Leather and Lace (17 page)

She’d tell the reverend and Sarah the truth before she rode out. In about six months’ time, she’d have enough money to hire a lawyer. Then she could hold her head high.

Casey wiped her cheeks. Stampede nuzzled her neck. Her dear stallion was more faithful than the man who claimed to care. Blinking back the wetness, she slowly walked across the grassland. The ways of violence . . . Would she ever be free?

By the time Morgan had ridden back to the barn, he’d worked through most of his anger. But what had he done to his relationship with Casey, if he really had one at all? He stared at the cabin in the distance. That’s where it had started. Sometimes he wanted to burn the place down, but the memories would still be there, tearing away at his soul like a flesh-eating animal.

What had happened at the little church where he prayed for God to remove the hate and bitterness? When he’d walked out of there, he’d felt clean again. It was a new beginning, or so he thought, and he believed he’d left it all at the altar—until today.

Frustrated, his gaze swept the horizon to where he’d left Casey. No point in riding back her way. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, not for the spiteful things he’d hurled at her. None of this was her fault.

Doesn’t matter if she forgives you or not. What’s important is that you ask.

Morgan lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He’d rather face a she-bear with cubs than apologize to Casey. That was pride, and he knew it. The old Morgan allowed hate to consume him. The new Morgan fought those flames of bitterness. True, he couldn’t ride back there alone, but Jesus rode a white horse beside him.

He blew out a ragged breath and raced back to Casey. She hadn’t ventured far from where he’d left, and her red eyes and splotchy face told him exactly what his words had caused. She carried her hat, and her long auburn hair lay in waves about her shoulders. It glistened in the sun like spun gold. He remembered the newspapers describing Casey O’Hare: “Hair the color of fire. The face of an angel, but beware of her trigger finger and her lust for whatever you own.” She’d stolen Morgan’s heart, and he didn’t have the sense to treat her like a human being. Casey kept right on walking as though she were alone.

“Casey.”

“You heard me earlier.”

“Casey, would you give me a chance to apologize?”

“If you don’t stop using my name, someone will hear, and I don’t have a hankering to be hung or shot.”

“I’m sorry.”

She whipped around like a trapped animal ready to strike. Hurt more powerful than hatred penetrated her gaze. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I love you. I realize it’s too late, but it’s the truth.”

“Love? How do you treat your enemies?”

Her words stung. “I love you, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Casey sucked in her breath. “Maybe you should learn what love means.” She lifted her chin and glanced straight ahead. “I don’t claim to know, but I don’t think it causes what happened today.”

“It’s not you.” He desperately needed to convince her, but how? Reveal a tale so horrible that no one around him ever hinted of it?

“Jenkins used to say the same thing.”

Morgan felt his blood run cold. “Don’t compare me—”

She waved her hand in his face. “Jenkins used to say the same thing,” she repeated. “When Tim wasn’t around, he’d swear his love and promise me anything I wanted. Then he’d beat me because I refused him. Later he’d say I deserved it for not wanting to be his woman. I’d hurt for days from those beatings.” She tightened her chin. “Funny thing, none of those beatings ever hurt like I feel now. Guess I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m an outlaw. Trash. And you just proved it.” She brushed past him and mounted her stallion. “I’ll ride my horse back to the parsonage.”

Morgan didn’t try to stop her. All thoughts of earning the woman’s love had vanished. And it was his fault.

*****

Casey managed a smile for Jocelyn and Bonnie, then explained she needed to get back to the parsonage. Her head ached and her emotions were spent after the ordeal with Morgan. “I’m not feeling well,” she said. “I’d like to rest a little before tonight’s church services.”

“Sorry you’re feeling poorly,” Jocelyn said. “Let me find Morgan, or I can take you myself.”

“I’ll ride my horse. Really, I’ll be fine. Do you mind if I wear these clothes? I’ll wash them and give them back to you.”

“Fine, Shawne.” Jocelyn tilted her head. “I do hope you’ll be all right.”

Casey rushed inside the house and up the stairs to Bonnie’s room.

Forgive him.

The small whisper shook her senses, but she pushed it away. She bundled up her Sunday clothes and made her way downstairs. How could Morgan tell her he loved her after what he’d said? Did he think she’d swoon like some lovesick girl? Jocelyn waited for her on the front porch.

Forgive him.

