Authors: Shelley Gray
A Texan's Promise (3 page)
How could this have happened? What's more, how had he allowed it? How had he not heard her cries?
"Clay? Are you done?"
Her damaged shirt was wadded in his hands. Before him lay Vanessa's back, covered by a plain white cotton camisole.Swallowing hard, he gently traced the line of the top cut. To his eye, it was obvious cotton fibers were still embedded.Though he hated the thought of hurting her further, he knew he had no choice. If he didn't clean it well, infection would set in. "I'm going to have to wash out these cuts."
"I . . . all right."
She squeezed her eyes shut. He didn't blame her. During the war, men had whimpered over less. Gently squeezing the curve of her shoulder, he murmured, "It's okay if you cry."
"I think I'm all cried out, Clay."
Knowing nothing would get done if he didn't do it, Clay steeled himself to her pain. Systematically, he cleaned her injuries, doing his best to concentrate only on his duty, not her sounds of discomfort. Finally, he poured a liberal amount of hot water onto his bandana and dabbed.
Vanessa's back arched in pain.
"It's over, sugar." With shaking hands, he helped her sit up. Next, he handed her one of his old shirts then turned away so she could cover herself again in at least the illusion of privacy.
"I'm dressed now."
He tried to smile at the picture she made. She was indeed covered; his too-large shirt was wrapped around her securely, like a robe. But it was her face that held his attention. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she was valiantly doing her best to keep them at bay.
"Some ointment would be a good idea, but it's in the back of the barn," he said, hardly recognizing the rasp in his voice, thick from worry over her. "I'll get it when I go inside to get your things."
She moved to stand up. "I'll go with you, Clay."
"No you won't. I won't let you go near Price again. Tell me what you need."
"Dresses. Boots. Undergarments." After a brief pause, she said, "Clay, maybe we should talk about this, talk about your plans. I can't ask you to leave the Circle Z."
"You didn't ask me."
"This—what happened—it isn't your concern."
How could she imagine it wasn't? He'd promised her father he'd take care of her. Had promised it with a hand on his Bible. The vow was irrevocable. "It is. You are my concern."
"Maybe Miles—"
Clayton cut her off. "Miles didn't look after you tonight.He won't protect you tomorrow. Neither will your mother.And this—" Able to look at her again now that she was covered, he added, "This will happen again."
"Maybe—"
"Honey, you know I'm right."
After a long moment, she nodded. "What can I do?"
On a peg was his mother's old carpetbag. "Put some coffee, beans, and bread in here." Remembering her tender skin, he pointed to a soft wool blanket. "Roll that up, it's cold out."He opened the door, whistled for Lovey. The pretty shepherd came running. "Stay," he ordered the dog. "Guard Vanessa."
Unable to help himself, he turned to stare at Vanessa again. She was standing by his lone chair, doing her best to look brave but failing miserably. Lines of exhaustion rimmed her eyes. The knowledge that it would be some time before she could rest made his tone harsher than he meant it to be."Lock this door behind me. Don't open it until I come back.Do you hear me?"
Her eyes darted to the lock as if she wondered if it could really keep her safe. "I do."
Her voice sounded unsure. Would she try to bolt? "Vanessa, promise me."
His knot of fear dissipated as trust filled her gaze, gifting him with a present he could hardly bear to accept. "I promise. I won't open this door for anyone but you."
"I'll be back within fifteen minutes."
"I'll be waiting."
Clay knew where her room was. After letting himself in through the back door, he climbed the stairs, then strode toward her room. He hadn't bothered to remove his boots; he supposed half of him was itching for a fight.
When he heard nothing, he searched Vanessa's room, pulling out sturdy boots, undergarments, and calicos with the ease of a lady's maid. He silently thanked his sister Corrine for being such a ninny. From the time she'd been eight, he'd had the misfortune and experience of serving as her dresser, thanks to their mother passing soon after their little brother Scout had been born.
The silly chit had been blessed with a penchant for numerous buttons and the sore inability to fasten them easily.
The memories of Corrine's vanity reminded him to grab Vanessa's silver-backed brush and combs. He was just gazing at the pale ivory wool shawl she wore on Sundays, remembering how pretty she looked with it wrapped around her shoulders on her way to church, when Miles stepped in.
"Clayton? What are you doing in here?"
Miles was one year older than Vanessa. At twenty, he was more than old enough to be a man. Unfortunately, no one had seen him that way.
His father had ignored Miles's assertions that he was ready to manage the ranch, leaving it firmly in Clayton's hands.
