When a Texan Gambles (12 page)

He took her small hand in his but didn’t shake. He only felt it for a long moment enjoying the softness.

Then she was gone, rounding the wagon and climbing up on the bench. “I’ll call you when I reach the river. Until then why don’t you try to sleep.”

Sam leaned back against the blankets. “You know the way?”

Sarah lifted her chin. “I found it the first time, didn’t I?”

He stared at the sky and figured out why
widow
was a much more popular word than
widower.
She was determined to kill him. If she missed a single bump in the road, he would have been surprised.

He glanced over at the two bottles of whiskey he’d had Moon put in with the supplies. His leg still throbbed and his arm hurt like hell, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she would have to say if he reached for one of the bottles. He downed the rest of the water in the canteen and tried to relax.

By the time they reached the river, the sky had grown cloudy. He slowly maneuvered up beside her on the bench. Using his unharmed leg, he braced himself and pulled her back against him as the horses splashed into the water. This time, with only one arm to hold her, he felt Sarah rocking on the bench more.

“Are you all right?” he asked as she bumped against him.

“No,” she answered without looking at him. “I’ll probably break my back any minute. I’m not strong, you know.”

“You’re doing fine,” he encouraged as he slid his hand along her arm and braced her efforts as she managed the reins. “You made it down this river with me passed out last time. It can’t be any harder now.”

But they were both exhausted when they reached the clearing.

“How did you ever find this place?” Sarah asked as they unloaded.

“A friend told me about it.” Sam didn’t add that the friend had been an outlaw. “He said he could go up in the trees if he didn’t want anyone coming to find him.”

Sarah dropped the blanket she’d been unloading. “Up in the trees,” she whispered as she hurried toward the edge of the cottonwoods.

Sam watched her moving along the tree line, staring into the branches.

“There!” she shouted. “There they are.”

Sam limped over and looked up to where she pointed. The light played tricks on his vision, dancing between shadow and light, but after a few minutes he saw it. A shelf built between two huge branches about eight feet off the ground. A shelf floored wide enough to lay a blanket down and sturdy enough to hold two or three men.

“Well, I’ll be.” He moved closer. “All the times I’ve been here and I never noticed that.”

Three small heads poked over the edge of the tree house. “Children!” he whispered in surprise.

Sarah poked him in the ribs. “Of course, children. Those are your kids.”

They watched as the little ones climbed down from their nest. He thought of arguing with her one more time that he didn’t have children, but with the proof in front of him, he didn’t have much to stand on.

“Hello,” K.C. said as she reached the ground and stared up at him. “We didn’t think you would come back.”

The two smaller ones stood at her side, looking up at Sam as if he were a giant.

Sarah touched each of them on the head. “Of course we came back, but this time you have to go with us. No more running away to hide.”

K.C. shook her head. “The man, Malone, told us we would only be safe here. Nowhere else. He said our daddy would come for us.”

“Well, now he has.” Sarah smiled. “And we plan to take you somewhere warm to stay. Wait until you see the wool I bought to make you a dress.”

If Sarah noticed that the children only stared at Sam, she did not comment.

K.C. only stared at her, obviously not believing a word. Sarah hugged the two smaller children, then offered to make them something to eat. As the little ones began helping her collect wood for a fire, Sam’s hand stopped K.C.

He waited until Sarah was far enough away not to hear, then motioned to K.C. to move farther along the tree line. The child looked frightened, but she obeyed.

After they were several feet away from the others, Sam lowered slowly to a downed tree trunk so he wouldn’t seem so huge to her. When she didn’t say anything, he whispered, “You know I’m not your father, don’t you?”

K.C. nodded as she stared down at her fingers. “I thought you could be. I’ve never seen him in light, and I remember seeing you once talking to my mama. But you don’t sound like he does. Back home he would always come late at night. I could hear him talking to my mama. She said he watched over us all the time, even when we didn’t even know he was around. I would sometimes stay awake and listen to him talk. I liked the way he sounded.”

Sam studied her. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“Molly,” the girl answered. “But she’s dead.”

“And your father’s name?”

“Mama would never tell me. She said it was best no one knew, not even me.” Tears bubbled in the girl’s eyes. “I don’t know why she couldn’t have told me. I wouldn’t have said anything to anyone. I promise.”

Sam thought of patting her on the shoulder, but he figured he might frighten the poor child to death if he did. “I know who your father is, K.C., and I know where to find him, but your mother was right, it’s important we keep not only his name, but anything about him a secret until I can get the three of you to him.”

He watched Sarah moving around the campfire, setting up a home like a mother hen. “K.C.,” he whispered without looking at the girl. “Until we find your real dad, maybe you better keep telling folks I’m your father. It could be safest for both you and him.”

The child nodded. “But when we find him, will he tell me?” She fought back tears. “Will he want us? Will he love us?”

Sam looked at her then, her blue eyes dancing with the fun of a lie. “I know for a fact he loves you. He’ll want you.” Sam grinned. “By the way, you have your true father’s eyes. You’ll know when you see him that he’s the real one.”

Before he could react, the child did the strangest thing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

TEN

“DON’T EVEN TRY TO TELL ME THOSE ARE NOT YOUR kids,” Sarah whispered an inch from Sam’s nose. “I saw K.C. hugging you.”

For a moment all he could manage was to breathe in the fresh honeysuckle aroma of the woman above him.

