor. At its finish the crowd applauded wildly.

Then as President Anson Jones arose to deliver his valedictory, the noise died. He began, “Gentlemen of the Senate and the House of Representatives…”

Katie listened to the moving and dignified speech and saw not the men at the podium, but scenes from the past ten years. She recalled the nation’s struggles with Mexico, both the victories and defeats, the confrontations with the Indians, and the unceasing battle with the land itself.

She thought of her personal involvement in the effort to build a home and a homeland. Feelings she could not define overcame her. The dreams were not dead but evolved into something new, something different, hopefully something better. But Texas, the State of Texas, had a bittersweet birth here today.

President Jones spoke the words, “The final act in this great drama is now performed. The Republic of Texas is no more.”

Katie rose to applaud Anson Jones with tears streaming down her cheeks. Sorrow for the past, joy for the present, and hope for the future melded within her as she watched the beloved flag of Texas drop slowly toward the ground and the banner of the United States of America rise in its stead. She grinned in sympathy as Sam Houston stepped forward, crying vigorously, and clasped the Lone Star flag to his bosom.

As Governor James Pinckney Henderson and the other state officials were sworn in, the atmosphere of the crowd lightened. Merry shouts interrupted the proceedings as celebrating commenced. Katie saw jugs of spirits being passed among members of the legislature. A resounding cheer swept the assemblage as a boom of artillery announced the fact that the State of Texas had been born.

Such was the merriment, the whooping and chortling of men and women, young and old, that no one paid notice to the serious, somber expressions of a trio of men in the section of reserved seats close to the podium.

Branch Kincaid bent his head toward his father and quietly said, “There. He’s on the fourth row behind the speaker.”

Hoss Garrett scowled and said, “I’d rather he be in hell than Texas, but I guess it is best to take care of our dirty laundry locally. Your idea was a good one, son.”

“Couldn’t have been done without your pull,” Branch replied grudgingly. It had stuck in his craw to have to ask Hoss Garrett for anything, and he’d sworn when he’d done it that it’d be a onetime deal. But Hoss had the power to get the deed done, and truth be told, that was more important than Branch’s own pride.

He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, his hard eyes focused on the man he planned to kill. “I was betting he’d be here, but it sure is nice seeing him with my own two eyes.”

“I thought you tailed him all the way back.”

“Lost him St. Louis. Wished then I had gone ahead and killed him in Boston when I had him in my rifle sights.”

Chase Garrett, who’d been listening intently to the hushed conversation, inquired, “Why didn’t you?”

“Because a gunshot is too easy a death for a worm like Strickland; not near personal enough. I couldn’t get any closer, not with him hiding out at his father’s estate after the scandal involvin’ that poor girl.”

Hoss studied Strickland from a distance. “I have to say I’m looking forward to our little soiree for the newly appointed judge. I can see the politician in him. He’s a nice-looking man, the picture of a gentleman.”

Nice-looking man
. Branch’s jaw hardened as he remembered the young Irish girl whom Strickland had been accused of beating to death in Boston. When Branch investigated the incident, the grieving father had shown him the girl’s portrait. She’d borne an amazing resemblance to Katie Starr. “The bastard.”

Luckily for Branch, the one thing that had seemed to appeal to Jack Strickland more than women was politics. Branch had capitalized on the weakness and put into motion a plan to bring Strickland out of hiding and back to Texas.

With rumors of his misdeed floating around Boston and ruining his immediate political plans, Strickland had jumped at the chance to return to Texas for a judgeship and the guarantee of a future senatorial seat. His firsthand experience with crooked politics during the Moderator Regulator War led him to accept Judge Terrell’s underhanded offer without question. Branch looked at his father and asked, “Did Terrell balk at involvement in our scheme?”

Hoss took a cheroot from his pocket and waved it beneath his nose, saying, “Billy Terrell owed me a favor. He was glad to help. Told me Strickland paid the bribe without a complaint. Bribes and corruption—that’s something that won’t die with the Republic.” He cocked an ear toward the podium. “Sounds like the speeches might be winding down. You got the men positioned?”

“Three of them dispersed through the crowd,” Chase answered. “Britt, you think it’s time for us to move around back?”

Branch nodded and Chase explained to Hoss. “The dignitaries are scheduled to file around to the back of the capitol building where food tables have been set up. We figure to nab Jack Strickland between the barbecue beans and the pickled beets.”

One corner of Branch’s mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Hurts like hell when you get it in the beets.”

BENEATH THE shade of a sprawling elm tree, Andrew turned his attention from the podium and said, “Boy, am I glad that’s over.” He peered into the white wicker basket that sat on the winter-yellow grass at the edge of the quilt, sniffed, and asked, “What’cha bring to eat, Missus Kincaid?”

Katie kissed Johnny’s waving fist, then settled a speculative look on the curious youngster. “Andrew Payne, what makes you think I had anything to do with our picnic lunch?”

He grinned and patted his stomach. “’Cause I heard you telling Missus Eberly you’d help her make dewberry tarts.”

“Scamp.” Standing, Katie ruffled his hair. “I’ll tell you what, Johnny’s getting a bit fussy, and I’d thought to walk him for a bit. Why don’t you come with us, and we’ll see if we can’t find a bottle of milk to buy to go along with those tarts.”

Martha, whose right hand was linked with Rowdy’s left, looked up at Katie and said, “Katie, I’ll take Johnny for a walk if you’d like.”

“No, thank you.” Katie bent and kissed Martha’s cheek, adding for her ears only, “If you think I’m going to interfere now that Rowdy’s finally swelled up the nerve to court you, you’re a fool.”

