A Place Called Harmony (31 page)

Clint tried to talk to everyone, but his gaze kept turning to his bride. He wanted to be alone with Karrisa more than he needed to breathe. The young preacher was funny, the soldiers interesting, and the blacksmith polite, but he wanted the quiet peace of being with only one person.

When Harry and Ely broke out a bottle to pass around, the women moved inside with the children.

Clint took Karrisa’s hand. “Let’s go home, dear,” he said simply.

She lifted Danny from where he slept in Momma Roma’s arms and walked out beside him. With all the people talking, no one seemed to notice them leave.

When they reached the wagon, he lifted her up and headed toward the first little house along Lone Oak Road. His place. The Truman farm.

As always, they didn’t talk. The moon rose, a giant ball blinking between the cottonwoods. The wagon swayed. His leg bumped against hers and she didn’t move it away. Carefully he let his hand rest on her skirt just above her knee. He liked touching her like this, almost as if he’d done it a hundred times and knew his slight advance was welcome.

Her fingers brushed over his hand, lightly pressing until he felt the warmth of her beneath the layers of cotton.

He was half drunk on wanting her when he pulled the wagon close to the house and helped her down.

“I’ll unhitch the horses and be in,” he said as she walked inside.

The letter in his pocket rested heavy against his chest as he hobbled the horses so they could feed on the tall grass. When there was time, he’d build a barn and put up a windmill.

She had a right to know that her father had gone to Huntsville looking for her. Clint had no intention of telling her what he had told the sheriff, though. Maybe Karrisa’s father had been kinder in the letter when he asked her to come home. She was his only child. Surely she meant more to him than just someone to keep his house.

Clint knew he had to tell her before he touched her again. He had to be honest. Whether the father was kind or harsh didn’t change the fact that he had to give her the letter. She now had a choice to make.

He couldn’t offer her much more than her father did. Passion, he thought. He could offer her that. In time, passion might be almost the same as love.

The cottonwoods down by Lone Oak Road swayed in the night as if calling him near.

Clint walked toward them feeling like his mind and heart were at war with one another. He still loved his Mary and his little girls. They still filled his heart. He could tell himself that the need he felt for Karrisa was just a physical thing, but he knew it was more. He just didn’t know what. She deserved better than him, but he couldn’t walk away from her.

The trees were tall here but not as old as the ancient cottonwood on his land down by Huntsville. There, the frequent rain and the wet soil made the trees grow wide with roots running along at ground level. Here, with the earth so dry and rain far less frequent, these trees grew tall and the roots dug deep down in the soil.

He seemed to be changing in this land as well. Part of him wanted to grow so deep into this place that he’d be one with the land. One with Harmony.

Shadows began to dance between the cottonwoods. Shadows he’d clung to for three years. He could almost hear his daughters laughing as they blinked in and out from behind the trees.

Clint lowered himself to the ground and watched them. Their sunny curls bouncing, their smiles contagious. They’d been with him all this time. Just beyond his reach, but there.

He loved this haunting memory as much as he hated the one that sometimes came of them crying, begging him to hold them and not go for the doctor. If he’d stayed, he would have been with them when they passed. The doctor had been no help. Heaven had already called their names by the time he’d returned.

As he watched, he saw Mary walking toward the girls, her hands outstretched. He rarely saw her in the cottonwoods, and always before she’d been in the background, only a faded silhouette watching their daughters.

Hand in hand they stepped from the cottonwoods and walked toward him. Clint didn’t know if he was dreaming or had gone completely mad. He didn’t care. They were coming toward him. Maybe to take him with them. They’d all be together again.

He stood, wanting to run to meet them, but his feet stayed rooted in the earth. Mary stopped a few feet out of his reach and smiled. She seemed to understand. One at a time she released the girls’ hands and they ran to their father. Clint hugged them tightly, feeling as if his heart were being pulled from his chest.

“Good-bye, Papa,” they both whispered in his ear as they kissed his cheek.

Mary reached out, her hand almost brushing his face as she nodded once. A silent salute. A forever farewell.

He tried to follow, but his feet wouldn’t come loose from the earth. He could only watch as the girls danced on either side of Mary as she walked back to the trees.

When they melted into the shadows, Clint knew he’d never see them again. The vision he’d held in his mind for three years had vanished. He’d had his chance to hug them good-bye.

He hadn’t been able to go with them. He’d already planted his roots too deep in this soil.

He walked back to his house feeling light-headed. They’d always been in the back of his thoughts, dancing, smiling, helping him make it one more day. Maybe he couldn’t go with them simply because he wasn’t finished here yet.

When he walked into the house, Karrisa was just putting Danny in his cradle. She looked up at Clint with those beautiful blue eyes. All the fear was gone. She trusted him. He’d won that battle with her at least; now he had to let her know that she had choices to make about her life.

He wasn’t her only chance, her one chance to survive. If she wanted to go live with her father, she could.

Unable to say anything, Clint handed her the letter, then crossed over to hang up his gun belt on a nail by the kitchen door. Everything they had was in order in their little home. They had no pictures or china or frilly things sitting around. This place must look pretty plain compared to where she’d grown up.

