Texan's Touch

TWENTY-FIVE

EVERY MUSCLE IN her body ached from trying to stay in the saddle and not fall asleep. Finally she saw the tiny lights of Daniel’s settlement flickering on the horizon like ghost fires in the Smoky Mountains.

The homes ran along one side of a broad stream while a church and school had been built on the other side. Wes’s map had been accurate, allowing her to use natural landmarks and stay away from civilization.

She’d even avoided Emery’s Post halfway between Fort Worth and Dan’s home, not wanting to awaken Emery. Wes might trust the man, but in her experience, horse traders had never been overly honest. If he’d help her for a price, he’d help anyone looking for her for the same price.

Nichole climbed off her mount, deciding to walk the last mile. Wes had told her that this settlement, like many others in Texas, was a small religious group who thought they’d tame the frontier with their plows and Bibles. Like Parker’s Fort on the banks of the Navasota some thirty years ago, Wes assured her these people, for all their religion, were fighters.

She walked through a freshly plowed field, knowing she’d never ask them to fight to protect her. As she walked, she studied the land looking for routes of escape should the raiders have followed. But they couldn’t have, she reasoned, she’d left no trail.

Wes also told her the house near the edge of the settlement next to the livery would be Daniel’s. The youngest McLain had joined the group as a blacksmith, not a preacher, though both his brothers thought he’d go back into the ministry in time.

Nichole tied her horse and moved up the three steps to the front door of a small, well-built home. Lights were already on in the place so, she hoped she wouldn’t frighten anyone by calling so early. She knocked lightly.

Someone shuffled about inside the house before a young woman opened the door.

“Yes?” she inquired with a shy smile. “Can I help you?”

“Willow?” Nichole couldn’t believe the change. The barefoot little wet nurse stood before her in a dress, not the shift she had worn months ago. Her hair was clean and combed back from her face and she had on shoes. “Willow, is that you?”

The girl tilted her head in confusion. “It’s me, but who are you? I know ever’body in the settlement.”

“I’m a friend of Daniel’s. You only saw me once-you might not remember me. My name’s Nichole Hayward. I was there at the McLain farm the day you first saw the babies.”

“I don’t remember you, but if you’re Daniel’s friend, come on in. He says all are welcome.”

Nichole stepped into a neat little two-room cabin. A loft lowered the ceiling on one side where the kitchen stood. The floor was wood and the furnishings almost stark-a table, a few chairs, a rocker by the fire. In the center of the floor was a huge rug made from scraps of material crocheted in a circle. Two babies sat in the middle of the rug. They both had golden curls, angel faces, and clean nightshirts.

“Me and the twins were just having our morning snack. We sometimes get up earlier than Mr. Daniel.” Willow folded down on the rug. “You want one?” She handed Nichole a slice of bread covered with jelly.

Nichole lowered her empty saddlebag to the floor and removed her hat. She sat at the table and watched Willow and the babies. “This is good,” she said as she tasted the bread.

Willow shared her piece with first one twin, then the other. “I remember you now,” she grinned. “You told me the twins’ ma was a good cook. I remember that and I tell it to the twins sometimes. But Mrs. March from next door made this jelly and bread. She’s a widow with five kids. Mr. Daniel takes care of her stock in exchange for fresh bread twice a week and a meal every night for us. She brings it over, and all I have to do is wash the pot and give it back to her come morning after Mr. Daniel cooks breakfast.” Willow smiled. “He cooks whatever I like, unless he’s in a hurry.”

Nichole watched Willow. She couldn’t help but notice that not only were the twins healthy and happy, Willow seemed to be also.

Willow stood and moved to the neat little kitchen. “Want some milk? We got lots of milk. All the milk I can drink. Mr. Daniel’s got a cow just so we don’t run out.” She poured two cups of milk and handed one to Nichole, then sat down and offered the twins each a drink from her cup.

“Mr. Daniel is good to you?”

Willow smiled. “Ever’body is here. Most of the women come by to check on me ever’ day, and sometimes they invite me and the twins to their house. Then I don’t have to watch the twins so close because the older girls want to hold them.” Willow grinned. “Us women make butter and soap and important things like that together. I bring my share home and give some to Mr. Daniel, and he says I’m priceless.”

