The Yellow Rose (46 page)

Indeed, no matter how much Clinton protested, Aldora was certainly the belle of the ball!

He was standing beside the refreshment table with Brodie and Zane, who were enjoying watching Clinton’s futile attempts to keep Al away from the young men.

Clinton watched Aldora moving around the room with Kurt Beals and muttered, “Would you look at that Kurt Beals? I’m gonna punch his head!”

“What for?” Brodie asked, winking at Zane.

“Why, he’s holdin’ Al too tight. It’s
unseemly,
that’s what it is!”

“Everything you don’t like is unseemly,” Zane said, grinning.

“Well, look at it my way,” Clinton said with intensity in every line of his body. “For years now I’ve been takin’ care of Aldora, and I’ve been teachin’ her how to act. And now that she’s sort of blossomed out, it’s all due to my upright teachin’.”

“I’m sure she’s grateful. Yes, I remember all the times you took Al out to dances and things. How many times was that, Clinton?” Brodie asked innocently.

“Well, she wasn’t ready. I had to teach her so much, don’t you see? It takes a while to get a young woman all trained up—” Clinton broke off and said angrily, “Look at that! Beals has gone too far!”

“You’d better let Kurt alone. He’s a pretty rough cob,” Zane said. But Clinton, as usual, paid no attention, and made straight for the pair. “He’s gonna get his hair parted if he bumps into Kurt.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time for Clinton. We’d better be there to pull him out from under Kurt before he gets hurt bad.”

Actually there was no fight, but Clinton did have an argument with Beals, who insisted on finishing the dance.

“Well, don’t hold her so tight.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“This is
my
girl. Go find your own, or I’ll inundate you with bodily harm!”

Finally, Beals threw up his hands. “All right, Clinton, you’re always right. I’m sorry, Aldora.”

“That’s all right, Kurt. I enjoyed the dance.”

Clinton came to Aldora and said, “I’ll finish this dance.”

“I thought you were very impolite.”

“He wasn’t actin’ right, Aldora. I’ve got to talk to you about that.”

“He wasn’t doing anything!”

“He was holding you too tight.”

“What about you? You’re holding me tight.”

“Well . . . that’s different.”

“Why is it different?”

“Because those other fellas, they don’t understand how to handle a woman like I do. They might take liberties.”

Aldora was enjoying Clinton’s attention immensely. “And you’re not going to take liberties?”

“Why, did you ever know me to take a liberty?”

“Yes, I did. That time we were on the way back from New Orleans you forced your attentions on me.”

“Well, shucks, that was
your
fault.”

“
My
fault!” Aldora stopped dancing in the middle of the floor and stared at him. “Why was it my fault?”

“Well, because women know how to lure a man on.”

“I didn’t lure you on. If I remember right, we were wrestling, and I was trying to get away from you, and you just kissed me.”

Clinton could not think of any way to get out of that, so he changed the subject. “Well, I’m glad you’ve come to the dance with me.”

“Clinton, tell me the truth. Your ma made you bring me, didn’t she?”

Clinton struggled with his conscience and then said, “Well, I guess she was in favor of it, but she won’t ever have to make me take you anywhere else. Now, it seems to me that we’ve got that all settled—”

“Got
what
all settled? You’ve been walking around like an idiot chasing after Lucy Abbot, and now you bring me to one dance and somehow
it’s all settled.
”

The argument continued until the end of the dance, at which time Aldora was claimed by Devoe Crutchfield, the burly blacksmith. “Devoe, you don’t be holdin’ her too tight.”

“How tight can I hold her, Clint?”

Clinton stared at him. “You behave yourself now. I’m watchin’ ya.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful.”

As Devoe moved out onto the dance floor, he said, “You tell me now if I hold you too tight, Miss Aldora.”

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to Clinton.”

She danced around the floor, her eyes sparkling, and finally she said, “You know, this is the first dance I was ever at in my life, Devoe.”

“Well, I’d never know it. You look like a million dollars, and you dance like a dream. Maybe I’ll come courtin’ myself.”

“That’d be all right. I wouldn’t mind,” Aldora said.

