To Wed In Texas

SIX

“KARLEE, GET THE TWINS!” DANIEL SHOUTED AS HE carried a wounded man toward their wagon. “We need to get out of here before the Buchanans share our trouble.”

Questions jumped wildly across Karlee's mind, but the stranger-covered in blood and dust-left no time to talk. He couldn't have been more than a skeleton beneath his ragged Confederate jacket. His hair and beard were long and unkempt. When exhausted blue eyes met Karlee's gaze, she realized he wasn't as old as she. And he was frightened, terrified.

“Get the twins!” Daniel snapped. “We've no time.”

As she hurried the girls toward the wagon, Karlee heard Deut Buchanan whisper to Daniel. “This is Cullen Baker's doing, I'd bet on it. Most of the trouble blamed on this boy weren't his fault. I'll take care of the animal. You get Jesse dead and buried deep as soon as you can, Reverend.”

Karlee stared at the pale face of the wounded man. Blood dripped from his chest, soaking into Daniel's black coat. He's not dead yet, she wanted to shout at Deut, but to her surprise, the man nodded a “thank you” to the oldest Buchanan male.

Granny stood on the porch shaking her head as if she'd been predicting a storm and she could hear the thunder. “I ain't known nothing but trouble in this state since I come here twenty years ago. We got too many younguns around for there to be gunplay on my land.” She gestured with her head toward her sons. “Saddle up, and make sure the preacher gets home safely.”

Four Buchanan boys were on horseback before Daniel got the wounded man hidden in the back of his wagon. He tucked the twins just behind the seat and climbed up beside Karlee.

“What's happening?” She gripped the frame as he slapped the horses into action. The power in his movements frightened her. He was a big man, and strong, but until now she'd never thought of him as a warrior. Somehow, in a heartbeat's time, this quiet man of the cloth had donned invisible armor. She feared for anything or anyone who got in his way.

“We'll talk about it later,” he mumbled, taking no polite care to allow the few inches between them as he had earlier.

His leg brushed hers as he braced his weight. Karlee tried not to notice. They had a wagon loaded with trouble; the space between them was of no importance. But each time his arm or leg moved against hers, she stiffened then reminded herself she was acting like a foolish old spinster.

They made it back to the house in half the time it had taken to ride out to the Buchanan farm. Daniel pulled the wagon around to the back door, but the location of the house allowed little privacy from homes surrounded it. The Buchanans stopped out front as though notifying anyone interested that the reverend had company. Karlee couldn't help but notice each man's rifle came with him into the house.

As Daniel lifted the wounded man, he called over his shoulder. “Get the twins inside! Keep them in the kitchen no matter what you hear.”

Karlee had no idea what was going on. All she could do was trust Daniel as she'd promised. And trusting a man whose favorite saying was “we'll talk about it later” wasn't an easy thing to do.

She followed behind Daniel and bolted the door. The girls clung to her skirts. Karlee fought to hide any worry and confusion, knowing the girls were already tired and cranky. They didn't need to be frightened as well. Tension hung in the air as thick as the smell of blood.

After trying everything she could think of to keep the twins busy, she finally gave up the battle and sat in a huge rocker pulled close to a cold fireplace. This corner of the kitchen caught the morning light but now lay in shadows. To her surprise, both girls crawled into her lap and wiggled their way to sleep.

She rocked them slowly, listening to voices somewhere beyond the kitchen door. Men were talking, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. She could hear footsteps but couldn't tell how many there were.

Daniel's words, “promise to stay no matter what you hear,” filled her thoughts. Had he known this would happen, or had he only guessed?

Long shadows criss-crossed the room when she felt one of the twins being lifted from beneath her arm. Karlee looked up at Daniel's large frame hovering above her.

“I'll help you put them to bed,” he whispered as he carefully settled one sleeping girl against a white spot of cotton on a shirt splattered with blood.

