Sunset Embrace (44 page)

Vance Gentry, surveying from horseback the sea of campers that surrounded the city for miles on all sides, sighed his discouragement. "How in the hell do you expect to find them amid all
that?"
he asked Howard Majors with an emphatic jerk of his head.

"We'll find them," Majors said quietly.

"Well, let's get started," Gentry said, nudging his horse with the heel of his boot.

"No," Majors said. "Tonight we start asking around without being conspicuous. If we barge in, peering into every wagon, we could alert him. If he wanted to hide, he could easily in this mass of people."

Gentry cursed in flowery language. Since Madam LaRue had put them onto Ross's trail, he had spent days of travel on dusty, smoky trains, with endless delays in schedules, improperly cooked meals, hard beds—if any at all. He and Majors had caught a paddlewheeler in Shreve-port, but that had been overcrowded and sluggish. His temper was wearing thin and Majorss constant insistence on caution was irritating him, especially since they were this close.

They knew the wagon train was going to break up here. Victoria could be in any of the wagons surrounding the town. He wanted to relieve her from whatever humiliation and hard work she was suffering as soon as possible and before Coleman had a chance to move on. He had almost forgotten how relieved he had been to hear from Madam LaRue that she had seen Mr. Coleman's wife and that she appeared in good health.

"All right," he conceded grudgingly. "Tonight we ask questions. Tomorrow I start looking for my daughter whether you like it or not." He yanked on the reins of his mount and headed back toward the center of the city, where they had been lucky enough to acquire rooms.

Majors followed close behind. He was sick to death of Gentry's threats. If he weren't so determined to capture Sonny Clark before retiring and go out in a blaze of glory, he would have thrown this over weeks ago and told Gentry to hire someone else. Gentry would have hired gunfighters, no doubt. He didn't want word to get out that his son-in-law was the notorious Sonny Clark. What better way to prevent that than to kill the man?

Majors spurred his horse into a faster trot. He wasn't going to let Gentry out of his sight. As many times as he had told him he wanted to take Clark alive, he didn't think the man had listened. In any event he didn't trust him.

* * *

Twin teardrops as large as peas spilled over Priscilla Watkinss lower lids and rolled down her cheeks. "You're hateful, that's what you are, Bubba Langston. I thought after what you did to me, you'd do the proper thing and ask my pa if you could marry me."

Bubba admired the sunset as he gnawed on a sweet-tasting stem of grass. "Is that what you thought?"

He had changed. Priscilla had seen him changing more every day. He no longer had the gawky gait of a youth, but the assured stride of a man who knew who he was. His eyes weren't full of wonder and puzzlement about what the world was going to offer up next, they were the steady, assessing eyes of a man who took nothing for granted. And they revealed all those new traits now as he gazed at the sunset through slitted eyelids. Priscilla was vexed that he hadn't even noticed she had worn her best dress in celebration of their reaching Jefferson. Recently, whenever they met, he rarely noticed anything. He only went about his business, taking her quickly and methodically. She had been glad when he had finally gotten out of his doldrums after Lukes murder. But he had never been as sweet, had never whispered lovely things to her, since that first time.

"Why do you think I let you do that to me?" she asked, casting an anxious glance toward the wagon and hoping that her ma couldn't hear. "I planned on marrying you or I never—"

"And what were you planning to do with Scout?" Bubba demanded, swinging his eyes away from the flaming sky to stare down on her.

She licked her lips and blinked. If he had slapped her, she couldn't have been more stunned. "Scout?" she asked in a high squeak.

"Yeah, Scout. Did you reckon on marryin' up with him too? Or was you just hankerin' on gettin' away from your ma and didn't much care who you suckered into helpin' you?"

On the inside she was boiling with fury. Who did this stupid
boy
think he was talking to? But she managed to manufacture another set of perfect, heavy tears to slide down her cheeks. "Bubba, Bubba, who told you these lies about me? You know I only love you. Always. Whoever told you that was jealous, that's all. Because I love you and nobody else."

Bubba stretched his long body, which had filled out considerably in the past three months. He no longer looked all arms and legs, "Way I hear it, you been lovin' just about everybody who weren't otherwise attached."

