A Texan's Promise (7 page)

She couldn't deny the things he'd done. She never forget that he'd struck her—and that she'd be wearing those scars for a lifetime.

What they had was the present. That had to be enough."All right. I will marry you . . . as long as we agree to rethink things when we get to your sister's."

"I won't need to do that, Van. My word is forever. You know that."

Forever was a long time. "But I might. I'll need a month, Clayton. A month to forget. And a month to pray, too."

He blinked. "All right, then."

Marriage. For a month. "After that time, if you still want me—"

"I always will. I promise you that, Van."

"Thank you."

"We'll say our vows within the hour." Clayton pulled away all too quickly and leapt to his feet. "I'll send Mary in. She said she'd bring a tub into the kitchen. I'll go change in the barn."

As Vanessa watched him walk away, she knew one thing for certain. Clayton Proffitt was the best man she knew.

She hoped she'd survive the moment when he realized that she wasn't the best woman for him.

"Kind of chilly to be bathing with the horses."

Clayton figured the cold water would do him no harm, especially since he couldn't take his mind off the image of Vanessa soaking in warm water just feet away. "I'm fine."

Ken chuckled. "It's a strange position I'm finding myself in.Never thought I'd be one to ever give you advice, Captain."

Clayton knew it was pointless to remind Ken once again that he was no longer his captain. Old habits died hard from the war; they were intertwined in a way that prohibited a man from breaking those boundaries. If he did, it was like he was breaking so much of who he was. "You've done a fine job so far," he muttered sarcastically.

"I'm glad you feel that way." Ken handed over a shirt dyed blue. "Mary made this for me last month. I'd like to give it to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "For Vanessa's something blue? I never cottoned you to be so sentimental."

Ken grinned at the joke. "Doing the Lord's work has made me see a lot of things in a different light. Ain't no crime to think of sweet things every now and then."

"I'll take your word for that."

"Mary said your lady will be ready in a few minutes."

Clayton nodded as he wiped his face and slicked back his hair. "All right."

"The kids are caterwauling somethin' awful, they're so excited." He scuffed a patch of mud with the point of his boot."I figure it's best we get started soon."

Clayton was beginning to get the feeling that there was a whole lot Ken was sidestepping around. But Ken had never been one to mince words before, so he merely nodded. "Tell Mary I'll be right in." He picked up the shirt Ken had laid on a post and shrugged into it, thankful Ken was as broadshouldered as he was.

"Will do." Ken turned to walk away, then paused in midstep."Mary saw Vanessa's back."

There it was.

The red bandanna he'd just fished out of his saddlebag flew from his hands and floated to rest on his boots. Clayton bent down to retrieve it, doing his best to keep his emotions in check with effort. Not daring to look at Ken, he focused on how the red cotton was becoming more wrinkled in his hand by the second. "Are the cuts festering? She wouldn't let me look at them last night."

"They look to be healing. Well, more or less. They're fairly wide and deep, Mary said."

"I know."

Ken swallowed hard. "Just to let you know, Mary helped Vanessa clean the cuts and put some ointment on them."

"Tell her thank you. I . . . I should've tended to them better on the trail." Clayton tried to recall if he'd noticed her sitting or moving more stiffly than usual when she'd been brushing out her hair. He should've taken the time to think about that instead of wondering what those silken strands felt like.

"Don't know what you could have done, on the trail and all." Ken swallowed hard. "Anyway, Mary said she didn't know whether to hug Vanessa or act like she'd seen marks on a woman like that a dozen times before."

"I hope she hasn't."

"No, I don't reckon she has. Mary sure felt helpless, though.It's tough to see another person in pain."

"Yes, it is." Clayton knew the feeling. Quickly, he stuffed the bandana in his back pocket then concentrated on buttoning his new blue shirt, afraid to say a word. If he started, he'd likely say too much.

"Who did it, Clayton? What is his name?"

Clayton almost told Ken is was none of his business. But his earlier conversation with Vanessa stayed fresh in his mind.There was a very good chance her stepfather would try to find her. If he had a tracker, he might even locate Ken.

Ken should be prepared. "His name is Price Venture. He's a weasel of a man. Short, soft from easy living. Hard around the eyes. He's Vanessa's stepfather."

Ken's eyes turned to granite. "She all right?"

