To Kiss a Texan

FOURTEEN

THE MORNING AIR HAD A DAMPNESS ABOUT IT THATpromised rain. The proper little settlement awoke with the efficiency of an old maid never having been bothered in sleep. Wes heard civilization come alive just outside the barn.

He’d just finished strapping on his gun belt when Sheriff Hardy limped around the huge door. The elderly man looked to be every day of a hundred, with the night’s drinking showing in his eyes. He wore a gray duster and what appeared to be a new hat.

‘‘Morning.’’ Hardy signaled the blacksmith to get his buggy ready. ‘‘You folks about ready to go?’’

Wes climbed down the ladder, smiling. He’d had a feeling Hardy would be early and the man hadn’t disappointed him. ‘‘We have one more who’s coming with us, if you’ve no objections, Sheriff.’’ He nodded toward the boy standing in the shadows between stalls.

The sheriff glanced at Jason, then at the bundle of clothes beside him.

‘‘Allie says he’s of her tribe.’’ Wes figured the words didn’t make any sense, but they were as good a reason to take the boy as anything he could think up. If there was anyone in town who might object to Jason leaving, Hardy would probably know it.

Before the sheriff could answer, Allie appeared at the top of the ladder. She’d combed her hair and pulled it back with the ribbon Wes had taken from the hotel. Her brown dress hung a little long at the hem and sleeves. Other than that, she looked quite proper.

‘‘Allyce.’’ The sheriff bowed a greeting as the blacksmith brought his buggy to the barn door opening. ‘‘Would you like to ride with me this morning?’’

Allie glanced at the boy, then to Wes.

Wes lifted Jason’s bundle and tossed it in the back of the buggy. ‘‘You take the other horse, son. Allie can ride with the sheriff.’’

The boy stiffened. ‘‘I ain’t your son. I told you.’’ Fear shook his voice, but he stood his ground.

Wes handed him the bay’s reins without taking offense.

From the moment the boy touched the leather, Wes knew he’d never been near a horse. It was hard to believe, but the kid didn’t even know how to lead an animal. In a country where riding a horse was as much a necessity as breathing, somehow this child had been forgotten.

The bay seemed to sense inexperience and jerked her head.

‘‘Easy now.’’ Wes patted the animal’s neck with one hand while his other grabbed the reins close to the bit and tugged the bay’s head lower. Once the horse settled, Wes pulled his own mount in front of Jason, slowing each action, silently showing the boy what to do.

Jason learned quickly, following Wes’s movements exactly, as he climbed into the saddle.

Wes grinned. The bay was a gentle animal. She’d give the boy time, and she’d follow Wes’s horse without much guidance.

Allie stepped into the buggy with the sheriff. Hardy talked as they moved away from the barn. He didn’t seem to notice that Allie never spoke. Her presence was all the encouragement he needed.

By the time they’d ridden two hours, Wes began to believe that Jasonwasof Allie’s tribe, for the boy said nothing. He mirrored each of Wes’s movements, learning as they traveled. Wes watched him closely out of the corner of his gaze. Jason’s bruises were starting to heal, but he looked pale, like someone who never saw the sun. His body had just started the stretch to manhood, leaving him thin, with legs and arms that didn’t match his body size. If Jason were given regular meals, he’d grow into a tall man, Wes thought.

As they rode along a path dusted with wagon tracks just clear enough to mark a trail, Wes couldn’t help but admire the landscape. It was good land, flat enough in places for farming and rich enough with rain to hold a tall grass for pasture. In many ways it reminded him of his own land farther north. He’d bought his land with back pay from the war, but he hadn’t had time to build on it. He’d spent one winter in a little dugout on the property and swore he’d finish a house before he married. But it hadn’t happened.

Wes pulled his horse beside the wagon. ‘‘When do we hit the Catlin spread, Sheriff?’’

‘‘We’ve been on it for half an hour,’’ the old man answered. ‘‘Victoria owns one of the largest ranches in these parts, but she hasn’t worked it in years. You should be able to see the house just over the ridge.’’

Wes kicked his horse and galloped up the hill. A lone adobe ranch headquarters sat in the middle of a valley below. The earthy buildings at the core looked inviting, but a thick wall surrounded the estate like a fortress.

Sitting back in his saddle, Wes let out a low whistle. ‘‘Whoa,’’ he mumbled. ‘‘That’s quite a place.’’

