Stuck Together (Trouble in Texas Book #3) (5 page)

The hurt in Tina’s eyes made Vince wish his legs were long enough he could kick his own backside.

He was tempted to try it, until Lana snorted and grumbled in her sleep. Vince decided to just kick himself mentally to keep his prisoner’s sleep from being disturbed.

He knew why it’d happened. He’d come riding in and seen the prettiest woman he’d ever known, and all he’d wanted to do was go to her. Be near her. He’d been unable to think of anything else. When she’d picked a fight with him—for no reason he could figure out—he was glad because he’d been thinking all the wrong thoughts from the minute he’d laid eyes on her.

They seemed to be forever fighting. Normally the little spat would have kept them apart well enough, but Vince was all in from his long ride. He was badly in need of a meal, a bath, and a good night’s sleep. All those things played havoc with his self-control, and confound it, when she’d smiled at him, all he could think about was how much he’d missed her.

He’d even missed watching her picket every afternoon. He was inclined to help her make another placard.

He didn’t think anyone knew it, but he’d made a habit of setting a chair by the small front window in his lawyer’s office and watching Tina march back and forth. He hadn’t missed an afternoon since she’d begun with her cause. That was one of the reasons he’d jumped into the middle of that fight so fast, because he saw the whole thing start.

The fight didn’t bother him overly. A fistfight was fun once in a while, so he couldn’t get too upset that she’d started one. He knew now that he’d hurried back to Broken Wheel partly because he wanted to see what trouble Tina had gotten herself into.

It seemed that a man could be entertained by a woman’s strange ways.

She’d snipped at him, and he’d answered back, glad for a reason to put distance between them. He never should have touched her. That was when things had gone wrong. Her sassy mouth and his firm grip on her supple, slender arms had struck a spark.

Moving restlessly, he admitted that spark was there before; she’d just fanned it into a flame. And that fire was still alive in him, deep in his gut. He’d tamped it down the best he could, but it was still there, smoldering, glowing hot.

He thought of how she’d looked when he’d apologized. Vince knew a thing or two about women. He’d hurt her. Shaking his head in self-disgust, he gave some thought to how he’d held her and then insulted her. He should’ve pulled over on the trail and slept, scrounged a meal somewhere, and come into town less on edge.

Except who could predict a thing like this would happen—just because a man was hungry and tired? He’d been hungry and tired plenty of times and nothing like this had
ever happened before. And it wasn’t going to happen again, and for one very good reason.

Mother.

Something was very wrong with her. Worse yet, it ran in her family, which meant it ran in him.

And if he didn’t get Mother’s madness, Father was even worse.

Vince had known since he went home after the war that he never dared pass on any blood from his veins. He’d either be a tyrant or a burden. He imagined Tina being saddled with a man like either of his parents and felt only pity for her.

It was a mighty good reason for a man to never marry.

When he’d stopped in to see his parents in Chicago right after the war, he’d been sick in both body and soul. He needed care and time to heal. Vince had hoped he’d be welcomed home. Surely his parents had been informed he was a prisoner of war. Surely they’d worried. He’d hoped he and his father could mend fences and get to know each other as adult men.

Father was only interested in Vince if he came into the family banking firm. Vince wasn’t even that much opposed to banking. He just knew he couldn’t live his life under his father’s thumb, and his father would never treat him as anything resembling a partner. Father didn’t know how to share power with anyone.

The visit had been unpleasant between father and son, and worse because something had happened to Mother.

She hadn’t known who Vince was. She’d acted afraid and then cried out when he tried to hug her. At first he tried to excuse it because he knew how awful he looked. Though
being looked at with fear by his mother was devastating, he knew she was a sweet but shallow woman and he forgave her, hoping she’d get used to the idea of his being home. He hadn’t really understood until he’d been there a month that she wasn’t upset by Vince going off to war and coming home sick and half starved, a burden to his family. She honestly didn’t know who he was. In fact, she didn’t seem to remember having a son at all.

On the day he’d realized that, he’d had to admit finally that something was really wrong in Mother’s head. She’d lost her wits in strange little ways. The one that was most glaring to Vince was that she couldn’t remember his name.

As soon as Vince was strong enough to get around, he’d asked Father what was wrong. Father wouldn’t talk about it except to say she was an embarrassment, just as her father had been. He had hired a companion for her, and Mother still dressed beautifully and went out to tea with her society friends. She seemed to manage fine.

