Scattered Petals (13 page)

“I believe it’s what God wants.” Although not for the reason Clay imagined.

“Howdy.” Jean-Michel detested the greeting. No self-respecting Alsatian would have used such a crude salutation, unaccompanied as it was by a personal address. In Alsace, he would have greeted a stranger with the more courteous “
Bonjour, monsieur
,” but things were different here. Jean-Michel didn’t want to draw undue attention to himself, and so he called out the way an Anglo like that despicable Zach Webster might have.

The peddler looked up from the pot he’d been stirring. It hadn’t been Jean-Michel’s imagination. Those were pork and beans he’d smelled as he’d approached.

“Somethin’ I can do for you?” The man’s face was brown and wrinkled, the result of years in the sun, his hair liberally threaded with gray, his smile welcoming. He looked like every other old man Jean-Michel had seen, except for his eyes. Cold and blue, those eyes appeared to be looking right through him, as if they could read his thoughts. Absurd! Still, Jean-Michel resolved to think only good thoughts while he was with the peddler. A man couldn’t be too careful.

Mindful that he had not answered the old man’s question, Jean-Michel looked down at the bubbling beans. “Those smell mighty good,” he said with what he hoped sounded like a Texas accent. “I wonder if I could trouble you for a bowl. I can pay for it.”

The peddler’s eyes moved from Jean-Michel’s expensive hat to his highly polished boots. “I can see that. Sit down.” He gestured toward the ground. “I reckon I’ve got enough to share with a hungry traveler.” The man stuck out his hand. “Tom Fayette.”

Jean-Michel shook the proffered hand. “Jean-Michel Ladre.” As soon as the words were pronounced, he regretted them. He should have invented a name, something that sounded more Texan.

“Glad to meet you, Jean-Michel.” Apparently unconcerned by the name or, more likely, too dumb to realize that it was a foreign name, the peddler rose to retrieve an extra plate and spoon from the back of his wagon. “What brings you to this part of Texas?”

“I work in Houston.” That wasn’t a lie. “When I heard my mother was doing poorly, I realized it was time to go home.” That wasn’t a lie, either. Not exactly. With him gone, Mama would be feeling poorly. She had cried buckets when she learned that Papa planned to send him to Houston, but all her tears and entreaties had accomplished nothing. Michel Ladre, the great and powerful Michel Ladre, would not be dissuaded.

“I like a man who cares for his mother.”

Jean-Michel nodded as he took another spoonful of beans. They weren’t fancy food like his mother made, but they were a sight better than rock-hard biscuits and jerked beef. “Where are you headed next?” While he’d chewed the morsels of pork, Jean-Michel had looked at the peddler’s wagon. Unless he was mistaken, a peddler—or at least this one—earned a good living.

Luck was definitely with him.

Zach waited an hour before he approached Priscilla. He wasn’t certain whether she’d seen him and Clay talking, and he didn’t want her to think he’d been coerced, or even persuaded, to make his offer. Besides, he’d needed time to outline his strategy. “There’s still some sunlight left,” he said when he found her sitting with Clay’s father in the main room. Robert had dozed and Priscilla held a book, though the fact that she had turned no pages in the minutes he’d watched her told Zach she wasn’t reading. She was so beautiful, so innocent, and so very sad. Marriage might not have been his plan, but Zach did not regret the decision he’d made, for it was the only way he knew to help Priscilla.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” Riding was one of the things she enjoyed. It was also something that relaxed her, and today of all days, Priscilla needed to relax.

“I’m not feeling too well.”

Though she was unnaturally pale, he wouldn’t make the mistake of telling her that. “All the more reason to go. Dr. Zach is convinced of the therapeutic effect of contact with members of the equine family, preferably contact achieved by mounting one.”

As he’d hoped, his deliberately pompous tone made Priscilla smile. “Far be it from me to dispute Dr. Zach’s wisdom.”

A quarter of an hour later, they were headed away from the house with Zach leading the way toward their destination: a small grove of trees near an equally small pond. He slowed his horse and gestured toward the pond. “Would you like to walk a bit?” Before she could demur, he added, “That rock is big enough that you could use it for mounting.” He’d seen the way she shied from contact with men and knew she would refuse to leave the horse unless she could remount without assistance. The rock was one of the reasons he’d chosen this particular spot.

“All right.” When they reached the pond, Priscilla dipped her hand into the water, then pulled it out and shook it vigorously. “It’s cold.”

“That’s what you get when you’re two days away from January. That’s our coldest month.” Zach took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he mustered his courage. It was time to begin. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about the weather.” Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “I heard about your situation.” He would not refer to it as a problem, for that would only distress her. It was bad enough that what he’d said so far had caused her to blanch. “I’d like to help you, Priscilla. I don’t imagine this is the way you thought it would be, but if you’re willing, I would be honored to have you as my wife.”

Zach hadn’t thought her pallor could increase, but it did. “You want to marry me?” She took a step backward, as if she felt the need to distance herself from him.

