Lorraine Heath (6 page)

“Don’t bother. I’ll never recognize the child or any that comes of your union with this man.” He nodded towards Jake. “You’re a fool, Rebecca Anderson.”

“The name is Rebecca Burnett. And I think, Daddy, that you’re the fool.” She gave the man she had loved for twenty-one years of her life a last look before turning her horse and galloping out of his life.

Jake followed her, and when the house was no longer in sight, he reached over and grabbed the reins of her horse, pulling them both to a halt. He dismounted, then walked over and pulled her off her horse, bringing his arms around her as she sobbed against his chest.

“Oh, Jake, why is the whole world turning ugly?”

“Not the whole world. Just a few people, a few moments. I reckon we need the ugly to appreciate the beauty.”

He wiped the warm tears rolling down her smooth cheek with his thumb. Her skin, unlike his, was flawless, and her blue eyes, hurt and confused, overflowing with tears, were looking up at him.

“You can stay, Reb.”

“I know. But I’d rather go with you.”

He pressed his lips to one swollen eyelid and then another. “I’ll never hurt you the way he did. I swear it.” His lips followed the trail of tears until they reached her mouth.He opened his mouth over hers and she welcomed him, needing his closeness. The kiss was not passionate. It did not take her breath away or make her tremble with desire the way Brett’s had, but instead filled her with a sense of security, a sense of belonging, of being important to one human being. All the things her father had taken away from her, Jake was giving back.

He rubbed her cheek, his smile sincere. “I think it’s time we headed for Texas.”

He helped her mount her horse and when he had mounted his own, she reached over and squeezed his hand.

“I think I’m going to like being your wife.”

He leaned over touching one corner of her small smile. “I never want you to regret it, Reb. We’ll make it a good life.”

As they began their journey, Rebecca didn’t look back. Her future lay ahead with the man riding beside her. In such a short time, her world had been shattered. But beside her rode a man who would help her rebuild it with love and trust and sacrifice.

Texas, 1883

L
ADENED WITH SUPPLIES
, the wagon creaked as it rolled over the fertile land. Jake halted its progress, set the brake and jumped down, then walked out past the horses.

Rebecca knew he was anxious about the land, about coming to Texas knowing as little about the place as he did. The closer they’d come to arriving, the less he’d talked. They’d discreetly left camp as the sun peered over the horizon because Jake wanted to see his land without the other men milling around.

She watched now as he removed his hat, looking out over the rolling expanse of green that was visible for miles, clumps of trees dotting the landscape. She saw his back straighten with pride and knew, even though she was only staring at his back, that he was pleased with what lay before him. So she was quite surprised when he turned around and she saw all the doubts plaguing his face.

“It’s not much—” he said, as he began walking back towards the wagon.

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

His face broke out into the biggest grin she’d ever seen. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Help me down, Jake, so I can set foot on your land.”

He plopped his hat back on his head. “No, ma’am. I’ll help you down so you can set foot on
our
land.”

He placed his hands on her expanding waist, lifting her down to the ground. She leaned back against him and his arms came around her, drawing her close.

He pointed towards an oak tree, its branches uplifted and spread wide, the dense greenery providing shade to the earth beneath it. “I figure we can build our first house beside that tree there. It’ll be a small house, probably just one room so we can get it up quick. But later, later I’ll build you the kind of house you deserve. And over there, we’ll build the barn and corrals. And right there I want to build a windmill.”

“A windmill?” she asked. Windmills were a rare sight in the West.

“It’ll help us pump water into the house and if we build the well deep enough, we should be able to keep our stock watered during dry spells. And over there,” his arm swept in a semicircle, “we’ll build a bunkhouse and a cookhouse. Hell, eventually we’ll have everything we need.” He placed warm lips against the back of her head. “It’s going to be good here, Reb.”

Placing her hands over his and giving them a squeeze, she knew in her heart that he was right.

Two men guarded the cattle that were released on the open range, while the other men built a hasty corral for the horses. Then they began building the one-room house where Jake and Rebecca would live. Where eventually, she would undoubtedly give birth.