Desperation seized her. Scout had already bid her a derisive farewell. He had completed the job he had been hired to do and was off to another adventure, leaving her fuming in indignation at the easy way he dismissed her.

Bubba was her last chance. She wasn't about to get stuck on some dreary farm with only her henpecked pa and her overbearing ma for company. She would never have a chance at any kind of life except one of pure drudgery. Glancing worriedly toward the wagon, she took his hand and placed it on her breast, letting her eyes close in feigned passion.

"Bubba, feel my heart. It's beating with love for only you. I swear it. Feel how much I love you, Bubba."

A shiver of breath threaded through her lips when she felt his hand begin to move over her. A smile of triumph tugged at the rapturous pout. He fondled her with newfound expertise. She groaned softly when her nipple peaked beneath his revolving thumb.

Her eyes came wide when he dropped his hand. "You're pretty, Priscilla, and you got the goods that'd attract any man. But I don't cotton to havin' a wife what spread it around for everybody to sample first."

"You bastard," she hissed, backing away from him.

He didn't realize until then how ugly she could be. Her face twisted into a ferociously cruel mask. She was spoiled rotten and would always demand her way. Bubba felt nothing but relief that Ross had cautioned him about this bitch.

"You weren't a man until I showed you how to be one. And being with you was like rutting with a pig. Do you hear me?" she screamed. "A rutting pig!"

Bubba grinned good-naturedly. "Well, I couldn't have asked for a better teacher. Thanks for the lessons and the practice."

He turned on his heel and walked away with the loose, relaxed saunter of a man who had disposed of a grievous burden.

With impotent fury, Priscilla spun around to find her mother standing just behind her. Her narrow face was flushed with hot color. The nostrils of the skinny nose were pinched almost closed. With a clawlike hand, she reached out and slapped her daughter as hard as she could, leaving a red stain on Priscilla's cheek.

The girl didn't flinch. She simply stared at her mother, and as she did, a slow smile parted her voluptuous lips. Without a word she entered the wagon, took down a wicker suitcase, shoved her speechless father aside, and began tossing her belongings inside.

"What do you think you're doing, missy?" Leona demanded.

"Getting away from you. I'm going in to Jefferson and get me a job."

Leona's colorless eyes blinked fast and furiously. "You aren't going anywhere."

"Watch me." Priscilla turned on her mother. "I'm not going to end my life an unhappy, dried-up old woman like you, stuck on some godforsaken plot of ground with an old fart like him." She jabbed a finger toward her father. "I'm going to live my life different from you."

"How? You'll starve."

Priscilla continued her packing, laughing contemptuously. "I'll have a job before nightfall."

"Doing what?"

Priscilla snapped the fastenings on the suitcase closed and faced her mother again. "Doing what I love to do," she said, her eyes flashing. "And what I ve been doing for a long time for free. They'll have to pay me for it from now on."

"Whoring?" Leona whispered, aghast. "You're going to be a whore?"

Priscilla smiled confidently. "The highest-paid one in history. You see, Ma, when you aren't loved, you crave to be loved. I've had years to dream of ways for someone to love me. I intend to cash in on all that love you didn't give me. Every time I hug a man between my legs, I'll be thinking of all the times you didn't hug me. Live with that."

She threw her suitcase out the end of the wagon and dropped down beside it. Picking it up, she headed in the direction of Jefferson, never looking back.

Leona whirled on her husband. "Well, you spineless idiot, are you just going to sit there and do nothing?"

He looked at his wife with rheumy, tired eyes that showed more animation than they had in years. "Yep. I'm gonna do nothing to bring her back. Whatever unhappiness she brings to herself, it'll be a better life than she would have had with you. Wish I'd had her kind of gumption years ago."

* * *

"We can write letters," Lydia said tearfully.

"Can't read or write, but when one of the young'uns learns . . ." Ma's voice gave out on her as she strangled on emotion. "I'm gonna miss you. I've thought of you as one of my own."

"I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you."

Lydia and Ma embraced each other again, Lydia taking the strength of this woman into herself. The girls were weeping openly, clinging to Lydia's skirts. Micah and Samuel were standing solemnly beside their father. All looked sad.