Clayton knew what he was asking. Grown men didn't whip their stepdaughters for no reason. "As well as she can be, I guess." Finally giving into his need to share the whole story, Clayton said, "She, uh, was beaten because she was fighting him. Price." Recalling her tears and her trembling brought his anger back full force. For about the hundredth time, Clayton wished it had been Price who'd stepped out into the hall instead of Miles or her mother.

Ken crossed himself.

Clayton reached for a cheroot from his saddlebag on the floor. After walking outside the barn, he hastily lit it, finding comfort in the action.

The cold, unvarnished truth was that Vanessa had almost been raped. He didn't know how he'd ever live with himself if she actually had been attacked.

Ken glanced toward the house. "Remember outside Galveston?"

Galveston! Just the name of the place made his stomach turn. "I remember." Clayton swallowed hard. About a mile outside a sporting house, he and his band of men had found a young girl, beaten and dying. She'd been abducted, used, and discarded by a gang of soldiers fresh from battle. Her shoulder had hung at a wrong angle.

She'd cried and wept when he'd knelt next to her, hardly aware of his promises that he merely wanted to help. When he'd knelt and reached for her arm, to try and help her sit up, she'd kicked and screamed like she was on fire. He'd held himself still, almost welcoming the pain she'd brought. It matched the pain in his heart at her sight.

He'd looked helplessly at Ken. At the rest of his men, who'd stood a respectful distance away. Each had instinctively known that more than one man holding her down would likely send her over the edge.

There, in the alley, in the hot muggy South Texas heat, Clayton had prayed for help, prayed for guidance, prayed for the girl who fought him so fearfully.

Clayton had been crying himself as he'd attempted to cajole her to listen. To settle so he could help set her arm. Find her help. To locate another woman to take her on home.

But it had been too late. She'd died in the struggle, died in his arms.

Her death still weighed on his conscience, and rightly so.

"This—this what you're doing . . . it's the right thing."

Clayton knew what Ken meant. But it was also far different.His feelings about Vanessa were far from pity. Instead, what he really wanted was to take her somewhere secluded and coax her with his kisses, to introduce her to a man's tender touch, to show her that words could mean as much as a hasty kiss or clumsy grope.

But those things were not what she needed, either. "I care for Vanessa."

"I know. It's obvious from the way you look at her. But— even if you didn't—"

Clayton knew. Even if he didn't, there was a girl up in heaven who'd had no one. "Even if I didn't . . . I'd marry her, Ken." Recalling he was a preacher, he turned to Ken. "Is that wrong?"

"I hope not, because I'd do the same thing."

As the Circle Z faded into the distance, Miles adjusted his weight in the saddle and tried to pretend he wasn't scared.But it did no good. He was in over his head and barely able to breathe.

"It's good of you to accompany me, boy," Price said from his own saddle on the left. "You're going to be needed when we locate your sister."

"Yes sir."

"I could wring Vanessa's neck for the trouble she's cost me.Cost our family."

Our
family? That was a laugh. Price Venture might be married to his mother, he might be running the Circle Z to the ground, he might be trying to father Miles, but he'd never be part of the Grant family.

Even more importantly, Miles knew Price would never replace his real pa. His father had been a man of character, a man who'd protected his mother, cherished his sister, and had hinted that even a boy like Miles had a chance of being a man.

No, Price was nothing like his father.

"When I get my hands on that girl, I'll make sure she's sorry for her actions," Price continued. "She'll mind, then. No doubt about that."

Now that—that there was the truth. Miles knew without a doubt that if they found Vanessa, his sister would be punished severely. His stepfather would have vengeance so heavy on his mind, there'd be little way anyone would be able to reason with him.

Miles knew it was going to take everything he had to keep Price from getting anywhere near Vanessa.

From the moment his stepfather had woken with a hangover, a dark cloud had descended on the Circle Z. Insinuations about Clayton's integrity and Vanessa's character had been thrown about so harshly, Miles had been unable to stem any of the gossip.

Clayton's room had been ransacked. Price destroyed everything of Clayton's that he couldn't take, use, or sell. Vanessa's room had been next, Price being so sure that he would find a note or some kind of clue detailing their plans to run off together.

Yes, that had been the sorriest thing that Price had done.He'd acted as if he'd done nothing to warrant Vanessa's departure.And no one besides Miles and his ma knew better.

To his shame, Miles hadn't tried to correct the man's slander.He was afraid of Price, and that was a fact. Ever since the man had started eying his mother, Miles had done his best to stand aside and fade into the woodwork whenever Price was near.