The sheriff pulled the buggy to a stop beside him. ‘‘Victoria’s first husband built it for her. He thought to keep his family safe from any attack. But her oldest, James, didn’t get along with Victoria’s second husband and moved farther north after he married. By the time he was killed and Allie captured, Victoria had married husband number four. Husbands came and went after that. Seemed like every year brought a wedding or a funeral but the ranch stayed pretty much the same. Her boys all hated the place. Called it ‘Mom’s jail.’ ’’

A sadness seeped into Hardy’s eyes. ‘‘I guess that’s what it’s become for her. It’s been some time since I’ve seen her. She no longer leaves the place.’’

Wes didn’t ask any questions as they moved closer. In truth, the ranch headquarters was massive but somehow lonely. They were within twenty yards before he even saw a guard. With a spread of this size a man should be posted at every side of the headquarters, making his presence known as soon as a stranger came into sight.

A stout man, dressed like a farmer, stepped from the small outer-wall door to greet them. He wore a gun belt strapped around his ample waist and carried an old single-shot rifle that would have been of little use if a band of outlaws came to rob the ranch. At first, he widened his stance and crossed his arms over the rifle as though he planned to stop them. But the moment he saw the sheriff, his posture changed.

‘‘Sheriff Hardy!’’ the large man yelled. ‘‘Welcome.’’

Hardy waved at the guard, and by the time his buggy had reached the main gate, the wooden doors were opened wide.

‘‘It’s been a long time, Sheriff.’’

The stout man motioned for others to take care of the buggy as the sheriff helped Allie down.

‘‘That it has, Gideon. That it has,’’ Hardy answered. ‘‘Too long, in my way of thinking.’’

Wes stayed in the saddle for a few minutes, looking around as the two men talked. He liked the view he had from his horse. A man spends so much time in the saddle that when he steps to ground it seems like he’s crawling for a while, Wes thought. The world looked more in balance from a few feet higher than a man stood.

The courtyard spread wide, but not very long. A main house loomed in front of them with what looked like a kitchen and laundry to the left and a bunkhouse to the right. Wes could see three men, besides the greeter Hardy had called Gideon, and two women. But the quarters on the right had been built to hold thirty hands or more. The main house looked to have at least a dozen rooms upstairs, each with a little terrace off full-length windows overlooking the courtyard. If the house was true to form for most of its kind, the back wall of the main quarters would be solid, with only tiny windows for observation. A freshly plowed garden stretched beside the kitchen. Wes also noticed a well, barns behind the bunkhouses, and a center courtyard with flowers.

It took Wes a minute to realize what was missing. Children. He’d never visited a ranch house so large that hadn’t had a dozen children playing in the courtyard. The silence was almost pestering.

On closer observation he noticed all the people he saw were beyond childbearing years. The two women who stood by the kitchen door had been joined by a little round woman with an apron that must have used half a sheet’s material to make. They stared for a while, then the round one pulled them all back inside.

‘‘I’ll tell Miss Victoria you’re here.’’ The stout man moved toward the main entrance of the huge two-story house.

‘‘Thanks, Gideon.’’ Sheriff Hardy tried to guide Allie up the steps.

Allie waited, rooted in place until Wes joined her. Then she followed the sheriff.

Wes glanced back at Jason and motioned with his head for the boy to join them, but Jason stayed several feet behind, testing the depth of invisible water with each step.

The house was cool and damp, holding the morning humidity. Wes thought he could hear the faint sound of whispering blowing in the breeze when he stepped inside the wide main hall.

Gideon ushered them to a large room with wide windows facing the sun, but the house still felt cold. Wes knew the others sensed it also, for Allie pressed close to him and Jason crossed his arms over his chest.

Allie stood like a statue in the center of the room, as though afraid to look at anything. Wes guessed she didn’t want to get her hopes up, but he could see a touch of excitement in her eyes.

Hardy moved around, handling first one item, then another, as if on some kind of investigation. The furnishings were fine quality, the lace neatly done, even the chairs had been stitched in a flower pattern that had long ago lost its color.

Wes, with his years of military training, checked each exit as though preparing for battle. He listened carefully, trying to figure out the whispering sound. It wasn’t words exactly, more like years of lost conversations blending together, circling the room as though the past and present mixed somehow in this place.

With the door open wide, Wes could see both a wide staircase going up and the front door. Anyone sitting in the center of this room would know everything going on in the house.

Gideon brought in tea and hard white cookies, but no one ate. Wes noticed the china set looked yellowed with age and wear. The last plate in the set was chipped. For a fine house, he’d expected greater care.

The slow opening of a door and the slight rustle of skirts drew Wes’s attention. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected-a stately widow, a crazy woman, an older version of Allie.