As the days passed, she watched their progress, giving little aid except to bring them water and assist the cook they’d hired just outside of Kentucky.

From time to time, Jake would leave the men, slip his arm around her and ask her a question about the house. Where did she want the windows, the fireplace, the door? At night, their pallets laying side by side, they’d talk about the ranch. What he wanted it to be. Their relationship had remained chaste. In the open air, with seven cowboys and a cook along with them, little opportunity had existed for intimacy. Jake seemed content with their relationship,which more closely resembled that of two age-old friends than that of a husband and wife.

But each day, she felt her feelings for this man becoming deeper. His kindness was unlimited, not only to her and the men, but to the animals as well. She watched him now as he directed the men’s efforts. With any luck the house would be completed in the next day or two.

Rebecca lifted her hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the glaring sun and looked out into the distance. Since they’d been here, they’d not had one visitor. But it certainly looked as if they were getting at least one now. A wagon was pulling up.

The wagon came to a halt not far from where Rebecca stood and all work on the house momentarily stopped as curiosity was piqued. A young man roughly Frank’s age held the reins, and a rotund woman wearing a white bonnet was pushing a younger woman out of the seat.

“Come on, Ruth, get down. We got new neighbors and, thank God, a woman among them.”

Unexpectedly, Rebecca found herself pressed against the older woman’s ample bosom, the woman’s thick arms jiggling as they came away from Rebecca’s back.

“Lord, child, this state can use all the women it can get. My son Luke there said he saw some new folks and I said no but sure enough he was right. I’m Carrie Reading and this here’s my daughter, Ruth. The rest wouldn’t come, couldn’t give up a day of work.” She hit Rebecca’s arm. “You know how menfolk are. And Land O’Goshen, if you ain’t with child!”

Rebecca laughed. Carrie Reading was a true rambler and her sentences were so disjointed, it seemed as if she had been saving up her conversation for years and was trying to throw it all out in one go. Rebecca extended her hand.

“I’m Rebecca Burnett.”

“Hell, girl, I don’t see enough women to want to shake their hands!” Then her arms were back around Rebecca, hugging tightly.

Jake had ambled over, keeping a safe distance, and Rebecca couldn’t blame him. Public displays of affection were foreign to him, and she hoped Carrie wouldn’t press him to her bosom.

“Mrs. Reading—”

“Carrie, darling. Call me Carrie. We were friends before we even met.”

“All right, Carrie. This is my husband, Jake.”

The woman turned, with arms outstretched, taking a step towards Jake who took a step back and tilted his hat. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, a shy one!” She punched Rebecca’s arm again. “I like the shy ones. They usually make the best lovers.”

Rebecca brought a hand to her mouth as she watched the heat suffuse Jake’s face.

“If you’ll excuse me, I gotta get back to work,” he said with a duck of his head.

“No, wait!” Carrie called out. “I take it you’re the owner of this spread.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you need a barn. Tomorrow night, we’re having a dance for my Ruth here to celebrate her sixteenth birthday. We’d just love for y’all to come—all of you. Give you a chance to meet your neighbors and next Saturday I’ll get all their lazy carcasses out here to build your barn. What do you say?”

“That’s real nice of you to offer, ma’am.”

“We’d love to go to the dance, Carrie, but I think we have enough men to build our own barn,” Rebecca said, noting Jake’s discomfiture with the situation.

“Not in your life, girl. Hell, we all build each other’s barns around here. Only way to get it done. We’ll see you tomorrow night at sunset. Just go south. You can’t miss our spread, the Triple Bar.”

She gave Rebecca one last hug before heaving herself up into the wagon and hitting her son’s arm, her signal that it was time to go.

“Now don’t disappoint me!” she called out. And Rebecca wondered if all the women here were like her.

“Did that invitation include me?”

Rebecca turned to Frank. “I think it included everyone.”

“And that Ruth’s going to be there, that pretty girl?” “Yes, she is. The dance is for her.” “Goddamn. I need you to teach me to dance.” She pulled his hat off his head and tousled his hair. “I’d be happy to, Frank.”

