Texas Brides Collection (21 page)

T
he morning sun had climbed over the porch rail and now brightened the front parlor with ribbons of gold shimmering across the flowered needlepoint carpet. At the center of the light lay the ranger, silent, solid, and most likely bound for his reward at any moment.

Matted hair covered one eye and a dark purple bruise the other. His skin wore a paleness even the many layers of Texas trail dust couldn’t hide.

Grace tried to remember what Ben had said about Ranger Harte. They’d ridden together as new recruits, and Jed had stayed on at the landing long enough to see to it that Ben Delaney’s New Orleans sweetheart, should she agree to marry him, would come home to a real house and not a tent, like so many ranger wives.

He’d fussed over the porch rail so many times Ben had declared him soft in the head. When she arrived at her new home, she had been greeted by a hand-lettered note on the back of a reward poster asking them to please be careful of the rails until Ranger Harte could return to finish the job.

True to his word, he’d come back a week later to mend a wobble in the posts only he could see and ended up staying until past the last frost. Harte had claimed it was the carpentering that kept him there, but Ben had declared it to be Grace’s cooking.

Grace smiled at the memory. She hadn’t seen Jedadiah Harte in almost a decade, although Ben had spoken of him on occasion. While her husband had been content to stay near the landing and nearly give up the life of a ranger altogether, Jed Harte had pursued justice and glory until he reached the rank of captain and led his own group of men.

“Oh, Ben.”

Why could she go for hours, even days, once, without feeling the grief, then out of nowhere, it would return? She felt it now, the blinding abyss of dark hurt chasing her, threatening her, nearly engulfing her. Only Theresa’s sudden movement kept her from tumbling in.

“Let’s git him comfortable, then I kin see what’s what.” Theresa eased a rolled blanket beneath Ranger Harte’s neck, then began matter-of-factly to undress the lawman, starting with his boots, which she handed to Uncle Shaw. “Wonder who he is?”

“Harte,” Grace said, almost numb with grief. “Jedadiah Harte.”

“The ranger?” Uncle Shaw whistled softly and held the boots at arm’s length. He wrinkled his nose. “Been on the trail, awhile too, I’d guess.”

Grace nodded and took the coat from Theresa. Waves of nausea threatened at the smell of the trail-worn woolen garment and the sight of the blood staining the collar and sleeve. Quickly she draped it over Uncle Shaw’s arm and stepped back to sink onto the stiff cushions of the rosewood settee.

“See that these are taken care of, please,” she managed. “If we don’t have enough to feed him, we can at least make sure he’s clean.”

“Shame on you, Miz Grace.” Theresa bent over the patient and eased his blue flannel shirt off a broad shoulder caked with blood. “You can’t be worrying about whether we can manage. You know the Lord’ll provide.”

Grace looked away, suitably chastised. Still, concern bore hard on her. When she petitioned the Lord for a ranger, she thought she’d made it clear she needed a healthy one who could wield a revolver and maybe scare up some game or plow under a row or two in the garden. She certainly hadn’t bargained for the one now lying half dead in her parlor.

“Looks like it went clean through.” Theresa lifted Mr. Harte’s shoulder and examined his wounded upper arm, causing him to groan softly. “Sure did, and that’s to the Lord’s glory, I’ll say for sure.”

Grace handed a strip of clean cloth to Theresa. “So he’s going to live?”

“He might. I ’spect the chill air’s hurt his chances a bit, though.”

Theresa began to bind his wound, lifting his arm each time to reach beneath it. Throughout the process, he showed no indication of noticing.

“It don’t take but one bullet to stop a feller, even one as big as this ’un.” She made a soft clucking sound. “Looks like he hit his head on somethin’ and near put his eye out. Probably done it after the bullet got him.”

The ranger’s good eye flickered, and his lips, parched and cracked, began to move as if he were trying to speak. With strong hands and soft words of comfort, Theresa settled the man and covered him with several layers of quilts. She reached for a cloth and the basin of water warming near the fire. A noise above made her look up sharply.

“Them young’uns are awake.”

Grace sighed and climbed to her feet. Too many things demanded her attention—the landing, the farm, and the complaints of her tired body—but her children came first. They always would.

“I’ll see to them, Theresa,” she said slowly. “You’ll let me know if there’s any change with Mr. Harte.”

Theresa shook her head. “I’ll get the babies. You don’t have no business climbin’ those stairs no way. When I get back we gonna talk about the help what’s comin’ this mornin’.”

“Help?” Her hopes rose. “With the landing?”

Theresa shook her head. “With the chilluns, Miz Grace.”

