A Place Called Harmony (27 page)

Clint ate his breakfast in silence, hating the noise and all the people between him and Karrisa. The thought occurred to him to fire off a few shots to clear the room, but all the soldiers were armed and might fire back.

Finally he gave up and headed back out to the corral. Everyone on the place seemed to think it was time for him to leave but him. The Romas were already packed and the ladies had loaded Momma Roma down with enough food to feed an army. Harry must have talked to Ely about hauling just for the trading post because he was hugging the women good-bye and asking what they wanted him to bring back.

Everyone was ready except Clint. He didn’t want to leave, not yet. Not without another night with Karrisa. She was in the middle of all the action, helping get everything ready, so he had no hope of getting her alone.

By nine the wagons were lined up, looking very much like a caravan. The army sergeant said he’d take over guarding the outlaw, who’d been complaining about his treatment since being caught. He said the food was good, but not enough, and he planned to come back and kill every last one of them. The sergeant didn’t listen. He had men to guard and the knowledge to make sure the man made it to his trial in Dallas. For him, taking over the prisoner was just part of his job.

Clint saddled his horse. He planned on driving his wagon down and back, so he wouldn’t have to hire an extra wagon to haul everything he needed for his house. Only Momma Roma’s youngest son, Antonio, said he’d like to give driving a try, and everyone agreed he was old enough. They put the boy in the middle of the line so he wasn’t likely to get in much trouble.

As the wagons pulled out, one by one, past the trading post, Clint finally saw his wife standing alone between the store and the barn.

He rode close, then jumped off his horse to say good-bye. When he was a foot away, he couldn’t think of all he wanted to say to her and, as always, she didn’t say anything. She just stared up at him with those haunting blue eyes he’d never get tired of looking at, and he realized how beautiful she was.

He straightened, shocked that he hadn’t noticed before. The frail, thin woman he married was still slim, but she was so lovely, like a fine lady, far too good for the likes of him.

“You be sure and eat regular,” was all he could think of to say. “And take good care of Danny. I don’t want him hanging around those Matheson twins picking up bad habits.”

She smiled that tight little smile of hers.

“You don’t need to worry; you’ll be safe here until I get back.” He stared down at her, wishing he were the kind of man who could say fancy words to let her know how important she was to him, but all he could do was stand there as she slipped a piece of paper in his pocket.

“I wrote down a few things I’ll need in Dallas. If you have time—”

“I’ll have time.”

She smiled and patted his pocket. “Come back to me,” she whispered.

Circling her waist, he lifted her up. “I will, dear. I promise.”

He kissed her then. Not as long or as hard as he wanted to, but long enough to let her know that she’d be on his mind every day he was gone.

“Truman!” Patrick yelled from the corner of the porch. “If you don’t hurry up and say good-bye to Karrisa they’ll be in Dallas before you catch up with the wagons.”

Clint swore, then kissed her again. “When I get back—”

Giggling, she buried her face against his shirt. “I know. I feel the same.”

He knew if he didn’t pull away, he might not be able to leave this woman. She wasn’t just his wife, she’d become a part of him. The best part, he decided.

As he rode off doing his job of scouting, she never left his thoughts. The ache to hold her wouldn’t go away. All he could do was get this job over with and get back to her as fast as possible.

Near sunset he thought of the note she’d placed in his pocket. He stopped his horse on a rise where he could watch the wagons and pulled it from his pocket.

Just as he’d expected, the penmanship was perfect. She’d listed exactly what she needed. A special kind of thread he would find only in a dress shop. Ribbon in several colors that Ely didn’t carry. The makings for a summer bonnet. A yard of lace that she’d drawn the width of and made tiny circles showing him what it would look like. He could tell she was sewing for the others and wanted to make each dress unique.

Clint laughed when she said she wanted a dress the same shade of green as little Jessie’s eyes. He’d barely noticed the girl and had no idea what color her eyes were. She had to have eyes. He would have noticed if she hadn’t, but the color?

At the end of the list, she wrote one sentence.
Come back to me, my one and only love. Karrisa.

Clint stared at the writing. From the beginning he’d known she’d married him because she had no other choice. She and the baby would have starved to death or ended up in a kind of hell on earth. She came with him, cooked his meals, made his clothes, all because it was her only way to survive. Only, somehow in all the work of living, she’d learned to care for him. She loved him even when he told her from the first that he’d never love her.

The sun was too low to offer enough light to see her words clearly again. He folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He knew he was a hard man, but he’d always tried to be fair. Only, he wasn’t a person most folks liked or cared about. He kept to himself and, for the most part, wanted everyone else to do the same.

Only Karrisa had written that she loved him. He didn’t want that. If she’d said it, he might have thought she’d just said the words because she was supposed to. But she’d written them down.

He didn’t want to hear them or see them written because Clint knew he’d never say them to her. Part of him wasn’t free to love. He was too weary of life to fall in love again. He’d never stand the loss again.

All he wanted from Karrisa was for her to be a wife. She’d been doing a good job of that. The bit of passion they’d shared had been more than he’d expected. He liked that, but it wasn’t love. He would never let it be. Only how does a man tell his wife to take back the words she wrote?

That night after supper, he sat down next to Momma Roma. When no one else appeared to be listening, he asked, “You know what happened to my wife back a year ago?”

