скачать книгу бесплатно
She burned with questions, but held her tongue. As a result, the evening passed pleasantly enough, with Dan agreeably playing games with the twins while Jack and her father sat reminiscing about the war years, her mother knitting and Caroline sitting silently, listening. As an older man, her father had joined the home guard, rather than the regular army, and had spent the war protecting Texans against the depredations of the Indians. Jack had served with General Hood, rising to the rank of major before the war was over.
When the clock struck nine, her mother rose. “Girls, let’s arrange your beds on the summer porch. We can make up your father’s bed there, too. I’ll put out some quilts, but it’s still plenty warm at night, so you’ll be comfortable.”
Abigail and Amelia followed her eagerly, and Caroline guessed they found it a treat not to be sleeping out in the open for a change. The rain had stopped, but the ground would surely have been muddy.
“I’m tired. Reckon I’ll turn in,” her father said, yawning as he stood up. “You, too, Dan, since you have to be at the livery at sunrise.”
Caroline stared after her father, wishing she could call him back. What could he be thinking, leaving me alone with this man? Can’t he sense the distrust between Jack and me? She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, the feeling of attraction that lay between them, too. She should have gone with her mother and the girls to help make up the beds on the porch, but it was too late. If she left to do that now, she’d obviously be fleeing Jack’s presence, and Caroline wasn’t about to let it look that way.
Jack watched her father and brother go. Then, when the sound of their doors closing echoed in the parlor, he turned to Caroline.
“Can we call a truce, Miss Caroline?” he asked, the lamplight flickering on his face.
“I…I wasn’t aware we were at war,” she said stiffly, unable to meet those blue eyes that reminded her so achingly of Pete’s.
He uttered a soft sound that might have been a barely stifled snort of disbelief, but he didn’t call her a liar, at least. “Please, Miss Caroline, for the sake of the man we both loved?”
Oh, unfair, she thought, to invoke your brother. But since he had, how could she disagree?
“Very well, Mr. Collier, in memory of Pete.”
“Please call me Jack. Mr. Collier was our father,” he said, as if that wasn’t a complimentary comparison. “And I have an olive branch of sorts to extend to you.” He reached into his shirt pocket, brought out the pearl ring and held it out to her. “Please, take this back and keep it with my blessing. It was wrong of me to take it. Pete would have wanted you to keep it, so…so that’s what I want, too.”
“But…shouldn’t it stay in the family?” she asked, wanting to do the right thing, the self-sacrificing thing. “For your girls?” For you to give the woman you will marry?
“I want you to have it.”
Something flickered in the depths of those blue eyes, and she wondered what he was thinking. She reached out and took the ring, finding it still warm from his body. Her hand shook a little as she slipped it back on her finger. “Thank you, M— Jack.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling in approval.
She decided to test this moment of amity. “So…what are you going to do, Jack? About your daughters, and the cattle drive?” she asked, hoping the question wasn’t pushing him too hard.
“Said I was going to think about it, didn’t I?” he said, but his tone indicated he was amused rather than offended by her persistence.
She refused to be buffaloed by him. “You’ve already decided, I think.”
He rubbed his chin again. “I’m going to leave the girls here, for sure. I reckon it only makes good sense,” he admitted. “And I thought I’d talk to the bank president in the morning, and see what the terms would be, if we wintered on that ranch your pa spoke of.”
Even though they’d achieved a sort of peace, Caroline knew it wouldn’t be easy being around him. But aloud she said, “You’re making a wise decision, Jack. Papa wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
He held up a hand. “Now, hold your horses, Teacher. It’s all going to depend on what the banker says. And if I like his terms, I’ve still got to ride out to where the herd’s bedded down and talk that bunch of misfits that call themselves drovers into helping me build a bunkhouse where we can spend the winter. Cowboys are an independent lot, you know. They might not at all be willing to stay, especially if it means doing some hard work between now and cold weather.”
