Pieces of Sky (15 page)

After cutting off a sliver, Hank held up the stick and examined it, turning it this way and that. Apparently satisfied, he started another slice. “You shaved twice this week.”

“So?” Brady eyed his brother’s bushy beard. “You want, I’ll teach you how.”

Hank gave it some thought, then shook his head. “Wouldn’t be fair.”

Brady frowned up at him.

“You know how the ladies get when I clean up.” He flashed that astonishing grin that had women panting like race horses whenever he allowed them to see it. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your courting.”

Courting?
“Who said I was courting?”

Using short strokes, Hank shaped the end of the stick into a sharp point.

The hound stretched and yawned.

Brady contemplated the sunset. It wasn’t as bright as it would be later in the season when the dust haze brought out the reds and oranges, and purple-tinted thunderheads crowded the peaks, but it was still a wondrous sight. “I’m not courting.”

“Then all this fixing up is for Sancho?”

Damn.
“I didn’t say anything about Sancho. Did I say anything about Sancho?”

Having put a point on one end of the stick, Hank flipped it and started on the other.

The sun continued its downward slide. Reds faded to gold, and wispy clouds darkened to deep blue. “I know what you’re thinking,” Brady said after a while. “You’re thinking he’s out there waiting, and if I go after him, I’ll be playing into his hands.”

Hank looked at him.

“You think I should stay put so he’ll have to come to me, don’t you?” Hank was right, of course. Brady knew it would be foolish to force an issue when patience might yield a better result. But the waiting was killing him. “Hell.” He sighed. “All right. One week, but that’s all.”

Hank tossed the stick into the roses, then folded the penknife and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll leave you to your courting then.” Turning, he clomped down the steps and into the yard.

“Damn that Hank,” Brady muttered to Bullshot as his brother disappeared into the barn. “He plays me like a lute every time.” With a sigh, he reached down to scratch Bullshot’s ear. “We’re a worthless pair, aren’t we?”

“I’ll say.”

Startled, he looked up to see Jack mounting the porch steps. Other than when he had introduced his brothers to Her Ladyship, Jack had been scarce since their run-in. Brady felt the distance between them grow wider every day and that saddened him. Jack had always been a hard dog to keep under the porch, and Brady knew one day he’d slip the leash and take off. But he regretted that it might happen when there were still hard feelings between them.

“Bullshot’s been asking after you,” he said. “He’s missed you sorely.”

Jack bent down to rub the hound’s belly. “Said that, did he?”

“I think so. He coughed up something that sounded like ‘Jack,’ but it could have been a chicken feather.” He nodded toward the house. “Get the jug and sit a spell.”

Jack retrieved the whiskey jug from the larder then returned to sit in the chair by Brady’s rocker. Ru and Tobias and Red came by. Brady asked how the tally was going and they told him it was going well, and unless something happened between now and fall, they should have a fine showing. They understood how important it was to have the best stock ready for the Army bid in the fall. If they won it, there would be bonuses and money for some of the improvements Brady had planned. If they didn’t, it would be another tough year. They’d have to cull the herds, drive what they could east to join the big cattle drives heading up the Chisholm Trail to Abilene, Kansas. But if they could hang on a few more years until the railroads came through, they’d be sending Wilkins beef all the way to Kansas City or Chicago. And once that happened, Brady knew he could start the horse and cattle breeding programs he’d dreamed about.

But that was a long way off with a mountain of “ifs” in between. “How long these stage people staying, Boss?” Rufus elbowed the man beside him. “Toby here has his eye on the young one.”

“Too long,” Brady muttered. He thought of the railroader recuperating upstairs. He didn’t trust him and hoped Doc would send him on his way soon. “The man from Overland said the Army was sending a Dougherty wagon and escort for her and her mother. Should be here in a few days.” Hopefully the railroader would be well enough to go with them.

“Then how about the redhead?”

Jack looked over, but Brady didn’t meet his gaze. “She’s breeding. Stay away from her.”

He had avoided Her Ladyship for the last few days. Seeing her in his bed put ideas in his head that shouldn’t be there. He was a cattleman born and bred to run this ranch. He needed it like he needed food and water, needed the challenge of managing an eighty-eight-thousand-acre spread and keeping it safe while building something that would last long after he was gone. She didn’t fit into any of that.

Yet sometimes, after the ranch bedded down for the night, and he was sitting on the porch in the still of the evening, with just the hound and the crickets and the “what-ifs” for company, thoughts of her would slide quietly across his mind like a gentle drift of smoke. He would picture her in his bed a few feet away, or remember something she said, or the way her mouth pinched when she was amused and trying not to show it, and the sharp reminder of all that was missing from his life and all he would never have would cut as deep as a well- honed blade.

The three cowboys wandered off.

Jack and Brady shared the jug and a companionable silence as the waning moon drifted across the night sky, leaving in its wake a trail of stars. Feeling mellow and relaxed and enjoying Jack’s company in a way he hadn’t in a long time, Brady said, “So what do you think of her?”

“Who?”

“The Pope’s second wife. Who do you think?”

“Her Ladyship? I like her fine. Why you asking?”

Wondering the same thing, Brady tried to make a joke of it. “I’m thinking of selling her to the Muscaleros and was trying to set a price.”

“Not much. Indians don’t like uppity women.”

“She is that.” Brady smiled. “She makes me laugh.”

“I noticed.” A pause, then, “Are you drunk?”

Brady ignored that and reached for the jug. “It’s tough, though. Not knowing who he is—if he’s out there somewhere—if she still has feelings for him. It’s got me tied in knots.”

Another pause. “He who? I thought she was a widow.”

“Hell, I thought so, too.”

