Heart Of Texas (Historical Romance) (2 page)

Pamela, my first born and sometimes writing partner. We
think so much alike it's scary. Especially when the words
you write are also in my mind.

To my uncle, Henry Hoyle. Once again you came to my rescue when I needed advice on ranching. What would I do
without my favorite uncle?

Dr. R.N.Gray. I tapped into knowledge of Texas once more.
Thanks for letting me know how to do away with a large
number of cattle in the 1800s.

The day was bleak and dreary, and it had been
raining off and on all morning. But the weather
didn't seem to dampen the spirit of the young
woman who stood ramrod straight, her pale blue
eyes intense and unflinching as she stared at the
wagon master.

"I'm not going back!"

Her unrelenting demeanor somehow made her
seem formidable for such a small slip of a girl.
She came only shoulder high on Marty Grimshaw.
The stubborn tilt of her head warned Grimshaw
that she was going to give him trouble. He felt
pity for Casey Hamilton because her life had
taken a devastating turn-only yesterday they had
buried her pa after several of the men had recovered his mangled body from the floodwaters that had crushed him between two wagons.

Grimshaw respectfully removed his hat, then
shifted from one booted foot to the other, knowing he was only adding to her pain, but he had
no choice. It was his duty to do right by everyone
under his protection, and if that meant sending
her back to Virginia, then that was what he would
do.

He stared at her, assessing her features. She was
a pretty little gal with a mass of red-gold hair that
curled around her face in ringlets. There was a
light sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and she
had the most unusual and beautiful turquoise-
blue eyes he had ever seen. She was delicately
built, her mannerisms those of a fine lady.

Grimshaw knew some of her history from what
her father had told him. Her mother had died
some years back, and the family had, at one time,
owned a bank in Charlottesville. From what he
could tell, the Hamiltons had lost everything in
the war. He couldn't conceive what fool notion
had driven John Hamilton to embark on such a
dangerous venture with his motherless family.
There was no way in hell Miss Hamilton could
make it to Texas on her own. Her brother, Sam,
was barely thirteen, and little jenny was somewhere around four or five years old. That alone
was a lot of responsibility for one little gal to contend with, without adding the hazards of the two-
month journey still ahead of them.

"I'm sending you back to Virginia, Miss Ham ilton, but you needn't worry. Joe Franks will be
going with you. He's a good man-he'll see you
safely home."

Casey was fighting back tears along with feelings of anger and frustration. "Virginia isn't our
home anymore, Mr. Grimshaw. Our house is
gone, and our land was taken for back taxes. But
we do have a home and land waiting for us in
Texas-and that's where we are going to go, no
matter what!"

She paused, and he realized that she was choosing her words carefully.

"You have every right to refuse to let us stay with
the wagon train, but you can't prevent us from
going to Texas on our own."

Grimshaw thought he'd seen everything in the
fifteen years he'd been wagon master, but the accident that had left the three Hamilton offspring
without a father had gotten under his skin. Maybe
he felt partly responsible because he should have
prevented John Hamilton from swimming to help
the Larsons' two stranded wagons. The pain in
this little gal's eyes, her helplessness, and her desire to keep her family together made him feel
guilty. It was hard for families to rip up their roots
and leave everything that was familiar to them.
But it was near impossible to make the crossing
without a man to do the heavy, backbreaking
work that kept the wagons rolling.

"This land can be a mighty cruel place for those
who don't know what they're doing, and you don't have any idea what hardships still lie ahead
of you. How do you expect to take care of yourself, let alone your brother and sister?"

In some ways Mr. Grimshaw reminded. Casey of
her father-he was about the same age and build
and had the same color brown eyes. She blinked
back the tears that threatened to fill her own eyes
at the thought of her father. Right now she had
to concentrate on the problem at hand.

She had to admit that Mr. Grimshaw was making a good argument, and it scared her some. In
truth, she didn't know how she was going to make
it without her father, but she wasn't going to give
up.

Life in Virginia had not been easy for her family since the Yankees had laid siege to Charlottesville. They had survived for three years in a small
two-room cottage, living on little more than hardtack and beans. Still, they had been fortunate, because they at least had a cow, so jenny and Sam
could have fresh milk, and the family could have
butter.

No matter what faced them on the journey
ahead, it couldn't be harder than living through
war and its devastating aftermath. They had come
through hard times before; somehow, they would
have to get through their father's death, too. No
matter how much it hurt to think about going on
without him.

Texas was where her father had wanted to take
them, and Texas was where they were going to go, although she had no idea what would await
them when they got there.

"My uncle, my mother's brother, left us some
land. I don't know much about it, but I do know
that it's more than what we left behind in Virginia."

Her story was becoming a familiar one to Grimshaw. Since the war had ended, the migration
west had become the only hope for many Southern families. But he couldn't allow himself to be
swayed by sentimentality.

.The plain truth is, you've got to go back to
Charlottesville. We'll be pulling out in the morning... without you."

"I'm eighteen years old, and I'm strong for a
woman," Casey stated emphatically. "I will make
it, because if I don't, my father died for nothing.
It was his dream for our family to start a new life
in Texas and put the old life behind us."

Grimshaw slapped his battered hat against his
thigh in frustration. "Miss Hamilton, I've seen
many families that had to turn back, and there's
no shame in it. Everyone has a dream of a better
life, but sometimes those dreams are buried along
the way like the broken carcasses of the deserted
wagons you've seen littering the trail. And sometimes those who reach their destination find it
more of a nightmare than a dream."

Grimshaw watched Casey flinch at his hard
words. He didn't feel good about wrenching her
heart out, but he had to drive the truth home to her. He already had her father's death on his conscience; he didn't want to be responsible for this
courageous young woman's death as well.

"I got to know your pa pretty well, and I liked
him. It didn't take me long to understand that he
took real good care of his family despite hard
times. I think he would want you to go back to
Virginia."

Casey was distracted for a moment as she
watched her brother try to unharness the horses-
a task he usually performed with their father. Sam
was struggling to complete the task alone. He was
too young to be doing a man's job, but he was
determined to do it. It was only the three of them
now, and they had to take care of each other,
because no one else would.

"You didn't know Papa at all if you think he
would expect his children to turn tail and run."

Grimshaw had little doubt that she had the
courage to push on, but that alone could get her
killed, along with her brother and sister. He had
twenty families to look after, and he couldn't let
her have her way. She had a power of persuasion
about her, though, and he felt himself wavering
in his resolve.

If he did allow her to stay with the wagon train,
he would be breaking a rule he'd never broken
before: letting a woman make the trek without a
man to help her. He watched her chin angle upward, and he could see that her fingernails were
digging into the palms of her clenched hands.

"Why don't you sleep on it, and we'll talk more
about it in the morning," he advised her, hoping
that when she'd had a chance to think it over,
she'd realize he was right.

"There's nothing to talk about. We are going
on to the Spanish Spur, and neither you nor anyone else is going to stop us. You only have to decide if you'll let us go part of the way with this
wagon train."

Grimshaw's mouth thinned to a narrow line.
"Did you say the name of the ranch was the Spanish Spur? I've heard of it-and from what I remember, it's quite a spread."

"I don't know much about it." Casey studied his
face. She reasoned that the longer she kept him
talking, the less likely he was to tell her they had
to leave the wagon train. "What have you heard
about it?"

"Was your uncle's name Bob Reynolds?"

"Yes. Did you know him?"

"Never met him. But he was well respected, and
his name is known to me."