Lydia had already bid farewell to the other families on the train. One by one they had been absorbed into the pandemonium of Jefferson, going on to their next destinations. The Langstons were leaving early the following day. As soon as fresh supplies were loaded into their wagon, they were going to move it to the outer western borders of the campsite. Since they wouldn't see Lydia again, they were saying their good-byes now.

"We'll come see you. Ross has already said we could. Maybe in a year or two when the house is built. Did I tell you Moses is coming with us? He's going to be such a help." Ross was planning to ask him even before Moses offered his services. She was talking too much and too quickly, but if she stopped, she knew she would cry.

"You love him, don't you, girl?" Ma asked quietly when Lydia paused for breath.

"Yes, I love him. He makes me feel . . ." She searched for the right words, but there were none that described how she felt about herself since Ross had come to care for her. And she knew he cared. He didn't love her as he had loved Victoria, but he cared. "He makes me feel clean and new inside. Respected and honored. It doesn't matter what I've been before."

"He loves you too," Ma said, patting Lydia's hand.

She shook her head in denial. "He still loves Victoria,"

Ma dismissed that with a flick of her hand. "He might think he does, but you're the one in his bed. It'll occur to him one of these days that you're the one he loves. And the way he's been flashin' those white teeth of his around lately, I don't think that day's too far off. He never looked like that when she was alive. He looked like he was worried about somethin' all the time, like he was tryin' real hard to keep her happy. The two of you will have a good life together. I know it."

"I think so, too, Ma."

The older woman studied Lydia. "You know, there was a time there a week or so hack when I thought you were mad at me over somethin'."

Lydia avoided Ma's perceptive eyes. It was true that she had been unable to confide in Ma after she found out Clancey had killed Luke. Her guilt over the boy's murder wouldn't permit her to maintain the close relationship she had once shared with the other woman. She hadn't realized Ma had noticed her avoidance of them. "I wasn't mad at you. I guess I was already dreading this time when I'd have to say good-bye and was trying to get used to living without having you around." Tears dammed up behind her lids. "I love you, Ma. All of you."

Ma embraced her hard. "We love you, too, Lydia."

When they pulled apart, Lydia hugged all the girls in turn. She even hugged Zeke, who blushed like a boy. "Take care, Lydia girl," he said bashfully.

"Bubba said he would come to your wagon and say good-bye later," Ma said, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her apron. "He wanted to wait for Ross to get back. That boy's plumb tore up about leavin' his hero,"

"Ross should be back from town soon. I need to hurry so his supper will be ready." Taking Lee from Anabeths reluctant arms, she looked at them, memorized their kind, loving faces, and missed seeing Luke standing among them. Forever she would have his death on her conscience. If it hadn't been for her . . .

"Good-bye," she said and turned away before she collapsed in tears.

Thinking about Clancey, Lydia stepped hurriedly as she wended her way through the campsite toward her own wagon. She had to get the bag of jewelry from its hiding place. Clancey would come for it, she knew it. He had probably been following the train since the night he had shot Winston. When had he realized that he didn't have the jewelry with him? He would be furious and capable of violence. Lydia wanted to be prepared when he appeared again. He would come, and when he did, she intended to hand the jewelry over to him immediately.

She was convinced now that Ross knew nothing of the jewelry. Victoria had hidden it in their wagon. Lydia knew he took pride in having lifted himself out of a criminal life into one of respectability. He depended on nothing but his own determination and hard work. He would never have let Victoria bring her family's wealth with them. She had done it on her own. So if Lydia turned the jewelry over to Clancey, bought him off with it, Ross would be none the wiser.

She rushed to get supper started, but Lee seemed determined to distract her. First he soiled his diaper and had to be changed, then he started crying when she was trying to build up the fire. He refused to be quieted until she had fed him half a bottle of milk. Ross had purchased a cow upon their arrival in Jefferson so they would no longer have to depend on the Norwoods.

The delays prevented her from retrieving the velvet bag from its hiding place. When supper was finally beginning to simmer, she climbed into the wagon. She had just pushed the chest an inch or two when she heard Ross shout, "Lydia!"