Without Words (42 page)

She’d gone on all the way to the end of the line. Bret tried to remember what the town was like. Small, mean, dirty. She couldn’t stay there, which meant.... He caught the next train west, feeling sick.

Everyone who had remembered Hassie in Kansas City and Denver remembered a finely dressed woman. The story was different at the railhead. “You got stones if you’re after that woman, mister. Arrived looking like a fine lady and left in trousers looking like something you wouldn’t want to mess with. Pulled a gun on old Frankie Hamblin when he got smart with her.”

“And where is Old Frankie now?” Bret asked, pleased to find someone to vent his spleen on.

His informant’s eyes slid to the side. “Caught a ride east a couple of days ago, going to work out of Denver now.”

Bret grunted and went to saddle Jasper. The leaden skies and dark clouds over the mountains didn’t bode well for an easy ride, and he didn’t care. If he didn’t stop, he could make Dearfield in a day and a half. If she wasn’t there.... He refused to think of that.

D
EARFIELD WAS AS
Bret remembered, a small town quietly thriving doing business with ranchers to the east and north, miners to the west, and farmers to the south. When the railroad finally reached the town, it would boom.

He resisted the temptation to ride straight to MacGregors’ and pound on the door. Jasper was exhausted, the least he could do was get the horse taken care of. Not only that... Brownie and Packie nickered a happy greeting to their old companion from the same corral where they’d spent months while Bret recovered.

The black fear Bret had been fighting since leaving Missouri disappeared. Anger flared for a moment then that dissolved too, leaving him cold, tired, and empty.

“Rub him down, feed him, and put him in with the other two,” he told the stable man, ignoring the knowing eyes.

The whole town knew. He could feel all the eyes as he walked toward MacGregors’. Sheriff Fleming emerged from his office and stood leaning against the door frame. Bret raised a hand. The sheriff did the same.

Remembering the attitude of the people of Dearfield toward Hassie, Bret knew he wasn’t going to throw her over his shoulder and ride off with her, not that he ever planned to.

Mrs. MacGregor answered the door. “It’s about time. What took you so long?”

Bret shrugged, remembering frantic hours wasted in Kansas City and Denver, but unwilling to answer the question.

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Too bad. I’m not going away until she talks to me.”

“Suit yourself.”

The door closed in his face. He considered kicking it in, decided he didn’t have the strength and it probably wasn’t a good idea, and sat on the edge of the porch. Gunner came round the corner of the house and growled.

“Don’t,” Bret said. “Unless you want to pay me back every damned rabbit I ever shot for you, don’t.”

Gunner gave a suspicious sniff, then a tentative wag. Satisfied at last, he sat on Bret’s foot and leaned against his leg.

“At least that makes one part of me that’s warm.” And one member of the family willing to forgive him, although dogs were all forgiving fools.

He sat, feeling the cold working its way into his bones, wondering how long she’d hold out, how long he could.

The door opened behind him, and she was there, looking both beautiful and implacable, no welcome on her face.

W
HEN
H
ASSIE OPENED
the door, Gunner, deserter that he was, took the opportunity to slip by her and run for his bed by the stove in the kitchen.

Bret rose slowly, using his good leg and the cane. Her heart ached at the sight of him, bearded, gaunt. The skin under his eyes looked bruised and made his gray eyes darker, tired, sad. Hassie fought the urge to throw herself in his arms, go anywhere he wanted, do anything he asked.

She’d known he would come after her, fled to this place hoping it would help her find the resolve to resist him. People here saw her as a friend. They respected her. Maybe that would give her strength not to give in if Bret kissed her and turned her boneless. She had to keep sight of what she wanted, needed for herself and their child.

The cold already had her shivering. She stepped back and gestured for him to follow. Once close to the fireplace in the parlor, she let him know her position.

“I will not go back.”

“I’m not asking you to. I should have paid attention without you scaring me to death traveling across three states by yourself, but I got used to you being agreeable. Caroline says I have no give to me, which is another way to say I’m pigheaded and selfish, and she’s right.”

Hassie shook her head a little. Pigheaded, yes. Selfish, no, never.

“I was ready to use your good nature as an excuse to have my own way, which is a shameful thing to have to admit, and I’m sorry. If you want to stay here, I’m willing to look for land here. Tell me what you want.”

One hand had moved to her stomach. Realizing what she was doing, Hassie made herself stop and sign instead. “Then you will be unhappy. You want to live near them, see them, give them things.”

“No, I had a lot of time to think about it. The way things are is as much my fault as theirs. I should have stopped helping them the day the house was finished, but I kept going because it let me avoid the future as much as it did them. We’ll all be better off with me far away.”

“You will stay here? We will never have to see them?”

“I love you, Hassie. I love you, and I won’t lie to you. You don’t ever have to see any of them again, but I’d like to. The railroad will be here in another year or two. A visit will only take days. When our children are old enough to make the trip, I’d like them to at least meet their aunts and their grandparents, even my truly foolish father.”

She wanted to refuse, remembered Mrs. MacGregor’s advice about marriage and compromise. “Not your brother.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not Mary.”

“No Mary.”

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“I love you.”

“I know you do. I kept your note, so I have it in writing.”

“Say it.”

“I love you, Hassie.”

She gave in and threw herself in his arms.

“I understood that,” he whispered, and he kissed her until she was boneless.

SUMMER 1876

SOUTH OF DEARFIELD, COLORADO

B
RET FINISHED READING
the latest letter from Caroline, folded it, and put it back in the envelope. “So do we want to visit Denver this winter, or do we tell them to come here for a change?”

“Let’s visit Aunt Caroline,” four-year-old Julia said, poking at her oatmeal as if she expected to find something interesting in the depths.