She’d crawled atop his blanket about the time his body relaxed enough to sleep. He barely had time to smile before he realized she only came to talk.

“They are not my children,” he said calmly as she dug an elbow into his chest as though she leaned on a table and not flesh.

She touched his lips with her fingertips. “Quiet! They’ll hear you.”

He didn’t care if the children heard him, but he did like the taste of her finger. The kids knew he wasn’t their father. Frank Jackson’s wife had taught them to lie to protect them; having an outlaw for an old man could be dangerous. She knew if they even said his name, it could place them in danger.

Couldn’t Sarah notice they paid him little or no mind? Didn’t she wonder why, if they were his kids, that they hadn’t worried, or at least cared, if he lived or died?

Sarah had spent the entire evening referring to him as “Papa” in front of them but that didn’t make it so.

Sam remembered meeting their mother once when he’d stopped at her place long enough to deliver a message from a man he owed a favor to. She greeted him with wide-eyed fear until she saw the letter in his hand. After that, Sam was pretty sure she never more than glanced at him again.

He tried to remember what Frank Jackson’s wife had looked like. Thin. Not too tall. But taller than the lady propped against his rib cage.

“You cold?” he asked Sarah as she shivered.

“No,” she lied as she pulled her blanket around her shoulders.

Sam guessed she had given away most of the covers to the children, who now slept soundly and warm by the fire.

“Come on, climb under mine.” Sam lifted one side of his blanket. “If we use both our blankets, we might not freeze.”

She hesitated.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sarah. If I planned to attack you, I would have done so long before now.”

She nodded and scooted beneath his blanket while spreading hers over them both.

“What are the rules?” she whispered, wiggling at his side.

“Rules?”

“You know, the rules for sleeping beside you. All men have them.”

He let out a long breath, guessing the “all men” totaled one former husband. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “The few times I’ve had a woman in my bed, we didn’t sleep.”

Sarah leaned up and placed her elbow back on his chest as she stared down at him. “You never slept with a woman? Truly?”

For the first time in more years than he could remember, a blush warmed his weather-tanned cheeks. Sarah acted as if he’d just told her he was a virgin. In truth, for a man who spent most of his time alone, never staying one place long enough to get to know anyone, he probably was as close to a virgin as a man his age gets.

He watched firelight dance in her hair and tried to figure out how to explain. “The women I took to my bed worked nights and didn’t have all that much time.”

“Oh,” she said. “Poor things. Granny Vee sometimes had to deliver a baby in the middle of the night. I always helped, and then it would take me days to get caught up on my sleep.”

Sam fought to keep from laughing. “Well, I gave them a little extra money to help them out.”

Sarah propped her chin on her hand. “That was nice of you. You see, Sam, about the time I think you are all bad, you surprise me and tell me something nice.”

“Nobody’s all bad or all good, Sarah.” He couldn’t see her eyes for the shadows, but he knew she studied him. The woman was always watching him as though she’d never seen the likes of him in her life.

He thought about telling her about the kids’ father. About how Frank Jackson walked through a hail of bullets to help his friend out. About how a no-good member of a train-robbing gang had risked his life for another when the Bass gang had been ambushed at Round Rock a few years back.

Sam had been across the street when three members of the gang rode in to check out the bank. The sheriff and the Rangers had been tipped off, so they were ready for the outlaws. One was killed with a shot to the head by a young Ranger named Ware.

Sam figured the Bass gang would all be propped up in coffins within the hour. But Frank rode away that day, holding a wounded Bass in the saddle.

Later that night Sam accidentally stumbled into Frank’s camp. The outlaw drew first and could have killed Sam, but he didn’t. Maybe he’d seen enough killing for one day. But, whatever the reason, Sam never turned Frank Jackson in.

“I could tell you some of the rules if you like.” Sarah pulled Sam from the past as she relaxed beside him. “I’ve been sleeping next to people all my life.”

“All right.” He put his head on his unbandaged arm and waited. He imagined the first rule would probably be that he’d never fall asleep with her wiggling next to him. He’d dreamed a few times of having a woman to sleep with, but there were always too many strings to make it seem practical or fair to her.

When he saw Sarah in jail, he’d thought, finally there was a woman who might consider being married to him an improvement on her status. The question that gnawed at him was why had he considered the idea this time?

“Well,” she began, as if he were paying attention, “first, don’t touch any more than necessary. And if your feet are cold, don’t put them on the other person’s leg.”

“Are your feet cold?” he interrupted.

“My feet are always cold.” She rose once more to her perch on his chest. “And Granny Vee used to say never sleep with your face close to each other or you’ll catch each other’s breath. She told me once that she knew of a couple who slept nose to nose, and there wasn’t enough air for them both. They were found dead in their bed one morning, their eyes wide open, staring at each other in surprise.”

Sam couldn’t stop the laughter that rumbled all the way from his gut. He almost knocked her off him.

When he calmed down, he asked, “Any other rules?”

Sarah leaned her head sideways, as if considering not telling him any more. “Just that there are some places you can accidentally touch and some places you can’t.”

“What are they?”

She rolled to her back and stared up at the stars. “Like our arms are touching now. That’s all right.”

“What’s not all right?”

“I swear, Sam Gatlin, you must be seven or eight years older than me, you’d think you would have learned a few things in all that time.”

“But you’ve been married,” he commented, as if that somehow made her wiser. “You’ve been through this before.”

“That’s true. Marriage teaches you a great deal. But if you don’t know some things, I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”