When Price had come along, he too had kept a firm grip on the boy, ignoring his ideas, tamping down his efforts to accept responsibility. Now, few on the ranch thought much of Miles. The twenty year old seemed destined to falter forever on the brink of manhood—old enough to be responsible but too green to be of use.
His somewhat tentative, almost lazy disposition had driven Clayton to distraction more than a time or two.
And now the boy had the audacity to ask why he was gathering Vanessa's things in the middle of the night. "I think you have a fair idea why I'm here. It's obvious your sister can't stay near Price a moment longer."
Miles's eyes bugged. "You can't just take her."
Clay felt like he was speaking to a child. "I can, and I will."
Twin spots of color splashed across his face. "You've got to keep her here. You don't know what Price will do if she's gone missing."
A sharp image of Vanessa's back, damaged and hurting, struck him hard. "I believe I do."
"Clayton, you need to stop and listen. Price . . . he didn't mean to get out of hand."
"Out of hand?" His patience snapped. Gripping Miles by the shoulders, Clay pinned him in place. "He hit your sister with a leather strap. He tried to do far worse."
"I know." Miles's skin turned a pasty white. "But—"
Disgusted, Clayton dropped his hands, shoved Miles to one side. "If you intend to talk some more, do it outside. Your sister's waiting." Clay scooped up Vanessa's clothes and brushes, stuffed them into a pillowcase. At the last minute, he added her shawl, her diary, and her ivory fountain pen. There'd hardly been a day go by that he hadn't seen her writing.
He strode out the room, pausing as Marilyn peeked out from the master suite. A cheek was bruised and swollen, accentuating the lack of color in her face.
Gesturing to the stuffed pillowcase, she whispered, "You taking Vanessa, Clay?"
"I am."
Overwhelming relief flooded her features. "Good. Price drank almost a bottle of whiskey. He won't wake for some time. I'll do my best to keep her disappearance quiet for as long as possible."
Clay struggled for control. "Yes, ma'am."
She stepped forward and gripped his arm with a shaking hand. "Tell Van I love her. I did my best—"
Clay couldn't bear to hear anymore. To his way of thinking, Marilyn's best had been a poor effort. "I will," he said, cutting her off.
He felt sorry for Marilyn, but not enough to give her comfort.The woman should have known better. They'd all known Price had only courted and married Marilyn for the Circle Z. The man had never been anything but a drunkard and a schemer.
Marilyn should have cared about that. She should have done more for her daughter. Didn't she remember what the Bible said about taking care of God's children?
With a start, Clayton realized Miles was still by his side. "I need to go," he said to the boy before quickly sprinting down the stairs as Marilyn disappeared back into her room.
Miles padded after him. "Where will you take her?" he asked as they walked through the kitchen and out the back door. "What will you do with Vanessa?"
The night was still dark but already a mockingbird cried in the distance. He needed to saddle up Lee and get going. "You don't need to know."
"How will I find her?"
"She'll find you—if she ever cares to."Miles's soft face went slack. "There was nothing I could do, Clay," he whined. "Price was going crazy. You should've heard him."
"
I should have heard him?"
All the anger Clayton had held at bay from the moment he'd seen Vanessa's back burgeoned forth. Violently, he grabbed Miles by the neck and slammed him against the barn door. "You make me sick, huddling in the hallway while your stepfather did his best with your sister.Listening to her screams. Allowing him to lay a hand on her.To
touch
her."
"But Clay—"
"Don't."
"Clay! Price is gonna be so angry when he finds out. He's going to send for the sheriff. Form a posse."
Clay knew that to be true. What he was doing was a hanging offense, and no one would say different no matter how many scars decorated Vanessa's back or face.
He was about to thrust Miles away from him when he spied something new in his expression. Determination? Bravery?
Clay dropped his hand. Gave him one last chance. "You're at a crossroads, Miles. You can tell Price what I did and help him get your sister back or you can be a man and protect her.I will keep her safe, you have my word."
Miles straightened his thin shoulders. "I know you will. I'll . . . do my best to help you."
Clay shook his head. His best wasn't good enough.
Miles darted out a hand, stilling him. "Clay—stop. I will protect her. The posse will be called, but I'll send them north. Clay. You . . . you have my word. My vow."
His vow.
Clay looked at the horizon. Dawn would be breaking in three hours and they had a long way to go.
But perhaps tonight Miles had finally decided to become a man. "Don't disappointment me."
Miles reached in his vest and pulled out a wad of cash."You'll need this. Vanessa's got some money at the bank in her name, but this should tide you over."
