Scattered Petals (29 page)

He had intended to wait until dark to enter Ladreville, reasoning that fewer people would be outside, and that even those who were would have trouble seeing him. But then a new idea had popped into his brain. He was so smart! This plan was better. There was no reason to go through town. If he continued north, bypassing Ladreville, he could cross the river upstream where no one lived. All it meant was a couple miles more riding, but that was better than hanging around in the forest, waiting for the sun to set. Once he forded the river, he’d be on the west bank. Perfect. No houses and lots of trees. What a great plan! No one would see him, and he’d get to the ranch in time for dinner.

Jean-Michel spurred his horse as the thought of a good meal made him salivate. Even though the Brambles had been gone for months, he’d bet there was some food left. At a minimum he reasoned there’d be canned goods, and maybe if luck continued on his side, there’d be some smoked meat. Whatever else folks might say about the Widow Bramble, she was a fine cook. Jean-Michel’s stomach growled at the memory of the pies she occasionally provided for their poker games. And then there were the jams she used to bring to the potluck suppers. Those were mighty delicious. Even if all he had was hardtack, it would be tasty with some of Widow Bramble’s peach preserves on it. Yes, indeed, this was a good plan.

Two hours later, he reined in his horse as he approached the ranch house. There was no point in being foolhardy. A smart man took no chances, and Jean-Michel Ladre was a smart man. He looked around. The place was better cared for than he’d expected. There were even some flowers growing close to the porch. It was almost as if someone had planted them. A prickle of concern snaked down his back, but he dismissed it. Who would have planted posies? No one lived here. There was another explanation, a simpler one. Didn’t his mother talk about flowers coming back year after year? That’s what happened here.

He was grinning as he drew closer. Yes, sirree, that house looked downright appealing. He’d have a roof over his head and a soft bed under his back. Mighty fine.

Jean-Michel’s grin faded abruptly when a strange woman stepped onto the front porch. He drew his gun. It had been different in the Old Country, but Texas ladies could be just as dangerous as the men. He was taking no chances.

“Who are you?” he demanded. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here. The woman had reddish hair, and even from here he could see that her eyes were green. She was pretty enough, if you liked tall women and fiery hair. Jean-Michel didn’t. He had his mind set on wedding a brunette who came no higher than his heart.

“I’m Priscilla Webster.”

“Webster?” Was it possible? Had luck come his way? Jean-Michel narrowed his eyes. “Are you related to Zach Webster?”

The woman nodded. “I’m his wife.”

Elation shot through him. Zach had a wife! Oh, what a perfect day! Coming here had been a stroke of pure genius. A dry bed, good food, and a double helping of revenge. What more could a man want?

Jean-Michel dismounted and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go inside.”

The man was evil. She could see it in his eyes. Though his facial features were not the same, his eyes held the same gleam as Zeke Dunkler’s. Priscilla started to shake as memories of the stagecoach holdup and its aftermath surged through her.
Help me, Lord
, she prayed silently.
Give me strength.
When her trembling subsided, she faced the stranger. “It appears you’ve lost your way.” Perhaps if she pretended she didn’t see the menace in his expression, he would leave.

He shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m right where I’m meant to be.” He walked toward her, swaggering slightly as if he owned the ranch. “I’ve got a score to settle with your husband.”

Why would anyone hold a grudge against Zach? He was a peace-loving man who had vowed never to hurt another. Still, there was no doubt about the stranger’s feelings. Whether the cause was imaginary or not, he meant to hurt Zach. Priscilla blanched at the thought of the Dunkler brothers’ rifles and her parents’ lifeless bodies. She couldn’t let that happen to Zach. Somehow she had to warn him and keep him away from the ranch until the stranger left. Oh, why did today have to be the day the ranch hands were helping at the Bar C?

“Who are you?” Though she was confident she had never met him, something about the stranger tugged at Priscilla’s memory.

Keeping his gun trained on her, the man sneered. “I’m Jean-Michel Ladre.” Priscilla nodded slightly. Now that she knew to look for it, there was a resemblance to the town’s mayor. The name did not reassure her. This was the man who’d robbed his employer and killed an itinerant peddler.

“My mama taught me to always say ‘at your service’,” Jean-Michel continued, “but the truth is, you’re at my service.” He waved his gun toward the front door. “Inside. We’ll wait for Zach there. I can think of some mighty pleasant ways to pass the time.”

The smile he gave her sent another shiver of dread through her. Jean-Michel wore the same expression as Zeke Dunkler just before he had attacked her. Priscilla clenched her fists. She would not be a victim. Never again. She had to get away from him. Her eyes moved quickly, measuring the distances. She had no chance of reaching Jean-Michel’s horse. That left only the house. She was closer than he, for he still had to climb the stairs. Priscilla spun around and raced into the house, sliding the lock behind her.

“Let me in!” It was only an instant before he pounded on the door. “Let me in!” His words were followed by a burst of gunfire.

Priscilla dropped to the floor, covering her head as bullets entered the house. When the shots ceased, she took a deep breath, then shuddered. The kitchen. She’d forgotten there was another door. Scrambling to her feet, she ran into the kitchen, but she was too late.

