A Texan's Luck (10 page)

"No." She grinned, realizing he understood about the corner being just hers. She stepped out of his way. "I'll finish breakfast."

Walker pulled back the corner of the blanket and bent to step behind it, but his head and shoulders rose above the curtain. Again, he glanced at her with a question in his blue eyes. A question and a hint of laughter.

"It's all right. I've seen your shoulders bare before."

The second the words left her mouth, Lacy wished she could pull them back. She turned quickly, not wanting him to read her thoughts in her eyes or see the fire in her cheeks. If he said a word about the day they'd met, she swore she'd kill him. Lacy couldn't believe she'd mentioned it so casually.

Thankfully, Walker remained silent.

She heard him pull a chair beneath the blanket. When she finally glanced in his direction, he was busy unbuttoning the collarless undershirt he had slept in.

Lifting the still-cold water, she handed it around the blanket.

"Thanks." His hand laced through her fingers to take the pail.

"I'm sorry the water's not warm yet. I'm afraid I used the bucket you left on the back of the stove."

"It doesn't matter," he answered as one of his boots dropped. "I'm accustomed to cold water."

Another boot dropped, but Lacy didn't look in his direction.

She turned her full attention to breakfast, trying not to think about how warm and hard his chest had felt that day when he'd pressed it to hers and how his heart had pounded against her own.

When she peeked at the blanket, she noticed his trousers tossed across it. Then his undershirt. Then his long johns.

She almost let the eggs burn as she realized he must be nude only a few feet away. He hadn't even been nude the day they'd met. The day he'd taken her virginity.

The blanket moved as he bumped it.

Lacy tried hard to forget how near he stood.

"The water smells like peaches," he said as if trying to break the silence between them.

"Some of my soap must have clung to the sides. I didn't have any water left to rinse it out."

"I don't mind. When I'm on the trail, the bucket I use to wash waters the horses before it gets to me. Believe me, peach blossoms are a much better smell."

Lacy grinned. His back was to her, his shoulders muscular and tan. Though he was lean, there was nothing frail about him. With the lamp still burning on the table behind him, she could see the shadow of his body outlined on the blanket. Lacy told herself to look away, but she couldn't.

Then she reddened, realizing that if he'd been awake, he could have seen her outline. Thankfully, he'd been asleep, and tomorrow she'd make sure the lamp was on the other side of the blanket before she dressed.

As he pulled a clean undershirt over his head, he said, "Mind if I wait for the water to heat before I shave?"

It surprised her that he'd even ask; then she realized he was going out of his way to be polite. He was doing what he'd done at the market, acting the perfect gentleman. It wouldn't work on her, of course, but she gave him credit for trying.

"I'll put another bucket on to warm." If he could play the game, so could she. Maybe the days would pass faster if they tried to be civil to one another. The politeness of strangers would suit her fine.

He ate breakfast in his clean undershirt and trousers, but he had taken the time to buff his boots before sitting down. As soon as they finished, he shaved behind the blanket and reappeared with his uniform buttoned to his throat.

"Will we be attending church? I've no objection to accompanying you."

"No." Lacy thought of telling him she wore her best dress now, and it was barely good enough for work. Or she could tell him she swore she'd never step foot in a church years ago when they didn't want her mother to be buried in their cemetery. But she didn't know this husband of hers well enough to tell him anything. "I doubt there will be many, even in town, who attend service today."

Walker leaned against the window in the living space and stared out at Main Street covered in snow. "So, Lacy, what do you do on days like this?" He already looked bored, and they'd just started the day.

She smiled. "When weather keeps me in, I quilt or go down and work in my office. Most Saturday evenings I go to my friend, Bailee's farm. There I play with her children and visit. She's always cooking so there's lots of food. Once it gets dark, her husband Carter reads to us all. For a man who never talks, he has a great voice for reading. When the kids start falling to sleep, I help carry them up to a little loft Carter built when he added the big kitchen onto the house."

She knew she rattled on, but it seemed better than silence. As she talked she pulled out her quilting frame. "I sleep in the bedroom below the children at their house. Bailee even calls it Lacy's room, like it will always be there for me if I need it."

When Walker didn't comment, she continued, more to break the silence than in any belief that he cared. "The baby still sleeps with Carter and Bailee in their bedroom underground. Carter built it, too. He can build almost anything. In the winter, when there's not a lot to do on the farm, he builds furniture with the help of an old carpenter who winters at his place. Bailee said once that they've shipped orders as far away as Austin."

When Walker didn't say anything, she added, "I usually do my laundry the next morning, then head back to town after lunch. For the price of a paper every week, old Mr. Mosely lets me keep your dad's old gray, Dancer, at the livery. He rents him out from time to time when anyone needs a horse and buggy, so he rarely has to charge me for feed. The only other rig fit to drive in his barn is a wagon built to hold coffins he bought used from the fort a few years ago."

"I'm surprised Dancer is still alive." Walker finally joined the conversation. "Dad had him for several years before I left. The horse that carried my father through the first year of the War Between the States was called Dancer, so I guess he called the next horse he owned the same name. After that first year, my father never rode, that I know of, except in a buggy." Walker laughed and shoved himself away from the window frame. "I never thought much about it, but my old man had two wives, both named Laura. He must have hated having to remember names."

"Your father never told me he'd been married twice."