Rebecca watched the hues of the sunset cross the sky. One thing she loved about Texas was its sunsets. Caught unaware, she screamed when she felt herself being lifted into Jake’s arms.

“What in the world are you doing, Jake Burnett?”

“Taking you home.”

He carried her to the house, up onto the porch and through the threshold of the simple wooden structure, then set her down on the puncheon floor of flat cedar logs. The walls were built of twelve-inch, rough-hewn cedar logs, chinked with clay. The only door was made of heavy boards. It fastened with a latchstring.

“It’s not much,” he said, waiting for her disappointment to show. It was far nicer than the building he had grown up in, but it was nowhere near as nice as the home in which she had been raised.

Rebecca pivoted slowly on the balls of her feet, her eyes taking inventory and assessing each feature of the single room. The wall to the right of the door housed the stone fireplace. The wall across from it held the stove. To the back of the house was space for their bed. Because Rebecca liked the sun to visit inside as much as it did outside, each side of the house had two windows, protected by heavy wooden shutters that hung on handwrought hinges. She completed her circle, smiled up at Jake and slipped her arms around his neck.

“I love it.”

His eyes lowered to her lips. Yes, Jake, she thought. I want you to kiss me.

Frank stuck his head in the door. “You want us to start hauling the furniture in before it gets too dark?”

Sighing, Jake released her. “Now it’s your turn to work, Reb. Just tell them where you want everything.”

It didn’t take long as they had brought only the barest of necessities. They set a sofa before the fireplace, a table and four chairs before the stove, and beside it a pine cupboard. A four-poster bed was set in the corner in the back so one window looked down on it. A dresser and a mahogany wardrobe rested against the back wall. They would add more as time went by, but for now it was enough to get them through.

When they were finished, they sat around the campfire and ate supper with the men, listening as Lee Hastings sang ballads in a deep resonant voice. The stocky man had beefy arms and curly black hair touching his shoulders. When he stood, his short legs rounded out so he always looked as though he were still sitting upon a horse. He began to sing “The Cowboy’s Lament.” The song was Rebecca’s favorite. She snuggled back against Jake as his arms encircled her. When the last note was sung, the couple said good night and walked side by side back towards their house.

Jake closed the door behind them and brought a plank of wood down against the door barring entrance. He set the lantern down on the table and smiled at his wife. It was the first time they had been alone since the night they had gotten married.

Rebecca lifted her shoulders, spreading her arms out. “It’s our house.”

Jake looked around, smiling at the towels she had hung over the windows. “Guess we need to get some curtains. Men don’t think of things like that.”

“You seem to have thought of just about everything else.”

“I tried. Are you tired?” “Yes, I am.”

He went to the back of the house and brought out a hammer and some nails.

“I thought we could tack up a quilt to give you a little more privacy.”

“I’d like that.” She moved to a chest and took out a faded quilt. “This one should do.”

Standing on a chair, Jake nailed it up. He stepped down, admiring his handiwork. It was crooked.

“I’m not much of a carpenter.” “You built the house.”

“With a lot of help.” He studied her standing there, her eyes as big as the moon. “Why don’t you get ready for bed?”

She nodded, then slipped behind the quilt. After removing her clothes, she wiped her body with a damp rag and pulled her nightgown over her head. She was five months pregnant and she didn’t want Jake to see her body in its present state. The little mound of her belly seemed to be doubling in size every day. Another aspect of pregnancy that didn’t thrill her. Then she felt the flutter of butterfly wings inside her, and smiled, rubbing the small mound. She didn’t feel it often, and at first she hadn’t been sure what it was, but now she recognized it as the baby moving inside her. It was one thing about pregnancy she loved. She unbraided her hair and brushed it vigorously before braiding it again. Then she shrugged, unbraided it, ran her brush through it and poked her head around the quilt.

“I’m ready for bed.”

Jake was sitting on the sofa, his long legs stretched out before him. He turned his attention from the empty fireplace to her.

“Good night, Reb. Have sweet dreams.”

She was unexpectedly hit with disappointment. “Good night,” she said softly.