But she’d forgotten her only son. Worse yet, she couldn’t even treat him as a friendly stranger. She feared him when he would enter the same room with her.

Vince had understood she wasn’t thinking right. But it had hurt so badly to have his mother as good as run away from him sobbing that Vince couldn’t stay. Between Mother’s fear and Father’s tyranny, Vince had moved along as soon as his health allowed.

Eventually he let his family know where he came to live, but he’d never gone home again.

Because of the recent letter from Father, demanding that Vince return to Chicago and take up the reins of the bank, they’d exchanged a wire or two when Vince was in New
Orleans, just to make sure the man knew he wasn’t coming, ever. And he’d hunted through that medical library as if he were searching for the keys to escape from eternal fire.

It had nothing to do with Lana, and it wasn’t just to cure Mother. It was to save himself when his turn came.

He needed to apologize to Tina again. Only this time he needed to do it in a way that didn’t hurt her feelings but also kept her away from him.

And he needed to do it in a way that wouldn’t make Jonas load his rarely used pistol.

Vince wracked his brain. He’d always had a charming streak that worked well with women, not that he’d practiced it in a while, having kept to manly places since the war. But there had to be a right way to handle this. The right words . . . words that wouldn’t get him shot.

Rubbing both hands through his hair, he mulled it over, stumped, distracted by how nice it was to hold her in his arms.

Before even an inkling of an idea began forming, he heard the rattle of wheels and looked out the window to see a beautiful coach rolling into town. Black-lacquered paint with scrolled golden decorations. The elegant coach was pulled by a team of four shining black geldings and driven by a man in a black uniform.

Vince had never seen such a conveyance in Broken Wheel before, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone wealthy enough to own such a thing would bother to come to Broken Wheel. It flickered through Vince’s mind that it was as richly appointed as the carriage his father owned back in Chicago.

The coach was going too fast and it skidded as the driver pulled it to a halt. Dust enveloped the rig.

Then the dust settled. The coach door swung open. There was a long moment that for some reason riveted Vince’s attention on that open door. Of course any newcomer to this quiet town was interesting.

And then Father stepped out.

Dread kicked Vince in the belly. He had the wild notion that his father had appeared just because Vince was thinking about him.

He blinked to clear his vision in the hopes Father would go away.

But sure enough, there stood Julius Yates, wearing a tall silk hat and a black travel-stained woolen frock coat. He carried a black cane with a silver wolf’s head on its top. The same cane Father had carried for years with no real need for it, except that Father liked carrying something so costly.

Today Father was leaning hard on that cane.

Watching through the jailhouse window, Vince was frozen.

Pure stunned surprise accounted for part of it. What had Father been thinking to come out here? He must’ve headed out with all possible speed the moment he got Vince’s wire saying there would be no homecoming. Father had never in his life come to Vince; it had always been the other way around. Father would demand Vince’s presence, and Vince would appear at the appointed time. That defined his childhood, those audiences with Father. And Father had always had the knack of keeping Vince off-balance, appearing at unexpected times, turning his moods from cool tyranny to white-hot anger. Dealing with Father was where Vince had learned to get himself out of dangerous
scrapes, which had served him well in the war and earned him the nickname Invincible Vince.

The other thing that struck Vince hard was realizing his father had gotten old. It’d been three years since Vince had seen Father, but the man had aged a decade. Or maybe Vince had been too sick to really see that the years were catching up to Father. Maybe this was why he’d increased the pressure on Vince to come into the business. Father’s hair was now heavily streaked with gray. He was bent over, moving slow, his hand trembling on the head of that wolf. He depended on his cane for balance as if the trip had almost done him in.

He’d been older than most fathers when Vince was born, near fifty, which made Father in his seventies now. Mother had been much younger than her husband, in her mid-twenties when Vince came along. Of course they were both getting older now.

But they’d always seemed ageless to him. His mother’s fragile blond beauty never changed. His father’s rigid spine never bent.

Father owned the biggest bank in Chicago and had his fingers in many other pies.

Beautiful Virginia Belle was the privileged daughter of a Southern plantation owner. Father had married her, and when Mother’s parents died, Father had gotten out of all investments in the South. He’d always been savvy about money, and he’d made a fortune to add to the one he already had.