And it had been possible, because Clayton had taken the brunt of Price's abusive tongue. Miles pretended to listen when Price gave orders. That habit had become almost second nature. It was far easier to do nothing, to just watch and wait to see what Price would do.

But wasn't that what he'd always done? Watched and waited and hoped things would get better? Or hoped to get noticed? Praised?

Accepted?

Yes, indeed. Oh, he'd tried to get along with Price. He'd even accompanied him to the saloons in Camp Hope. He'd even been with a woman or two because Price had praised him for it. But inside, Miles had felt empty.

After the hunt for clues had given them no answers, Price had contacted the sheriff. Sheriff Vance, being a fair man, had formed a posse and led a team of men north, in just the direction Miles had directed them to. That lie had been the first time Miles had ever gone against Price's will.

That wild goose chase ended with some old-timer mentioning he thought he'd seen Vanessa and Clayton out by Camp Hope.

Now Miles and Price were heading west. The trip was being bankrolled by Clayton's savings.

As the sun beat down on their shoulders and the horses picked their way along the rocky trail once used by gold seekers and Indians, Miles felt as if his whole life was tied to this one adventure.

He didn't know where to turn or who to turn to. All his life, he'd sought acceptance but had never achieved it. His own pa had never counted on him for anything.

For a time, Miles had hoped Clayton might give him more responsibility. After all, the Circle Z was his birthright, not Clayton's. Those dreams had faded away, too.

Now, Clayton blamed him for his stepfather's actions.

It wasn't fair, but it wasn't completely off mark, either. After all, Miles had heard the snap of Price's belt against Vanessa.And he'd hurt for her, and burned with shame that he was letting her get used.

But he'd been so terribly glad that it hadn't been him. He'd been so thankful that it wasn't his back feeling the sting of Price's belt. Again.

"Your mother's gonna worry herself sick about that goodfor-nothing girl," Price called out sometime later.

"I hope not." The last image Miles had had of his mother hadn't been a good one. She'd hardly bathed or gotten dressed in days. She'd also begun to find comfort in Price's whiskey.

"Girl's nothing but a Jezebel," Price continued. "Searching for her is going to cost me more money than she's worth. But I'll make her pay."

Miles felt bile churn in his stomach as his weakness bit at him from deep inside. He didn't know what to do. He'd promised Clayton that he'd keep Price away from Vanessa—and he had. It was because of him that the posse went north in the first place. It wasn't his fault they'd gotten an experienced tracker to go along with them, was it?

He'd never thought that Price would be counting on him to help with the search. But he had. Other, deeper worries plagued him also. Life at the Circle Z was all he knew. It was his birthright; it was his home.

A spare, niggling thought pinched his conscience sorely, and that was simply the God's honest truth. Vanessa and Clayton had taken off. There was a real possibility that they might never be found. There were a lot of places to hide in the world.

What if he and Price never did locate the two of them? Miles would be left with only his relationship with Price and his life at the ranch for comfort. It went without saying that his mother wouldn't do a thing for either of them.

It scared him something awful to jeopardize everything he had. If he lost his value to Price, what would he do then? Life was hard enough without trying to go it alone. And that's how he would be—alone. There was no one else in his life to follow.

Resentment brewed in his gut. Resentment at the whole situation, and at Clayton and Vanessa. If Vanessa hadn't been so pretty, Price would never have looked twice at her.If Clayton hadn't gotten his priorities all twisted and turned, he would've remembered that his responsibilities should have been centered on the ranch, not Vanessa.

Boy, Miles could only imagine what his pa was thinking now. Most likely he was twisting and turning around in his grave. Miles knew he shouldn't have given the majority of his spending money to Clayton and Vanessa. If he hadn't, they probably would've already come back by now.

As it was, things were terrible, terrible indeed. He was stuck by Price's side in the middle of nowhere. Surely, his only hope was to delay their journey west as much as possible. Then he'd have more time to think. Then, maybe Clayton would come to his senses and return home and things could go back to the way they were.

As the faded glory of Camp Hope loomed in the distance, Price's eyes lit up. "I'm feeling a mite parched, boy. We might as well make a stop for a spell."

Camp Hope was as good as place as any to waste a few hours. "Yes sir."

Price increased the pace. "Maybe Angelina will be working.She knows how to make a man feel welcome, I'll give her that."

