Heart of Stone (18 page)

L
aura awoke long before dawn the next day feeling completely out of sorts. By the time breakfast was cleared, she had the urge to hit something.

She bid the Hernandez men carry the dining room carpet out back and hang it wrong side out on the clotheslines behind the carriage house, out of view of the guestroom windows. There, she felt free to take out her pent-up anxiety on the Peshawar rug without anyone watching.

A good ten minutes went by as she whacked and pounded, wielding the carpet beater against the hand-knotted threads, taking great satisfaction in each muffled thump.

She finally rested for a second, rolled her head to stretch her neck and shoulders, and then drew her arm back to start again.

“Is it dead yet?”

With all her weight behind her swing, she nearly toppled head first into the carpet when Jesse appeared without warning. He chuckled when she spun around and pushed her hair back out of her eyes.

“That’s not funny,” she grumbled. “You frightened me.”

“You look all right to me.”

Though his coloring was darker than his father’s, his wide, confident smile reminded her so much of Brand’s she had to look away.

“I’m fine.”

“Good, because you’ve got company.” He jerked his head toward the carriage house. “The preacher is coming up the drive.”

She didn’t want to see Brand. Not now. Not after yesterday afternoon and certainly not while she was looking like a fishwife in a simple cotton gown fit only for dirty work. There was dust in her hair and no doubt all over her face.

“Tell him I’m not here.”

“You want me to lie to him for you?”

“Tell him I’m not seeing anyone right now. Tell him I’m too busy. Tell him it’s impossible. Tell him—”

“Tell me yourself.”

Brand came around the corner of the carriage house, leading not only his horse but also a brown mare with a star on her forehead. As he paused to give her a lingering look, Laura blew a stray curl out of her right eye. She lifted the carpet beater and shrugged.

“As you can see, I’m busy.”

Beside her, Jesse said, “Busy beating a carpet to death.”

When he walked away whistling, Laura wished she could escape as easily.

Undaunted by her excuses, Brand came toward her. His eyes never left her face.

“It’s far too beautiful a day to be working so hard. I came to see if you’d spend an hour or so with me. Charity packed us a picnic. I thought we could take a ride south of town. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

He was tempting. She’d give him that. Too tempting now that he’d shed his usual black coat and was wearing a butternut-colored jacket and a light-blue shirt. Without his clerical collar, it was easy to forget what he was, forget who they were. She reminded herself to hold fast to her resolve.

She glanced at the horses behind him.

“I don’t ride.”

“You’re a Texas woman now. It’s high time you learned. We’ll take it slow. It’s not far.”

“Really, Brand, I can’t.”

She expected him to say something witty. To try and cajole her with a smile. Instead, without warning, he reached for her hand. The shock of his touch still disturbed her more than anything he could say.

“Please, Laura. Come with me.”

“Please. Come with me.”
Such a simple request.

She remembered Amelia saying,
“He needs you more now than ever.”

Brand McCormick needed more than she could ever give. He needed someone he could love who loved him in return without reservation. A woman whose past was as spotless as new fallen snow.

Once they were alone, away from the house and any interruptions, she’d have no excuse not to tell him the truth.

“All right,” she said, suddenly nervous. “I’ll go. But I can only spare an hour or so.”

He gave her hand a squeeze.

“Just let me run inside and get a hat.” She turned and he walked beside her toward the house.

“A pair of old gloves, too, if you have them,” he suggested.

“I’m not certain I can do this.” She caught herself thinking aloud and quickly glanced up to see if he had heard.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” Obviously he thought she was talking about riding.

I already have, Brand. I’ve already fallen.

She expected riding to be more difficult, but the hardest part was mounting the horse. Brand had rented a mare from the livery and asked for a side saddle. He told her that Big Mick Robinson, the smithy, had rolled his eyes at the request.

“Any female worth her salt doesn’t ride sidesaddle. At least that’s what Big Mick claims.” Brand made certain the horse didn’t
move as Laura tried to mount from the chopping block near the woodpile.