The tiny woman in black who entered the room on the arm of another was none and all of those things wrapped together. She walked with the carriage of a woman who’d known of her beauty since birth. With hair combed high like a crown on her head, she was a queen in her world, a rare vision of perfection in aging, with pure white hair and thin skin feathered in wrinkles.

But first of all, and most of all, Victoria Catlin was blind.

Wes faced her as she held her head high and moved sightlessly through the room to what had to be her chair. The plainly dressed guide at her side stood next to her as Victoria, covered in black satin with layers of black lace, sat to hold court.

‘‘Gideon tells me you’ve come to visit me, Maxwell.’’ She spoke directly to the center of the room, unaware that the sheriff was to her right. ‘‘It has been far too long since I’ve had the pleasure of your company.’’

Max Hardy straightened, growing younger as he moved toward her without allowing his limp to show. ‘‘Hello, Victoria.’’ His voice was warm with years of unspoken words. ‘‘It’s good to see you again.’’

Victoria offered her hand, frail and blue-veined. Max’s massive leathered hand embraced hers in more of a caress than a handshake. For a moment, no one moved or spoke. For a moment, Maxwell and Victoria were the only two in the room.

Victoria broke the spell by pulling her hand away. ‘‘Maxwell,’’ she said, gesturing to her left, ‘‘you remember my sister, Katherine.’’

Max forced his gaze to leave Victoria and turned to the woman who’d acted as guide. Katherine seemed a too often washed, too heavily starched version of her sister. Her beauty had long ago faded to dull gray. Her face was smooth, void of both laugh lines and worry wrinkles. Void of having felt life at all. The thin lines that had once been lips didn’t move to speak, but she nodded slightly at the sheriff.

‘‘Katherine.’’ Max cleared his throat as he spoke. ‘‘I hope you’re doing well?’’ All emotions had vanished from his voice as he asked a question so dry it didn’t seem to need a reply.

Katherine hardened, unwilling to lower herself to even speak to the sheriff.

If Wes were guessing, he’d guess she was a woman who died on the vine without ever being touched by love or even passion. In her old age, she’d found reason to her life with Victoria’s blindness.

Max lowered to one knee beside Victoria’s chair. ‘‘I’ve come with good news, Victoria.’’

She rested her hand on his shoulder as if needing to feel where his voice was coming from. ‘‘I’m so glad. I was afraid something had happened to Michael. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from him.’’

‘‘Michael’s fine,’’ Maxwell answered. ‘‘I saw him in Austin less than a week ago.’’

Victoria raised her head slightly, showing no joy or pain at Maxwell’s announcement.

‘‘I’ve brought someone I think you will want to meet.’’ Max nodded for Allie to come closer. ‘‘I’ve never stopped looking for the child of James who might have survived. I always go to the Rangers office and check on any recovered captives that might fit. Finally, I’ve found her.’’

Victoria’s faced filled with hope.

‘‘Allie Catlin, I’d like you to meet your grandmother, Victoria.’’

Wes watched Allie closely as she moved toward the old woman. He could see that she still doubted the sheriff’s words, but he also saw an ounce of hope. She was shy, waiting for an invitation… outstretched hands, a welcoming word.

‘‘Are you sure?’’ Victoria didn’t even allow herself to breathe.

‘‘I wasn’t when I found the record. Thought it could just be coincidence that she was the right age and went by the name Allie. She was found hundreds of miles southwest of where she was captured. But when I saw her face, I knew. She’s the image of you fifty years ago.’’

Victoria raised her hand, touching the air only inches in front of Allie. ‘‘I’d given up,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Could it be true?’’

Just as Allie moved within the old woman’s reach, a sharp voice shattered the room.

‘‘He’s lying!’’ Katherine snapped.

Victoria pulled her hand away, drawing into her shell as if her sister were her eyes and she’d seen evil. Allie jumped back, reacting to the words like a slap.

‘‘He’s lying to you, sister. The girl looks nothing like you. He’s old and blind as you, if he sees a resemblance. I’d swear on our mother’s grave there is not a drop of Catlin blood in this woman.’’ Katherine’s voice cracked like dry wood in a fire. ‘‘He’s just another come to take your fortune.’’

Wes hardly noticed the anger that bubbled up in Maxwell, or the confusion in Victoria’s blind stare, or the decades-old hatred laced into Katherine’s words. All he cared about, all he saw, was Allie.

The flicker of hope she’d allowed herself to believe in now crumbled her from inside out. Allie had unlocked her heart, wanting to believe the sheriff, wanting a family again. She’d opened the armor to take a wound to a soul already fragile.