Casey shivered. Never. I’m not a fool.

“Are you feverish?” Jocelyn said. “You’re pale.”

“No, ma’am, but I’m tired.”

Jocelyn pointed in the distance. “There’s Morgan now. He’ll want to make sure you get to town.”

Casey started to protest, but that would have meant explaining. “I think Grant needs him.”

Jocelyn ignored her and motioned to Morgan. “Shawne’s not feeling well. Would you mind escorting her to the parsonage?”

“Really, I can take myself.” Humiliation snaked up Casey’s spine. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It will only take me a minute to hitch up the horses.” Morgan made his way to the barn without giving her an opportunity to protest again.

The whispers to forgive still clung to her mind, but her heart felt as though it had been snatched from her body. Casey had endured Jenkins and the gang for years. She could endure a ride into Kahlerville with Morgan.

Soon Casey and Morgan eased across the dirt road to Kahlerville.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “I had no right to say those things to you. What I said would make anyone ill.” He fixed his gaze on the dirt road. Clouds rolled across a gray sky. It reminded her of the day she left Jenkins.

She took a deep breath. Thoughts of the outlaw trail floated by with all the horrible crimes that Jenkins and his gang had committed. God had forgiven her. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you.” He raised the reins and urged the horses a little faster. “We’re going to get caught in a storm if we don’t hurry.”

“We’ve been in a storm since the day you walked into my campsite.” She avoided his stare. The only sounds were the moans and groans of the wagon. Suddenly a gust of wind cooled her face.

“I do love you,” he said. “I want to make things right between us.”

“It’s impossible,” she said. “Once, you said that I was afraid to trust and you were afraid to love. Now you tell me you love me, but you act like you don’t trust me. From the way I look at it, you don’t know what you want.”

His face hardened. “Yes, I do. I’m just going about it wrong.”

“Are you a bounty hunter?”

Crimson rose from his neck. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m a lawyer?”

“Now you know how I feel when you ask me if I miss the outlaw life. I didn’t mean to sound unfeeling. I simply want to know what Jenkins did to you.”

A huge droplet of rain landed on her riding skirt.

“I can’t, Casey. Not yet.”

Exasperation caused her to shudder. “Then how can you expect me to believe you love me?”

The rain started, pelting her body like tiny bits of hail. Let it rain, for now Morgan wouldn’t see her tears.

*****

“Shawne, didn’t John bring a newspaper from Houston?” Sarah said one mid-September morning. She’d insisted Casey prop her up in bed, declaring how much better she felt.

“Yes, he did.” Casey looked down to the left of her. “I have it right here under my mending basket.”

“Would you mind reading it to me?”

“I’d be delighted.” Casey pulled out the folded newspaper. “Is there anything in particular you want to hear?”

Sarah paused thoughtfully, then smiled. “Not really, dear. Just read the articles you know I’ll enjoy.” Her voice sounded stronger than usual, and for that Casey praised God. She moved the rocker closer to Sarah’s bed.

Casey scanned through the Post, quoting the latest prices on French shoes, millinery wear for women and children, and a new opera opening soon. She avoided the various advertisements for doctors and medicines guaranteed to cure every disease imaginable.

“Oh Sarah, here is a picture of the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. Listen to how it’s described: ‘This gown is composed of Venetian cloth and velvet. The plain underskirt is of golden green velvet as is also the greater part of the bodice. The cloth drapery is a medium shade of fawn and is open the whole length upon the left side to show a velvet petticoat. It is elaborately braided with green and gold mixed braid and has a border across the front and right side of stone marten. The high, flaring collar is edged with a narrow roll of the fur, below which is a braided design. The close sleeves are of cloth, braided to match above the velvet cuffs.’”

“It sounds magnificent.” Sarah’s eyes met Casey’s gaze. “That gown would look lovely with your auburn hair. Someday you must find a rich husband to dress you in fine things.”

She laughed. “I’d settle for much less, believe me.” An image of Morgan drifted across her mind. They’d talked some, but she’d held him at a distance, fearful of his next outburst.

“Do read on. What about social gatherings?” Sarah entwined her fingers gracefully and waited.