Getting her left foot up into the stirrup while keeping her skirt hem and petticoats down was more of a challenge than actually settling into the saddle. Once she was there, she grabbed the pommel with both hands and held tight.

“From up here, the ground looks very far away. And hard.” She was afraid to move.

Brand walked around the horse. Before he slipped her right foot into the stirrup, he adjusted a series of straps and buckles while Laura concentrated on keeping her balance. Brand then walked Laura’s horse around the yard so that she could get the feel of the saddle and the sway of the animal beneath her. He gave her cursory instruction and then turned the reins over.

Finally they were off, walking the horses across the open plain. When she felt more comfortable, Brand tried a slow trot and Laura bobbed up and down until her hat almost flew off. She was afraid to let go of the reins to hold it down.

Without thinking, she yelled, “Help!”

When she saw Brand’s face, she laughed.

“Very funny, Mrs. Foster,” he said. “You just took a year off my life.”

She hadn’t realized how completely vulnerable they were out in the open until she saw him recover from his concern. Suddenly the grove of trees ahead wasn’t as inviting.

“Are we in any danger of running into Indians?” she asked.

“The Comanche haven’t raided this area for a couple of summers now. This time of year, the renegades start heading back to the reservation to let the government feed them for the winter.”

“You don’t wear a gun.”

“No.”

“Do you carry one in your saddle bag?”

“No.”

She wondered if he thought he could look a renegade Comanche
in the eye and pray him to death. She’d brought along a hat but not her reticule. Now she found herself wishing she’d brought it and her derringer along.

“I wouldn’t have brought you out here if I thought it would put you in harm’s way.”

“I know, but—” She quickly realized she was only looking for an excuse to turn back and put off the inevitable.

“Laura, don’t worry.”

“I won’t.” She figured it would be easier to face a whole tribe of Comanche than to do what had to be done.

The land seemed to roll on forever, unbroken except where trees crowded around water sources. She spent most of the ride staring straight ahead, holding tight to the reins, but now and again Laura braved a look at Brand. He seemed to have relaxed once they left Glory behind. Now and again, his eyes met hers and he smiled.

“Where exactly are we going?” In many ways, she hoped they never reached the mysterious destination. If she hadn’t been so uncomfortable and in need of a stretch, she’d have been content to ride beside him forever.

“We’re almost there.” Brand pointed to a spot where cottonwoods and mesquite lined a meandering stream.

He dismounted and helped her down. For a moment she didn’t think she could take a step on her own. He gently held her arm and started to lead her to a rock so she could sit in the shade.

“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “From that saddle to a rock? I prefer to walk around a bit first.”

“Stretch your legs while I unpack the picnic.”

As he began to pull a surprising amount of carefully wrapped food items out of his saddle bags, Laura strolled along the stream. The water level was low, more than a trickle, less than a rushing waterway. She marveled at the crystal clarity of the water. It shimmered with glints of sunlight as it rippled over multicolored stones.

She walked down into the bare rocky section of the streambed, then moved closer to the center where the water ran two feet wide
and six inches deep at the most. Careful to keep the hem of her skirt out of the water, she knelt on the rocks and dipped her fingers into the stream.

The water was cooler than she expected. She thought it would have been warmed by the rocks. She lifted her fingers to her lips, smelled, and then tasted the moisture there.

Footsteps crunched on the rocks behind her. Brand’s shadow merged with hers. She looked up, saw him silhouetted against the sun.

He handed her a tin cup. “Thirsty?”

“Thank you.”

There had been streams, rivers, dense forests of green near her cottage in the Irish countryside, but her life in New Orleans had been that of a city dweller. The act of dipping a tin cup into a trickling stream had become a novelty.

“What are you thinking about?” Brand had hunkered down beside her, watched as she took long swallows of water until the cup was empty.

“About how long it’s been since I’ve had fresh water directly from a stream.”

“How long?” He reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear.

It was a spontaneous gesture. She could tell he was as surprised by it as she and so she didn’t step away.

