Comanche Rose (28 page)

Hap's second punch caught him in the gut, followed by a third to his jaw, and the battle was joined. Bellowing now, the big, hulking shopkeeper got down to business by swinging a chair, breaking the rungs over Hap's shoulder. Hap's good leg kicked him, catching Buell behind the knee with the toe of his boot, sending him crashing to the ground, but the big man wouldn't stay down.

The fight was dirty, brutal, and short, ending when Buell grabbed a long-necked bottle, broke it on the edge of the table, and swung the jagged edge at Hap's throat. Ducking under the arc of the bottle, Hap butted him, knocking the wind out of him. As Buell sagged, he caught him hard in the gut with the boot, knocking him to the floor. A couple of swift kicks to the head, and it was all over. Buell tried to get up, then fell back, blood gushing from an obviously broken nose. Hap stood over him, fists clenched. But the bigger man leaned over and spit a broken tooth into the dirt.

"Jesus, mister, I ain't seen nuthin' like it," Jack muttered, looking away. "Ain't nobody beats Lake. Nobody."

But Hap's eyes were still on the proprietor. "I'd be real careful what I said from now on, Buell. The lady's a Walker now." Reaching into his pocket, he took out his letter of credit from the Ybarra and dropped it into Lake's lap. "I'll take that order now, and I want it carried out to the wagon, you hear? And if you so much as looked crosseyed at her, I'll kill you," he added evenly.

As he walked out, the place was dead silent, but the hairs on Hap's neck prickled in warning. He dropped his hand and spun around, leveling the Colt as Buell edged for a shotgun. Lake dropped it like it was red-hot, then stammered, "I didn't mean nuthin', mister. I was just picking it up off the floor."

"Jesus, did you see that?" somebody gasped.

Hap returned the gun to his holster and kicked open the door. As it banged on its hinges behind him, he heard Jack say, "My God, Lake, he coulda kilt you! Look at this paper, Lake, look at it!"

"I'm gonna kill me a gimp-legged man," Buell muttered. "I'm gonna cut 'im in half with a load of buckshot."

"Lake, I'm telling you that's Hap Walker—you know,
Captain
Hap Walker! The Texas Ranger! Jesus, Lake, you don't wanna fight him!"

"Better apologize to 'im, Lake," somebody said. "Looks like he's up and married her. Guess you're out, huh?"

"A hell of a fighter—kicks real good with that gimp leg of his, Lake. Real quick with that gun, too," Jack pointed out.

"Shut up!"

Hap had heard enough. He started for the wagon, feeling an exhilaration he hadn't felt in almost a year. He was Hap Walker, and his name still meant something.

"My word, whatever...?" Annie gasped when she saw him. "Your hands—"

He looked down, seeing the blood on them. It looked like he'd slaughtered an animal with his bare hands. He must've done that when he broke Lake Buell's nose. Swinging up onto the seat beside her, he frowned.

"If you married me, Annie, it'd at least stop the talk."

"You got into a fight in there, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Because of me." It was a statement, not a question. He started to deny it, then nodded. "Wasn't much of a fight. I reckon he'll be bringing the stuff out directly."

"It was Lake Buell, wasn't it?"

"It didn't amount to much, Annie. I just rearranged his mouth a little, that's all." As he looked up into the sheltering oak leaves, his mouth turned down at the corners. "I could've killed him. Maybe I should've."

"No. It was just words."

"You shouldn't have to put up with that." Turning to face her, he regarded her soberly. "I told him you were a Walker now."

"I see."

"You know I've never been much of a liar."

He was the kindest man she knew, and he'd just fought for her honor. As she looked at him, she realized just how lucky she was in that moment. "Then I guess you aren't now," she said quietly. "I'd be honored to be a Walker, Hap."

"Don't suppose you know where there's a preacher—or a justice of the peace, do you?" he asked, grinning now.

"Yes, but I don't want him at my wedding." A wry smile lifted one corner of her mouth. "Lake Buell's justice of the peace here."

"Damn."

"But there's one over at Baker's Gap."

"Baptist preacher?"

"No. A justice of the peace." Now that she'd agreed to marry him, she felt downright relieved. "I never had anything to do with Lake Buell, Hap."

"I never thought you did."