“I want to protect you and your baby.” He wouldn’t claim that this was an ordinary proposal of marriage, for it was not. “As I see it, the best way—perhaps the only way—to do that is for me to marry you and be a father to your child.” Priscilla backed up until she was touching one of the trees. This was not going the way he’d expected. He had thought she would either agree or refuse. He hadn’t expected the palpable fear now etched on her face. Zach wished he knew whether the fear was caused by the thought of marriage or of marriage to him.

“I know you must have had scores of beaux in Boston, people of your social standing. I’m sure that when you imagined marrying, it was to one of them, not an uneducated ranch foreman.” Zach wasn’t going to pretend that he was the ideal husband. Though he wanted to believe he’d matured since he left Haven, the simple fact was, he knew nothing about being married. What he did know was that Priscilla needed the protection a wedding ring would provide. “I’m sure you have other suitors. The problem is, all those men are in Boston. They can’t help you. I’m here, and I can. So, yes, I want to marry you.”

Priscilla took another step backward, stopping only when she bumped into a tree. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

Her eyes darkened, and she gripped the tree trunk as if for support. “I can’t. I can’t marry you or anyone.”

Though the fear he’d seen on her face had turned to terror, Zach felt relief flow through him. It was marriage she feared, not him. That made sense. If she feared the simple touch of a man’s hand, how terrifying must the thought of marriage and all it entailed be? “You don’t need to worry.” He kept his voice low and soft, the same tone he used when taming a wild horse. “The marriage is to protect you. It will be a marriage in name only.”

For the first time he saw a glimmer of hope in Priscilla’s eyes. “You mean . . . ? You wouldn’t . . . ?”

Zach wasn’t sure whether to nod or shake his head. Instead, he kept it steady as he said, “It’s true we’ll share a house, but you’ll have your own room. I promise I will not insist on my marital rights.”

“House?” She grasped at what Zach believed to be the least important part of his declaration. “Where would we live?”

That was one of the things he had considered during the hour he’d spent planning this moment. “For the time being, at the Lazy B.” In case she didn’t recognize the name, Zach explained that that was the neighboring ranch Clay had taken over when its owners left Ladreville. “Clay keeps saying it’s a shame that the house is empty, so I know he’d agree that we could live there. You’d have your own house and privacy.”

He could see that Priscilla was considering the idea. When she spoke, he heard wonder in her voice. “It’s a generous offer, Zach. I don’t know how to thank you for making it.” She managed a small smile. “I understand what I’d gain, but what about you? You said you were planning to leave Ladreville, that you never stayed anywhere for too long. Why would you want to saddle yourself with another man’s child and a wife who isn’t a true wife? What would you be getting?”

Though he hadn’t expected the question, Zach had no trouble answering. “A home of my own. I’ve never had one. Since I was fifteen, I’ve been on the move, first with the army, then living on other people’s ranches. There comes a time in a man’s life when he wants to settle down. I’ve reached that time. I like Ladreville and want to remain here.” Permanently. “It’s true I thought I would leave, but only because it was obvious that having me around distressed you. Everything’s different now. If you marry me, I’ll try to buy the Lazy B.” Zach felt his lips curve in a smile at the thought of the white frame house. “I can’t imagine that Clay will object. The current owner asked him to sell it, and Clay doesn’t want it. If this works out, for the first time in my life, I’ll have land, a house, and a family to fill that house.”

Zach paused for a deep breath. “Will you marry me, Priscilla? Will you help make my dreams come true?”

This time there was no hesitation. The beautiful woman who had invaded his thoughts since the day she’d arrived at the ranch nodded. “I will.”

Zach closed his eyes for a second, letting relief flow through his veins. It had been such a short time since he’d made his decision that he hadn’t realized how much he wanted Priscilla to accept his proposal, yet now that she had, it felt good. More than good, it felt right.

“Thank you.” It was time to think about practicalities. “Would you prefer to be married in the French or the German church?”

“Neither. The judge can marry us.”

Though the vehemence of Priscilla’s response surprised Zach, it was the content that shocked him. He stared at the woman who would soon become his wife and tried to understand her reaction. “There is no judge in Ladreville,” he said as gently as he could, “but even if there were, I wouldn’t agree. Marriage is a sacrament, a contract between a man, a woman, and God.” When Priscilla started to shake her head, Zach held up his hand. He wasn’t finished. Realizing that she might fear being married in a public place, he was willing to concede one point. “If you insist, I will agree that we don’t have to be married in one of the churches, but we must have a minister.”

Priscilla’s eyes widened, and he could see the confusion in them. “Why? The results are the same, regardless of who performs the ceremony.”

“Not to me, they’re not.” The day he’d given his life to the Lord, he’d vowed that he would live according to his commandments. As much as he wanted to help Priscilla, Zach knew he would be breaking his promise if their marriage were not a religious ceremony. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—do that. “You need to make a decision, Priscilla. I want to marry you, but the only way I’ll do that is if we say our vows before God.”

She was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the distance, and Zach sensed that the decision was a difficult one for her. He forced himself to breathe steadily while he waited for her to speak. It was probably only a minute, but Zach felt as if a lifetime had passed before she turned back to him and nodded. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”