She fought to stifle a smile. There was something about the way he called his men misfits that told Caroline the bond between them went deep. And she didn’t want to admit, even to herself, how much she’d liked the way he called her “Teacher.” Her pupils called her that sometimes, but it felt different, somehow, when this man said it.
As soon as she thought it, she felt guilty, as if she were cheating on Pete. No. She’d lost the love of her life, and she was done with romance and marriage. And even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t give the time of day to a man who would leave for Montana. She wouldn’t be left behind again.
Her mother returned just then, with the twins skipping ahead of her.
“Come see our beds, Papa! They’re oh-so-cozy!” one of them—Abby?—called.
“Yeah, we’ll be snug as bugs in a rug, Aunt Mary says,” the other one added, pulling on her father’s hand. “Come see.”
Aunt Mary? Caroline darted a glance at Jack, wondering if he would object to the name. After all, there was no real relationship between her mother and these two girls, any more than there was between them and herself.
“I hope you don’t mind if they call me that, Jack,” her mother said. “Mrs. Wallace just seems so formal.”
Jack shook his head. “Not a bit, ma’am. Good night, ladies.” His gaze lingered on Caroline, leaving her feeling decidedly unsettled.
Chapter Four
The scent of frying bacon led Jack to the kitchen the next morning where he was surprised to see the twins already freshly scrubbed and sitting at the table, digging into bacon and biscuits.
Caroline sat at the table, too, and raised her head as he entered. She looked clear-eyed and neat as a pin but once again was dressed in black. The hue looked impossibly severe on her, he thought. In spite of the unflattering dress, she was a lovely woman, with her glossy brown hair and large expressive eyes. He had no trouble understanding why his brother had fallen in love with her.
He wondered when she planned to give up wearing mourning. Surely she didn’t expect to wear black for Pete forever, even if she grieved inwardly for him? He couldn’t help imagining what she’d look like wearing some hue like deep green or gold. But some other man would have the pleasure of seeing her wearing colors again, and that man wouldn’t be a rancher with a weathered face and mud, or worse, on his boots. A woman of her education and refinement would pick another safe sort of husband who worked in the town, as Pete had. A shopkeeper or a preacher, perhaps.
“Good morning, Papa,” the twins chorused, catching sight of him.
“Morning, girls.” They looked neat and tidy, too, he noted. Amelia’s hem now was free of stains, and Abigail’s sleeve had been mended. Their hair was neatly braided.
He hadn’t even heard his daughters get up—which was natural, he supposed, considering how long he’d lain awake last night thinking about Pete. He’d shed some tears, too, but quietly, letting them leak soundlessly out of his eyes and soak into the pillow, lest he wake the girls.
They’d talked about Pete, before falling asleep, and though the girls were sad about the loss of their uncle, they hadn’t grown up with Pete as he had. Pete had been working in Houston in a druggist’s store by the time they were old enough to remember. He’d made it home to the ranch in Goliad County only a few times a year. In time their uncle would become a distant memory to his daughters, Jack knew. But he would always remember the older brother he’d idolized, the one with all the “book learnin’” their father seemed to prize so much. Jack had always disappointed the old man, even though he, not Pete, had been the one to follow in his father’s rancher footsteps.
“Good morning, Jack,” Mrs. Wallace said from the stove, where she was turning flapjacks. “I hope you slept well.”
“Sure was nicer than sleeping on the hard ground, ma’am,” he admitted, not about to let on how long into the night he had lain awake.
Caroline took a sip of coffee, then cleared her throat. “Why don’t you let Abby and Amelia go to school with me today, since you’re going to be busy going to the bank and out to talk to your men?”
Abby looked excited at the prospect. “Please, Papa, can we?”
“Yes, please? I love school,” Amelia added.
“How do you know, Punkin? So far you’ve only seen recess,” Jack teased. But he felt a surge of guilt, thinking of how slapdash their rearing had been thus far. They were only six, true, but with their mother gone, he’d been too busy around the ranch to teach them the things that children properly learned at their mothers’ knees. Things that prepared them to learn in school. He didn’t want them growing up ignorant of their letters and sums and history and such. Even wives and mothers needed to know these things. Would there be a school in Montana, when he got there?