Clay took the money. He, too, had some funds, but not enough for an extended length of time. "Thank you."
As he slipped it into his pocket, Miles called out, "Should I pray? You said Jesus answers prayers."
Clayton paused, memories of leading boys to battle flashing before his eyes. "Jesus does," he said quietly.
"Then how come this happened? How come Price came into our lives?"
"We let him."
"But his being here, it's not right. Now Van's got no one."
A sense of calm rushed over Clayton, thankful to Miles for reminding him of who was in charge of all of them—who always was, who always had been. "You're forgetting that God brought me here to the Circle Z. I'm here to take care of her. Maybe I've been here all along for that reason. Good-bye, Miles."
When Miles slipped back into his house, Clayton stepped quickly back into the barn. When he reached the locked door, Clayton did his best to make his voice tender once more. "I'm back, Vanessa."
She opened the door immediately. "Clay."
He couldn't help but stare. She'd pulled back her hair and had tied his shirt in a knot at her waist. She looked young and beautiful. She looked like Vanessa.
Then the shadows shifted and the bruise on her cheek came to life. Unable to help himself, he brushed her cheek with one finger. "You okay, honey?"
She closed her eyes at his touch. "I will be. Now."
Clayton closed his eyes for a brief moment as well. How in the world was he going to last being her savior when all he wanted to do was hold her close and never let her go?
A
fter examining the contents of the pillowcase, Vanessa held up her diary. "Thank you for remembering this," she said softly, fingering the worn red leather with her name embossed in the lower left-hand corner. "I would have missed it."
"You're welcome." Clay stood at the door. "I need to get some things from the barn. Will you be okay?"
Vanessa nodded. "I'll be out in a few minutes."
When she was alone again, Vanessa released a ragged breath. The past fifteen minutes had been hard, knowing Clay was packing her things, seeing both his shadow and Miles's slighter one in her window.
Now that her back didn't sting quite so badly, visions of Price's actions flew back in a rush, frightening her all over again. The look in his eyes had scared her terribly, like nothing ever had before. She'd felt completely helpless under his grip. Shocked at his violence.
Mortified at the way he'd grabbed at her.
Embarrassed about having to tell Clayton about it.Devastated that Clayton Proffitt was willing to leave the first home he known in years to keep her safe.
How could she live with that? Yet, what else could she do? If her mother hadn't entered the room the moment that she had, Vanessa feared far worse things would have happened at the hands of her stepfather. If she stayed, it would happen again. She knew that.
And well, Clayton had always been everything to her.She wanted to depend on him. She needed him in her life— had always dreamed something special and wonderful would happen between them.
Though he'd always tried to make their relationship brotherly, Vanessa was enough of a woman to know that she'd never felt toward him the way she'd felt toward Miles.
Clayton was good and solid—and dare she admit it?—so very handsome. His neatly trimmed hair was the exact shade of the pecans that grew in the north pasture. His posture was as erect as any soldier's stance she'd ever seen.
But it was his calm way that drew her so close. Clayton was mature and dependable and never ruffled. And once, when she'd been all dressed up for her very first dance, she'd spied true appreciation in his eyes.
It wasn't like Price's oily gaze. No, Clay's was respectful but admiring. She'd spent many a night dreaming about being held close in his arms—not for comfort, but for love.
Clayton Proffitt was the reason she'd let many boys court her but few do more than quietly tell her good night.
She'd been waiting for him. Waiting for him to realize that she'd grown up. Waiting for Clayton to realize that she— Vanessa Grant—would be the perfect partner for him, the perfect woman to give him comfort and love. His ideal wife.
But she'd never wanted their relationship to be like this.Now Clayton saw her as a burden, something to be taken care of. A needy, frightened girl.
And now, well, all those dreams of hugs and sweet kisses had faded to black. Now whenever she thought of being close to a man, she could only imagine pain.
And the images made her feel more alone than ever before.
Clay's boots scuffed the floor when he entered again. "Did you pack some food?"
She looked to the neat pile she made on the table. "Yes.I packed a blanket and some clothes for you, too. Will these work?"
Clayton picked up the pair of denims and three shirts, then looked her way and smiled. "Thank you. They'll do just fine."As if from nowhere, Clayton pulled out a satchel and packed it with other supplies.
Lastly, Vanessa watched him holster his six-shooter, then pull out a Winchester. Bullets for both were stowed in the satchel as well. Finally, he crossed to his bed and picked up the worn Bible she'd seen him read time and again.
