Debra Holland (30 page)

“What about Little Feather?”

Tears sprang to Samantha’s eyes.

Concerned, Harriet pulled her handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed under her friend’s eyes. “Now, Samantha. No crying before your wedding. It’s bad luck. Besides, what would Wyatt think if he saw you with red eyes? He might wonder if you’re having second thoughts about marrying him.”

Samantha sniffed. “They’re good tears.”

“Tell me.”

“Wyatt and Little Feather also talked about his first name. Wyatt suggested he might be outgrowing his name and wondered if he wanted to choose another, meaning an Indian name. Little Feather turned to me and asked what my father’s name was. I told him, George. So he said that’s the name he wanted.”

“Oh, no!” Harriet couldn’t help but giggle. “I don’t see Little Feather as a George.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s a good, solid name though,” Harriet declared.

“Little Feather was so serious that Wyatt and I had to try hard not to laugh.”

“So we’re calling him George?”

The mischievous look was back on Samantha’s face. “I told him that my maiden name was Hunter and suggested that as a first name instead.”

Harriet gave her a slow nod. “Hunter. That fits him better. Plus, he can have an Indian version if he wants.”

“That’s what we thought.” Samantha sighed and looked pensive. “It’s only been a few months, but my boys are already growing up.”

Harriet leaned over and gave Samantha a hug, careful not to wrinkle her dress. “That’s because you’re feeding them. Boys have a way of growing when you do that.”

Samantha beamed with pride. “They certainly have big appetites. And the twins have already grown out of the pants I first bought for them.”

“Well then, I guess you need to have a baby.” She touched Samantha’s necklace. “Add another star. Maybe more.”

Samantha stared into Harriet’s eyes. “Oh, I
do
hope so.”

“Maybe a little girl to help Christine balance all those boys of yours.”

Samantha clasped her hands together. “I’d love another daughter.”

“I expect you and Wyatt to keep my school populated for years to come.” Harriet stood up. “I’d better get downstairs because it’s almost time, my dear Samantha, for you to become Mrs. Wyatt Thompson.”

Harriet leaned forward, pressing her cheek to Samantha’s. “Be happy, my dear friend.” Her voice caught. Before the sentimental tears started, she escaped the room.

Once in the hallway, Harriet paused to pull herself together.
Another wedding. This time one I’m happy about.

* * *

Ant stood in the corner of the group of people crowding the parlor. The parlor had been emptied of furniture except for the piano in the corner, leaving space for the guests to stand.

Everyone talked and laughed, obviously good friends. He knew them all, except for Mrs. Cameron, whose pregnancy showed more than Elizabeth Sanders’. The redheaded doctor’s wife had introduced herself to him in a lovely Scottish brogue even thicker than her husband’s.

Interesting that the Cobbs and the Livingstons hadn’t been invited. They must only have people here they like. Not guests who are invited for expediency or to add to their social status.

Ant felt like an outsider, and he had to resist the impulse to stride out of the room. To keep himself anchored, he studied the painting of a blond woman hanging over a carved mahogany mantel. Two crystal vases of pink roses decorated each end of the mantel, matching the bouquet the woman in the portrait held.

He guessed, from the resemblance to Thompson’s daughter, that the woman must be his first wife, and he wondered how Samantha felt about that portrait hanging in the parlor. Probably fine. She impressed him as a levelheaded, confident woman, although with that red hair, she might have a temper.

He glanced out the lace-curtained windows. Outside, he could see various Thompson, Carter, and Rodriguez children playing tag. And David, he was glad to see, was in their midst, running and laughing like the rest of the children. A welcomed change.

A stout, older woman bustled over to the group of children, calling out and waving her arms. It took a while before the children stopped their game to listen to her. She gestured to the house, and the children headed inside.

A minute later, they trooped into the room. The volume increased, and each child found his or her parents. David slipped through the crowd toward him and was greeted by several people. Ant was glad to see the boy give a slight nod in response to the greetings.
Politeness is winning over reserve.