Karlee followed him upstairs with the other twin in her arms. The girls' room and hers were the only rooms on the second floor. She'd been here two days now and had no idea where he slept. In truth, she hadn't even had time to learn her way around the house, except for the kitchen and her plain, sparsely furnished room.

Once the girls were tucked in, she moved down the stairs, allowing Daniel a moment to say goodnight to his children.

In the parlor, the three youngest Buchanan men stood facing the windows, their guns drawn and ready. None looked old enough to need to shave regularly, but all held weapons with practiced ease.

One glanced in her direction, then turned back to his post without even bothering to nod a greeting. They might be poor farm folks to most eyes, but Karlee suspected they were men born to this land with an alertness for danger and a strength to act when needed.

Karlee kept her attention on the guards as she silently crossed the hall and slipped into the dining room. She navigated toward the kitchen in shadows. The smell of blood and dirt and dying filled her senses. She slowed, searching the darkness, letting her fingers guide her as her eyes adjusted.

Her hip bumped against the table a moment before her fingers trailed into warm, thick liquid.

Karlee froze as her eyes made out the dark forms before her.

Two men lay on the dining table. One was the wounded man they'd transported from the ranch. Deut Buchanan had called him Jesse. His wound had been treated, but crimson already colored the bandage and the table where he'd curled into a ball like an infant. The Confederate uniform he had worn was replaced by a rough homespun shirt and tattered trousers.

The other man on the table lay straight, as though at attention, and was dressed in Jesse's bloody uniform.

“Karlee, you shouldn't be in here.” Daniel was close behind her. He reached around and lifted her hand from the blood pooled on the table.

The blood seemed to pull at her fingers, not wanting her to withdraw. Daniel's hand closed over hers, gently forcing her to form a fist.

“Karlee, we need to-”

She wasn't listening as she took a step closer to the table and gasped as she saw the second man's face. “He's dead,” she whispered. The stranger's features were already drawn and white.

Daniel gripped her shoulder, guiding her backward against the hard wall of his chest for support. He leaned slightly to say against her ear. “Trust me, Cousin, you've seen nothing here tonight. Nothing!”

One of the men guarding the windows appeared in the doorway. “You better get cleaned up, Preacher. They'll be here any minute. We'll take care of Jesse.”

Daniel nodded and hurried Karlee with him from the room. “I'll explain later.” His hand moved over her shoulder and brushed her arm before he released her.

Karlee followed him into the kitchen light. “No, I think you'll-”

He tossed her his jacket. “See if you can get the blood off this,” he ordered as though she hadn't spoken.

Karlee watched as he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, then jerked it over his head. A trim waist, then the molded muscles of his chest appeared before her, reminding her more of finely carved wood than of flesh.

When she gasped, his head snapped up. For a moment, his gaze searched the room, then he met her stare. A smile touched his lips. “Sorry,” he said without giving any meaning to the word. “I guess you've never seen a man so undressed.” He plunged the shirt into a pan of cold water, then used it for a rag to wash the blood from his chest. “But I've no time to be polite, Spinster Whitworth.”

Karlee swallowed. She'd sound like an absolute fool if she said she had never been so close to a man without a shirt. After all, she was twenty-three years old, not some child. “Of course I have,” she lied. “Only they weren't as broad.”

Daniel continued to wash. “When I first came to Texas, I worked as a blacksmith. I still work sometimes at night when I can't sleep.”

Without asking, he reached for her hand still stained in blood and washed it in the dribble of water from the pump. There was nothing caring or caressing in his touch, only practical, but Karlee could feel her face warm from the way his rough fingers moved across her palm and threaded through her hand.

As he released her, he tossed the wet shirt toward her and turned away. “Is there blood on my back?”

Karlee accepted the shirt as he braced himself against the counter and waited.

“Hurry,” he prompted. “I may have only minutes.”

She couldn't breathe as she wiped the wet cotton across his muscular frame. Gently, she placed her free hand on his shoulder, as if she needed to balance herself. His flesh was hard and warm, unlike anything she'd ever touched.

