Beautiful Bandit (Lone Star Legends) (22 page)

“Now, really, be honest. Do you think your grandmother is right? About Callie, I mean. Is she going to be a mama?”

“Yes, she’s right. And I’m none too happy about it, either.”

“But, Josh! It would mean another little Callie running around—another beautiful horse. What’s not to be happy about?”

Josh launched into the story of how he’d acquired—and lost—Mercy, and he didn’t stop his tale until he’d brought Dinah right up to the moment when she’d startled him and Callie. Dinah had always been a chatterbox, so it surprised him when she had nothing to say in response to his sad narrative. It baffled him enough to take a step closer to study her face. It was then that he saw the tears in her eyes.

She was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if that was possible. The bright, lunar light painted feathery eyelash shadows on her milk-white cheeks and a crescent-shaped outline beneath her full lower lip. Callie’s foal would be a looker—she’d been right about that—but what he’d really like to see were the children he and Dinah would create. Would they have copper-colored curls and big, green eyes, like Dinah had, or blue eyes and straw-colored hair, favoring his features? Maybe, they’d grow up tall and muscular, like their pa, or, maybe, they’d turn out like their ma—short and spunky.

Josh hung his head at the realization that nothing would complete his life quite like the promise of spending the rest of it in a cozy house filled with lively young’uns—and Dinah. But how could that ever happen if she was bound and determined to leave him?

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?”

He leaned both his arms on the gate. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I was just thinking how unfair God is, sometimes. On top of everything else you’ve had to endure in your life, you shouldn’t have to worry that you might lose—”

She’d probably stopped short of saying, “That you might lose Callie, too,” and he sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for that. Thinking it was bad enough, but hearing the words spoken out loud? Josh could only shake his head in amazement that, yet again, Dinah had read his heart.

“God isn’t to blame for anything that’s gone wrong in my life,” he finally said. “Where would you get such a notion?”

A cynical grunt was her answer.

Several silent moments slid by before she said, “I remember a sermon from when I was just a little girl—something along the lines of, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.’ Well, it seems to me He does a whole lot more taking than giving, and it just isn’t fair.”

In the opalescent glow of the moon, her bruises were invisible. Josh wondered yet again about how she’d acquired them, about the sorry excuse for a man who’d put them there, along with the jagged scar on her jaw. What had her life been like, prior to meeting that two-legged beast? “And what do you think God took from you?”

“Where do I start? My parents, my home, my reputation, my good na—”

She clamped her lips together, but not before he’d heard enough to know she’d almost announced that God had taken her good name.

So, he’d been right all along—she wasn’t Dinah Theodore. But she couldn’t be Kate Wellington. How could the gorgeous little gal who’d cried because some horses had to stay outside in the driving rain be a thief and a killer?

And if she were?

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?” she asked him again, a nervous pitch to her voice.

A brave man would confront her, right here, right now. A smart man would demand to know the truth about her past—and where she aimed to let it take her in the future. But Josh knew good and well that if he were either brave or smart, he never would have fallen so quickly and so completely for a beautiful bandit. He felt foolish. Stupid. Embarrassed that he’d let his heart lead when he should have put his head in control, when he should have put God in charge. “Just don’t feel much like talkin’, I reckon.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen in response to his gruff reply, as if to say, “Fine, if it’s silence you want, then it’s silence you’ll get!” He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings.

But then, he hadn’t meant to love her, either.

While she stared straight ahead, Josh stared at her—at that stunning profile, with its upturned nose and full, pouty lips. He didn’t know if her name was Kate or Dinah or Clementine, but he did know this: if the woman who stood close enough to kiss had ever played poker, she’d lost every hand. She wore her feelings on her sleeve, written all over her pretty face, in her lovely voice, and in the way she faced adversity with her head high and her back straight. And he loved her all the more for it.

She’d nearly cried just now when he’d told her the story about Mercy. Now, really, how could a woman with a heart that big and a temperament that sweet be guilty of the things printed on that wanted poster?