Ant dropped a casual arm across David’s shoulders, mirroring John Carter who was in front of them next to his son, Mark. David looked over at the Carters, then up at Ant, and stilled, instead of cringing away.
Another victory.

John Carter smiled at the two of them. “My daughter, Lizzy, turns five in two weeks. Wednesday.” He gestured to a little girl holding onto her mother’s hand. She had long brown curls framing a delicate face and wore a cobalt lace dress that made her eyes look bright blue. “We’d like to invite you two to her birthday party.”

Ant looked down at David to see his reaction. Did the boy remember birthday parties? He’d only been in New York for one of David’s birthdays. Emily hadn’t thrown a party because Lewis didn’t want a bunch of children underfoot. He’d started drinking around then, becoming meaner. But there’d still been a quiet celebration with presents and cake. In the evening, after the boy had gone to bed, Lewis had gotten drunk, and Ant had left early.

Ant brought his thoughts back to the present. Lewis was dead. It was time his nephew had a chance to enjoy the pleasures of childhood. “You like cake and ice cream, don’t you, David?”

The boy gave such a rapid nod that both men laughed.

John looked at Ant. “Last year after her birthday, Lizzy became ill, and we almost lost her.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, obviously remembering the dark time. “We have much to celebrate.”

“We’d be delighted to attend, wouldn’t we, Davy boy?”

The boy smiled.

Ant took that as a yes.

The older woman he’d seen outside bustled in, making shooing motions. “Everyone clear an aisle for the bride. Mrs. Sanders, please take your place at the piano. Reverend Norton, are you ready?”

John Carter leaned close to Ant. “Mrs. Toffels, Thompson’s housekeeper. Makes the best apple pies.”

“Good to know.”

“Not, of course, as good as my wife’s saskatoon pies. You wait and see.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Ant stepped back, taking David with him to clear the center of the room.

The housekeeper left, probably to escort the bride downstairs.

Everyone formed on two sides of a ragged aisle, leading to Wyatt Thompson, who waited in front of Reverend Norton, dressed in a black suit and vest with a gray shirt. His daughter next to him wore a white lace dress and matching white bows on the end of her blond braids.

Harriet peeked around the door, then wandered in, smiling and greeting everyone. She ended up next to Mrs. Cameron, opposite the room from him and David. She leaned over to whisper in the doctor’s wife’s ear, and the two women exchanged an excited smile. While they spoke, Harriet fiddled with the gold broach pinned at the neck of her dress.

Elizabeth began to play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. The strains of the music filled the room, setting an anticipatory buzz through those assembled.

Mrs. Toffels opened the door, and Samantha stepped though—a Titian-haired vision in a pale blue gown that did marvelous things for her figure. Her eyes sparkled brighter than blue topazes. When she smiled at her bridegroom, she glowed, looking even more beautiful.

Ant had a moment of envying Thompson his wedding night before his gaze slid to Harriet, whose big gray eyes looked misty. His kitten didn’t have the more classic beauty of Elizabeth and Samantha, the two most beautiful women he’d seen in Sweetwater Springs, but to him she had an appeal, a sweetness, that did something to his jaded heart.

Samantha’s boys stepped to her other side. As Daniel took his place next to his mother, he gave a slight bounce before obviously forcing himself to stand still. Probably a Herculean task—every time Ant had seen the boy, he’d been in motion as if he had wasps in his britches.

The twins followed Daniel—he couldn’t tell them apart—and an Indian boy he’d never seen, but assumed from Harriet’s tale, he must be Little Feather. The boys all wore identical black suits that matched the groom’s, although their shirts were white.

Thompson looked as if a mule had kicked him. Either that, or he’d died and gone to heaven. Maybe both. The few times, Ant had met the man, he’d usually seemed reserved. Now, the pride on his face, the joy in his gray eyes, showed a different side of him.