Almost reverently, he tucked it into his satchel.
After glancing out the window with a frown, he said, "Dawn's on its way. We need to go. See to your needs then meet me outside. I'm going to saddle the horses."
Quickly, she made a trip to the outhouse, then went to the back of the barn. Lee and Coco were already saddled. Lovey pranced around the horses' hooves, silently asking for attention.Vanessa leaned down and petted the dog, sad to be leaving her. Her pa had gifted her with Lovey just a few years ago. Vanessa had carried the shepherd pup around like a doll, then had gotten quite used to her company. Later, Clayton had trained the shepherd to help with the cattle. Her place was at the Circle Z.
With a worried frown, Clayton looked out toward the horizon."Daybreak's coming. It's time we left, Van."
"I know."
His gaze ran over her, making her pulse jump and her expectations rise. Oh, how she'd adored Clayton from the moment he'd appeared at the Circle Z, looking so upright and proper.Looking so hungry for a kind word and a good meal.
Her father had given him both, and in return had received Clayton's high moral standards and unflagging work ethic.
Yes, for the past six years he'd been her benchmark, raising her expectations so high she feared no other man could come close in estimation.
Cupping her elbow, he looked at her in concern. "Sweetheart, you going to be able to ride?"
She nodded. "I'll be fine."
He easily lifted her into the saddle like he had so many times before. "If you need help—"
"I won't. I'll be fine, Clayton." And even if she wasn't, she'd never tell him. Not when he was leaving so much for her.
With ease, he mounted Lee. "Stay, Lovey," he ordered before guiding his horse toward the south pasture. As usual, the wind was blowing, kicking up red dust, making the tall grass rustle underneath.
Vanessa followed easily, giving Coco free rein to follow Lee at her own pace.
Within minutes, the stable and homestead faded into the distance. Now, only the far-reaching West Texas plains surrounded them, the horizon bare except for thickets of short, squat mesquite trees.
Vanessa didn't dare look back. It would do no good to wave to Lovey or scan the windows for Miles's shadow.
She didn't dare search for her daddy's grave with the gray stone cross above it when they rode past the cemetery. It did no good to remember the swimming hole or her mother's hugs or the wide stone fireplace she used to sit near in the winter and play with her dolls.
It wasn't the time to think about what could have been or what used to be. Time and circumstances had marked her life and had ultimately changed her future.
Their future.
Clayton picked up speed. After an hour they were off Circle Z's land and in the outskirts of Camp Hope, the old Confederate outpost during the war. Now only renegades and outcasts visited there to congregate and drink.
Vanessa had never been allowed to visit after the age of seven. But Miles had spoken fondly of the saloon there, and, of course, of the women who plied their trades.
To her knowledge, Clayton had never shown the slightest interest in such a place, though she doubted he would ever say a word to her about it even if he frequented it weekly.
He'd always taken care to shield her from men's darker ways, never speaking of such things or cursing in front of her.He continually reprimanded hands who forgot themselves when she was nearby.
Once she'd heard Clayton giving a new ranch worker a thorough dressing down because he hadn't tipped his hat and stood up when she entered the room. He chewed on another ranch hand when he'd dared to call her "Vanessa" instead of "Miss Grant."
After another hour, the pounding sense of panic she'd felt from the moment Price had entered her bedroom eased. A terrible feeling of loneliness took its place as she realized that everything she'd known before was now gone.
It was unlikely she'd ever see her friends or her mother or Lovey again. Her future was completely in Clayton's hands, and though she would have done the same for him, she ached for reassurance—anything to fend off the feeling of complete and utter loss.
"Clay, we going to town?"
Clayton looked surprised. "To Camp Hope? No. You know that's no place for a lady."
"Well, where are we going then? You haven't said."
"There's a trail coming up that cuts into an old ravine.We'll take it and then head west toward the river."
River? "Where do you have in mind, Clay?"
"I've been thinking about my sister, Corrine. I thought we'd go to her spread. You'll be safe there."
Clay had spoken his sister's name often with extreme fondness.Years ago, Vanessa had been plenty jealous of the elusive sister, sure that Clay missed her more than he'd ever miss herself.Now Vanessa also recalled that Corrine lived far away."Isn't Corrine out in Colorado Territory?"
"She is." With a twitch of his lips, Clayton said, "She has a spread two or three days ride from Denver. I fought with her husband Merritt in the war. He's a good man."
"You'll be safe there," he said again.