The soft scent of lavender soap rode the sultry night breeze and floated into his nostrils, and Josh closed his eyes, intent on memorizing it. That way, if she left him—and he was pretty sure that was exactly what she aimed to do—he could summon her scent to dull the ache of plodding through every day of the rest of his life without her.

Several times, as he stood there watching, wishing things could be different, Josh opened his mouth, thinking maybe he’d just throw caution to the wind and blurt out the first thing that came into his head. But, just as quickly, he clamped his molars together. What if “I love you” popped out? What if he asked her real name, asked if she was the woman on the wanted poster, and she confirmed his worst fear—that her bighearted sweetness had been part of her wily, pull-the-wool-over-his-eyes act.

And if none of those things happened? Well, if he didn’t know what had gotten them so far off track, how in the world would he get them back on again?

“Honey biscuit?” she suddenly asked, pulling a napkin-wrapped parcel out of an apron pocket.

He wasn’t the least bit hungry, but he took it, anyway. “Thanks,” he said. At least, with his mouth full, she wouldn’t expect him to hold up his end of the conversation.

About the time he polished off the biscuit, Dinah jumped down from the gate and put her hands into her apron pockets. “Here,” she said, balancing a shiny, red apple on an upturned palm. “This was supposed to go into the pies, but I remembered how much you and Callie enjoyed the apples you bought while we were on the trail, so I set one aside for each of you.” She laughed softly and looked at his horse. “She ate hers in one big gulp, so I guess Esther really is right about Callie’s condition.”

Grinning slightly, Josh wondered how deep those apron pockets were. But “What’s one thing got to do with the other?” is what he said.

Dinah sent him a slanted smile. “She’s eating for two, I guess?”

She looked so tiny, so fragile and vulnerable, that he was tempted to say, “I don’t want any old apple. All I want is you.” He might regret it in the morning, but Josh chose not to dwell on that. Instead, he drew her close and rested his chin in her mass of soft, sweet-smelling curls.

Dinah, much to his surprise and delight, nestled into him. A second, perhaps two, ticked by before he felt her shoulders begin to lurch. Josh held her at arm’s length, shocked to find tears sparkling on her long, dark lashes. Using the pad of his thumb, he gently brushed them away. “Aw, darlin’, what’s this all about?”

Wrapping her arms around him, she snuggled closer again. “Oh, Josh, please don’t worry about Callie. She’s strong and healthy, and her baby will be, too. I’m sure of it!”

And there it was—the comfort and consolation he’d known no one could deliver in quite the same way as Dinah. Instantly, his worries and concerns about her past were gone. He’d live in the moment. What other choice did he have?

“I don’t suppose there’s a slice of your delicious apple pie left?”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she looked up at him. “I’m afraid you’re too late for that.” She studied his face, then added, “But there’s plenty of peach cobbler.”

Josh couldn’t remember a time when more unanswered questions had tumbled in his head. Couldn’t understand why his heart felt twice its normal size, while his brain seemed to have shrunk to the size of a pebble. Couldn’t figure out why, when every rational thought in his head shouted “Stop!” he went ahead and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, anyway.

Or why, when she so sweetly returned it, his heart raced with relief and delight.

26

Everyone at the Eagle Pass Church of God obviously knew that the aisle seat in the second row was reserved for Esther—and the rest of the row for her brood. Kate was just learning this, because this was her first time attending Sunday service with the Nevilles.

Wearing yet another of Sarah’s dresses and a hat borrowed from Susan, Kate held tight to Ezra’s Bible, on loan from Josh’s grandmother, and followed the woman to the left side of the church. But even with the well-worn Good Book in her lap, she felt like a pariah. And a fraud. Because, if these good people knew just how far she’d strayed from the Lord and all that was holy these past months, they might just relegate her to the vestibule rather than to Esther’s left in the family pew.