Clinton made up for his silence on the way to the dance by talking constantly all the way home. He went over all of the dances that Aldora had danced with other men, illuminating the dangers of each one of them. Finally, they approached the house, and when he pulled the horses up, he got out and helped her out without being told. When they got to the porch, she turned to him and smiled. It was a smile to cause Clinton to notice, as he had once before, the richness of her lips. Under the light of the stars he could see the rich, yellow gleaming of her hair and could not help but notice the smooth roundness of her shoulders. The moonlight ran over her, accentuating her figure, and her face was like a mirror reflecting her feelings.

“Devoe Crutchfield asked me if he could come calling.”

Clinton blinked. “What did you tell him?”

“I said it’d be all right.”

“Well, I don’t think—”

When he did not complete his sentence, she said, “You don’t think what?”

“I don’t think you ought to go out with Devoe. I mean, after all, he’s the blacksmith.”

She stared at him. “What’s wrong with blacksmiths?”

“They ain’t trustworthy.”

“Why, Clinton Hardin, you must have lost your mind! Devoe Crutchfield is one of the finest young men in town, and you know it!”

“Well, I guess he’s all right, but you and me, we been friends for a long time.”

“Yes, we have. I guess you’ve been my best friend, Clinton.”

Clinton perked up at her words. “Now that sounds better.”

“But a girl can have more than one friend.”

“I reckon maybe we need to be closer friends. That’s it—closer friends. That’s what I want.”

“How close?” Aldora asked. Clinton was not tall, but Aldora was four inches shorter. She was looking up at him now, and he became rather uncomfortable.

“Well, real close,” he said. “You know, at times like this I reckon that it’s probably good for good friends to do something to show how much they care for each other.” He saw Al was smiling at him.

“Like what?” she said.

“Well, maybe I could kiss you good night. But the last time I kissed you, you gave me a black eye.” Suddenly, Clinton saw something in Aldora’s eyes, and he said, “I guess you’d better get ready to black the other eye. I never realized how pretty you were, Aldora, never.”

He reached over, and she did not resist as he put his arms around her.

But as his lips touched hers and he smelled the faint perfume, something stirred within him. He held her tightly and felt her arms go around his neck. The kiss lasted longer than he intended, and finally she drew away.

Her voice was husky as she said, “This was the best time I ever had in my life, Clinton.”

“We’ll do it again.”

“All right.”

“Maybe I’d better come by tomorrow, and we can go riding.”

“You mean do something like digging fish worms and going fishing in the river?”

“No, maybe we’ll have a picnic. We ain’t done that in a long time.”

“We’ve
never
done that,” she said. She put her hand on his chest and said, “You’re a fine man, Clinton, even if your ma did force you to go with me. I enjoyed myself. Good night.”

She turned and walked quickly away, and Clinton called out, “Well, she’s not makin’ me go on no picnic with you.”

“Good night, Clinton.”

Clinton stood there for a moment, thinking that somehow she had gotten the best of him. “Why, shoot,
that
can’t be right,” he muttered. “No woman could ever get the best of me!” He went back, settled down in the buggy, and then bellowed, “I’ll be here about noon. You be ready, you hear me?” Then he slapped the lines on the horses and said, “Get up,” and the horses moved off obediently.

Jerusalem was in bed reading her Bible, an old one that she’d put away long ago. The cover was frayed, and the pages were yellow with age and worn thin. She smiled as she read some of the comments she’d written in the margins. Then she turned to a page and stopped dead still, catching her breath.

With fingers not steady, she carefully picked up the pressed flower that she’d placed there years ago. It was fragile, but the yellow rose still maintained its rich color. Tenderly, she traced the blossom as memories of the night that Clay had given it to her came flooding into her spirit. It had been the night she’d told Kern Herendeen that she’d never marry him. She remembered how Clay had been waiting for her when she got home. He’d told her he’d always love her and had given her this very flower. She’d pressed it in her Bible, and now here it was in her hand. She thought of how their love had grown steadily, and she closed her eyes and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving to God for giving her such a good and loving man.

Clay had gone to sleep long ago. She had been talking, and Clay had just simply fallen asleep, as he did at times, and now she dug her elbow into him and said, “Wake up!”

Clay groaned but rolled over. “What is it?” he said. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t.”

“Well, Jerusalem, you’ve talked like a parrot all night! You told me everything you could possibly know, and I’m sleepy.”