He turned and took the garment from her hand. “I know I have no right to ask more of you, but I've no time to explain. A man's life depends on your trusting me.”

He was so near she could feel the warmth of him.

“No matter what happens, follow my orders as close as you can and above all, protect the twins. I'll explain later.”

She nodded.

“Thanks.” He leaned the few inches between them and planted a light kiss on her cheek. “I don't know what I'd have done without you today. Despite all else happening, I knew my daughters were safe.”

She watched him hurry from the room, grabbing a shirt off the stack of pressed laundry beside the pantry.

Without really thinking about what she was doing, she began washing the bloody clothes. Within minutes, the stains were gone, but the memory of his skin against her hand lingered.

Trying to ignore the sounds from the parlor, Karlee cleaned the kitchen. When she finally slipped up to bed, she glanced into the downstairs rooms as she tiptoed by. Only one body, the dead one, lay on the table.

She dressed for bed but couldn't sleep. Daniel's words, “I don't know what I'd have done without you,” kept rolling around in her mind. She felt useful, truly useful. She couldn't remember a day while she lived with her aunts that she hadn't done something wrong. They were always watching, waiting until she made a mistake, then the aunts had their tale of the day to pass on.

At first light, she slipped silently into her clothes. After checking on the sleeping twins, she hurried downstairs. The Buchanan men and the body wearing Jesse's clothes were gone. In fact, except for Daniel's shirt in the kitchen there was no sign anything unusual had happened yesterday.

There was also no sign of the preacher.

It was time for her to explore. She'd learned early on, being passed from place to place, that the sooner she memorized every detail of a house, the better.

This house seemed a simple plan. Four rooms downstairs, a kitchen, parlor, dining room and small study. Since she knew the wall in the hallway slid open to reveal an arsenal, Karlee watched for other such doors. She took her time, running her hand along the walls as if it were a divining rod. She'd discovered long ago that houses, like people, hold secrets discovered only by the patient.

The study was packed with books and notebooks written in a clear hand. The room was large enough for a desk, one comfortable chair. A chest, like one her father used to have with latches on each drawer for travel, served as a table and footstool. The room was interesting, but held no secrets unless they lay within the pages of books. Karlee moved on.

The parlor was so sparsely furnished Karlee decided she'd seen hotel lobbies with more hominess. One short couch, one chair and a small round table.

Finally, in the dining room, she found what she'd been looking for. A slight pause in the wood. A secret passage, she guessed, or another panel to hide weapons. Or maybe only an imperfection in the building of the room.

Just as she pressed to open the hidden portal, a knock pounded at the kitchen door. Karlee jumped as if she'd been caught in the act of some great crime. She ran into the kitchen and had her hand on the bolt before she hesitated.

“Who is it?” she called, deciding she'd let no one in but Daniel. Frantically, her gaze searched the kitchen for a weapon.

“I'm Valerie, Miss,” came a voice spiced with a hint of an accent. “My madre owns the bakery. She sends me every Monday and Thursday to deliver bread.”

Karlee waited, afraid. She moved to the window and peered through the shutters. A young girl, almost ready to turn into a woman, stood alone. Her midnight hair hung long past her waist and a huge basket rested against her hip.

“Let me in, Miss. I promised I'd deliver bread to the preacher's house first.”

Karlee took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Thank you.” The young girl hurried in. “The basket was getting heavy.” She sat it on the table and began unloading sacks. “I came over early because my madre said you'd be needing to know a few things. The reverend's already been by telling us you were here and you were now in charge of his house.”

She smiled at Karlee without giving her time to say a word. “Milk and butter are delivered on Tuesday and Friday. Madre said she'll tell Jenson you want the same as usual 'til you tell him different. There's vegetables and fruit a block over sold out of wagons every Friday. Madre says to tell you to get there early or the pickings will be slim this time of year. She says she thinks the reverend buys his meat from the Buchanan's place.”

“Thank you for all the information.” Karlee finally managed to get a few words in.

