Heart of Texas Series Volume 1: Lonesome Cowboy\Texas Two-Step\Caroline's Child (22 page)

“Cal's not going.” Grady couldn't resist pointing this out, although he didn't feel he should have to.

“That's exactly my point,” Savannah returned. “If you're not careful, you're going to end up just like Cal.”

“And what's wrong with Cal?” Although he asked the question, Grady knew what she meant. Ever since Jennifer had more or less left him at the altar, Cal Patterson had little that was good to say about women. His cynical attitude got to be a bit much, even for Grady, but now wasn't the time to admit it.

“There's nothing wrong with Cal that a good woman wouldn't cure.”

“Savannah would like you to ask Caroline to the party,” Laredo inserted. He wasn't much of a talker, but when he did speak, he cut to the chase. No beating around the bush with Savannah's husband.

“What? You want me to
what?
” Grady pretended his hearing was impaired and stuck his finger in his ear. He thought he was pretty comical.

Savannah didn't. “Is there a problem with Caroline?” she demanded. Her eyes flashed with spirit and Grady could see it wasn't going to be easy to mollify her.

“Nope.”

“You'd be fortunate if she accepted!”

“Of course I would,” he agreed with more than a touch of sarcasm.

“Grady!”

Chuckling, he held up his hands in surrender. “Caroline's all right,” he said. “It's just that we don't see eye to eye about a lot of things. You know that, Savannah. I like her, don't get me wrong, but I can't see the two of us dating.”

“Because of Maggie?” Savannah asked.

“Not at all,” Grady assured her, knowing how close Savannah and the little girl were.

“Savannah thought it'd be a good idea if the four of us went to Ruth's party together.” Again it was Laredo who spelled out Savannah's intentions.

“Me and Caroline?” Grady burst out. He bent forward and slapped his hands on his knees in exaggerated hilarity. “Me and Caroline with you two?” Even more amusing. The lovebirds and him...with the postmistress. Yeah, good idea, all right. Great idea. He and Caroline could barely manage a civil word to each other. “You've got to be kidding. Tell me this is a joke.”

“Apparently not.” The cool voice came from the back door.

Grady's blood turned cold. Caroline Daniels and Maggie stood just inside the kitchen, and a single glance told him she'd seen his whole performance, heard every derogatory word.

Two

T
he boxes awaited Ellie as she unlocked her front door and stepped inside the small rented house. Stacked against the far living-room wall, they represented what felt like an insurmountable task. She paused, her eyes drawn to the piled-up cartons. If she was smart, she'd move them out of sight and deal with the emotional nightmare of sorting through her father's things when she was better able to handle it.

But she wouldn't put this off. Again she was her father's daughter, and he'd taught her never to procrastinate. The thought of those boxes would hound her until she'd gone through every last one of them.

A number of delaying tactics occurred to her. There were letters to write, phone calls to make, people to thank; nevertheless, she recognized them for the excuses they were. The remains of her father's life would still be there, demanding her attention. Occupying her mind.

It would be easy to focus her anger on her mother, but Ellie was mature enough to recognize and accept that Pam Frasier had been pampered all her life. She'd been indulged and shielded from all unpleasantness from the time she was a child. First by her family and then by her husband. John Frasier had treated his wife like a delicate Southern blossom and protected her like the gentle knight he was.

His lengthy illness had taken a toll on Ellie's mother. To her credit Pam had done the best she could, sitting by his side for long periods at the hospital. But unfortunately she had required almost as much care and attention as her husband; she had trouble dealing with any form of illness and was horrified by the thought of death. And so, comforting John had mostly fallen to Ellie.

Dealing with John's effects, coping with the memories, was just one more obligation her mother couldn't manage. Heaving a sigh, Ellie rolled up her sleeves and tackled the first box.

Clothes. Work clothes the movers had packed. Ellie lovingly ran her hand over his favorite sweater, the elbows patched with leather. Pam had wanted him to throw it out—too old and shabby, she'd said. It astonished Ellie that her parents had ever married, as different as they were. They'd met while her father was in the service, and although no one had said as much, Ellie was convinced her mother had fallen in love with the uniform. Their courtship was far too short, and all too soon they were married and John was out of the army. He'd returned to Promise with his bride and joined his father at the family feed store. Ellie had been born two years later, after a difficult pregnancy. John had assured his wife he was perfectly content with one child and there was no need for more. Even as a young girl Ellie had realized her father intended to groom her to take over the store. Not once had she thought of doing anything else. She'd majored in business at the University of Texas at Austin, and although she'd dated several young men, she'd never allowed any relationship to grow serious. She couldn't, not when it was understood she'd be returning to Promise and the feed store. After graduation, she'd found a small house to rent a few blocks from her parents and started working with her dad.

