High Mountain Drifter (32 page)

"But we couldn’t help ourselves," Magnolia confessed. "We'd wash a berry, eat a berry. Wash a berry, eat a berry."

"Don't think Ma didn't know what you two were up to." Daisy laughed, buttering a fluffy buttermilk biscuit. "I can see her standing in the kitchen like it was yesterday. Her blond hair in one long, thick braid hanging down her back, she hated having it pinned up on her head in the heat, wearing that light pink calico dress."

"And that old apron." Iris said with a loving sigh. "It was light yellow with little pink rose buds sprigged over it. It would get a rip or a tear and she'd patch it."

"If it got a stain, she'd spend hours scrubbing it out." Rose sighed too.

"She said she had been sewing on it when she found out she was expecting me." Magnolia grew dreamy too.

"That's right," Aumaleigh broke in, tears standing in her eyes, love rich in her voice. "Laura was feeling poorly with that pregnancy, so I would bring my sewing over to her house. She did best sitting still in the cooler shade, sipping ginger tea. I was crocheting lace doilies then. I still have them. That was a sweet time, in the summer's warmth and brightness, sitting together, watching you three older girls play in the yard."

"I remember." Daisy set down her butter knife. "There was a little creek not far from the house. The water was cool on a hot day. I would wade out in the middle, it wasn't deep that time of year, and watch the gentle current trickling around my ankles."

"We would wade until our fingers and toes were wrinkly." Iris plunged her fork tines into the hill of mashed potatoes on her plate, staring at it but surely seeing the memory of that treasured time when her parents were loving and happy. "It was my job to watch you, since I was oldest, and when you went too far up or downstream, I'd tell you to come back and you'd say, 'Iris Louise, stop it. You are not my ma.' Used to drive me crazy."

"I know," Daisy teased. "That was the point, Iris."

"I don't remember this." Rose frowned. "Did I play in the creek too?"

"You had to stay along the edge," Iris answered. "You were more interested in finding pebbles than wading."

"You liked rocks," Daisy agreed.

"That's how we knew something was wrong with you, even then." Iris laughed. "You and Seth Daniels--"

"From the livery?" Zane asked.

"Yes." Verbena picked up her chicken leg. "His ma worked for our grandmother. Now Josslyn works for Aumaleigh."

"Apparently Seth and I were best buds back then," Rose shrugged, stabbed a couple green beans with her fork. "Of course, we were toddlers."

"Adorable toddlers," Aumaleigh added, setting down her fork, radiant as she gazed upon her niece with love. "You had these ringlet blond curls and those enormous blue-green eyes. You'd run up to me with a new pebble clutched in your little chubby fist and you'd say, 'Look, Aumy, look.' And you'd bring me every little rock you found. I'd take you on my lap and give you a hug while we admired it."

"Aw, you were so cute, Rose." Magnolia grabbed the nearby bowl of mashed potatoes and added another spoonful to her plate. "I wish I'd known you back then, Aumaleigh."

"Me, too." Those tears gleamed in her eyes, not falling, just staying there, full of emotion. "It was a dark day when my brother took you all away. But we're together now."

"Together to stay," Verbena chimed in, shaking her chicken leg in emphasis.

So this is what a real family is like. Zane reached for his bottle and slugged back a healthy guzzle of sarsaparilla. He set the bottle down on the fine linen table cloth, chest tight and achy. And this is what Craddock and Klemp had tried to destroy, they would have torn apart these loving bonds. He was glad he'd been the one to stop them. It made the stain of the past less dark, made that past feel farther away. As if one day it could be forgotten.

But he knew today wasn't going to be that day.

He turned his gaze to Verbena, savoring the look of her sitting there in the lamplight, animated in laughter, her cheeks flushed pink with happiness. Her russet-brown hair framed her face in soft curls, and her jewel-blue eyes met his. Her life was worth a thousand of his. He loved her. That was the emotion, the truth, he kept fighting to ignore.

Here in the lamplight, in the circle of her family, he could see how home life would be. Suppers like this, comfortable and together. Evenings reading by the fire. Nights cozy in a house, mornings met with the smiling faces of those you loved most.

If only, he thought. But she deserved a much better man than he could ever be.

The meal was over, the dessert served and properly demolished so not even a crumb remained, and Verbena hated it because any minute Zane was going to excuse himself from the table, get his coat and leave. Just walk out of her life forever when she wanted to keep him, right here, forever.

"Well, I'm on my way out." Daisy pushed out of her chair. "I want to check on Beckett and Hailie. Clean up the dishes for them, get everything ready for morning."

"Beckett's a lucky man." Zane nodded once, pure sincerity. It would be easy to pretend the small hitch in the corner of his mouth meant something more, like a change of heart. Like maybe he was thinking how nice domestic life could be.

Wishful thinking, Verbena sighed, knowing she was dreaming when she had to be practical. Zane Reed, legendary bounty hunter, was a man with no roots and he liked it that way. All she had was tonight with him, then he would be gone forever.

"I hope Beckett continues to mend." Zane leaned back in his chair, at ease, calm. "Thank you for the home cooked meal. I don't get a lot of those."

"Just take care of yourself." Daisy skirted through the doorway and out of sight, the first sister to leave the table. No doubt the others, including Aumaleigh, would be right behind her, eager to get the dishes done so they could get started on the evening's reading and sewing.

Was there a way to hold back time? Verbena wished there was. She planted her hands on the table and rose from her chair. Around her, her sisters broke into conversations as they cleared the table of china dessert plates and fancy silver forks. Zane rose from the table too, towering above them. He looked different in blue, she realized. It softened his edges, made him even more handsome.

Any minute now, he was going to go. Say his farewells and walk out the door.