Her traveling jacket that she’d walked out of prison wearing lay on the kitchen table. She must have cut the sleeves and cuffs open while she’d waited for him. Tiny apple seeds were lined up in rows of ten as if she’d been planning exactly how she’d plant them.

He picked up one.
Roots
, he almost said aloud. If she planted these, they’d both be planting roots and would never leave this land.

He tried not to stare when she walked into the room that served as their living space, but he figured she knew he was watching her.

For a moment she looked confused, turning the letter over and over in her hands, and then she moved to the one lamp and opened it slowly. Her face was worried as if she somehow thought a letter might hurt her.

He stood in the dark, watching. If she told him she wanted to go back home, could he let her, could he stop her? He knew the answer. He’d promised to be kind. He’d let her walk away even if it shattered what little sanity he had left.

For a while, she didn’t move. She just sat at the table and stared out into the night just beyond the window. Clint tried not to think about what was going through her mind. Lighting a fire, he decided to unpack his saddlebags. He placed his rifle on the hooks above the mantel and touched her brush when he put his shaving gear by the washstand.

He was settling in at the same time she was probably thinking about leaving.

When she still hadn’t moved, he washed up and shaved simply because he couldn’t stand and stare at her. Not that she would notice. Moonlight framed her as she sat as still as stone, the letter tight in her hand.

Her choice
, he kept thinking.
Her choice, not mine.
He was strong and probably double her weight. They were married by law. She’d promised him she’d be his wife. But he wouldn’t stand in her way if she wanted to leave.

In the mirror, he watched her finally rise and walk to the fireplace. She tossed the letter atop the fire and walked into the bedroom. When she came out again, her hair was down and brushing over her shoulders. The hair he’d thought so lifeless that first night moved in midnight waves. When she stopped a few feet in front of him, he had to fight to keep from touching her.

“Will you unbutton my dress, Clint?” she asked, as if unsure of the answer.

She hadn’t said she was going. What she asked was a simple request.

He closed the space between them and slowly began opening the front of her dress. “I love doing this,” he whispered as he bent and kissed the first button, then let his mouth slide to her throat.

If this was her way of saying good-bye, he’d make it a memory they’d both hold.

She stood straight and still as he continued, her chin high. “The letter was from my father,” she finally said.

“I know. Sheriff Lightstone gave it to me.” He moved his hand beneath the cotton of her dress and felt her warm skin. She was shaking slightly, nervous, but she didn’t step away as his touch grew bolder.

She took a long breath as Clint kissed his way down her throat, suddenly far more interested in her than any letter.

“He says I can come home,” she whispered.

Clint paused and straightened, hating to leave his work with the job of unbuttoning only half done. “What will you tell him?”

His beautiful Karrisa looked up at him and whispered, “I’ll tell him I’m already home.”

Clint slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her so high above she almost touched the ceiling. He circled around, laughing. “You’ll stay with me, then?” he finally asked.

“Yes, not because you’ll let me but because you want me to stay.”

“I do.” He carried her the few steps to the bedroom, where the candlelight made her glow as he kissed her hard and fast. “I want you to stay forever with me right here.”

To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hesitantly on the mouth. He felt her full lips spread into a smile. “And what will we do right here, forever?” Her words whispered between them.

With a laugh, he tumbled atop the bed, taking her with him. “I want you here with me every day and night of our lives. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He rolled atop her, loving the feel of her body beneath him. With each intake of breath he felt her every curve as she shifted, stretching.

“Yes. I’m your wife, Clint. This is where I want to be.”

Before she could catch her breath he was kissing her wildly and removing her clothes so rapidly several buttons popped off and
ting
ed on the floor. He needed to hold her close, so close no clothes remained between them.

The sense that this place, this time, this woman was exactly where he was meant to be filled Clint as he held her close, loving the way she melted against him.

Timidly her hand moved over his chest as she unbuttoned his black shirt. “I like this shirt, but I want to touch you.”

He stood and removed his clothes and watched her eyes fill with desire. A surprising passion, newborn and strong, flickered as she studied him. They’d spent so much time walking around one another, touching only when necessary. A fire between them had built slowly, encouraged by kindness and thoughtfulness. Now both were lost in the need for the other.

When he returned to her he rolled atop her, letting his weight push her into the soft feather bed. Then he laughed as he rolled over, taking her with him. As she rested on him, he spread his hands out wide and moved along her back and lower until he’d learned her gentle curves. She rested her head next to his, letting him take his time.

“I should tell you, dear, that I was wrong,” he whispered against her ear as he made lazy circles along the small of her back. “I said I’d never love you. I think you were already in my heart that first night we met, but my whiskey brain wouldn’t let me think it true.”

“I know, Truman.” She smiled, cupping his face with her hands. “I’ve always known.”

He ran his fingers along her body that was not quite as thin as it had been a month ago. Every dream he’d had about her when he was away couldn’t compare to the woman with him now.

He had to say the words. The words he’d sworn he’d never say. “I love you, Karrisa. Whether you sleep with me as my wife tonight or not, that fact won’t change.”