Ellie kept the sweater, but rather than unpack the rest of the clothes, she set the box aside, along with the next two, all of which contained items from his closet. The local charities were always in need of good clothes, and it would be an easy matter to drop them off.

When she opened the fourth box, Ellie paused. The old family Bible rested on top of a photo album. Carefully, using both hands, she lifted the fragile book from its cardboard shelter. The Bible had been in her father's family for a hundred-plus years, handed down from one generation to the next. Ellie had known about it; she'd read the names listed in the front for a high-school report years before, but hadn't opened it since. In fact, she wasn't sure where her mother had stored it.

Curious, she sat down on the sofa and set the book on the coffee table. Leaning forward, she opened it. Once again she read the names listed, reacquainting herself with each one, recalling what her father had told her about her ancestors.

Her great-great-grandparents, Jeremiah and Esther Frasier—good Biblical names, Ellie mused—together with their three sons, whose births were also noted, had placed all their worldly possessions in a covered wagon. Then with courage and faith they'd ventured west, risking all for the promise of land in Texas.

Ellie ran her index finger down the names of the three children, pausing over the youngest, Edward Abraham. His birthday was recorded and then the date of his death only five years later. No reason was listed, only a tear-smudged Bible reference.
Matthew 28:46.
Not recognizing it, Ellie flipped the pages until she located the verse.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.”

The agony of Esther's loss seemed to vibrate from the page. With her own heart still fragile from the pain of her father's death, Ellie was keenly aware of this young mother's anguish over the loss of her son. Unable to read more, she closed the Bible and put it aside.

As she did, a single piece of cloth slipped from between the pages and drifted onto the coffee table. Ellie reached for it and frowned. The muslin square had yellowed with age; each side was no bigger than six inches. In the middle of the block was an embroidered bug that resembled a giant grasshopper. The detail was exquisite, each infinitesimally small stitch perfectly positioned. Nevertheless, it was an odd thing to place inside a Bible. What could possibly have been important enough about an embroidered grasshopper to save it all these years, tucked between the pages of a family Bible? But these were questions for another time, another day.

Her stomach growled and, glancing at her watch, Ellie realized it'd been almost six hours since she'd last eaten. She carried the Bible into her bedroom and placed it on her dresser top, then rummaged around her kitchen until she found the ingredients for a tuna salad.

An hour later a half-eaten salad and an empty milk glass on the carpet beside her, Ellie happened upon the box of John Wayne videos. Her father had loved the Duke. In the worst days of his illness, it was the one thing that was sure to calm him. These movies were as much a part of his heritage as the family Bible. She placed them in the cabinet below her television and on impulse inserted one into the VCR.

McLintock!
with Maureen O'Hara was one of Ellie's favorites. Soon she found herself involved in the movie, the boxes forgotten. She didn't have to unpack
every
box that night, she decided.

With the lights dimmed she sat cross-legged on the sofa, watching the television screen. This particular John Wayne classic had been a favorite of her father's as well. Only a few months earlier, he'd suggested that when Ellie decided to look for a husband, she wouldn't go wrong if she found a man like the kind John Wayne usually portrayed.

Where the tears came from, Ellie didn't know. One moment she was laughing at the very place she laughed every time she saw the movie, and the next her cheeks were wet with tears.

Chastising herself for being too sentimental, she dried her eyes with a napkin. A minute later, the tears started again. Soon they flowed with such vigor she required a box of tissues.

It didn't take Ellie long to realize that the movie had triggered the release she'd needed all these weeks. Stopping the flow of tears was impossible, so she gave up trying, sobbing openly now. With a tissue pressed to each eye, she sniffed, then paused, holding her breath, thinking she'd heard a noise unrelated to the movie.

The sound was repeated and Ellie groaned.

The doorbell.

She yearned to ignore it, but anyone who knew her would recognize her car parked out front.

With a reluctant sigh, she walked slowly toward the door. She glanced through the peephole, but whoever was there had moved out of her range of vision.

“Who's there?” she demanded.

“The big bad wolf.”

Glen.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, frantically rubbing at the tears on her face. “Go away,” she called out. “I'm not decent.” Which wasn't far from the truth. He was her friend and a good one but she didn't want him or anyone else to see her like this.

“Come on, Ellie, open up.”