Miles squinted into the sun and dutifully followed, wondering what he was going to do while his stepfather visited the rooms up above the Dark Horse Saloon. His horse Jericho pranced a bit, obviously anticipating a break soon. Jericho was surely the laziest horse Miles had ever had the misfortune to meet.

Price looked back over his shoulder. "Boy? You eating dust? Get on, now. Time's a wastin'—we ain't got all day."

"No sirree, we sure don't," Miles said with a sigh, just as he realized that he'd never that the gumption to ask his stepfather call him by his name instead of "boy."

He'd never had the ability to make decisions and earn the respect of the cowhands—they'd only followed his orders when Clayton stood behind him.

Obviously, he was still too scared to fight; still too scared to try a little harder to be his own man.

It tried a man's soul to realize that he was not nearly the person he'd thought he'd be. Especially when he thought he might never become that person. Not ever.

Clayton didn't know how Mary had done it, but by the time their wedding came around, the kitchen was filled with tasty treats. She'd also lent Vanessa a yellow gown with lace at the neckline and cuffs. The garment set off her honey-colored hair and brightened her cheeks.

Clayton thought Vanessa had never looked more beautiful.

Her eyes were shiny with excitement when he approached, making him realize once again that their wedding had been meant to be. "Clayton, you wore blue."

"Just for you, ma'am." Cupping her elbow, he stepped forward."You look mighty fine."

Just like a bluebonnet after a spring storm, her cheeks bloomed. "Thank you."

"So, you ready for this?" His words were serious but he took care to make sure his tone was light and sweet.

"I am." She nodded, treating him to a tremulous smile that he felt through to his core.

Please help me, Lord,
he prayed.
Please walk with me and help me. Please help me make the right decisions and not look back with doubts.

His prayer for guidance felt uncomfortable and almost new.With some dismay, Clayton realized that while he'd often spent many a night reading the good book, he hadn't reached out to the Lord so freely and with such hope for some time.Maybe not since the war, when he'd had men in his care and had felt overwhelmed at times with the responsibility.

Perhaps the Lord had had many reasons for bringing him and Vanessa to Ken's. Obviously, he'd needed reminding of his faith, of the One who always watched over him and guided him.

"We walk by faith, not by sight,"
said Paul in 2 Corinthians.That would surely be something he needed to remember as he and Vanessa continued on their journey.

Ken cleared his throat from the next room. "You two about ready? Me and Mary won't be able to keep the kids settled much longer."

"I'm ready," Vanessa said.

Clayton knew he was, too. It was time, time to go forward with no regrets. It was what a man did, especially a man who walked hand in hand with the Lord. The sooner they were married, the better. Taking Vanessa's arm, he led her back into the sparsely decorated great room, where just hours ago Vanessa had been lying down on the floor. "Where do you want us, Ken?"

"Over here!" Lanie said, running to the front of the room.With little fanfare, she shoved a bouquet of daisies into Vanessa's hands. "Petey and me picked these from the field behind the barn. They're for you.""They're beautiful," Vanessa murmured. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Pete replied, looking pleased with himself."We got lots right now."

"Then I'm very lucky," Vanessa replied as Ken positioned them in front of the fire.

"Dearly beloved," he began, then proceeded to lead them through the ceremony with a litany of simple and familiar language.

In spite of his earlier intentions to keep Vanessa at a distance, to marry her in name only, Clayton found himself believing the words, praying with Ken, and meaning each vow.

By Vanessa's luminescent glow, she seemed to be feeling the same way.

And though they had no rings, though love had never been spoken, when Ken pronounced them man and wife, Clayton knew he'd just stepped over the boundary of bachelorhood forever. He was married now. He belonged to Vanessa, and she was his. No matter what happened in the future, he knew he would never forsake those vows they'd made before God.

Gently, Clayton squeezed both of Vanessa's hands, feeling more uplifted and lighter in spirit than he had since days before Vanessa's attack. Ken had been right to push for this.He'd been right to plead with Vanessa to agree to matrimony.Even if Price came, even if he died tomorrow, Vanessa would now be safe, and that was all that really mattered.

After a moment of expected silence, the children giggled.

"Yes?" Vanessa asked, obviously confused.

"Um, this is where you kiss your bride, Captain," Ken said after waiting a beat or two.

Startled, Clayton looked to his wife. Her green eyes were wide. Expectant. "Oh. Yes, of course," he said, willing himself to lean closer and not think.

But unfortunately, it felt as if another man held his shoulders and wouldn't let him move.