Hassie put down the damp rag she was using to clean most of his breakfast from their son’s face. Approaching his first birthday, Patrick’s enthusiasm for solid food remained minimal.

“Let us visit Caroline,” she signed. After one more swipe at Patrick’s scrunched up face, she added, “We can get away easier than Simon can from the bank.”

“My mother will probably want to visit at the same time then.”

“That’s fine.”

Gunner’s visitors-coming bark sounded from the front yard. Julia abandoned her porridge and ran for the front door. “I’ll see who it is. I’ll see.”

Bret jumped up and caught her before she made it to the door. “Suppose we see together.”

A quick glance through a front window showed a wagon stopped only a few feet from the porch, a heavy man and his round wife on the seat. Gunner had abandoned guard dog duties and reared up against the side of the wagon. The pretty mahogany and white collie in the bed leaned down to touch noses with him.

“It’s the Snarlys,” Julia said.

“Sshh.” Bret rubbed a hand over his face to hide a smile. “Their name is Narly, and don’t you forget it.”

Snarly fit the unfriendly farmer better than his true name, and Julia wasn’t the only one to use it, but without a reminder she might be the first to use it to Mr. Narly’s face.

“We’d better go see what he wants.” Bret kept a firm hold of his enthusiastic daughter’s hand as they approached the wagon. “Good morning, Mr. Narly. Ma’am.”

“Mornin’” At least that’s what Bret assumed the man grunted. His wife smiled and nodded.

“What can I do for you this morning?” Bret said, expecting a complaint to do with their common border on the east side of his property.

“The missus says we should give you first choice if you want it. Second choice really. We already picked ours. I told her she’s being foolish, but she’s set on it. Whole thing’s her fault. I’m not blaming you.”

Hassie came out of the house carrying Patrick, whose face was shining, but who in Bret’s experience would soon need his bottom cleaned. She handed him the wiggling baby, and Bret settled the small form against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid I’m not clear on the problem, Mr. Narly. Would you like to light for a while, have a cup of coffee, and explain?”

“Nope, got to deliver the ones spoken for and talk to some folks the missus is sure will want the others.”

Bret felt like scratching his head. “I don’t understand....”

“The missus has been wanting a pup from our Meggie for a long time. I admit I put it off, and Meggie’s not getting younger, but I wanted a good dog for the sire, you understand?”

All of a sudden, Bret had a feeling he did. A sinking feeling. He and Hassie moved closer to the wagon as one and looked in the bed. Five fat mahogany and white puppies raced to the side and jumped up, tails wagging. Hassie laughed and petted one after the other.

“I want to see. I want to see.” Julia tried to climb on the wagon wheel.

Keeping hold of Patrick with one hand, Bret lifted Julia high enough to see with the other.

“Oh, aren’t they beautiful!”

Bret closed his eyes for a moment, knowing where this was leading. “You aren’t telling me Gunner had anything to do with those.”

“He did. Like I said, I’m not blaming you. It was Meggie’s time, and the missus saw him in the yard and da— darned if she didn’t decide she didn’t want to wait any longer for a pup. Didn’t admit to me what she done till the old girl was almost bursting with them pups. Lucky thing for Meggie there was only six.”

Bret counted again. “Maybe you lost one on the way here? There are only five.”

“Aah, there’s six.” Narly gave a few hard raps with his boot against the floor of the wagon.

A sixth puppy emerged from under the seat, sat, and studied the situation. This one was no mahogany and white butterball. Scruffy yellow hair, coffin-shaped head, suspicious expression. Male. Bret would bet the farm this one was male.

Hassie chirped and hummed. The puppy cocked his head and after a further moment’s consideration, strolled over to meet her. She picked him up, and he licked her ear, his tail beginning to wag.

When she put the puppy down, Gunner gave up reminiscing with his old lover and came to investigate. The puppy growled. Gunner swatted him to the ground with a paw. The puppy hopped right back up and growled louder.

“We must take him,” Hassie signed. “No one else will want him.”

That was as true as any words ever signed or spoken. Julia had the puppy in her lap now, and he had stopped growling. He’d be just like his sire, a menace to half the population and self-appointed defender of the other half.

“You’re probably safe for ten years or so,” Bret muttered to his son. “We’ll take this one, thank you,” he said to Narly.

“Missus said you would. I told her she was crazy, I should have drowned that one the first day, but I guess she’s right.” Narly shook his head and clucked to his horses, and the wagon moved off. Mrs. Narly smiled and waved at them over her shoulder.

“Maybe you should teach that poor woman sign language,” Bret said. “She doesn’t seem to talk much.”

Hassie laughed again and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You know sometimes I look at the front porch of the house and see us sitting there on the porch swing watching children in the yard. More than just these two, I’m afraid.”

“How many more?”

“Five. I see five all told.”

“That would be nice.”

“I’m glad you think so. Then I see us getting older and grayer, and the children getting bigger, and all of a sudden they’re full size and sitting on the porch with us and there are other children playing in the yard. I figure those are grandchildren.”

“How many?”

“A bunch. The thing is what else I see always seemed impossible. Gunner’s already getting his first gray hairs, and I always see a dog running with all those children. A yellow dog.”

“You had a vision.”

Bret knew he had an overactive imagination, but he’d never had anything he considered a vision. Patrick squirmed on his shoulder, and Bret put him down in the grass long enough to kiss his wife properly.

Her arms tightened around his neck. She pressed against him from knee to chest, and her tongue touched his.

Imagination or vision, the future would be as it would be. He forgot about prospective children and grandchildren. Right now there was only Hassie, and she was telling him everything he needed to know about the present without words.