Mother’s parents had also left a nice inheritance directly to Vince, though he’d still been young. His crafty grandmama had set it up so that Father couldn’t get control of
it. It left Vince with more money than he could spend in a lifetime.

Another person stepped out of the coach and pulled his attention away from Father.

A tall, dark-haired young woman Vince had never seen before. She was a perfect female version of Julius Yates. Even from across the dusty street, Vince saw that her eyes were the same dark brown as Father’s and his own. She wore a dark woolen coat and a tidy black bonnet, none of it made with the fine quality material and expert tailoring of Father’s clothes.

But his father wasn’t the biggest surprise in that carriage, nor was the young woman who might be proof of his father’s lack of honor.

A slender, trembling, white-gloved hand stretched out from the dark core of that coach. Father ignored it, but the young woman quickly reached to offer assistance.

With agonizing slowness, one last person appeared. First, Vince saw the elegant glove. Next came a velvet reticule dangling from a wrist, followed by blue silk, ruffled cuffs. Past the blue cuffs emerged a beautiful mink coat. Finally, Vince saw the blond hair and light blue eyes. . . .

He tried to deny it just because he wanted to so badly, but the truth was inescapable.

Mother was here.

Mother, who belonged in Bedlam right alongside Lana Bullard.

Even as Vince shoved the jailhouse door open, he was struck by how filthy he was. He should have snuck out the back of the jail, rushed home, bathed and changed into clean clothes.

Father was going to judge him harshly.

Nothing new there.

“Father? Mother?” Vince strode across the street. Words jammed up in his throat. He wanted to start demanding answers. What were they doing here? What were they thinking?

Vince saw the driver begin to unload a huge stack of luggage roped onto the roof.

“Be very gentle with the basket inside the coach,” the young woman instructed the driver.

All this luggage, including apparently fragile things, for these three people in Broken Wheel, Texas, where most people were lucky to have one change of clothes?

It could mean only one thing.

They were planning to stay awhile.

And there was nothing Vince could do about it.

There’d never been much to do about Father. Which was why Vince had left.

He realized Mother’s face was deeply lined. The years had been kind to Mother, but she was in her fifties now and there was no hiding her age. Mother turned her eyes on Vince, and joy lit up her face.

Vince braced himself. Mother had a knack for saying upsetting things.

“Julius,” Mother said. Her smile bloomed as she greeted Vince by the wrong name. “It’s so wonderful of you to meet our train.” And with the smile, as it always was with Mother, tears filled her eyes.

Happy tears. Sad tears. Frightened tears. Bored tears. Every dealing with his mother came served up with tears, and they made Vince feel like a brute.

Eyes brimming, Mother came toward Vince, with the young lady at her side steadying her.

A tiny place in Vince’s heart died as his mother rushed for him, thinking he was Father. It had been better when Mother had thought he was a stranger and been scared of him, because Father was exactly who Vince never wanted to be.

Shoving aside the hurt, Vince hurried forward and swept her into his arms with the gentle skill of a man used to being a foot taller than his favorite woman in the world. She’d loved him in a negligent kind of way . . . before she’d forgotten his name.

He pulled her close and looked past her to his father, whose eyes were razor sharp. Those eyes could cut Vince to ribbons and had done so regularly. The lines in Father’s face showed his age as much as the white hair. And yet that hard, ruthless intelligence was still there.

Nothing on his father’s face said, It’s good to see you, son.

“If we can’t get you home, then we’ll have to come here to see you. Even if it does nearly kill Virginia Belle. The time has come for you to help with her care, Vincent. I’ll not allow you to shirk any longer.”

“What? You mean you’re here to stay?”

Mother’s tears spilled over and she began crying softly. Through her sobs, she said, “I’ve missed you so.” Mother’s accent was thicker, far more Southern than when Vince had gone home after the war, even though she’d lived in the North for thirty years. “My dahlin’ Julius, why did you leave me?”

Julius. His father’s name.

A movement drew Vince’s gaze to the young woman who’d accompanied his parents.

“Vincent,” Father said in a voice so cold it made Vince want to hunt up a thicker coat, “I’d like to introduce your sister, Melissa Yates.”

Vince didn’t bother to look at his father. There was no point. Melissa Yates, his sister. His father had found companionship outside his marriage, and Melissa was the result. Vince wondered if there were other “results” around. And now Mother, already so fragile, was forced to live with the proof of Father’s infidelity.