Wes ignored the sheriff’s denial and Katherine’s hateful words. Allie was shattering.

In one sudden movement, he swept her up and carried her from the room like a bandit stealing treasure. The others were so lost in their argument, they hardly noticed as he left and entered the hallway.

He glanced around, it didn’t matter where he went. Away was the only objective. He hurried across the opening and into the first room he saw. Dusted in slits of light from closed shutters, the room paused, quiet as a tomb.

Wes closed the door and set Allie on her feet. He had no idea what he’d say to her, but he had to protect her from the others. Katherine’s shrill voice still tightened his spine.

Allie erupted like gunpowder exploding in his face. All at once, she was crying and pounding on his chest with all the force she could gather.

He let her pound, ignoring the pain. She wasn’t fighting him, she was fighting the world.

She shook her head so violently that the ribbon fell to the floor and her hair went wild around her, reminding him of the first time he’d seen her and thought her more animal than human.

Great sobs came and gulps for air, but not a word. The hurt was beyond words.

Wes closed his eyes, wondering what good he’d done her. He’d taken her from the cage only to deliver her to a place where they might not hurt her body, but they’d broken her heart.

Finally she grew tired, the last few blows barely touching him. Her fist rested against his chest as she lowered her head.

Wes pulled her to him then, ignoring her tired efforts to fight free. He held her tightly against him, feeling her sobs pass through his body.

A little at a time, she relaxed, letting him hold her. Her tears wet his shoulder, and her heart pounded against his side. He couldn’t help but think of all she must have been through. How many times had she thought she’d be rescued, or dreamed of a family waiting somewhere to welcome her? How many times must hope die before tears were too deep to bear?

He rocked her in his arms. ‘‘Shhhh, Allie,’’ he whispered. ‘‘They don’t matter, none of them. They’re fools for not wanting you.’’

Her crying lessened. He felt her arms move around his waist.

‘‘You belong right here with me. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.’’

She moved her face against his shirt, wiping away her tears as she looked up at him. ‘‘Take me away from here,’’ she begged between gulps. ‘‘Now!’’

Wes couldn’t help but smile. She really had no idea how beautiful her eyes were when they sparkled with tears. She could probably talk any man in the world into doing her bidding if she looked at him the way she gazed at Wes.

‘‘We’re on our way.’’ He placed an arm at her waist and reached for the door. As the light wedged in from the hallway, Wes caught the image from a tintype. He stepped to the wall of portraits. Allie, her hair all curled over one shoulder, stared back at him. Same huge eyes, same uplifted chin. But the style of clothing was old, fifty years or more, when hooped skirts barred women from many doorways. And the setting behind showed century-old trees with moss hanging from them.

Allie tugged at his hand.

‘‘Are you sure you want to go?’’ He knew she’d noticed the tintype.

She nodded.

He couldn’t blame her. She’d been through enough. She didn’t need to fight for her family as well. It didn’t matter that she was the true granddaughter. What mattered was that she wasn’t accepted.

When they entered the hallway, Jason jumped back from where he’d obviously been trying to listen. He didn’t lower his gaze from Wes, silently challenging Wes to question his actions. The sounds of an argument were still coming from across the hallway.

Wes didn’t question. In truth, if he’d been the boy, he would have been doing the same thing. ‘‘Jason, run tell Gideon that I want our horses now,’’ Wes ordered. ‘‘We’re leaving.’’

‘‘All of us?’’ The boy was fighting down fear as he moved with Wes and Allie down the hallway.

‘‘All three of us,’’ Wes said. ‘‘Maxwell can take care of himself with those two.’’

Jason nodded and vanished. Wes walked slowly out of the house and across the yard to the barn with Allie at his side. By the time they’d reached the barn door, the horses were waiting and Jason was standing beside them with his bundle in hand.

Wes handed Jason the reins to the bay and swung onto his own mount. Then he offered his hand to Allie. ‘‘I’d be honored if you’d ride along with me, Allie.’’

His words said far more and, from the look in her eyes, she knew it. He wasn’t just offering to get her away from this place. He was offering her a place with him. And he was very politely asking as if she had a hundred other options and might take any one.

Allie locked her hand at his elbow, and he pulled her up behind him.

‘‘Let’s ride, son.’’ Wes kicked his horse into action. ‘‘There’s nothing for any of us here.’’

As they rode through the open gate, the servants lined the wall. When Allie passed, the men removed their hats and the women curtsied. They knew, Wes thought, even if Victoria was too blind to see, or to believe.