Scars of the Heart (28 page)

Jessica Hawthorne, Nicodemus’ youngest daughter, had invited Carly to join their morning tea. Jessica had a sweet disposition and the palest of blue eyes, even lighter than her father’s. Carly liked Jessica until they met up with the others; then the young woman had taken on a different air, one of status and importance. Carly didn’t like this Jessica at all and wondered which version of the girl portrayed the true Jessica.

Maude Williams, whose father was a prominent business man in Marshall, competed in conversation with Samantha Thorne. Samantha, or
Sam
as she liked to be called, hailed from a prominent family as well. Her father served as business partner to Isaac Van Zandt, one of the founding fathers of the city.

“Did you hear that crazy ol’ Mrs. Becker is trying to sell those camels she purchased last year?” Sam queried, pausing to set her teacup back on its saucer. She turned to Carly and placed a hand delicately on her arm. “She really is the most bizarre woman, Carly. We’ll simply have to introduce you. Mrs. Becker is always good for a giggle—that’s for certain. She has more money than anyone in town, or so I hear. She sent away for camels, of all things. You do know what a camel is, don’t you, Carly?”

Without waiting for an answer, Sam continued quickly. “She’d heard that they require far less water than mules, can tolerate the heat better, and can do the work of twice as many mules. Trouble is, they smell twice as bad, or so Mother says. And the harnesses don’t fit. The field hands don’t know how to handle the beasts and are refusing to do so. Poor Mrs. Becker has no choice but to try and find a buyer.”

Samantha paused long enough to sip her tea, which gave the other girls the chance to gain control of the conversation. Both started at once; Jessica mentioned the new organdy robes just received at Bradfield and Talley’s, while Maude turned the chatter to eligible bachelors. Sam perked up at Maude’s topic and angled slightly toward her with a barrage of questions about a certain young suitor Maude had named. Carly noted the pout on Jessica’s full bottom lip and the pride beaming from Maude as she enjoyed Sam’s attention. Carly shook her head.

“Maude! You can’t be considering that boarder you’ve taken in as a serious suitor? What will people think? What must your parents think?” Sam sat straight up in her chair with one hand splayed across her chest. Her eyes were wide and round, waiting for Maude’s reply.

Carly learned early in the conversation that these ladies and their families were Confederate supporters. As the newcomer, she’d kept her opinions to herself, choosing to listen more than contribute to the chatter, not that she’d had much of a chance with these three vying for center stage.

Maude shifted nervously. “He’s a captain,” she defended herself. “And very much the gentleman. He’s utterly charming and quite funny.” A smile split her face and danced in her eyes. But she wilted under the disapproving glare of her friend. “You know, I only accepted a ride in his fine buggy because he was headed in the same direction as I.”

“I swear,” Sam huffed, “I do not understand why so many of this community’s fine young ladies have become seemingly willing victims in the arms of these ruthless invaders. Why, Marcella Kincaid married a Federal with but one bar on his shoulder. Can you believe it? And after she’d just prattled on and on at the Van Zandt’s Christmas party about how she might hide a glittering stiletto in the pocket of her cape, how she might just become an assassin for the country’s sake. I, of course, knew Marcella would never do any such thing, but I must say, I was as surprised as anyone by her rather impulsive marriage to that scoundrel.”

Maude looked to Jessica for support but found little interest there. The banker’s daughter merely sipped her tea and shrugged.

“These days, I say,
se marier avec qui vous pouvez,
marry who you can. Too many of our own eligible bachelors never came back from the war, or they came back as damaged goods.” Again Jessica shrugged.

Sam’s reproachful glare bounced from Maude to Jessica and back again.

Carly, feeling a bit sorry for the poor girl, offered some support. “Maude, I agree with Jessica. If you and this captain have fallen in love, you should—”

“Oh, I said nothing of falling in love, dear Carly.” Jessica squared her shoulders. “I simply suggested that the pickings are slim. A girl should grab whatever handsome, tolerable, well-to-do man she can, before there are none left to latch on to.”

Sam smiled approvingly and patted Jessica on the knee. Both ladies turned their heated gazes on Maude.