As she entered the room, she felt his presence. Somehow he’d moved more quickly than she. It was almost as if he knew the house. Of course he did. Hadn’t Sarah said that Jean-Michel was one of the men who’d played poker here every week? The thoughts tumbled through Priscilla’s mind in the instant it took for him to reach out from behind the door and drag her against him. She gagged at the smell of his body and the pressure of his arm around her.
Help me, Lord
, she prayed.
Show me what to do.

“Not so smart are you, little lady?” Jean-Michel chuckled as he pressed his gun into the small of her back. “You just learned a lesson. No one’s smarter than me.”

There had to be a way to stop him. Though her heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Priscilla willed her voice to remain even. “What do you want?”

“Your husband.” To Priscilla’s relief, Jean-Michel pushed her into one of the chairs, then perched on the edge of the table, keeping the gun pointed at her. Her first prayer had been answered, for it appeared that he had no intention of harming her.
Keep Zach safe,
she prayed.
Take away this man’s anger.

Jean-Michel’s eyes were cold with fury as he glared at her. “It’s thanks to your husband”—he spat the word as if it were an epithet—“that my father sold me into slavery. If it hadn’t been for Zach Webster, I would never have been banished. But, no, he had to interfere. He had to tell my father all those lies. Now he’s going to pay.”

Priscilla thought quickly. Somehow she had to warn Zach, and to do that, she had to distract Jean-Michel long enough to escape. “You must have traveled a long distance,” she said as calmly as she could. “I imagine you’re tired and hungry. Would you like something to eat?” She gestured toward the stove. “It will be hours before Zach comes home.”

“You think I’m stupid? That’s some kind of trick.”

“You think common hospitality is a trick?”

His stomach growled. “All right,” he said at last, “but don’t try anything funny.” He tugged her to her feet. “I’ll be watching every move.”

“I could heat some pot roast and fry some potatoes. How does that sound?” Priscilla kept her tone matter-of-fact as she took a step toward the stove. Then, before he could react, she whirled around, knocking the gun from his hand and jabbing her fingers into his eyes. As Jean-Michel yowled with pain, she ran outdoors and raced toward his horse.

Just another few steps, and she’d be there. Just another few steps, and she’d be on her way to find Zach. Just another . . . Priscilla’s heart was pounding so hard that she did not hear the footsteps behind her. All she knew was that one instant she was running, the next she was face first on the ground with a heavy body atop her.

No! Memories flooded her brain. Not again!
Help me, Lord,
she prayed.
Help me.

Jean-Michel yanked her arms behind her and pulled Priscilla to her feet. “You shouldn’t have done that.” His lips curled with contempt. “Now I’ve got no choice. I have to kill you.”

The dream came again last night. The dream, not the horrible nightmare that had disturbed his sleep for so many years. Zach slid off Charcoal and began to inspect the fence. Thank goodness the wire was only bent and not cut. He wiped the sweat from his face as he recalled the dream. In it, he’d been riding home. As was true of dreams, while some of the details were vivid, others were not. He knew he’d been gone a long time, but whether it was weeks or months or even years was not clear. All he knew was that he was filled with an urgency to be home. He’d ridden through the thicket. Somehow, the trees had seemed taller and closer together than he remembered, as if they’d grown while he was gone. It should have taken only a few minutes to traverse the forest, but in his dream, it seemed endless. In desperation, he’d slid off Charcoal and made his way on foot, but that was worse, for he felt as if he were caught in quicksand, struggling with all his might, unable to make any forward progress.

And then at last he reached the clearing. There it was, the house he’d dreamt of for so long. He stood for a moment, smiling, though he knew others would not understand the way he felt about it. After all, it was nothing more than a simple farmhouse with a wraparound porch, steep gables, and flowers in front. Compared to the Bar C or even the Lazy B, it was nothing to brag about. And yet it was home. His home and hers.

As he approached the house, anticipation turned to disappointment. He’d thought she’d be on the porch waiting for him, but the porch was empty. Only the plume of smoke rising from the chimney told him someone still lived here. He climbed the steps, more slowly than normal, his hand hesitating for a second before he opened the door. And then he saw her standing just inside the door, beckoning him to enter. Her smile was so full of love that he wondered how he could have doubted anything. This was where he was meant to be. This was the woman he was meant to love.

She smiled again, then spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her. “Welcome home, Zach. I have something to show you.” She turned and led the way to a small room he hadn’t remembered being there. Gently, she turned the knob and swung the door open. There might have been other furniture. Zach wasn’t certain, for his eyes focused on the rocking chair and what stood next to it. For a second, he couldn’t identify the small wooden object, but when he did, his eyes widened.

One instant she was standing next to him. The next she was bending over to reach into the cradle. When she stood, a tiny form nestled in her arms, Priscilla smiled again. “Do you want to hold your son?”

That was when he woke. It was when he always woke, before he had a chance to cradle his child, to gaze at the baby’s face and touch the miniature features. The aftermath was predictable. Each time he had the dream, he would waken filled with an intense longing. It was only a dream, he would tell himself. It would never come true. And yet, though he knew he and Priscilla would never have a child, every fiber of his being wished that this dream would come true.

Think of all that is good
, Zach admonished himself as he mounted Charcoal. Priscilla was healing. Though he doubted she would ever fully recover from the bandit’s attack, he took comfort from the fact that she no longer shied from him. Theirs might not be a conventional marriage, but it brought Zach more happiness than he’d thought possible. He would have to be content with that.