"Before the war, his first wife died delivering my half brother, Emory. From what he said, the first Laura was the love of his life. I think Dad thought he'd get lost reporting the war and forget about her, but a year later he came home in the back of a wagon all busted up. My mom was his first wife's cousin. I think they'd both been named after the same grandmother. Anyway, she took care of him, and they married as soon as he could stand. He was forty by then, and she was still in her teens, but a wife was a necessity to a man with a small son."

Walker continued, "A year later I was born, I was told my mother developed a cough the next winter. He brought her West to help her recover, but she slowly grew worse. I don't remember her."

Lacy had no idea what to say. She thought of saying that she was sorry his mother died, but since it had been over twenty years, the comment sounded a little belated. She decided to change the subject. "Sometimes I read your father's books on cold days."

Walker stared out the window, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sounds like an exciting life," he mumbled.

Lacy frowned. "Well, it's not riding after outlaws, keeping the frontier safe for settlers, or chasing rustlers back across the Rio, but it is my life."

He looked at her. "I wasn't finding fault, Lacy. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to sleep in the same bed every night. What it would feel like to have whole families of friends. Folks you could watch grow up and grow old, have children and troubles and blessings."

Lacy watched, wondering if he were longing for something or just observing.

"The men I serve with, I know for a few years, until their tours of duty are over or they transfer out. If they have wives, they're usually no more to me than a picture the soldier pulls out from time to time. Sometimes I see men leave, knowing I'll never hear from them again. Sometimes I bury them and send the wife's picture back East with my condolences."

"You could quit."

He turned back to the window. "No. I can't."

She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He continued to stare out the window while she quilted. The cats played with her thread. He went downstairs for more wood. The north wind howled. Snow continued to fall.

As she worked quietly, Walker tried reading from his thick book, then pacing, and once even napping. When all else failed, he stood over her shoulder and watched her quilt, asking question after question about a skill he had no interest in learning. Finally, he settled at the kitchen table and cleaned his rifles, which Lacy had no doubt were already spotless.

The snow let up about five, but the sky stayed gray and heavy. Walker was at his usual post beside the window. "You think anyone is out and about? I haven't seen a wagon go by all day."

Lacy laid her needle down and stretched her back. "The saloon and the hotel are always open. I've heard Mr. Stauffer say they make a pretty good business when folks get snowed in. If you want to go for a drink, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Not even Zeb Whitaker would ride to town to kill me on a day like this."

Walker smiled. "How about we go over to the hotel for supper?"

Lacy shook her head. "I've only eaten there a few times. It's expensive." Mrs. Abernathy, the cook for the jail, used to bring Walker's father and her supper for a fourth what the hotel charged for two meals. It hadn't been fancy, sometimes only biscuits and beans, but at least it saved Lacy cooking after working in the shop all day.

"If I can afford it, would you consider going?" Walker tried again.

"The snow's deeper than my shoes."

"I'll carry you." He laughed, excited that he'd finally thought of something to do.

Lacy had run out of excuses. "All right." She couldn't see leaving with all the food in the apartment, but if he got any more restless, he'd be talking to the cats. He was not a man used to being closed in.

Ten minutes later, they walked out the front of the print shop. Walker stepped off the porch, turned, and lifted his arms. "Your carriage awaits," he said lighdy, but she didn't miss the worry in his eyes. He wasn't at all sure she'd get so near to him. The last time she'd been in his arms, she'd been screaming.

Cautiously, she leaned into his waiting arms and allowed him to lift her off the porch.

Turning her face into the collar of his uniform, she held on tight as he trudged through the snow. For the first time since they'd met, she giggled. For him this might just be venturing out on a snowy day, but for her it was an adventure. His arms held her solid as he tested each step, and for some strange reason, Lacy felt cherished.

By the time Walker walked across the street and set her down on the porch of the hotel, they were both smiling. They dusted the snow off their shoulders, and she took his arm. He led the way into the small hotel as if it were a fine restaurant.

Everyone turned to stare. Sheriff Riley had finished his meal and was leaning back in his chair close to the fire while he finished his coffee. A family, obviously traveling, sat with their three children at the table by the window, and two salesmen sat to their left.

"Well, welcome." Mr. Stauffer seemed truly happy to see Lacy and the captain. He rushed forward to show them to a table as if there had been more than two to choose from. "I'm really glad to see you, Miss Lacy. And you, too, Captain."

One of the salesmen nodded toward them. "Stauffer's been figuring the more folks eat tonight, the fewer leftovers he'll have to eat tomorrow morning."

Mrs. Stauffer hurried from the kitchen. She grinned at the new customers. "I'll get your food right away." She vanished behind the door once more.

Stauffer shrugged. "Afraid we ain't got but one thing on the menu tonight. Chicken pie with roasted potatoes. But you got your choice of one of three desserts included in the price."

Walker reached in his pocket of coins, knowing it was customary in most small towns to pay before the meal unless you were regular enough to have an account. "I'd like a whiskey before dinner and coffee afterward. My wife would like…" he glanced at her.

"I'd like tea with milk."

She spoke to Walker, and though both men had heard her request, Walker repeated, "She'll have a pot of tea with milk and honey."

He pulled out her chair and waited until she was settled before he moved to the other side of the small table. When he pulled his chair up, their knees bumped.

"Sorry," he said.

Lacy fought down a laugh. They were being so polite to one another they could have been actors in a play. She decided braving the storm for supper had been a great idea.

While Stauffer's daughter, Julie, brought her tea, Sheriff Riley stood to leave. Lacy expected him to pull up a chair and join them, but he only tipped his hat at her.

To Lacy's surprise, Walker excused himself and followed Riley out. She had time to drink her first cup of tea before he returned without commenting.