“I, um, agree, of course. I wasn’t suggesting that I had actually fallen for the captain’s sweet verses of prose and melodious singing voice.” She tossed a sympathetic smile Carly’s direction. “Silly Carly. I may accept the captain’s proposal of marriage but only to become a martyr on patriotic principles. The man will find thorns in his bed every night and endure dry good bills as long as his legs.” She blinked rapidly and pursed her lips.

Sam and Jessica brightened. “That’s the spirit, Maude!”

“Poor dear, what a patriot you are!”

Carly could no longer pretend to enjoy the company of these twits. With as much grace as she could muster, she offered an excuse to leave, thanked them for the invitation, and made her escape. Even as she marveled at their shallow, insincere personalities, she couldn’t help but wonder if an eavesdropper might have been subjected to a similar conversation between she and her own friends just months prior in Virginia.

“Three jacks, fellas. Looks like I win again.” The man chuckled warmly and raked his winnings toward himself.

Kade had made sure he contributed to the man’s windfall throughout the evening. After all, Kade’s opponent became a gloomy, quiet sulk when he lost but had proven rather full of himself when he won. He’d tell all he knew to whomever would listen. This fact had been quite helpful to Kade. He’d learned that Nelson Jr. liked to drink and liked to play poker. Apparently he did neither well. Word was Nelson had burned through Daddy’s money and had started selling off sections of Kade’s land to pay his mounting gambling debts and restock his supply of fine Scotch whiskey.

“Boys, that’s it for me. Time to call it a night.” One of the other players tossed back the last swallow of his drink and stood to leave.

Kade followed suit, grateful he’d gained valuable information and not been recognized. No reason to push his luck.

As he made his way to the door, three men entered. Their laughter and banter filled the smoky tavern, suggesting they’d already had much to drink. A good-natured shove by one buddy caused another to bump hard into Kade just as he tried to pass them. Had he not braced against a nearby chair, the both of them may have stumbled and fallen.

“Sorry, friend.” The drunkard grabbed Kade’s forearm to steady himself and smiled broadly.

“No problem,” muttered Kade, lowering his head and trying to push past.

“No, really. We’re just having us some fun. Sure didn’t mean no harm. Let me buy you a beer.” With one hand, he held firm to Kade’s forearm. With the other hand, he patted Kade roughly on the shoulder.

“No, thanks. I was just leaving.” He returned the pat on the shoulder and tried to pry the man’s hand loose. But the drunkard’s smile slowly faded. His eyes narrowed, and, though Kade tried to duck his head lower, the newcomer stood a foot shorter than Kade and had been staring straight up under the brim of Kade’s hat.

“What a minute . . . I know you. You’re Kade Roberts. My pa used to shoe horses for your pa.” His words became less slurred, and his grip on Kade’s arm tightened.

The loud revelation drew the attention of several others close by. Kade noticed a couple of big men near the door push back their chairs and stand. “Sorry, friend. You’re mistaken. I’m not who you think.” He freed his arm from the newcomer’s clutch and brushed past.

“No. You’re Kade Roberts. I’d know you anywhere. And you’re a wanted man, Kade Roberts. You killed your stepdaddy, didn’t you? There’s a price on your head.”

The accuser’s declaration gained momentum, and with it, his voice grew louder. His friends were no longer laughing. They’d closed ranks and started moving in tighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Kade noticed the two bruisers near the front headed his way as well. A few others, either curious or just interested in the action, inched closer.

“As I said, you’re mistaken. I don’t know this Kade Roberts.” Backing in the direction of the door, he instinctively moved his right hand toward his weapon.

“He’s going for his gun!” someone yelled.

The rush came from every side. Just as Kade’s pistol cleared leather, a big fella to the rear barreled into Kade, catapulting him into the boisterous newcomer. Kade’s gun flew from his hand and scuttled across the bar. The shorter man gave a mighty shove that stood Kade up straight and tall, but he came up swinging. His fist landed soundly on the man’s jaw. Kade immediately spun left, sensing another attack. A beefy fist buried itself in his midsection. Within seconds, a full-scale brawl ensued. Men threw punches, ducked, and dodged, most fighting among themselves and for no reason other than they had had too much to drink and not enough sense.