Ant remembered a few times with Isabella when he’d felt so full of happiness and sexual energy that it must have been apparent to everyone in the vicinity. For the first time, Isabella’s memory didn’t bring him pain...not even the slightest twinge.
I wonder if I’ll ever have a chance to look at Harriet with that feeling in my heart?

As Reverend Norton united Samantha and Wyatt in matrimony, Ant found himself feeling gratitude that went deep into his bones. He glanced down at his nephew, then around at the people who’d recently become friends, finally accepting that he had indeed entered another stage in his life. And for the first time, Ant left resentment behind and focused on a feeling of enthusiasm for the future.

* * *

Ant drove the buggy home from the wedding at a slow pace through Sweetwater Springs. The heat of the day had cooled to a comfortable temperature. Overhead, the stars twinkled in the black velvet sky. The moon, while not as full as the night of the Sanders’ shindig, cast a glow faint enough to see the road. They drove through the silent town, the houses and businesses dark for the night. The only light showed in the windows of the saloons, although he wondered at the lit lantern hanging on a hook outside the livery door.

Beside him David slept with his head on Harriet’s shoulder, and she’d laid her cheek on top of the boy’s head. Worn out, the two of them. The children had played outside until dark and then managed to entertain themselves in the house.

After a wedding supper that had the table practically groaning under the weight of several candelabra, dishes, silver serving pieces and place settings, and food enough to feed them all for a week, Samantha and Wyatt had taken themselves off, barely containing their obvious eagerness to be alone. They planned to stay at her place for a few days by themselves, while the boys stayed at his with Mrs. Toffels. Apparently they’d already settled into their bedrooms, or so Daniel informed him the one time his path had crossed the boy’s.

The rest of the company had relaxed around the huge table, chatting with companionable ease. The more he came to know these people, the more comfortable he felt with them.
Yes, I’ve picked a good place for a home.

Ant gave Harriet and David a tender glance. He was conscious of a connection to this place, unknown a few weeks ago. A little drowsy and content, he realized he didn’t want the drive to end. Maybe once they reached home, he should keep going and circle around a few times. He almost laughed at the whimsy. Everyone belonged in bed. Including him.

When they pulled alongside the livery, Mack stepped out of the shadows, wearing a gunbelt, his hand hovering over his Colt. He glanced at the two sleeping next to Ant, and then motioned him to stop.
 

Apprehension displaced his contentment. Ant pulled up, set the break, and when he saw Harriet and David didn’t awaken, stepped down.
 

Mack led him out of earshot. “Thought you should know, someone stole that mule of your boy’s.”

A sick feeling kicked Ant’s gut. “When?”

“Sometime in the last few hours.”

“You see anyone?”

Mack shook his head. “Addison’s hands drove their cattle in to ship back East on the train. The men stayed to let loose at Nelson’s Saloon. Those workers building Sanders’ house came into town tonight, too. Had them a time at Hardy’s Saloon. Ain’t like a usual night. Place was bursting at the seams with men I didn’t know.”

Ant glanced over at Harriet. “Let’s not say anything to Miss Stanton. I don’t want to worry her tonight. But you spread the word to look for Lewis March.” Ant thought back to the glimpse he’d had of his brother-in-law before his fall off the cliff. “He’s tall, ’bout six foot. Big frame, but not a lot of meat on him, except for his belly. Thinning brown hair, thick features. Might be limping.”

Mack stroked his chin. “Might not be him. Any one of those men could have taken that mule.”

“Why not steal a horse?”
 

Mack gave him a sardonic glance. “Bigger risk. We string up horse thieves. A mule thief...might just run him out of town, but his neck stays straight.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll drive out to the Sanders and Addison ranches. Check things out.”

“I’ll pass the word around town.”

“If it’s not Lewis March who took the mule...maybe a boy playing a prank. Someone who needed a quick ride somewhere.... Spread the word that there’ll be no consequences as long as the mule’s returned.” But even as Ant said the words and made plans with Mack, he had a bad feeling in his gut that he couldn’t ignore.