“I'm Karlee Whitworth,” Karlee rushed to say before the girl continued.

Valerie laughed. “Everyone says I never give folks a chance to get in a word edgewise. I figure it's because I speak so many languages. Around my house you had to if you wanted everyone to understand. My madre was born in Spain, my Papa's people were from France and my grandfather only spoke Apache from the time his mind started to go.”

“Interesting,” Karlee had never met anyone quite like Valerie. In a few years she would be a great beauty, but the most attractive thing about her wasn't her high cheekbones and warm sun-kissed skin. Her beauty was in her laughter.

“It's quite a story, how my folks met, but I've no time to tell you today. I've got tons to deliver. I'll come at the end of my rounds Thursday and we can visit.”

“I'd like that.” Karlee watched the girl pick up the huge basket.

“One more thing,” Valerie whispered as she moved to the door. “Be very careful today. You're wise to keep the door locked. My madre says trouble is in the air so thick it almost caused the yeast not to rise.”

Karlee smiled and nodded a thank you. She didn't put much stock in old cooks' warnings, but her Aunt Violet did, and so did this girl. “I'll be careful. I'll toss salt over my left shoulder and shake the flour flat before noon.”

Valerie's face brightened again. “You stop by the bakery if you need anything, Miss Karlee. We're real glad you're here. The preacher is a good friend but he is lonely.”

“I promise,” Karlee said as she slowly closed the door and threw the bolt. “Thanks.”

She returned to the dining room but Valerie's warning kept drifting across her thoughts. Instead of looking for any more secret panels, she went to the foyer and made sure she could slide the false wall open.

As before the rifles were displayed against what must have once been the real foyer wall. Why would a preacher have such a collection of weapons? Why would he need so many? Unless he wasn't exactly what he appeared to be.

Karlee careful closed the sliding panel. She noticed it latched just above her head.

A second pounding sounded from the kitchen. For a moment, she thought of reopening the wall and pulling out a weapon. Then she realized the caller was probably no more dangerous that Valerie.

She ran to answer it before the pounding awoke the twins.

“Who is it?” she called with her hand already on the bolt.

“It's Wolf, Carrot Top!”

His booming voice made her jump.

“Let me in.”

Karlee didn't move.

“Hurry up, Cousin! I've got a lady with me who needs to be off her feet.”

Karlee closed her eyes, trying to decide what was right. If he were someone Daniel trusted, surely she could do the same. But letting in a half-grown girl was a far cry different than letting in a man, even one she'd met.

She unlocked the door.

A woman, rounded with child, fell into Karlee's arms as the light rushed into the kitchen. The sudden weight of her caught Karlee off balance, and she melted to the floor with the mother-to-be cradled in her embrace.

Wolf stood above them, his hands moving in and out of his pockets as though he'd just been asked to pick up raw eggs with his fingers. He had no idea where to take hold of the puddle of females at his feet.

“Who is she?” Karlee brushed loose strands of dark blonde hair away from the visitor's face. She looked young, maybe a year into her twenties.

“She's Jesse Blair's widow, AmyAnn Blair,” Wolf answered in his best effort to whisper. “She wants to make it through her husband's funeral before she delivers. I told her she should take to her bed, but come hell or high water she says she's going to the cemetery.”

Karlee looked up at the helpless giant. “What time is the funeral?”

“Daniel's at the cemetery now. The body's probably already in the ground.” He ran his huge hand over his face, brushing his beard in every direction. “I ain't no good with women this close to mothering. You got to do something, Cousin, and fast.”

Jesse's wife moaned and sat up slowly. “I'm all right,” she mumbled. “I have to be at the burial.” Tears ran in a steady stream down her pale face. “You have to help me!”

Karlee gently pulled away from the woman, patting her hand as she moved. “Don't worry, I'll get you there. You just sit here and rest a minute.” She looked up. “Hitch the wagon, Wolf. I'll get the twins. We're all going to a funeral.”