“Hello, Melissa.”

At the sound of Vince’s voice, Mother pulled back so suddenly she’d have fallen if Vince hadn’t caught her arms. “Missy, you’re here, finally!”

The surprise sister came up to slide an arm around Mother’s waist. With a glance at Vince that revealed an embarrassed flush on her cheeks, Melissa said, “I’ll see to her.”

Mother leaned on Melissa’s arm with a bright, if vacant,
smile. Vince knew Mother wasn’t well. He knew it wasn’t personal. She couldn’t help that she didn’t love him enough to remember him.

“We need a place to rest, don’t we, Virginia Belle?” Melissa murmured.

“Bless your heart, Missy.” The tears forgotten, Mother produced a lacy fan from her reticule and, disregarding the chilly Texas breeze, fluttered it flirtatiously. She spoke with the genteel drawl of a Southern belle. “I would dearly love to rest, honey child.”

Melissa turned to Vince. “Perhaps you have room?”

A direct question was about all Vince was capable of answering. “There is only one bedroom where I live.” He jabbed a thumb at the small building where he practiced law, then made a grand gesture to the south end of town. “You’ll have to get a room in Asa’s boardinghouse.” It was easily the nicest house in town. Asa called it a boardinghouse, but there was no food available. Asa thought calling it a hotel was too high and mighty, and he saw himself as a humble man. So he called it a boardinghouse without quite realizing it made him sound not so much humble as stupid. “We’ll get rooms for you all. Follow me.”

Father made a sound of disgust. As if he’d expected Vince to have a twenty-room mansion available, with servants to quickly see to unexpected guests.

Vince wanted to tell his father uninvited guests had no right to expect a welcome, but he didn’t. That would come later, when Mother was resting.

As they walked down the street toward Asa’s, the diner door swung open and Glynna stuck her head out. She was rapt with curiosity, and she didn’t even bother to hide
it. “Vince, who are your . . . your friends?” She looked confused, glancing from Father to Vince to Melissa, their resemblance clearly marking them as family.

“Glynna Riker, I’d like to introduce you to my family.” Gesturing to each in turn, he said, “This is my father, Julius Yates, my mother, Virginia Belle, and my . . . sister, Melissa.” Vince was proud of himself for only stumbling for a second over the sister part of his introductions.

Melissa gave him a sharp look, almost as if she expected him to denounce her. But he didn’t bother. She was the least of his troubles.

“Would you all like to come in?” Glynna asked. “Vince is a good friend, and I’d love to get to know his family. I’m sure you’re exhausted and hungry. I’ve got apple pie.”

Which reminded Vince of Tina, the one who’d made that pie. The woman he’d almost kissed only minutes ago.

He was about to say no. He saw his father open his mouth, and Vince saw the determination in Father’s eyes to say no, too.

“Apple pie sounds lovely.” Mother, however, spoke first. “My old mammy used to bake an apple pie fit to make the angels weep.” Mother leaned on Melissa and asked in a childlike voice, “Where is mammy? Why didn’t she come on the train with us?”

Melissa whispered something Vince couldn’t hear. Mother started for the diner, while Father said in a resigned voice, “Very well. We can stop in for a moment.”

“Do come in and sit down. Were you heading for the boardinghouse?” Glynna smiled, and as a rule, her smile made the sun shine brighter in the sky. It had no effect on Father, though, and Vince was beyond smiling.

“Yep.” Vince sort of wished Glynna would leave off her smiling. It clashed with the general mood. “They’re staying at Asa’s.”

“I’ll have my son, Paul, get your trunks toted down there, and tell Asa to expect company.” Glynna’s smile brightened even more. “We’ll insist he give you clean sheets.”

Father glowered.

Melissa winced, but quickly covered it.

Vince wondered if the young woman got punished for having an opinion. Vince had grown up knowing to keep his mouth shut, and there was no sign that Father had mellowed with age.

“Two rooms?” Glynna asked.

“How many rooms are there?” Father studied the two-story house.

“Four,” Vince said.

“Get all four. I’d as soon not share the house. And tell the proprietor we’ll want them indefinitely.”

Indefinitely?
Vince shook his head to clear out his ears. He must be hearing things.

Glynna’s blond brows arched, but then she swung the door wide and stepped back.