Casey reported on activities and events pertinent to the fall days. Some of the names Sarah recognized, and she expressed delight in hearing about traditional get-togethers. The last few days had been good ones for the older woman, and Casey wanted desperately for the gaiety to last. She continued to read the news from the latest C
ATTLEMEN’S
R
EPORT.
Her eyes swept over the F
ARM
N
EWS
, and then an article caught her attention. Her senses paralyzed.

A man and his son had been murdered on their ranch west of Houston. The report concluded that Davis Jenkins and his outlaws were responsible for the killings. It neither cited a reason for the crime nor explained why the paper accused the gang. The article merely reported the outlaws were far from their usual route.

Casey felt Sarah’s gaze piercing through her. “Shawne, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Casey promptly folded the paper. Dear God, can’t Jenkins leave good people alone?

“Are you ill?”

Whatever happened to the days when she disguised her feelings? Casey laid aside the newspaper and smoothed the quilts around the woman’s thin shoulders. “You worry too much about other people and not enough about yourself.” She kissed Sarah’s wrinkled forehead. “I’m perfectly fine, except I think you should rest a little. I won’t leave the room. I promise. Later I’ll read the rest of the paper.”

“You don’t lie well, dear. It doesn’t become you.”

Casey felt her insides churn. “I read something about a father and son murdered for no apparent reason. The thought of innocent people killed disturbs me. That’s all.”

Sarah lifted herself slightly from the pillow, her gray-white hair properly pinned except for a few stray tendrils. “Does anyone know who did it?”

“The paper says an outlaw gang.” Her heart hammered against her chest.

“Which one?”

Casey hesitated. “Davis Jenkins and his bunch.”

“The Rangers will be on it, I’m sure. Even though their work has diminished for the last few years.”

Casey took a deep breath. Dread needled at her. “I hope so. This country needs to be tamed. Lawless men shouldn’t be allowed to take over.”

Sarah studied her. “Shawne, let’s talk about you.”

The silence proved deafening.

“Why me?”

“Because I want to tell you what I see and what I feel.”

Casey felt her head throb, and drops of perspiration gathered around her temples. “Are you sure this is necessary when you should rest?”

“This is a perfect time. My dear child, you can run from the past, but until you reckon with it, yesterday will haunt you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t intend to pry or make things painful for you, but I’m your friend. I think you need to talk about this with an old lady who loves you very much.” Sarah reached to take Casey’s hand. “God does put special people in our lives—to be our friends, to help do His work. You have been such a comfort to me. Let me repay you by helping with whatever troubles you.”

“I’m the one who’s blessed.” Casey couldn’t lie to Sarah, not the woman who lived as a beacon of patience and courage.

“I’ve often seen a strange look in your eyes. It tells me you’re afraid. Shawne, my feelings are rarely wrong. Who or what are you afraid of?”

Casey pulled away from Sarah’s scrutiny. The truth longed to be set free. “You’re right. I’m afraid.”

“Would you share with me your heavy load?”

“Isn’t God supposed to carry all our burdens?”

“Yes.” Sarah smiled. “But we have to allow Him to work through other people, too.”

Hopelessness swelled inside her, and she fought the tears threatening to flood her eyes. “I’m so ashamed of my life.” She hesitated to gain control. “I despise it, and I couldn’t bear to see the hurt in your eyes if you knew the truth.”

“You’ve read the Scriptures.” Sarah smiled so sweetly, as though the angels in heaven painted her face with love. “The truth is what sets us free, and neither God’s love nor mine comes with any conditions.”

Casey eased her hand from Sarah’s and rose to face the window. “I don’t know where to begin.” The morning sun had climbed nearly to the rooftop, and in its place spread a sky so blue . . . perfect . . . innocent. She took a deep breath. “The outlaw gang in the paper, Davis Jenkins and Tim O’Hare, do you know much about them?”

“Only what I’ve read about in the newspapers. I guess I know as much as the next person.”

A plea for help sped silently to the One who could provide the courage she needed. “Well, they’re looking for me. At least they used to be. I’m Tim O’Hare’s sister, Casey.”

When she heard no response from Sarah, Casey continued. And in the peaceful stillness of the room, surrounded by green plants and purple violets, the story unfolded.

“. . . After the problem in Deer Creek, I took off again and ended up here in Kahlerville. Again, I have lied to protect myself. I feel dirty and ashamed. Sarah, I realize my sins are worse than others, and the more I deceive people, the more I hate myself.” She rubbed her arms as though she could eliminate the filth corroding her life.