The big man came out with a loaded wheelbarrow. He'd taken time to wash himself up some, but there was no mistaking the damage to his face. His nose was flattened and leaning to one side, while his mouth still oozed blood from a cut on his lip. Without a word he went around to the back of the wagon and unloaded Hap's order, then came up front and held out a fistful of bills.

"You got sixty-five dollars coming back," he said. As Hap took the money, Buell looked up at Annie. "Afternoon, Mrs. Walker," he said somberly. "Captain."

"Afternoon, Lake," she murmured.

Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, Buell turned and walked back to his store.

Ralph Baker's house, a fourteen-foot-square adobe structure with a weathered lean-to in front, doubled as his place of business. Sitting in the middle of a flat, dusty, wide spot in the road, it was the only building in Baker's Gap so named because he'd once had hopes the land he owned would become a town with his name on it. A weathered sign with the optimistic designation of land office hung at an angle from a rusting chain. Beneath it, on cardboard, Ralph had added, "Justice of the Peace and Notary Public Available Inside."

Hap looked around uneasily, wishing he could do it right for her, wishing they were in a church somewhere instead of in this little dirty, squalid, depressing place. He was about to turn around and leave when she put her hand on his arm.

"It's all right," she murmured. "I don't mind."

That was all it took. At her touch every fiber of his being became acutely aware of her. And he didn't want to wait, to give her a chance to change her mind. He wanted to be bound to her. That he was giving himself a long road with no more than a chance to win her didn't matter. When he went out into the sun again, he wanted her to have his name. The rest would come later.

And so, in a dingy, cluttered room, standing between an old desk and a trestle table, with Baker's Mexican wife for witness, Hap Walker held Annie Bryce's hand, pledging himself to her forever.

"Yuh got 'er a ring?" Baker asked, interrupting the short ceremony.

He didn't. Looking down at his own hands, he saw a heavy sterling band with the lone star of Texas carved in an onyx stone. It was about the only thing he had left of his father's belongings, it and an old watch that didn't run.

"Yeah," he decided, slipping it off. "It'll be a little big," he murmured apologetically to Annie. "Maybe you can wear it on another finger until I can get you something better."

"All right, yuh put hit on 'er hand, then yuh just say whut I tell yuh," Baker told him.

Hap had to hold it on her ring finger while he repeated the words. Then, afraid it'd come off when he was done, he moved it to her forefinger. It was still loose. When he got outside, he'd have to tie something around it.

Annie closed her eyes against the squalor while he repeated his promise to love her forever. This was so different from that other time when she'd been young, when she'd loved Ethan Bryce more than anything. But even as she thought it, a voice within her mind told her she was doing the right thing. She was starting over.

"Now, Miz Walker," Baker said, intruding on her thoughts, "mebbe yuh'd want tuh say thuh wuds, ennyway, e'en yuh don't have no ring tuh give 'im."

As Hap shook his head, she made up her mind. "Yes," she said, her voice low. "I think I ought to." Reaching into her bag, she took out her house key, moved it to one side of the ring, then maneuvered it onto his finger. Whispering, "I'll get you one, too," she looked back to Ralph Baker. "I'm ready."

Her throat ached as she whispered the words; then it was done. Baker looked over a lopsided pair of glasses to announce, "Reckon yuh-all's man and wife now, Mr. Walker. Yuh may embrace thuh bride."

Hap hesitated, but Mrs. Baker gave him a nudge, then giggled. Feeling utterly awkward, he took a step toward Annie and slid his arms around her. Leaning into her, he brushed her lips with his. Her hands caught his elbows and held on for a moment before he stepped back. He tried to smile but couldn't.

"Yuh got tuh sign th' papers afore yuh go," the justice of the peace reminded them. "And that'll be three dollahs."

As Hap counted out the bills, adding one for good measure, Annie signed her place on the certificate, then filled out a line in Baker's record book. While Hap signed his side, Mrs. Baker offered to make them coffee, and Annie politely declined.

Baker winked. "Reckon yuh's wantin' tuh get on with thuh res o' thuh business, huh?"

"Come on, Annie, let's get out of here," Hap said tersely.

