A Place Called Harmony (16 page)

“You still afraid of me?”

To his surprise, she shook her head.

“Well, then come over here and hug me good-bye.” He guessed if he’d stepped one step in her direction, she’d probably bolt.

He hadn’t planned on touching her again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the way she’d come to him last night. Two lonely strangers hugging because they didn’t want to be so alone hadn’t helped either of them.

She took two steps toward him and handed him the bag.

He looped it over his saddle horn but didn’t reach for her. “I’m guessing a man should kiss his wife good-bye,” he said, trying to lower his voice. “You have any objections?”

Raising her head, she met his eyes.

He saw uncertainty, shyness, but no fear.
Not hating him
didn’t exactly mean love, he told himself, but if she wanted to act the part of a wife, he could do the same and act the part of a husband. Hell, for all he knew she thought the others might be watching.

Deciding to play the act out, he whispered, “One more step, dear.”

She moved closer, still looking at him with eyes that might burst into tears at any moment.

He slowly lifted his hand to her shoulder.

She didn’t move. He wasn’t holding her, just touching. She could run if she wanted to.

Leaning down, he kissed her forehead, thinking that her hair smelled like honeysuckle. Then, with little determination and no need, he lowered his mouth to her lips.

When she didn’t pull away, he tasted her lips. They were far softer than he’d thought lips were supposed to be. Not that he was an expert. He was thirty and could count on one hand the women he’d kissed.

As his mouth pressed her soft, welcoming lips, he felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d kissed a woman, and Clint had forgotten it ever feeling so good.

His arm slid behind her shoulders and he drew her close as his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips. She was stiff in his arms, but her mouth tasted so good he couldn’t make himself stop with an innocent kiss. He tugged at her bottom lip until it puffed, and he pulled it slightly into his mouth for a better taste.

Then, as if realizing what he was doing with a woman who’d never even called him by his first name, he pulled a few inches away. “I—I didn’t mean to do that.” Her eyes were closed, her head still lifted as if waiting for him to continue. “Did you mind that?”

When she didn’t answer, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Did you mind the way I kissed you just now?”

“No,” she answered. “I’ve never been kissed like that before. I found it quite pleasant.”

Several questions popped into his mind.
How could a woman with a baby not know a man’s kiss?
for one. But he’d sworn not to ask about her past, so he had little hope of being answered.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “I want you to know that it’s me kissing you again.”

She followed his order. “All right.”

When he saw no fear in her blue depths, he lowered his mouth over hers once more. The taste was still there, warm and sweet. Her lips were plump, welcoming and wet from the last kiss. He took his time learning the feel of her, enjoying something so newborn and familiar at the same time. When she sighed, he parted her lips and the kiss deepened.

She didn’t protest but seemed to be offering him a gift freely given. He raised his free hand and cupped the side of her face as he pulled away just far enough to look at her.

Her eyes were closed again, but she didn’t move. Her mouth remained slightly open and her lips were swollen and wet.

He ran his thumb over her mouth, enjoying the feel of what he’d just tasted. “One more,” he whispered against her as he kissed her again. This time harder, faster. A kiss good-bye.

When he finished, he left one arm around her as he grabbed the reins of his horse and began walking out into the morning sun.

“Now you remember to eat,” he said, thinking that he should have said something else. Something kind. Something endearing. But he wasn’t that kind of man. “And take care of that baby. When I get back I want you to have thought of a name. If you can’t, we’ll start through all my relatives and maybe one will suit your fancy.”

“I will.” She matched her steps with his.

“And when I get back, dear, I expect, if you’ve no objection, to try another kiss.” He figured he’d be thinking about the few they’d just shared for most of the trip.

“Of course, Truman.”

The other families were moving onto the porch to wave good-bye. Even the dog’s fat tail was thumping on the boards. There was no privacy now. Clint simply gripped her shoulder for a moment before turning loose and swinging up into his saddle.

He looked down. “I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

A slight smile brushed those lips that tasted so good he might get addicted. As if she could read his mind, she blushed and lifted her fingers to her mouth.

Truman tipped his hat to the group and kicked his horse into a run. If he didn’t leave fast, he was afraid he’d think of another reason to stay a little longer because, if he stayed longer, he’d have to have another kiss.

As he rode, he calculated in his mind. Four days of hard riding and he’d be in Dallas. One, maybe two days to get the crew and then, if he pushed a little, they could make the trip back in ten or eleven days. The first thing he planned to do when he got back was get his silent wife alone and see if the kiss that still lingered in his thoughts was as good as the memory of it.