As Kade struggled to get his breath, someone leaped on to his back, wrapped one forearm around his throat and braced the other behind his head. As the clinch tightened, effectively cutting off his air supply, Kade flipped forward. He and his attacker fell hard on a nearby table. The wooden legs splintered under the force. The men landed with a thud, and Kade rolled free. Quickly orienting himself once more, he took a step toward the exit, only to be knocked to his knees as a chair crashed across his shoulders. He grabbed a jagged wooden spindle and swung hard at a stout young man with greed in his eyes. The blow opened a gash above the man’s left eye, and Kade turned his makeshift weapon on yet another attacker. A sharp jab to the man’s sternum momentarily paralyzed him. Kade sent him sprawling with a left uppercut.

Simultaneously, two brawlers sprang, each securing one of Kade’s arms. With a roar, he tried with all his might to wrestle free. His legs buckled. As he fell to his knees, another man landed hard on Kade’s back.

All of a sudden the crack of a rifle shot split the tavern’s air, resounding off the walls and stilling everyone inside. As all eyes focused in the direction of the shot as splintered wood wafted down from the small hole in the dry roof.

“That’s enough!” bellowed the barkeep. He held the rifle steady and true, aimed straight at Kade Roberts and the dozen grapplers around him. “You’re wrecking the place!”

Three men held firm to Kade; one on each arm and one from behind with another stranglehold around his throat. They hauled him to his feet without easing their grasps.

Kade had lost his hat in the fight. His long, black hair hung in wild disarray around his head and shoulders. He breathed heavily, and muscles bulged as he strained against the firm hold of his captors. Fury seeped from every pore of his body.

“Shorty, get a rope from out back, and you fellas get him tied up tight.”

The barkeep nodded toward the stout young man Kade had bashed with the chair spindle. Bright-red blood ran down half his face and onto his shirt.

“I’s the one who recognized him! I get the reward!” The drunkard who had started the fight pushed his way through the crowd to stand boldly in front of Kade, claiming his prize.

As a protest arose from the mob, a scuffle threatened to escalate into another full brawl. The unmistakable sound of the rifle reloading regained everyone’s attention.

“We’ll let the authorities decide that, Mitch. Now you run get those two Ranger fellas from town. We’ll see what they want to do with this good fer nuthin, murderin’ half-breed.”

To onlookers, it would appear Carly Dawson intently read the labels of several remedies she picked up off the shelves at Dr. Lancaster’s Drugstore. In truth, she hadn’t read a word. Her mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain dark-eyed stranger, a man she barely knew and yet knew more intimately than any other man before or since.

Carly had been wandering the small store more out of boredom than need, and the memories of the night she’d spent in Kade’s arms engulfed her. His gentle yet masterful touch. The sight of him looming above her, tenderness and compassion spread across his perfect features. She could almost smell his masculine, earthy scent even now. So engrossed in this fantasy was she, Carly at first thought she misheard the conversation between another patron and the doctor.

“Cal, you moved here from the Fort Worth area, didn’t you?” The doctor peered over his wire-framed glasses at a middle-aged man who reminded Carly of her father’s father.

“That’s right, Doc. Been about three years now.”

“I understand they’ve apprehended that outlaw, Kade Roberts. Wasn’t he from those parts?”

Carly snapped to attention and froze in place. She angled her head slightly, hoping to better hear the exchange. Had they mentioned Kade’s name, or had her musings made her imagine as much?

“Kade Roberts.” Cal considered the name for a moment. “Yes indeedy, Doc. You’re right as rain. Roberts was a half-breed. Lived with his folks on a big spread down there. His mom remarried after his dad died—then she up and died. Folks always said that new daddy was a tough one, real hard on the boy.”

Carly moved closer, acting as uninterested as she could.

Doc Lancaster finished wrapping the patron’s purchase. “They say Roberts killed the man, stabbed him with a pitchfork.”

“Yep, that’s what they say. But I don’t know that I believe that. I always thought highly of the Roberts family. That young man was never in any sort of trouble.” Cal picked up his parcel and headed for the door.

The doctor continued. “They’re holding him there at the fort. Circuit judge won’t be through there for another two weeks.”

Cal paused with his hand on the door. “Well, I hope he gets a fair trial. Roberts always claimed to be innocent.” He stepped out on to the walk, then added over his shoulder. “Always swore the man tripped and fell on that pitchfork. I tend to believe him.”