The voices of parishioners, buzzing like bees in a hive as they exchanged “Good mornings” and “Howdy-dos,” mingled with the swish of taffeta skirts and the almost-out-loud whispers of children as the church filled with worshippers. Kate started to stand up so that Josh’s cousins wouldn’t have to clamber over her feet, but Esther held her down. “If they’d gotten here on time, like we did,” she announced loudly enough for them to hear, “they’d have been spared looking like clumsy oafs.”

Daniel, Paul, and Micah gave sheepish smiles as they paused to kiss their grandmother’s forehead, then settled into the pew on the other side of Kate. Sam, who’d chosen the seat directly in front of Daniel’s, turned slightly and chuckled behind a cupped palm. “Your turn for the firing squad this week, eh?”

Susan dutifully shushed her husband.

“Oh, no,” Willie said. “What did Pa do this time?”

His mother hushed him, too, starting a chain reaction of snickers from Sarah, Matthew, and Eva.

The hired hands and neighbors Kate had met at the picnic the day before smiled and waved to her, looking genuinely pleased to see her there in the pew beside Esther. What a delight, seeing them! But the one person she most wanted to see hadn’t yet arrived.

“Girl, that head of yours is just like a door,” Esther said, grinning as she squeezed Kate’s knee. “I—I’d as-s-sk who you’re looking for….”

Esther stopped talking and stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, inspiring a grin from Kate. Hopefully, she’d be as funny and energetic at that age!

“…Ish ah din aw-eddy….”

Kate might have laughed out loud at her silliness if she hadn’t noticed the sudden, gray pallor of Esther’s face. “Did you tuck your fan into your purse?” she asked, grasping the older woman’s hand. The cool yet clammy feel of her skin only added to Kate’s concern, for the oppressive heat in the crowded little church had turned everyone else’s cheeks a glossy, ruddy pink. Taking hold of Esther’s drawstring bag, she rummaged inside yet found nothing but a lace-edged handkerchief. So, she grabbed the old Bible and flapped it up and down to stir the air around Esther.

“Nah gud,” Esther mumbled, shaking her head. “Nah gud a’ all….”

“All right, then,” Kate said, sliding her arm across the woman’s shoulders, “I won’t bother, since it isn’t doing any good at all.”

Knowing Esther, she’d view her current situation as a sign of weakness, and she’d hate drawing others’ attention to it just as much. Kate glanced around, hoping to catch the eye of Josh’s mother or father, or one of his cousins or sisters, but every Neville was engaged in lively conversation.

She leaned left and nudged Daniel, “Will you help me get your grandmother outside?” she asked him quietly.

He craned his neck to get a better look at the woman. “The heat seems to be getting to her,” Kate explained, “and I think she needs some fresh air.”

Sam overheard that last bit, and, as he got to his feet, Kate hoped the family clown would exercise a little restraint and decorum. But, despite the quiet, efficient way he stepped into the aisle and scooped Esther into his arms, people noticed—and reacted.

The reverend’s wife, Pauline Peterson, had just stacked her sheet music on the organ. “What’s wrong with Esther?” she asked, her voice echoing through the church.

“Why, Pauline, I do believe she’s fainted,” answered Eleanor Holbrook. “Oh dear, oh dear!”

“Now, now,” Mayor Holbrook said. “No sense getting yourself all riled up or you’ll be the next one we’ll have to carry out of here.” Frowning, he shook his head. “I told that fool, Peterson, not to paint the windows shut, but would he listen? No-o-o.”

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“Reverend Peterson!” someone called out.

“It’s Esther Neville,” said another.

“If you’ll all just step aside,” Sam growled, “I’ll take her into the yard, where she can—”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Mrs. Riddle squealed. “Good Lord in heaven, poor Esther has fainted!”

The pastor’s authoritative, tenor voice silenced them all. “Do what Sam says, people, and get out of his way.”

During it all, Esther kept her gaze locked on Kate’s, and as Sam marched toward the back of the church, she lifted one pale hand, as if to plead, “Come with me. Don’t leave me alone!” Was it just her imagination, or had the left half of Esther’s face stopped working in tandem with the right? The poor old woman looked positively terrified, and Kate’s heart ached for her.