“Not by the hair of your chinny, chin, chin,” she called back.

“Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down.”

She hesitated, unsure what to do.

“Ellie, for heaven's sake, grab a towel or whatever and let me in.”

He twisted the knob and she realized he was going to enter with or without her permission. This was what she got for not keeping her front door locked, but it was a habit she'd never developed. No need to in a town like Promise.

“Come on in,” she said, finally opening the door.

“You're dressed,” he said with some surprise. “I thought you said—” Apparently he noticed her tear-blotched face, because he stopped short.

She squared her shoulders, not knowing what he'd do or say. They'd laughed together, disagreed, teased and joked, but she'd never allowed Glen or anyone else to see her cry.

His hand rested gently on her shoulder. “I thought as much,” he whispered.

It would have been better if he'd made a joke of it, Ellie mused. She might have been able to laugh off her embarrassment if he had.

“It's the movie,” she said, pointing to the television set behind her. “I...started watching it and...” To her utter humiliation, the tears came back in force.

“Ellie?”

She turned her back to him. “I'm not fit company just now,” she managed.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked from behind.

Did she? Ellie didn't know. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she couldn't remember a time she'd felt more alone. Her beloved father was gone and her mother had all but abandoned her. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Her father had been everything to her.

“Ellie?” Glen questioned again.

“You'd better go.”

A long moment passed. Anyone else would have left by now, but Glen hesitated, as though he couldn't make himself do it. That was when Ellie knew she wanted him to stay.

“Would...would you mind sticking around for a while?” she choked out.

“Of course.” With his arm loosely about her shoulders, he steered her back to the sofa. “Sit here and I'll get you something to drink.”

She nodded, grateful once again that Glen Patterson was her friend. A good stiff drink was exactly what she needed. Something strong enough to dull the pain.

Within a couple of minutes Glen returned with a tall glass. Ice clinked against the sides when he handed it to her.

She appreciated his tact and understanding and accepted the glass. Tentatively tasting the drink, she tried to remember what she had stored in the liquor cabinet above the refrigerator. Vodka? Gin?

Almost immediately she started to cough and choke.

Glen slapped her hard on the back.

She needed a moment to catch her breath. When she did she glared at him with narrowed eyes. “You brought me
ice water?
” she cried. The man had no sense of what she was suffering. None whatsoever, or he'd realize that a time like this required liquor.

“What's wrong with water?” he asked with a look of such genuine innocence that Ellie knew it would do no good to explain.

She dismissed his question with a wave of her hand and gestured for him to sit down.

Glen claimed the empty space next to her on the sofa. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and for emphasis shook her head. “Just watch the movie.”

“All right.” He leaned back and stretched his arms along the back of the couch. With one foot resting on the other knee, he seemed perfectly at ease.

Ellie did her best to focus on the movie, but it was pointless. So was any attempt to hold back the tears that pooled in her eyes, then leaked from the corners, making wet tracks down the sides of her face. At first she tried to blink them away. That didn't help. Neither did holding her breath or staring up at the ceiling. She drank the glass of water and, when she could disguise the need no longer, made a frantic grab for the box of tissue.

“I thought as much,” Glen said for the second time. He placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “It isn't the movie, is it?”

“What makes you ask that?” she sobbed.

“Because I know you.”

Men always assumed they knew a woman when they didn't have a clue. And Glen Patterson was as clueless as any man she'd ever known, friend or not.

“As I said earlier, I'm not very good company at the moment.” She blotted her eyes with a fresh tissue. In an effort to distract her thoughts, she showed him the old Bible with the names of family who'd lived and died over a hundred years ago. When she talked about Edward Abraham's death, the tears began again.

“Hey, if I'd been looking for scintillating company, I would've stayed home with Cal,” Glen said, then laughed at his little joke.

They both knew Cal was about as much fun as a rampaging bull these days.

“Come on,” he urged with real tenderness. “Let it all out.”

She swallowed a sob. It would have been better, she thought now, if he hadn't stayed, after all. But it felt good to lean on someone. So good. Ellie feared that once she lowered her guard and gave way to her emotions, it would be like a river overflowing its banks. All semblance of control would vanish. As close a friend as Glen was, she preferred to shed her tears alone.

“Relax,” he instructed, sounding like the older brother she'd never had. He squeezed her shoulder and rested his chin against her hair. “It's okay to cry. You have the right.”

“I couldn't make myself believe it,” she sobbed into his chest. The doctors had explained soon after he was diagnosed that his condition was terminal. No hope.