Amanda's Beau (26 page)

Amanda's heart soared. His lips closed over hers in a warm, loving kiss. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to savor the blissful moment. Afterward, she took a small step back and placed a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart pounding. "I do love you, Gil, but I have something else to tell you, and I don't want you say a word until I'm done. I tried to tell you yesterday but you kept interrupting."

"I'll keep my lips buttoned," he promised, looking down at her whimsically as he gathered her hands into his.

"Gil, I've had a letter from a lawyer in Las Cruces. There's someone interested in buying my father's smithy and the house as well, if I'm willing to sell. I'm accepting the offer. I'm giving half to Ella to pay toward her debts, and the other half I'm giving to you… for the ranch. Perhaps with your savings and the money I'll be getting, there might be enough for us to buy a place of our own soon."

Amanda squeezed his hands and gazed up at him hopefully. Gil's face lit up with unexpected pleasure. He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed her fingertips. "That's wonderful, sweetheart. I don't know what to say."

"You're not going to make a fuss about taking money from me or anything along those lines, are you?" She stole a glance at him from under her lashes.

"No, I'm not," he replied softly. "We're going to be married, aren't we? We'll be sharing our lives together. We might as well share our money too."

"I was hoping you'd feel that way about it."

Gil caught her up in his arms and kissed her — hard. His embrace was crushing. Amanda didn't mind a bit.

Gil asked in a strangely hoarse voice, "Amanda, do you remember telling me you didn't have a beau?"

Amanda gasped, "A beau? Yes, I remember."

"Well, you have one now," he replied. "And he's going to kiss you again, whether you like it or not."

"But I do like it, Gil." Amanda insisted. "Oh, I do!"

****

As the man from the wagon got closer to the family, he could see the expressions on their faces. Shades of anger, belligerence, defiance, and curiosity met him, but there was also fear deeply etched into each pair of eyes. His attention arrested by Mary's palpable anxiety and familiar sable hair and blue eyes, he struggled for a moment to find his voice. "It's me, Grady Carlisle. My grandparents own the farm up the road. I used to come visit a lot in the summer, but it's been a while."

Recognition dawned on Mary's face as Reverend Green, the source of the chasing feet, converged on them.

"Mary, I'm so glad I caught you," said the reverend in a voice stronger than his winded appearance should have allowed. Reverend Green ran a hand through brown hair liberally peppered with grey as he said, "Please don't run off like this." His brow was beaded with perspiration, evidence of his long pursuit across the open field separating them from the church picnic.

"I need to get everyone home," Mary replied.

"Mary, if you need to get home, I can give you and the young'uns a ride. It's on my way." Grady hoped she would agree. The intense look of fear in these five pairs of eyes tore at him, but the fear in Mary's got his insides churned up and made his palms sweat in a way he'd never experienced before. He needed to do something to help her.

While parking his wagon at the church, he'd witnessed the scene with Mary's father unfold. Every loud insulting word had assaulted his ears. When Grady saw the way her pa swung at Mary as if to hit her, he pulled his wagon back around and out to the road. He knew Mary probably thought he'd been coming from town when he stopped, and he wasn't going to tell her otherwise. She would likely never agree to a ride home if she knew he'd witnessed the whole humiliating scene.

Another man coming from the direction of the picnic was drawing near to them. With his dark grey hair, brown suit and air of authority, Grady thought he recognized the man as the mayor. Nodding briskly to Grady, Mary said, "Thank you for the ride. We accept." Turning to the kids, she ordered, "Everyone up now!" None of the kids argued but instead all quickly climbed over the tailgate and into the open wagon. Mary was up and sitting on the front bench before Grady could assist her. Having seen her pa's behavior, Grady could understand why Mary was in such a hurry. No one would want to stick around after a scene like that. Even if he'd had no idea, though, he still wouldn't have been able to stop himself from responding to the urgent plea in her eyes. Exchanging a meaningful look with the reverend, Grady jogged back around to the other side of the wagon and climbed up, released the brake, and began the steady trot down the road toward the Fitzgerald farm.

Hoping to take her mind at least partially off of her problems, Grady tried to start a conversation. "So, Mary, tell me who your brothers and sisters are. I can't remember all their names."

There was a hardness to Mary's voice, something he didn't remember from summers past, as she answered. "The oldest is Clive. He's fourteen." Grady glanced into the back of the wagon and saw the smoldering anger in coffee-colored eyes almost hidden by the curly mop of brown hair atop the boy's head. "Bobby's the one with the red hair. He's thirteen." Grady took in the intelligent blue eyes and the concern that sent shadows skittering through them. "The girls are Lizzie and Gigi. Lizzie is ten, and Gigi is nine." Both girls watched him warily. Lizzie, with her pale skin and red braids, appeared far too worn for a girl her age. Gigi looked like she might want to smile at him, but then she tugged her long brown braid around in front of her face and tried to hide behind it.

Facing forward in his seat again, he asked, "Does Gigi stand for something? It's not a name I've heard much."

Before Mary could answer, the nine-year-old spoke up softly from the back of the wagon, saying, "Margaret."

"Margaret, huh? Well, Margaret is a fine name, but I've always been partial to G names myself. You know, like Grady. And Gigi." Grady pushed barely enough humor into his voice to make it clear he was teasing but not so much that any of the kids might think he was making fun of the youngest member of their family.