Colorado! She'd never been farther than Camp Hope.Never dreamed she'd ever leave Texas. Questions about the trip, about their travels, popped up like fresh hot corn. She ached to pepper him with them, but didn't dare. Clayton never had cared much for being questioned. Already he was changing his entire life for her. No way was she going to have him deal with her worries and inexperience, too.
She was going to keep her mouth shut and follow his lead.Sure enough, the trail he'd mentioned appeared and he guided her through a steep incline before veering northwest once more. Vanessa was glad she'd had so much experience in the saddle. A less experienced rider would surely find the steep trail something of a challenge.
Around them, the September sky was awakening. Blue jays cried sharp greetings from the pines as she and Clayton passed underneath. Dawn had come, bringing with it morning and all its heavenly glory—and the fresh batch of heat.
He circled back to her side. "You all right?"
"Yes. Of course, Clayton."
He looked doubtful but continued. "I'm hoping to make it thirty miles or so by nightfall, then with luck, we'll make it to Lubbock the following evening. It's a hard ride, but then we'll be far enough to set up camp and sleep."
She'd innocently assumed they'd rest in a hotel. Sleeping out in the elements sounded new and unfamiliar, and terribly uncomfortable. But she wouldn't complain. No way did she want to have him see her as young or inexperienced.Again. Things had changed that night. She was different now.Stronger. "That sounds fine."
"When we cross the border, into Arizona Territory, we can stay somewhere near other people," he promised, his voice holding an unfamiliar tentativeness. "Do you think you'll be all right?"
"Of course."
He glanced over his shoulder, the brim of his hat shading his brown eyes. "Promise me you'll tell me to stop if we're traveling too fast."
She knew he would, too. Even if they were in Indian territory.Even if he was anxious to water the horses. He would always put her needs before his own.
That knowledge gave her comfort, and a heavy band of responsibility—more than anything, she wanted Clayton to see her as a partner, not a child. "Clayton, I'm beholden to you. I promise I'll do my best not to complain." She smiled."Just point Coco in the right direction and I'll go."
His lips didn't curve in response. "Don't say that. You aren't beholden."
"I know better. I'm grateful. You saved me, Clayton."
For an instant, one hand reached for her, as if he was about to caress her cheek. "How . . . how are you feeling?"
"I'll be all right."
"Vanessa, the truth, please. Is your back too painful? Do you need to stop?"
"No." Her back was sweaty. The sores stung and swelled and burned like fire. She would've given just about anything to take her shirt off and ride without any fabric touching her back. "Don't worry so."
Clayton pushed back the brim of his hat. Once again, coffee-colored eyes skimmed over her face, caressing her with unspoken concern. "Sweetheart—"
"I promise I'll let you know if I'm not okay," she whispered.
"Fine," he mumbled before reluctantly turning away, taking the lead again.
They rode for four more hours.
Finally, he stopped next to an embankment near a goodsized river. "Let's stop here for a time."
Ever the gentleman, he helped her dismount, held her elbows firmly as her knees threatened to give way.
With a faint nicker, Coco followed Lee to the river and drank deeply.
When Vanessa's legs found their bearing, she made her way to the river as well, finally bending down to splash cool water across her face and drink her share. When she saw Clayton do the same, she sat down on the grassy slope. "This feels good."
He pulled out a knapsack and handed her some bread and cheese. "It does. Eat something."
The sharp cheddar awoke her senses, just as the soft bread soothed her hunger. Glad for the bonnet that shaded her eyes, she examined him more closely.
Clayton was rubbing down the horses, stopping only to eat a few bites of bread and to fill their canteens up river.Throughout it all, he barely spoke, hardly looked at her at all.A little more distant.
What was happening to the two of them?
"We best get going."
"All right," she said, letting him help her into the saddle once more. She was just about to straighten her skirts when she realized he was still there, standing close. Comforting."Clay?" she asked, bending down to catch his eye.
Slowly he traced a finger along her cheek, frowning at the bruise marring her skin. "Your cheek is swollen. This heat and wind isn't doing that cut any favors. You sure you're all right?"
"Yes." And she was. Her back hurt, more than she dared to admit. She was exhausted and sore from riding for hours. She was worried and still numb about everything that had happened the night before. But she could make do.
"Do you need a bandanna? This red dust is merciless."
She pulled a fresh cloth from her skirt pocket. "Don't fuss, Clayton."
After a measured look, he swung onto his saddle, then motioned Lee onward.
Both Lee and Coco were a little frisky; the break had done them good. Vanessa gripped the horn on her saddle as Coco clipped along the trail, eagerly trailing Lee.