"Why don't I fix some coffee?" she offered, aware of his gaze on her face like the softest caress. She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see the longing she felt, the affection she feared was too strong to hide.

"I'd love some." Low and deep his voice, rough and revealing. He cared. She did not doubt that.

"You and I can take it in the sunroom." She felt Magnolia's hand on her sleeve, heard her sister say that she and Rose would make the coffee, to go on ahead. It felt good they supported her, that they understood.

When Zane held out his hand, so large compared to hers, she gave it to him. Let him link their fingers together and led him through the French doors into the parlor. A few lamps burned, casting sepia light across the imported carpet and furniture, illuminating their way into the hallway. He stayed by her side, his grip firm, his presence commanding and yet comfortable at the same time.

"This is nice." He followed her through the door, into the dark, echoing room. A chill came up through the floor and through the glass. Windows curved from floor to rafter, walled the room on two sides. Part of the ceiling gleamed darkly, glass too, offering a view of mountain and sky. "You can see the stars from here."

"I thought you would like it." She closed the door, let him tug her deeper into the room. "Since you sleep under the sky, I figured you must like seeing it."

"That I do." He couldn't deny it. The view was amazing, giving a glimpse of the big dipper, those straight, squared points of light. Stars, diamond-white, glittered across the black velvet sky. Trails of clouds sailed through them, absorbing their light, glowing like dark pearls. "I've spent most nights under that sky. It gets so I feel penned in when I have four walls around me. But here, I don't feel that way. Not at all."

"Tyler's crew finished the final touches today." Her soft alto filled the room, chased away the shadows. "They rolled out the carpet for us, but we don't have any furniture in here yet. Tyler is refinishing it for us."

"We don't need furniture." He sat down on the luxurious carpet and nudged her down with him. "This is more comfortable than most places I've slept."

"Says the man used to bunking down on rocks." Laughing, that voice. Easily happy.

This was who she must have been before Ernest, he thought, as he lay back. Bubbly, sweet, poised, confident. Resilient. The radiant stars above could not outshine her as she stretched out beside him, rested her head on his shoulder. She let him curve his arm around her so they were side by side, nothing between them.

"I loved the blackberry story." She rested one hand on his chest, turning into him. "This was when you were living with your father again?"

"Again? No." He wasn't a man of deception. He might not offer up his past voluntarily, but he didn't try to hide it either. There was no sense to that. Some things would always be a part of you, and he felt them now, dimming the stars, closing up his heart. He let out a sigh. "I never lived with my father before. Only after he came to the orphanage."

"Did he run off on you and your mother?" Tender-hearted her question, layered with sympathy.

"My mother ran off on him." It still hurt to remember his ma, a tough woman because life had made her so. In another place and time, different circumstances, she could have been beautiful with her long black hair and round face, green eyes as dark as moss. She might have wanted the sons she gave birth to. "My mother was traveling with her family when my pa and his gang attacked them on the Wyoming prairie. Pa and his men robbed and killed everyone but my mother. She was fourteen years old at the time. Pa took her captive, for himself."

"Oh." She gave a little gasp as the realization sank in. "You mean he kept her and--"

"Yes, used her for his pleasure. Made her cook and do laundry for everyone. He worked her ruthlessly and treated her worse." He had faint memories, vague pieces of that misery. The sound of his mother's sobs in the night as his father overpowered her, the blood across her face, the stripes of red across the back of her dress when he'd gotten more drunk than usual and whipped her mercilessly. The helplessness and terror he'd felt, not being able to help his ma.

"She managed to get away when I was three." He swallowed hard, past a dry throat. The memories were difficult. "I remember, because he almost caught us. Sheer terror. Ma and I hid in the hollowed out bank along a creek for hours in the night, while his men searched for us with rifles. When they went downstream and out of hearing range, Ma scooped me up and ran. She ran until dawn."

"Your poor mother." She blinked her eyes, as if fighting tears. "That's horrible. I'm so thankful she got away."

"It wasn't easy." He felt hollow, sounded hollow, remembering. "We were on the run for a long time. Sneaking into people's barns for the night, eating what little she could scavenge for us along the way. One day she collapsed in the middle of a country road in labor. An older couple came along and stopped. Mrs. Blintz helped Ma and me into the back of their wagon and took us home. After my little brother was born, we stayed on to help with whatever work they needed. They were getting on in years, so it was a good arrangement. Ma fixed up an old shed in the backyard and we lived there, her and my brother and me."

"And that was your first home?" She swiped tears from her eyes before he could see them.

"The only one." The notes of his voice rumbled low. "Ma worked hard, we scraped by. She took on any job she could find. Sewing, cleaning, field work. When I was five, she fell ill, and a fever took her within days. Mr. Blintz passed away too from the same fever. Mrs. Blintz was too old to care for a toddler and a child."

"That's when you went to the orphanage?"

He didn't answer, merely nodded. She didn't say anything more either, just let the silence settle around them, let the pain of his story settle within her. Overhead the constellations gleamed reassuringly, light blazing against the darkness. Someone knocked very lightly on the room's closed doors, and the faint rattle of silver and china reminded her about the coffee. She'd completely forgotten.

"I'll be right back." She tore herself away from his side, away from his warmth. The room felt cool, and cooler still with every step she took away from him. When she whipped open the door, no one was there. Just the tray on the floor, beautifully set for two. Coffee steam curling from the cups. Her thoughtful sisters. She plucked up the tray, elbowed the door closed and she turned around, bumping into him.

"I'll take that." He stole the tray, crossed the room. "You have a nice family."

"That's how it looks from the outside, doesn't it?" She couldn’t help teasing, maybe to drive away the sorrow from his story still lingering in the air. "I don't know how I put up with them."