“Yes, you can go with Miss Caroline,” he told them, and they clapped. “But you mind what she says,” he added quickly. “Make me proud.”
“We will, Papa,” Amelia promised, and Abby nodded. Both girls bounced happily in their chairs. “Hooray! We’re goin’ to school!”
“Then you’d better finish up,” Caroline told them. “The teacher has to be there earlier than anyone to ring the school bell. If you’re done with your breakfast in five minutes, you may take turns ringing it.”
Immediately they attacked what was left of their meal with enthusiasm.
Evidently done eating, Caroline brought a plate of flapjacks, bacon and biscuits to the table and set it in front of him, then refilled his coffee cup.
“Thank you, Miss Caroline,” Jack said. Silence reigned, broken only by the clink of forks on crockery plates, and he fell to musing about his situation. What would Pete have done, if their situations had been reversed?
Then he realized Mr. Wallace had said something to him while his thoughts wandered. “Pardon me, sir? Guess I’m not fully awake yet.”
Mr. Wallace looked faintly amused. “That’s all right, Jack. Drink some more of that strong coffee. Caroline makes it so strong a horseshoe will float in it. I was just saying that Caroline tells us you’ve decided to take my advice and talk to the bank president about the Waters ranch,” Mr. Wallace said.
Jack glanced at Caroline, who was smart enough to look down just then—so he couldn’t see the satisfaction shining in her eyes, he guessed. “I’ll see what the man has to say,” Jack said noncommittally. “And whether my men are willing to stay on here.”
“You’ll find Henry Avery a reasonable soul,” Mr. Wallace said. “But it probably wouldn’t hurt to tell him I suggested it.”
“I will, sir, much obliged.” It could only add to his respectability to have the postmaster, a longtime resident, vouch for him. Mr. Wallace had told him yesterday afternoon that the town had held Pete in great esteem, but Jack knew drovers had a reputation everywhere for being wild and irresponsible.
Jack was thankful Mr. Avery wouldn’t be aware he’d considered pressing north with his herd and his children even with winter coming soon. The more he thought about it now, the more harebrained the idea seemed. What had he been thinking? It was a good thing Caroline and her parents had talked him out of it.
“Time to go,” Caroline announced to the twins. They jumped up, and she scooped up her poke. The slates rattled inside as she did so, and Jack wondered when she’d had time to look at them. Had she sat up, reading her students’ work by lamplight, after he and the girls had gone off to bed?
The twins jumped to their feet and dashed over to kiss him. “Bye, Papa,” they chorused.
“We’ll see you later, Jack,” Caroline said. “Good luck with your trip to the bank.”
“Bank doesn’t open till nine, young man,” Mrs. Wallace told him. “You might as well have another round of flapjacks.”
“Don’t mind if I do, thank you,” he said, sure these were better than any flapjacks Cookie had ever made. He thought about asking for the recipe, then realized there’d be no forgiveness from his cook if Jack suggested his pancakes were less than perfect already. Then, to fill the silence, he asked, “Does your daughter like teaching?”
“Seems to,” Mr. Wallace said.
“Yes, she needed something to occupy herself,” Mrs. Wallace said, as she plunked the coffeepot back on top of the stove. “She was devastated when your brother died during the influenza outbreak, Jack. We were worried she’d—well, we used to call it ‘going into a decline,’ back before the war. For a while we thought she was going to die of a broken heart.”
Jack’s own heart ached at the thought of Caroline’s grief hitting her so hard that she’d almost died of it. He remembered how he’d felt when his own wife had passed away—bewildered, helpless, but so busy keeping the chores done while trying to console his very young children who had lost their mother that he’d had little time to cry.
It had only been at night, when the ranch house was quiet, that he’d had time to lie awake and mourn for his young wife. He remembered he hadn’t slept much for about half a year, until his body eventually tired from sleep deprivation and his sleep became heavy and dreamless.