Nichole smiled and leaned back in the chair. She knew Adam and Wes had feared how Daniel, being widowed with two babies, might survive. He seemed to be doing just fine.

“What are the twins’ names?” Nichole smiled at the girls.

“Twin,” Willow answered. “That’s all, just twin. Mr. Daniel calls them angel or dear one, but I just call them twin. They both look up at me when I do.”

“Where is Daniel?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know. He didn’t talk much at supper or play with the girls as long as he usually does.” Willow lifted one of the twins. “Some nights he sleeps in the loft, but some nights he leaves and don’t come back until morning. He says he has work to do.”

Moving toward the only other room, the bedroom, Willow added, “I got to nurse the babies. Mrs. March told me I can only feed them twice a day now ’cause it’s time they were drinking from a cup.” She looked around as if unsure what to do with a guest in the house.

“I have to be going.” Nichole stood. “Thank you for the bread and milk.”

Willow smiled, seeing that she’d done right.

“Good morning, Willow.” Nichole moved to the door. “I’ll see you later.”

Relieved that her problem was solved, Willow nodded her good-bye.

Nichole walked outside, wondering where she would bed down for a few hours. She had thought to be welcome at Daniel’s house, but couldn’t blame Willow for barely remembering her. The girl had only met Nick one day when her world was changing. Nick couldn’t help but smile at the memory of how Wes had reacted to Willow showing her breasts. After his comment about Bergette’s powdered chest, she knew she’d have enough ammunition to tease him when next they met.

Strolling over to the livery, Nichole decided to at least give her horse a roof. She unsaddled him and was rubbing him down when someone stepped between her and the lantern she’d lit.

“That’s my brother’s mount.” The low voice startled her with its less than friendly words.

She turned around to find Daniel standing behind her. He was thinner than she remembered and there was a hardness about him that removed all the boy she’d met less than a year ago. He wore a sleeveless shirt and his arms were powerful from the work he did as blacksmith. So much of his face was cut like Adam’s, strong and handsome, but his sandy blond hair was very different.

“I know,” she answered. “Wes and Adam sent me to find you. You may not remember me, but I was there the night the twins were born. I’m Nick.”

Daniel limped a few steps closer. “I remember,” he said with pain. “It was also the night my wife died.”

For a moment he stared at her, letting the pain of the memory hit her full as it must hit him every hour of every day. “What can I do for you?” he finally asked in a formal voice.

Nick thought of saying nothing. Daniel had his own life, his own pain, he didn’t need her. But if she left, Adam might not be able to find her.

“I need a place to stay for a few days.” She watched him closely. “You see, I-”

“All right,” he answered. “You can sleep in the loft in the house. I bunk out here half the time anyway.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

Daniel shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome in my house for as long as you want to stay.”

Nichole watched him move away. The sadness that cocooned him made her want to cry. He seemed to have aged years in the months since his wife’s death.

She finished with her horse and followed the light to where she could hear him working. The sun hadn’t yet broken through but his work fire was already hot. She wondered if he’d worked all night. He sat at a bench twisting leather around metal, creating a harness.

“That’s fine work.” She moved closer, studying his excellent craftsmanship.

“Thanks,” he mumbled without looking up.

“You do a lot of these?”

“Some.”

She glanced about, trying to think of something else to say. The workshop was orderly. He was far more than a blacksmith. She saw all matter of smith work, including a few pieces of silver. “You’re up early, Daniel.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her. If she hadn’t understood his sorrow, she would have given up. But she did know the source of his pain, and she’d seen tonight how well he’d taken on the responsibility of the twins. He probably wasn’t yet twenty-one, yet he’d taken the load of a man.

She had never had time to learn the subtleties of conversation or how to give comfort. In her world a loss was a loss and no one spoke of it. But when she thought that she might never hold Adam again, she caught a glimpse of what Daniel must feel now.

Silently, she knelt in front of him and began straightening the leather straps he worked with. This she knew. Within minutes they were working together, making the tedious chore fly.

An hour passed. Nichole was so tired she could hardly stand, but she didn’t know how else to help him. He said only what was necessary and never smiled, but she could feel him relaxing at her side.