Clint would bet every dime in his money belt that Karrisa hadn’t told anyone at the trading post, but he’d seen her talking to Momma Roma in Italian sometimes and knew they were close.

“I know,” the tiny woman said.

He took a deep breath. “She could have told me, but all she did was make me promise never to ask. Whatever happened, I would understand.”

“You her future, not’a her past. She no want’a you to look at her through that memory.”

“If I knew the monster who hurt her, I’d kill him.”

Momma Roma patted his arm. “You a hard’a man, Truman, but I think’a you are the one for her and she knows it. She tell’a me you very gentle to her. She say when she in your arms she feels cherished like you think she’s great treasure.”

He doubted he was gentle enough. The little woman was right; he should let the past go. It didn’t matter that Karrisa had gone to prison. He’d feel the same way about her. It didn’t even matter that she hadn’t told him about what she’d done to go to prison. He understood that he was her future and what had happened in the past should stay in the past.

It mattered that someone had hurt her. It mattered a great deal to him.

As the days passed Clint looked at the note in his pocket several times. When they rolled into Dallas, he couldn’t wait to get headed back home.

Harry Woolsey had the list of tools and supplies Ely and the others had ordered. He agreed to deliver Buford’s wagons, make sure the Romas got their pay, and start collecting the supplies. They planned to use Clint’s wagon on the journey home. Until they had everything loaded, Harry said he’d sleep in Buford’s barn and keep an eye on the wagon.

Clint followed one of the army wagons to the sheriff’s office to deliver the prisoner, who had spent enough days tied up and seemed willing to talk. The sergeant had convinced him that if he told all he knew of Dollar Holt’s activities, he might not hang. After staying in a barn and riding tied up in the back of a wagon, prison didn’t look so bad.

Clint filled out all the paperwork and gave his statement. A heavy fog had settled over Dallas when he left the sheriff’s office deep in thought. Two steps out the door, he bumped into a mountain of a man coming up the steps.

“Hell,” Clint muttered as the huge stranger almost knocked him down.

“Truman?” the man asked, as if Clint’s one word were all the introduction needed.

Sheriff Lightstone was so dirty Clint almost didn’t recognize him. His face was covered in mud and his clothes produced their own dust cloud when he moved.

The sheriff’s grin spread across his face. “Glad to see you, Truman.” He slapped Clint on the shoulder, sending mud flying off his duster. “I was thinking of making a trip up north to check on you. How you and that little gal doing?”

“It’s working out.” Clint couldn’t stop the smile. “I’m crazy about her and I think she likes me, which probably speaks both to my good sense and her insanity.”

“Well, will wonders never cease.” The sheriff roped his arm around Clint’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you, son. Why don’t you get cleaned up and meet me for dinner? I ain’t eat but twice today and I’m starving. Soon as I file this report, I’ll be over there.”

“I don’t have much time in town.” Clint didn’t want to waste a minute, but he owed Lightstone. “But if you can make it quick, I owe you a meal.”

“Of course, wait for me next door. I shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’m just bringing back some bad guys this sheriff let wander down my way. I didn’t want them, so I brought them back up here. They put up a fight every morning as if one day I’d give in and let them run off again.”

Clint laughed, knowing that if they fought this mountain of a lawman, they got the worst end of the deal. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said, walking toward the little diner next to the sheriff’s office.

Before he went in, he noticed that the factory where he’d bought clothes for the trading post was only a block away. On impulse, he headed toward it. Somehow the sad place made him feel closer to Karrisa. This hadn’t been where she worked, but it must have been like this place.

The streetlights offered a fuzzy glow in the fog as he moved toward the steps of the side door. It was late—the women would have gone home—but a horse and fancy carriage waited outside the door.

Crossing the street, Clint asked the driver, “You for hire?”

“No.” He barely looked at Clint. “I’m waiting on the boss of this factory just like I do every night.”

Clint moved into the shadows close to the steps heading up to the factory door. As he leaned against the building, he saw a fancy-dressed gentleman come out pulling a woman behind him. He was cussing, talking at her more than to her.

“Get down the steps, girl,” the man in a heavy wool greatcoat ordered. “I haven’t got all night. I’ve important places to be when I’m finished with you.”

The woman was crying softly. She was small with scarves tied around her like Momma Roma had worn. When she didn’t move fast enough, the man shoved her and she tumbled the rest of the way down the steps. Her hands reached out to grab the railing. Clint saw that they were tied.

She couldn’t catch herself and rolled along the last few steps. Her cries grew louder.

The driver stared straight ahead as if he heard or saw nothing as the man in the coat jerked the woman to her feet and shoved her toward the carriage. “Stop your crying, you twit. We’ll be finished in a few minutes and you can go on home. This is just part of your job and we both know it.”

The owner slapped her hard and the girl’s crying turned to sobs. “That’s better. Now get in.”

The woman scrambled into the carriage, avoiding the man’s fist.

Clint could still hear her gulps for air between her sobs. She was frightened to death.

The owner had his foot on the carriage step when Clint reached him, knocking him into the gutter with one powerful blow. Being attacked so fast, the owner had no time to think of defending himself. Blow after blow rained down on him until his shouts for help became cries of pain.