“A very, very long time.” She tried to keep the sadness from her tone. Soon enough, she told herself. There will be enough time for regret and sorrow after he learned of her past. For now, she would enjoy their picnic and the stunning fall day.

“Everything’s ready.” He rose and offered his hand, ever the perfect gentleman.

She let him help her up, stifled a groan, and tried not to think of the ride back to town.

He had spread a plaid-wool blanket on the ground in the shade. Assorted packages were stacked in the center. There was another cup and a bottle of sarsaparilla. Laura stood at the edge of the
blanket taking in every detail, tucking the memory deep in her heart so that whenever loneliness crept up on her she could take it out and remember this moment.

“Is something wrong?” he wanted to know.

“I’ve never been on a picnic before,” she said softly.

“Never?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Then I’m happy that you’re sharing your first with me. Charity will be pleased too. She wanted to make certain everything was perfect. If it was up to her, she’d have packed the good china.”

He knelt on the edge of the blanket and began unwrapping the bundles tied in butcher paper. “She sent along some cold beef, bread, cheese, and some apples.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her.” Laura lowered herself to the opposite side of the blanket, untied her hat, and set it down beside her. As the sun bathed her face, she leaned back on her hands. Suddenly she was starving. “It looks wonderful. Being outdoors has whetted my appetite.”

“No doubt attacking that rug the way you did helped too,” he laughed.

“No doubt.”

She ate slowly, aware of his nearness, as well as the fact that they were completely alone. There was no need to remind herself that she was safe in his company. She had nothing to fear from this man. Each time he passed her a hunk of bread, a piece of cheese or beef, she waited in anticipation for the touch of his hand.

There was no sound except for the hush of breeze across the land, the whisper of leaves in the cottonwood trees, the lilting sound of water bubbling around stone. Her heart cherished the peaceful moment, a respite both precious and stolen from their busy days and hectic lives.

Laura paused often to glance over at Brand. Each time she found him gazing at her.

“How did you find this spot?” She flushed and broke the silence.

“Joe Ellenberg brought my family out here one day. You haven’t seen the best part yet.”

“Which is?”

“Not far away.”

The sun’s warmth seeped through her cotton gown. If she were alone, she would be tempted to lie back, feel the sunshine on her face, and forget her worries. But she was not alone and she had worries that couldn’t be forgotten, so she sat primly on her side of the blanket and finished her portion of the midday meal.

Brand wrapped the leftover bread. When everything but the blanket had disappeared back into his saddlebags, he held out his hand. Laura gazed up into his eyes, slipped her hand into his, and let him draw her to her feet.

She stood before him, unmoving, unable to think of anything but his nearness. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Her breath caught.

But Brand didn’t move. He held tight to her hand, cleared his throat, and then stepped back.

“Bring your hat,” he advised softly. She reached for the wide-brimmed straw bonnet she’d borrowed from Anna. When she fumbled with the ties, he brushed her hands aside and tied a bow beneath her chin.

“Perfect,” he said with a smile. “Now, for the surprise. Actually, it’s not all that much. I may have been overly enthusiastic.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “For a woman who’s probably seen the world, it’s not very spectacular—”

“I haven’t seen much of the world, actually.”

“Someone like you? I can’t believe that.” He held out his hand with familiarity, and she could not resist giving him her own as she walked beside him. He was careful to measure his stride to match hers.

“We’re walking up the stream just a ways.”

She was thankful for the shade of her hat brim. The walk was a bit farther than she had expected. They stopped when they neared a gathering of stones on their side of the stream.

“We’re here.” He indicated the collection of large rocks and boulders along the stream bed.

“Is this it?” She wondered what she was missing.

He pulled her up to the rocks and pointed to the surface of the nearest. “Look closely.”

She bent closer, noticed the rock was covered with indentations—spirals, swirls, outlines of sea shells, imprints of ferns and plants. She traced the patterns with her fingertips, braced her hand on the top of the rock as she bent down to get a better look.