Paul was there and had heard them talking. The boy was shooting up taller every day. He had his mother’s blond hair, and shining blue eyes that must’ve come from his father. His voice broke and jumped from low to high and back again as he said, “What does ‘indefinitely’ mean? And ‘proprietor’?”

Glynna whispered definitions to him. She’d started overseeing the children’s studies since she’d married. Dare
helped too. He seemed determined that his children would learn, even though there was no school in Broken Wheel.

Vince didn’t mention to his father that Asa lived in the boardinghouse, so they wouldn’t exactly have the house to themselves. Of course, Asa wasn’t one to intrude . . . unless he felt the need to shoot someone.

“That large basket needs careful handling,” Melissa said to Paul. “I think I should—”

Mother’s knees buckled suddenly, but Melissa caught her. She seemed to have forgotten what orders she was giving Paul. Vince helped to steady Mother from behind.

“I’ll tell Doc Riker to come over, then get the bags moved and talk to Asa.” Paul ran toward the back of the diner.

“Hurry, so Mother can lie down,” Vince yelled after him.

Paul called over his shoulder to Melissa, “I’ll take extra care with your basket.”

Vince and Melissa got Mother up the two steps to the board-walk, inside the diner, and settled at a nearby table.

Eight-year-old Janny came in with four pie plates in her little hands. The girl was getting to be the best cook and waitress in the family. She was the spitting image of Glynna with her golden-hazel eyes. Janny being the best cook honestly wasn’t saying much, considering Glynna blackened everything she cooked. Paul was pretty good in the kitchen too, so it wasn’t like Janny didn’t have some competition.

Janny arranged the plates on the table before they’d all had a chance to sit down on the long benches. She then headed back to the kitchen to fetch coffee.

“Apple pie!” Mother clasped her hands together with childlike glee. “Mercy me, this looks delicious.”

Vince did his best to conceal it, but it hurt that she recognized apple pie when she didn’t recognize her own son. What had he done to make himself so forgettable?

In truth, Vince had been a handful all his life. Something he took some pride in, however misguided that might be. He’d’ve bet neither of his parents could forget him, no matter how hard they tried.

The back door opened and closed as Dare came in. Somehow, just knowing Dare was here made the worst of the tension ease out of Vince’s spine. Yet even with his friend there, this situation was still looking like a world of trouble.

Another racket from the back and Jonas came in, followed by Tina. Paul was a regular town crier.

Vince found himself distracted from the disaster that had climbed out of that regal carriage by the disaster that was Tina Cahill. His family showing up was so bad that he was grateful he’d almost kissed the troublemaking little reformer, just because the stupidity of that was enough to distract him from how badly his life had just been blown apart.

Dare slid onto the bench beside Mother on the far end of the table and spoke quietly to her, then took her pulse. Mother simpered under the attention.

Several minutes passed with Dare checking Mother over, and then, looking at Vince, Dare said, “I think your ma is just worn out from the trip. A bite to eat and a good long rest will set her to rights.”

Glynna bustled in with empty tin cups hanging from one hand, a finger through each handle, and a heavy coffeepot in the other. “Sit on down. We’ve got plenty for everyone.”

As if pie and coffee were going to fix anything.

Tina sat at the far end of the table from Vince without once looking at him. He knew because he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Tina was straight across from Mother.

Jonas sat on the end of the bench past Vince, as if he knew Vince needed a friend nearby. Or maybe Tina had told Jonas what had gone on in the jail, and Jonas wanted to keep an eye on Vince in case Vince needed a thrashing.

Dare took a cup of coffee from Glynna and began pacing. Vince felt his muscles tighten, and he itched to go stand by the door. Keep watch. Someone was always bringing trouble. Except all the trouble in the world was sitting right here at this table with him.

His friends all thought he’d gotten in the habit of posting himself as a sentinel during the war, but Vince had learned to be on guard by Father. Vince could never make Father happy, so he learned to hide when he could, sneak when he had to, and delight in driving Father mad when there was no escape.

A quick glance at Mother—eating her pie with enthusiasm while not knowing who Vince was—made him regret thinking of madness in any context.

The coach driver came in at that moment, hat in hand. The man was covered in trail dust and dressed all wrong for Texas. How had Father managed to get themselves a driver in such formal clothing? Had he ridden all the way from Chicago with Father, to have handy for when they had to leave the train and ride in a carriage?