When the work was done he walked her back to the house without saying a word except thank you as she passed through the door. He silently cooked breakfast for Willow and her, but by the time the coffee boiled Nichole was curled into a ball sound asleep on the rug in front of the fire.

For three days his work pattern didn’t change. She awoke in the loft with Daniel already cooking breakfast. He ate very little, but played with the twins while Willow took her time eating and telling him every detail of her day’s plans. Then he’d leave, always asking if Willow needed anything. Nichole didn’t miss the kindness he showed the girl, and he’d never raised his voice at her. There seemed to be one hard rule. Willow never left the house without telling Daniel where she was going.

Since she had no dress, or desire to be with the women, Nichole followed Daniel to the barn each morning. Folks came by, but she noticed no one stopped to visit. After three days, Nichole had no trouble guessing why. Daniel never said more than a few words. Sometimes she’d help him, sometimes she’d just watch, but never did he make any effort to start a conversation with her.

On the fourth night of her stay a spring storm blew in from the west. Willow went to bed early with a twin nestled on either side of her, and Nichole was left alone in the house. She passed the time for a while listening to the wind, then glanced out to see the light still on in the livery. With the coffeepot half-full and two mugs in her hand, she ran through the rain to the side door of the barn.

At first, she didn’t see Daniel when she went inside. He was sitting in a corner of his workroom with his head on his knees like a child afraid of the rain.

When she entered, the storm slammed the door closed behind her and Daniel looked up with pain-filled eyes.

Nichole set the pot down and ran to him, thinking that he must somehow be hurt. “Daniel!” She knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”

Slowly he raised his head. “I hate the rain and the wind,” he whispered. “God, how I hate storms.”

“You’ve been drinking,” she said as she brushed the blond hair back from his damp face. His brown eyes were floating in tears.

“Not enough.” He turned away from her as if trying to curl inside a ball.

Nichole wasn’t sure what to do as she lifted the bottle beside him. The loneliness surrounding him was so thick she could taste it in the air, hear his screams in his very breath. She could feel his pain as real as one feels the fire when standing too close to the flames.

All she could think to do was to crawl inside the pain with him so he would at least have company in his sorrow. “Then let’s drink until we have drunk enough.”

She bit the cork off as she’d seen Wolf do a few times and took a swallow, then handed it to Daniel. He looked surprised but downed his share.

The liquor fired down her throat and exploded in her stomach. Nick opened her mouth wide trying to breathe, but she didn’t say a word. She’d made a decision to drink with him and drink with him she would.

An hour later the bottle was empty and the world looked fuzzy. “Come on.” She pulled Daniel up. “I’ll put you to bed.”

He’d downed twice his share and was in no shape to navigate the stairs to a pile of hay he used as a bedroom. “If I leave you down here, the good people of this settlement might find you. They seem nice enough, but Bible thumping and whiskey bottles don’t mix. I’d best hide you away.”

After several tries, they finally made it up the ladder. He fell in the hay, mumbling his wife’s name.

Nichole covered him with a blanket. “I wish I could help,” she whispered, realizing that helping him drink had not been one of her brighter ideas.

As she stood, he caught her hand. He didn’t say a word. Even drunk, he wouldn’t allow himself to ask, but she read his gaze in the flashes of lightning. He was asking her to stay.

Nichole wrapped another blanket around her shoulders and sat down beside him. Without a word, without touching her, he fell asleep.

For a long while, she listened to his breathing. He had a kind of loneliness inside him too deep for words. Leaning into the hay, she decided to rest a few minutes before heading back through the storm to the house. She couldn’t blame him for hating the storm, May had died during a storm. Nichole closed her eyes wishing it were Adam next to her and not his brother.

The storm continued to rage. Finally, Nichole scooted close enough to use Daniel’s arm for a pillow. She fell asleep swearing she’d never drink a drop of liquor again as long as she lived. If she lived to get over this headache.

In what seemed like only minutes, gray morning fought its way through the rain. Nichole rubbed her eyes and stretched, waking her headache up along with her body.

Something moved in the shadows, footsteps muffled by faraway thunder still grumbling. Nick came awake in an instant. She reached for her knife as her gaze focused on the outline of a man.

“Adam,” she whispered at the man too angry to speak standing over her and Daniel.