The sun was bright, the sky almost white when they emerged from the Baker house. Taking her arm, he walked quickly to the wagon and handed her up. Swinging up beside her, he picked up the traces and slapped them across the team. It was a good five minutes before he could bring himself to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "You deserved a lot better than that. We should have gone over to the fort and asked the chaplain to do it right. You'd have had an altar and a preacher, and it'd have felt like you were getting married anyway."

She looked down at the marriage certificate in her hand. Carefully unfolding it, she smoothed it across her lap. "Everything seems to be in order, Hap. I'm pretty sure it's legal. It's got his seal, anyway."

"Yeah, but it was a helluva way to do it—no ring, no pretty dress, no preacher. I wish I could do it over."

Her signature seemed to leap out at her. Anne Elizabeth Allison Bryce Walker. The woman had cautioned her to make sure she put down all of it "just to make it legal, in case anything was to come up." Annie Walker. Annie Walker. It'd take a little while to get used to the sound of it.

Then she noticed that he'd written. Horace R. Walker. "So you were the Horace," she said softly.

"Yeah. Helluva name to stick on a kid, huh?"

"Actually, it was a pretty venerable name. I think there were some Roman heroes with it well before the poet."

"Yeah, well, I'm not Roman, Annie."

"What does the R stand for?" she asked curiously. "Robert?" she guessed.

"Worse. Randall. Not much of a choice, huh? Where she came up with it, I don't know. No Randalls in the family that I ever knew of. Hell, maybe it came out of a book, or something."

"I don't mind it."

"Yeah, well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a Bob or a Tom or a Bill. Even Claude was better than Horace." He stared out over the dry, dusty road ahead. "You don't have to worry any. I won't be wanting to name any kid of mine Horace—or Randall."

A child. She froze momentarily. Of course he'd want a child. It was to be expected—every man wanted to leave something of himself behind when he left the world.

He glanced her way and caught the stricken look on her face. Guessing the reason, he sought to reassure her. "Look, I'm not expecting it to happen right away, Annie. I figure we got some things to work out between us first. I've got time to wait until you're ready."

But even while he was saying it, he was taking in the beauty of her hair, her face, her woman's body, and he knew he didn't want to wait. She was his wife, and he wanted her. More than anything.

CHAPTER 20

The sun was slipping below the softly rounded hills above her farm when he turned the wagon down the narrow lane to the house. "Mr. Willett has been here," she said suddenly. "Henry's gone." Sighing, she sat back. "I guess he's taken the cats, too. Spider's a pest, but I'll miss Twain terribly."

"Yeah, well, I never was much for cats myself," he admitted, "but I expect they were a lot of company for you."

"Yes. Twain especially. At night when I'd be reading, he'd climb onto my lap and snuggle next to the book. I named him after the writer, you know. I was reading
Innocents Abroad
the night after Mary brought him, and I guess because I was laughing, he had to investigate."

"And Spider? Odd name for a cat, I'd think."

"Not if you ever saw him with a ball of yarn. He tends to drape it around things. He's a terrible mischief maker."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about 'em. I expect they'll be waiting for you when you come back."

"I hope so. I'll hate it if they forget me."

"I had a dog like that—left him at home when I ran off to join the rangers the first time. Came home a year later, and the damned thing growled at me," he recalled. "Took him a week to remember me."

"That's what I mean. And they're not very old."

But as he set her down, then took the team to the barn, she had another concern. Jim Willett had left a scrawled note for her on her front door.

"Cudnt find nowt but th wite-towed un," she read.

That was Twain. He'd taken Twain but not Spider. Hurrying inside, she began calling, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! Spider! Kitty, kitty, kitty!" Nothing. Not so much as an answering squeak. Knowing Jim, he'd probably let the kitten outside, and something had gotten it. He had the notion that if something didn't survive, God hadn't meant it to, anyway. That explained the order of things to him. And to him God never meant for man to have a cat in the house.

"Hap, Spider's missing!" she said as he came in the door. "Mr. Willett didn't take him."

"He'll turn up."

"Would you check the barn?"

"I was just down there."

"Oh, yes, I hadn't thought of that."

"He'll turn up," he told her again. "Probably after supper."

It occurred to her then that they hadn't eaten anything but bread and jam sandwiches since breakfast, and it was nearly six-thirty now. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

"I could probably eat something," he allowed.