The road to Dallas, which had seemed calm and relaxing when Truman drove his new family north to the job, now took on a completely different light. The little wagon with their few belongings had easily taken the streams and uphill climbs, but wide, loaded wagons would be harder to move across uneven ground. The mules would be slower than his pair of horses, but they’d be able to pull five times the load. He carefully mapped out every mile as he moved toward Dallas.

Skills he’d learned while still a boy in the war served him well now. The first night he didn’t bother with a fire, but the second day turned cloudy and he stopped in time to have a fire going before dark.

He thought sleep would claim him, but it didn’t. After he ate the last of the food Daisy had insisted he bring, Clint rolled up in his bedroll and stared at the fire. His mind turned back to the kiss he’d shared with Karrisa. He still didn’t think of her most of the time as his wife. A wife seemed like so much more than someone who mended his clothes.

She probably didn’t think of him as much of a husband either. But now that he’d had time to think for a few days, Clint guessed she was trying her best. He didn’t know her past, but he’d bet she’d never been married. That meant the baby was a bastard.

Clint swore.
Was
didn’t matter. The boy was his kid now and he’d stand against any man who said he wasn’t.

Slowly the truth, standing on no facts, came to him. She’d never kissed a man who cared for her, but she had a baby. That meant she’d been forced. Raped.

The things she’d asked for before she agreed to marry him came through loud and clear. That he wouldn’t hit her. That he’d never force her.

She’d been forced. Raped more than once, he guessed from the amount of fear he’d first seen in her eyes. Whatever she’d done after that, be it a crime or not, must have been justified. Maybe she’d killed the attacker, or maybe she’d stolen to get away.

Another realization tumbled in his mind. When she walked out of the prison that night, not one person, family or friend, waited for her. They’d all turned their backs.

Rage like he hadn’t known since the war boiled in Clint. Rage so great it wiped away all his own sorrow and self-pity. He wanted to ride back to her and demand she tell him all about what had happened to her, and then he’d make a list of all the people he planned to get to the hereafter faster. One man might have raped her, but others stood by and did nothing.

She must not have had a father, or a brother, or any man who’d stand up for her. If she had, they would have done the killing of the man who got her with child.

That was why she couldn’t think of the baby’s name. She didn’t know one good man to name him after. Clint stared at the fire, guessing that she was no one’s daughter, no one’s sister, no one’s love.

But despite all that had happened to her, she was trying to be his wife. She’d mended his clothes. She’d cooked his food even though he’d never said a word of thanks. She’d even dressed in front of him when he told her that’s what wives did.

And she’d let him kiss her. Without fear, she’d let him kiss her. Not because she loved him, or probably even liked him, but because she wanted to be his wife.

The
Why?
ached inside him until it finally gave birth to one fact he knew for certain.

She’d married him; she stayed with him because she had nowhere else to go. He had a wife because she had no other home; no one else cared if she lived or died. He didn’t love her, or even notice her all that much. He wasn’t kind, but he’d promised to keep her safe. And that was enough for a woman who had nothing.

Maybe letting him kiss her was Karrisa’s way of showing him that she was no longer afraid of him. In her book, that probably made him one man in a million. A man she could trust.

Trust wasn’t much to build a lifetime on, but for her what he offered was priceless.

With that, Clint finally relaxed and let reason rule. He couldn’t go back. He was halfway to Dallas. People were depending on him and needing this load. He had a job to do. He had to get the wagons safely back to the trading post.

Once he did, he’d build his wife a house. He’d give her that little square of land she wanted for an orchard so she could plant the apple seeds she carried hidden in the cuffs of her traveling clothes.

The next day Clint rode through a drizzle of rain. By nightfall he was passing the settlements north of Dallas. As the rain began to pour, he stopped at a livery in some town he didn’t even know the name of and paid for a night. The livery boy said he’d rub the horse down and feed him hay and oats.

Clint thought of sleeping in the barn but decided to run across the street. Sleeping in a real bed sounded good.

The room wasn’t particularly clean, but the hotel was quiet. He ordered a meal delivered along with a hot bath and hung his clothes up to dry before falling into bed. As he drifted to sleep he dreamed of his Mary and their daughters playing beneath an old cottonwood. The branches were so low that his daughters vanished in and out of his sight as they danced around the tree. Mary smiled at him, but she too faded in and out, almost as if the late sun were blinking on and off in the meadow.

At dawn he woke sore from not moving, but smiling. Clint couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d slept the night away. He dressed as he had since the day his family died, in all black, and went downstairs. After eating two breakfasts, he walked over and picked up his horse. Travel this day would be muddy, but he didn’t care; he’d be in Dallas before afternoon.

Something had settled in his mind during his days alone.

T
RADING
P
OST

Gillian rolled over slowly and faced Daisy. He guessed it was long after midnight. “Honey,” he whispered. “You awake?”