Jack started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You and Her Ladyship. Be like teaming a fancy carriage horse with a rented mule.”

Brady didn’t like that analogy. A Shire warhorse maybe. Or a Friesen stallion. Definitely not a mule. Mules were impotent.

“She and Elena seem to get along,” Jack said.

Brady’s comfortable mood faded.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

Brady looked over to meet his brother’s frown. All Jack had to do was open his eyes. The truth was right in front of him. But Jack had always been incapable of seeing past the obvious. As irritating as that could be sometimes, Brady often envied his brother’s ability to view life in such simple terms. Careful to keep his voice neutral, he asked, “Why should that bother me?”

Jack looked away. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Brady.”

“Well, you are pretty dumb.”

“How can you do this to Elena? Nothing against Her Ladyship, but hell, Brady, all these years you and Elena—”

“Jack, look at me.”

When he did, Brady saw the confusion and hurt in his brother’s eyes. He was weary of it. “There is no me and Elena,” he said with quiet emphasis. “There never was and never will be. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“What’s that mean exactly? Why would she still be here if not because of you?”

Brady lifted his brows but said nothing. He watched Jack wrestle with it, hoping his brother could put aside his resentments and summon up the intellect to look beyond the surface and piece it all together. When it was clear he couldn’t, he sat back with a sigh. “Get off my porch. You’re too stupid to talk to.”

Jack started to argue, but Brady waved him away. “You want answers, go to her. I’m done talking.” And signaling an end to it, he tipped his head back and pulled his hat over his eyes.

Eight

“IS SOMETHING WRONG?” JESSICA ASKED.

Dr. O’Grady had finally returned to check on her, and she fully expected him to lift the impossible restrictions he had placed upon her. She felt fully recovered. In fact, she felt so robust, she was itching to tackle a thorough cleaning of this somewhat neglected room and any others in a similar condition. So why was he hesitating?

O’Grady removed the stethoscope and folded it into his medicine satchel. He studied her with sharp interest. “Ever had heart problems?”

“No.”

“A high fever when you were still a lass?”

“Nothing unusual. Why?”

“Maybe a heart murmur?”

“No. And why are you asking about my heart?”

The doctor scratched thoughtfully at the stubble under his chin. “Sure, and it could be an echo. Or maybe . . .” Suddenly he grinned. “It could be twins.”

O’Grady said more, but Jessica couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in her head.

Twins?
Two babies? How could that be? Dizziness assailed her. Her chest felt odd. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and the harder she worked at it, the worse it became.

Suddenly a noxious odor exploded in her nose. “Easy, lass. Breathe easy.”

Jessica shoved the bottle of smelling salts away. But once she brought her breathing under control, her mind started racing in all directions. “You could be wrong,” she argued. “If you were a military surgeon, you probably don’t know. How many babies were born on the battlefield?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“It could be something I ate or—”

“Is it a sniff of the bottle you’re wanting?”

Jessica raised a hand. “No!”

O’Grady recapped the vial and returned it to his satchel. “It’s not the end of the world, lass. Two wee babes—it’s a blessing, is what it is. How can you be thinking otherwise?”

A blessing for anyone but her. Jessica felt the betraying sting of tears. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest to calm her racing heart. “How can I take care of two babies?” One was challenge enough. But two? “And why didn’t you tell me when you examined me before?”

“I wasn’t sure then. I had to check my books.”

Dear God.
Was the man a complete incompetent? “You have delivered a baby before, haven’t you?” If he turned out to be a horse doctor, she would kill Brady Wilkins.

“We’ll do fine, colleen. We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?” The doctor patted her shoulder, a useless platitude to an unmarried woman with no home and no means of support, who had just been given the blessed and terrifying news that she would give birth to not one, but two babies. And in less than three months.

“In fact, you’re doing well enough to get out of bed. Short periods at first, then if all goes well, a little longer each day. How does that sound, lass?”

It sounded like she had better find her brother George, and quickly.

 

 

DR. O’GRADY SEEMED TO HAVE LITTLE REGARD FOR THE PRIVACY of his patients. Within minutes of his leaving, women descended like a flock of chattering birds—Elena, Consuelo, Melanie, and an older Negro woman Elena introduced as Buck’s wife, Iantha. Apparently twins were rare enough to cause a great deal of excitement.

As the ladies prattled on about babies and what they needed and how they could get it all together, the mother-to-be stared numbly into the tarnished mirror above the bureau as she brushed out her hair, and tried to hide her terror behind a vacuous smile.

Twins. What would she do if she couldn’t find George?

“Will you eat, Jessica?” Elena set a plate of food on the bureau.

Jessica looked at the thinly sliced chicken, early peas, and buttery mashed potatoes, and almost cast up her accounts. “Perhaps later.”

“Do not worry,
mi amiga.
” Elena patted her shoulder. “God sent you to us, and we will do all that we can to help you. But you must eat and make those babies strong.”

Jessica smiled weakly. What choice did she have but to put herself and her babies in the care of these generous people and Dr. O’Grady? After months of flight, she was finally run to ground. All she could do now was trust in God and the kindness of strangers. A humbling thought, one that reinforced what she had learned during that ordeal on the desert—the margin between survival and death was narrow indeed.

The next afternoon Melanie bustled in with one of Jessica’s newly altered dresses and news of a fiesta to be held in the courtyard that evening. “Because of some battle back in May of ’62 when the Mexicans beat the French. They’ll have food and music and dancing, and everybody will be there. Isn’t that grand? I haven’t been to a party in so long. Do you think this will do?” She shook out the gown, one of Jessica’s favorites, a pale yellow silk with a green underskirt and sash and low-scooped neckline. “I altered it for you.”