Grady couldn't have smothered the protective instincts rising in him if he'd wanted to. He was going to have to find a way to help this family. After seeing the fear and distrust in their eyes and catching a glimpse of their pa's behavior, though, he knew it wouldn't be an easy undertaking. Having considered them all, he decided that if he was going to win them over, his best bet would be to start small and get Gigi on his side. If she liked him, the others would eventually warm up to him. He held no illusion this would be quick or easy. He had come to help his grandparents, though, and would be in the area for at least four or five months. Time and patience were something he had to spare.

****

As Grady pulled the wagon off the road and began the trek up the drive to the Fitzgerald farm, he was surprised by the neglect he saw. The drive was nearly overgrown with bushes and brambles, terribly rutted in some places. "Don't get out much, huh?" he asked lightly, hoping to garner some information from the young woman sitting quietly beside him.

"Not much, no," was the only answer he got. He was willing to bet Mr. Fitzgerald had sold off the wagon or the horses or both. The condition of the drive, coupled with the fact they had planned to walk home from church today, lent itself to the belief that the family had no conveyance—which meant the kids walked to school in the weather when it rained and snowed. Grady gritted his teeth in irritation.

As Grady pulled his wagon up to the front of the house, he kept his focus on Mary and the kids. He could sense their tension. Since their father was still in town and likely in a jail cell by now, he assumed he was the cause of their apprehension. Whether they expected him to behave badly or cast aspersions on their home, he wasn't sure. He instinctively knew, however, this was not the time to let his attention linger on the farm or judge the conditions in which this family lived.

Grady quickly jumped down from the wagon and, although Mary had already started climbing down, offered a hand to assist her. He was going to be a gentleman whether she liked it or not. Once Mary was safely on the ground, he moved to the back of the wagon to help each of the girls down. The boys had already jumped out, carrying the pie and other items into the house.

As Grady set Lizzie on the ground, he said, "I hope to see you again Lizzie. I'm not quite so scary once you get to know me. "The young girl gave him a piercing look with her solemn brown eyes before telling her sister she was going to change her clothes then milk the cow. Grady thought he caught a wince on Mary's face when Lizzie mentioned the cow, but he kept his gaze from lingering.

Giving his full attention to Gigi, he twirled her through the air before setting her on the ground. He lightly tugged on one of her coffee-colored braids before squatting down to be at eye level with her. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Gigi." She did not smile or chuckle as he had hoped, but Gigi's blue eyes glinted with hint of mirth. "I hope we can do this again sometime."

"Oh no, that can't happen." When Grady raised an eyebrow in question, Gigi leaned in close to him and said in a loud whisper, "We can't ever go to a church picnic again after today."

"I understand," Grady said kindly. "Perhaps we can do something different, then, besides riding home from a church picnic. Would you like that?"

Grady's heart smiled as he saw hope and joy dance across the girl's face, brightening her countenance. The moment she glanced at her big sister, though, shadows chased the light away, and her expression became shuttered, her eyes again dull, her face drawn. "I don't know. Maybe you should find other kids to play with."

"How come?" asked Grady, striving to keep his tone light and his words simple.

Gigi shrugged and said, "We have bags."

Mary spoke up then, sending Gigi into the house to change her clothes. Grady stood, looked at Mary, and rubbed the back of his neck before asking, "Bags?"

"Baggage. We have baggage."

Grady nodded his understanding, wishing Gigi's misuse of the phrase was something he could laugh about. The sadness of the situation on this farm weighed on him. "Would you really have married a stranger?"

Mary drilled him with her eyes and said, "If I could have found a man who would take me and the kids, yes. Even if he was ninety years old."

Not sure what to say, Grady put his hat back on his head and said, "All right then." As he climbed back aboard his wagon, he asked, "You told me how old everyone else is, but I can't remember – how old are you, Mary?"

"Seventeen." Her voice was solid, sure and confident, the voice of a woman who was accustomed to caring for, protecting and providing for a family. The fear he'd seen at the church earlier had slowly faded as they drove away from town. In its place, gritty determination bloomed behind her eyes.

"Ninety, huh?"

"If that's what it takes to protect my family, yes." Her voice brooked no argument.

Repeating himself, Grady said, "All right then."

"How old are you now, Grady? You must be, what, twenty? Twenty-one?"

"Twenty-one," he answered.

"Hm," was all she said.

Not sure what that response meant, he observed the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to Mary's. "I guess I'd best be headin' out then. If you or the young'uns need anything, you know where to find me. I'll be at my grandparents for the summer."

Mary nodded to him and said, "Thank you for the ride," before walking up the steps to the front door. She went into the house without a backward glance, leaving Grady no choice but to get his wagon maneuvered around and back down the overgrown drive.

As he drove away, he couldn't shake the image of that family and the fear he'd seen on their faces. He mentally recapped his first impressions of each of the children. The boys had both been angry, Clive more so than Bobby. Lizzie had seemed shy and far too old for her years. Gigi had shown the most promise of discovering laughter.

Mary, on the other hand, looked nothing like he remembered from his childhood summers in Larkspur. She was tall with the kind of thin frame that came from malnutrition rather than good health. Her brown hair had been tightly pulled back and pinned in place at the back of her head, the style of a much older woman. The blue eyes that he remembered as dancing with humor were now dark and filled with shadows. They made him think of a sickroom where the curtains are perpetually drawn closed, gloom permeating every corner as the inhabitants wait for death to come.