“No, Captain, I’m asleep,” she answered.

He smiled. When she was next to him he usually slept soundly, but Daisy woke even when he rolled over. Maybe that was part of being a mom. “I think I’m about recovered, honey; you don’t have to worry about me.”

He’d stayed up all day today, even helped Ely in the store. For some reason Gillian was the one the old man told his dream to. McAllen would build it and Truman would protect it, but Ely thought it would be Gillian who would make the town work.

Daisy touched his arm. “Worrying about you has become a habit. I sometimes think I do it in my sleep.”

“I know. I think about you in my sleep too, but it’s not usually worrying that keeps me awake. Daisy, why don’t you sleep under the covers?”

She shook her head. “When we have a house and the boys are in their own rooms, then I’ll sleep under the covers.”

Gillian frowned. “That could be weeks. I’m not waiting weeks to sleep with my wife.”

He’d said the words a bit too loud. One of the twins woke up and started crying, which woke up the other twin.

Without a word, Daisy moved off the bed and picked up both boys. “I’ll be in the store until they fall asleep again.”

As she left, Gillian frowned. Apparently he wasn’t going to sleep with his wife. First, he tried to think of an argument that would change her mind; then he decided it might be easier to build the house she wanted.

The next morning, after breakfast, Gillian insisted he was strong enough to work. All the others argued, but it was Ely who came up with the answer. “The captain can help the McAllens for a few hours; then he can relieve me in the store.” Ely wanted to help, but he didn’t want to be gone all day.

All agreed.

Daisy had told Gillian that the trading post books were solid but wouldn’t stand the building of a town. Sometime soon they’d need to sell lots in town to keep building. They’d need more supplies as well as more workers. If this plan was to work, Gillian knew he had to think big, not small. He had to see Ely’s dream coming true, not just a few houses standing next to the trading post, but a town with streets and businesses.

For a few days, the plan of him and Ely splitting the outside duties worked. Gillian ran the store and usually watched over Abe and Ben while Daisy fed the two little ones and got them down for a nap.

Gillian didn’t risk talking in the middle of the night again. He hated that he never had a moment alone with his own wife. Seeing her and not being able to touch her was worse than missing her. When they were in their room, four little ones were also there. By the time they got the boys to sleep, people were in every other room of the trading post.

Each morning Gillian got up more determined to work. After a few days he and the McAllens finished the fireplace at the Trumans’ place and moved to the next square of land. Gillian chose the next farm. With luck it would grow out in two directions and become a real ranch. But right now the forty acres was flat, rich land with lots of open space for the boys to roam. He talked Ely into holding the land that ran toward a canyon wall. “I can’t pay you now, but someday I will buy that land all the way to the canyon even if I have to do it ten acres at a time.”

Ely grinned. “You men are doing just what I hoped you would do; you’re wanting more land. The more you buy, the more likely you’ll stay, so I’ll sell it to you low. Truman gave me a dollar an acre for another hundred acres. I’ll hold a hundred running next to your land for ten dollars.”

“Fair enough.”

“You all three get your land where we’re cutting the road, but you can go as far out from there as you like.”

Shelly walked into the store just as Gillian and Ely shook hands on the deal. Shelly had been clearing the road that would lead to all three farms. Without a word, he laid a piece of paper and ten silver dollars on the counter.

Ely picked it up and smiled. “You got yourself a deal, Mr. McAllen. Now get back to work on that road past the lone oak.”

Shelly nodded once and walked out.

“What was that all about?” Gillian wondered aloud.

“Shelly McAllen just put down ten dollars on a hundred acres on the other side of Lone Oak Road, straight across from his brother. He writes he’ll give me half his salary until the land is paid off and he’ll build his own house when he has time. He named the road and I guess he had a right, he’s building it.” Ely put the ten dollars in a box on the top shelf. “Captain, looks like we just increased the population of my town to thirteen.”

Gillian watched Ely pick up his paint bucket and go outside to repaint the sign as he sat down behind the counter to work. He wanted everything legal from the first. There were papers to draw up and have signed. He’d have his work cut out for him to keep everything in order.

A week passed, Gillian discovered that some days no one stopped in, and other days wagons stopped and men hung around the stove drinking free coffee and talking for hours. Wagons coming from the north were few, but they arrived with long lists. They were the settlers who liked the solitude of the open country. Most had ranches. A few raised sheep. Ely’s trading post was the closest most came to civilization.

During quiet times, Gillian worked on his map. If the town was planned well it would be easy to get around in. A hundred things had to be taken into consideration. He wanted a town square where businesses would be close to one another and quiet streets where families lived and children could walk to the schoolhouse without having to cross major roads.

Gillian almost laughed aloud. Planning a town was far more fun than planning a fort.