“I’ll carry Johnny if you’d like, Missus Kincaid,” Andrew offered. “Even though he is as heavy as a turkey.”

Katie smiled wistfully into her son’s face. “He is large for his age. I guess he takes after his father in that respect.” She adjusted the baby’s bonnet, then said, “I’ll carry him, Andrew. You lead the way. I might need you to clear a path for us through all these people.”

The light breeze swept the scent of cedar through the crowds as Andrew very seriously took a position in front of Katie, his hands at the ready to shove if need be. With her baby cradled in her arms, Katie crooned as she walked, patting her son in the hopes that he’d settle into sleep.

She paid scant attention to their direction, enjoying the unique experience of moving among a sea of people. Colors and textures abounded, sounds and scents assailed her. Being part of a crowd like this wasn’t anything she’d want to get used to, but this first time she found it stimulating. “Imagine, Johnny, it must be like this all the time on the streets of New York and London.”

A hand took her elbow, and a deep-toned voice spoke, “Or the streets of Boston at Christmastide.”

Katie looked up into the face that roamed in her nightmares. “You’re not supposed to be here!” Katie said, the words bursting from her lips before her mind had a chance to call them back.

Dressed in gentleman’s attire, his gold brocade vest glistening in the sun, Jack Strickland grinned down at Katie. His smile was as stunning and as evil as ever. “I’m wounded, my dear. Is that all you have to say to your fiancé?”

“Fiancé?” She repeated weakly.

“We did have an agreement, didn’t we, my darling?”

“But… but…”

Strickland cupped her chin and lifted it, studying her face in the sunlight. “Such a blessing the smallpox marked you not at all. I worried over it.”

Frozen in bone-numbing fear, Katie forced herself to think.
Smallpox. Yes, the note I left tacked to my kitchen door explaining why I couldn’t leave with him for Boston
. “No, no scars.”

“You are still a beautiful woman, Katie. Tell me, whose child is it you hold?” His gaze dropped to Johnny, and Katie’s arms tightened involuntarily.

This was the man who’d killed Mary Margaret. She must keep him away from Johnny. “Um, Andrew. I mean, he’s Andrew’s brother.” Trying desperately to keep the panic from showing on her face, Katie looked around for the boy. There, he was in the milk line.
Oh, Andrew, why didn’t I let you carry Johnny
?

“Really,” Strickland said, extending a finger for Johnny to grab. “I wasn’t aware that Rowdy Payne had remarried.”

“Martha,” Katie said, staring hard across the crowd to where Martha and Rowdy sat engrossed in one another.

“Martha Craig? Isn’t she rather old to be having children? Here, let me hold him. You know, you look good with a child in your arms, Katie. I’m anxious to see you holding one of ours.” Jack Strickland plucked Johnny right out of her arms.

Terror gripped Katie’s heart and her knees threatened to buckle. Then as she watched her greatest enemy tickle little Johnny’s chin, his blood-red ruby ring glowing dully in the sunlight, a calm descended upon her. Her thoughts sharpened, becoming quick and crisp.

She’d kill Jack Strickland before she’d allow him to hurt her son.

She pasted a smile on her face and extended her hands to reclaim her son. “You must tell me how it is you’ve returned and why I meet you here of all places.”

Jack maintained his hold on the baby. “Gladly. It is providence, you know, us meeting this way. It saves me a trip to Nacogdoches. Come, I’ll tell you all about it while we eat. I’m to sit with Judge Terrell and his wife.”

He took her arm and escorted her through the crowd around the side of the capitol building. “You and Mr. Payne, here, will join me.”

Katie smelled the aroma of fried chicken and almost gagged. She could not sit at a table with Jack Strickland. She couldn’t do anything with Jack Strickland.
Oh, Lord, help me.

From behind them, a man’s voice called, “Judge Strickland, sir? A moment of your time, please. I’m an aide to Judge Terrell, and I’ve a message for you.”

Strickland turned, and Katie seized the moment to take Johnny from his arms, saying hastily, “Don’t allow us to intrude on business.” She backed away a step, hoping to disappear into the crowd, but he grasped her elbow and held her at his side.

Katie stared at the ring on Strickland’s finger as his hand held her prisoner. When Judge Terrell’s aide approached and began to speak about Strickland’s appointment, she listened with half an ear, her thoughts busily calculating an escape.

“Wonderful,” Strickland said. “Come, my dear. We’ve a stop to make before our dinner.”

She and Terrell’s aide spoke simultaneously. “No!” he said.

“Thank you, Jack, but—” Katie and the newcomer looked at one another, and two sets of eyes widened in recognition. Strickland tugged her along toward the back entrance to the capitol, and Katie heard Chase Garrett mutter beneath his breath, “Oh, hell.”

BRANCH GAZED around the courtroom and smiled. He fully intended for Strickland to have his day in court. A short day, to be sure, considering prosecutor, judge, jury, and executioner all had claimed Rob Garrett as a relation. To Branch’s way of thinking, killing his brother’s murderer in a courtroom of the capitol building of the State of Texas had the ring of poetic justice. He could hardly wait for the trial to begin.

Hoss Garrett sat behind the broad, oaken judge’s bench. Branch propped a hip atop the prosecutor’s table, one of his Texas Patersons drawn and resting on his thigh. They awaited Chase, whose assignment had been to lure Judge Strickland into the building with the promise of a black robe and gavel.

Hinges creaked as the courtroom door swung open. Branch tightened his grip on the Paterson’s handle, grinned, and lifted his head.
Damn, he wasn’t alone
. Branch noticed only frightened blue eyes as his gaze swept past the woman and settled on the child in her arms.
Shit
.