Was love really worth it if the loss of a mate could wreck a body like that? Yet he missed being married, missed the softness and tenderness of a woman.
Mr. Wallace rose, muttering that it was time to open the post office, and went through the door in the kitchen that connected their house to it. Mrs. Wallace came to the table with a small helping of bacon and eggs, finally sitting down to break her own fast now that everyone else was fed. He hated to leave her at the table by herself, and since his pocket watch indicated it was still only half-past eight, he decided to keep her company.
“When Pete left Houston, he wrote me that he was coming to Simpson Creek to meet the ladies of ‘the Spinsters’ Club,’” Jack began, thinking he’d satisfy his curiosity and make conversation at the same time.
Mrs. Wallace smiled. “Yes, they started out calling it ‘the Simpson Creek Society for the Promotion of Marriage,’ but that didn’t last too long. They’re really something, those girls. When the war ended, and the only men who managed to return home to Simpson Creek were the married men, Milly Matthews decided she didn’t want to be an old maid and organized the others who felt likewise into a club. Well, sir, they put an advertisement in the Houston newspaper inviting marriage-minded bachelors to come meet them, and the men began coming, singly and in groups. First one to get married was Milly herself, to a British fellow, Nick Brookfield. In fact, if you do spend the winter on the ranch, they’ll be your neighbors. Then her sister Sarah met her match, the new doctor, and Caroline would have been the third, except for the influenza…” Her face sobered, and she looked down.
“I understand quite a few folks died then, not just Pete,” Jack put in.
“Yes, too many. People on ranches, people in town. I reckon we might’ve lost more if Dr. Walker hadn’t been here. The mayor’s wife died, and her sister, and the livery stable owner, and the proprietor of the mercantile… It was awful, Jack. I don’t know why Mr. Wallace and I were spared, but we’re thankful.”
Jack deliberately changed the subject. “Did your daughter always want to be a teacher?”
Mrs. Wallace wiped her lips with a napkin, then shook her head. “No, she never said anything about it before, though she was always quick to learn. But when the old teacher announced she was leaving to be a missionary this summer, suddenly Caroline decided she was going to take her place and devote herself to the children of the town. Oh, she still helps out with the Spinsters’ Club, just because she’s friends with those ladies, but she’s made it clear she’s given up on the idea of marriage.”
“Well, hello there, Caroline!” a voice called, and Caroline looked up to see her friend Milly Brookfield just pulling up in her buckboard in front of the doctor’s office. No doubt she was here to visit her sister Sarah in the house attached to the back of the clinic. As Caroline approached with the curious girls at her side, the old cowboy who had been holding the reins took the baby Milly had been holding so Milly could descend, then handed him to her on the ground.
“Mornin’, Miss Caroline,” he called, fingering the brim of his cap. “You got some new students, eh?”
“Morning yourself, Josh. Yes, these are Amelia and Abigail Collier. They’re going to be staying with us for a while.”
“Nice to meet you, young ladies. Miz Milly, reckon I’ll jest mosey over to the mercantile and pick up those things you were wantin’,” Josh said. He set the brake, clambered down and walked stiffly down the street. Caroline guessed the old cowboy’s rheumatism had gotten worse, along with his hearing.
Milly hadn’t missed the significance of the girls’ surname, however, and raised her eyebrows, her eyes flashing a question to Caroline.
“Yes, these are Pete’s brother Jack’s daughters. He arrived yesterday.” Caroline stared straight into her old friend’s eyes, willing her to understand that there was more to the story that she didn’t want to discuss in front of the children. She knew Milly was aware that Caroline had never gotten an answer to the letter she’d sent to Pete’s brother informing him of Pete’s death.
Milly, God bless her, didn’t miss a beat. “Well, isn’t that wonderful that you could come for a visit!” she said, bending down to the girls. As she did so, baby Nicholas woke up and cooed, sending the girls into delighted giggles.