“I want to call our ranch The Yellow Rose Ranch.”

Clay blinked like an owl staring at her. “That ain’t no name for a ranch!”

“Why not?”

“Why, the name of a ranch ought to be tough—like The Wild Steer or some such name.”

“No, it’s going to be The Yellow Rose.”

Clay groaned and shut his eyes. “All right, then, call it the Purple Daisy if you want to. Just let me get some sleep.”

Jerusalem reached out and grabbed a handful of his hair. “There’s one thing I haven’t told you.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You and I are going to have another baby.”

Clay jumped and sat straight up in the bed. “Another baby! Why, I’m too old to have another baby!”

Jerusalem began to laugh. “No, you’re not.”

Clay was wide awake now. He reached over and pulled her to him until their faces were inches apart. “That’s wonderful! You can’t get too many good babies, I always say, but I’m worried about you. You’re a little bit old for havin’ babies.”

“God is giving us this baby,” Jerusalem said. “It’s going to be all right.”

Clay was silent for a moment, thinking it all over, and finally he said, “Hey, maybe it’ll be twins again. We can name them Huz and Buz just like in the Bible.”

“Clay Taliferro, you are impossible! We’re not naming any helpless infants Huz and Buz!” She stroked his cheek and said, “It’s going to be a girl, and her name will be Rose.”

“A mighty fine name—for a girl or a ranch.” He held her in his arms, and for a long time the two talked quietly, and then he said, “Well, I’ve said something nice to you. Now you say somethin’ nice to me.”

“All right, I will. Clay Taliferro—you’re not as bad as you used to be.”

“Why, wife, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m gonna give you an award for them kind words,” he said as he drew her closer.

Jerusalem laughed deeply and murmured, “I can’t guess what it might be! . . .”

THE LONE STAR LEGACY
BEGAN WITH BOOK 1
DEEP IN THE HEART

They came to Texas to make their family whole.
They stayed to fight for the land they’d come to love.
An unforgettable saga of faith, love and loyalty that will find its place deep in your heart.

In the days when Texas was the northern edge of Mexico, when Bowie and Houston and Crockett were men and not yet legends, when the Alamo was still a scruffy mission on the banks of the San Antonio River, this unorthodox family struggled to make a wild but beautiful land their own.

This is the tale of Jerusalem Ann, who is willing to take whatever life dishes out in order to make a life for her family. It’s the story of Clay, who finds himself protecting another man’s family—and in love with another man’s wife. It’s about Jake, who loves two women and can’t do right by either . . . and Julie, who’d rather be free than respectable. . . and Bowie, who can handle war but might not survive his first love.

It’s the story of Comanches and fiestas, hunting parties and courting parties, of battles and massacres and beautiful calm nights under a canopy of stars. Wide as the prairies, warm as a San Antonio breeze, spiced with adventure and romance, this Texas-sized saga of faith from a beloved storyteller will quickly find its place deep in your heart . . . and never let you go.

You can find
Deep in the Heart
wherever good books are sold!

THE LONE STAR LEGACY
CONTINUES WITH BOOK 3

After the battles of the Alamo and San Jacinto, Texas remains a dangerous land. The bloody war for independence has been won, but now begins another war—one of survival.

Clay and Jerusalem Ann Taliferro are determined to make the Yellow Rose Ranch into a cattle kingdom—a dynasty that they can bequeath to their children. First, though, they must reckon with two deadly enemies: Mexican banditos from the south, who make periodic raids on the Taliferros’ herds; and wandering bands of savage Comanches who ride in from the north, killing and kidnapping Texicans.

The entire cattle empire of the newly formed state of Texas could be crushed by its enemies, if not for a small force of men who stand against them. A small but mighty force known as the Texas Rangers.

As the Taliferro family and their fellow Texans fight to preserve the freedom they’ve won, Jerusalem Ann’s son is in a battle of his own. When Clint joins the Rangers, he finds all the adventure he’s desired as these hard riding, quick shooting men throw themselves into a deadly conflict against the Mexican
pistoleros
and the bloodthirsty Comanches. But Clint turns into one of the most deadly of the Rangers, and is in danger of becoming nothing but a killing machine.