“He’s darling!” cried Amelia, while Abby asked, “What’s his name? How old is he? Can I hold him?”
“Another time, perhaps,” Caroline told them. “We have to get to school, remember?”
“I’m sure your mother’s thrilled to have two little girls to spoil,” Milly said, and then to the girls, she added, “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to hold little Nicholas. He’s just getting to the age where he likes to flirt with older women.”
The girls giggled again.
Milly turned back to Caroline. “I thought I’d drop in on Sarah for coffee, since we came to town to get supplies, but why don’t I stop over at the school at morning recess and we can catch up?”
Caroline could see from the avid interest in her friend’s eyes that she wanted to hear the full story of Jack Collier’s arrival. Which was fine, for Caroline needed to tell someone about it, someone who would understand the feelings that had overwhelmed her yesterday at seeing the man who looked so like his brother. Someone full of common sense, as Milly was, who would understand the contradictory feelings that had warred within Caroline after he had first exasperated her with his foolish plans, then confused her later with his kindness. Suddenly she could hardly wait till recess, when the children would be outside and she and Milly could have a frank talk. It had been too long since Caroline had shared her feelings with her friend.
“That would be wonderful,” she said. “I usually have recess at ten. Come on, girls, we’d better hurry, or Billy Joe Henderson will ring that bell before we get there.”
Henry Avery studied Jack with a skeptical gaze that told Jack he was drawing conclusions from his bedraggled appearance—Jack’s worn denims, down-at-the-heel boots, the shirt and vest he hadn’t managed to brush entirely free of trail dust, his battered, broad-brimmed hat. But once Jack told the bank president what he was there for and that Mr. Wallace had sent him, Mr. Avery showed him into his back office with encouraging eagerness.
“That’s a capital idea, capital!” he enthused about Jack’s proposal to winter at the Waters ranch. “I don’t mind telling you it’s been difficult to raise any interest in the place after the last two owners were murdered—”
“Yes, Mr. Wallace told me about their deaths,” Jack put in quickly, not wanting to hear another long recital of the tale. He didn’t want the sun to get too high by the time he made it out to the herd, for he knew his drovers would be wondering about him.
“Yes, folks say the place is cursed, but I know a sensible fellow such as yourself doesn’t pay any mind to silly tales like that. Fact is, it’s prime ranch land, well-watered. And if you were to build a cabin on it to stay in over the winter, I’d probably have no further difficulty sellin’ that place come spring, once you’d gone on to Montana.” The bank president spread his hands over a slight potbelly as he leaned back in his chair. “But are you sure you want to do that? Why, you could buy the Waters place, and come spring, you could drive the herd to Kansas and be back by fall with a big profit lining your pockets. You could do worse than this pretty part of Texas.”
It was lovely, with its rolling blue hills and clear green streams, and so was a certain young woman in black, Jack thought. But she wasn’t interested in marriage anymore, certainly not to the likes of him. And he didn’t need to spend any more of his life with someone who’d constantly compare him to his brother, against whom he’d always fall short.
“I know. But my mind is made up.”
“Once you see the place, you’ll change your mind,” the banker declared.
Jack shook his head. “I just want to rent it till spring, Mr. Avery. What’ll you charge me if my men and I erect some sort of dwelling on it?”
“Mr. Collier, I liked your brother, and I was sorry to hear of his passing. If you’d promise to build at least a cabin there—a decent, sound dwelling, mind you, not some ramshackle hut that falls over when the first bad storm blows by—I won’t charge you a penny. But you really ought to buy it.”
“What does the heir want for it?” Jack inquired, though more out of courtesy than any real interest.
“Not much now,” the bank president said with a wink. “But it’ll cost you more once there’s a dwelling on it.”
Jack couldn’t help smiling at the other man’s doggedness. “I’ll think about it, but you better count on us moving on in the spring. There’s already a prime piece of ranch land waiting for me up in Montana Territory.”
But no prime ranch land in Montana could compare to a woman like Caroline, a voice within him mocked.