Yet another mouth to feed; not what she’d had in mind when she asked the Lord to send help. Grace opened her mouth to protest, but Theresa waved it away with a sweep of her hand. Handing her the cloth and a razor, she pressed the basin in her direction.

“I love those babies like I birthed ’em myself an’ you know that, but your time’s a comin’. I can’t worry about them and take care of you.” She hefted her bulk off the floor and started toward the staircase. “The Lord’s so good, Miz Grace,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I asked Him for help, and out of the blue He answers my prayer by sending my grandbaby, Ruth.”

Grace nodded meekly and eased to her knees beside the patient. It was hard not to compare whatever help Theresa got with the help He had sent her.

While Theresa’s heavy steps sounded on the stairs, Grace set to work on the ranger, determined not to allow her stomach to rule her hands. She did not have the luxury of illness.

Resolutely, she lifted his head into her lap, or at least what remained of her lap, and began to shave away the dark beard. As she worked, a ruggedly handsome face began to appear, first with the firm, square jaw and finally with the soft curve of a set of cheekbones that could have been chiseled in granite. When she dropped the razor in the basin, his features contorted into a tight grimace and a lovely amber-colored eye flickered open only to disappear once more beneath a frame of thick black lashes.

“Pray for me,” came in a thick whisper between cracked lips.

“Pray?” She wrapped the muslin over his injured eye and settled his head gently on the blankets. “Is that what you said?”

Wouldn’t the Lord be surprised to hear from her again so soon? What would she say? She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can, Mr. Harte.”

His good eye opened again, and after a moment, his gaze settled on her. “You must,” he said with what sounded like the last of his strength.

“Of course,” she said. Lowering her head, she cleared her throat and cast about her somewhat addled brain for the appropriate words. “Lord, I ask You to come and help the man You sent us. I know my aim was to ask for a body to protect us and see that the babies do fine no matter what happens to me. I’d be much obliged if You would see to it that this ranger—”

“No.” He began to thrash about beneath the blankets. “Not ranger…”

His declaration startled her, and only her hand on his forehead stopped the man’s movements. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Pray,” he said, obviously struggling to keep his eye open. “For Jed Harte.”

“I tried,” she said, exasperated. “I asked the Lord to take care of you and heal you so you could ranger again and maybe—”

“No,” emerged from his lips like the howl of a wolf.

“What in the world is going on here?” Theresa appeared at the door with Mary on her hip and Bennett at her side. At the sight of her, the children wriggled away and ran to her.

“Mommy, why is the man on the floor?” Bennett asked, wide-eyed.

“Big man hurt?” Mary added.

Ranger Harte settled into a quiet calm and stared at the children. The children, in turn, stared back.

Grace glanced up to see that Uncle Shaw had returned. In place of his usual bland expression, he wore an uncharacteristic look of worry.

“S’cuse me, Miz Grace, but you be needed real bad down at the warehouse.”

The story unfolded on their walk to the landing. Ruth had arrived only moments earlier. Sadly, trouble had tagged along in the form of the obstinate steamboat captain Stockton, the same man who’d given Grace trouble a week ago. Shaw told him of the lawman’s arrival and led him to believe Harte would be running things soon. Stockton left in a hurry, although Shaw had a suspicion they hadn’t seen the last of the man.

Grace responded with a nod and a word of thanks, seating herself behind Ben’s desk to begin yet another long day of work.

When she finally pushed away to begin the short walk to the house, she wondered where the day had gone. Her stomach complained at the emptiness and her muscles ached. Only a meal and a few hours’ rest stood between her and repeating the whole process.

She thought about the ranger’s Bible, retrieved from his saddlebags, and the words she’d seen circled there when she opened it. “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me, ” she whispered as she trudged the last few steps to the back door.

Shame flooded her as the meaning of the words emerged. Should the Lord come today, neither her heart nor her spirit would stand the test of His all-knowing mind. Right there in the middle of the dusty path, Grace knelt and opened her thoughts to the Lord.

“Oh yes, Lord, I do need a clean heart. Forgive me for losing sight of You and blaming You for all my troubles. Ben and my babies are in a better place, and I know I’ve got a long way to go to get there.” She paused and lifted her gaze to the purple twilight as Ben’s child shifted and squirmed beneath her ribs.

“I love You, Lord, and I love my Ben. Don’t let me forget him, but please, if You could, teach me how to live without him.”

The back door slammed and Grace looked over in time to see Theresa running her way, skirts held high and her petticoat rustling. Grace’s blood ran cold at the wide-eyed look on the older woman’s face. “What’s wrong, Theresa? Did something happen to the babies?”

“Oh, Miz Grace, I done thought your time had come, and you couldn’t make it t’ the door.” She fanned her ample bosom despite the chill air and seemed to have trouble catching her breath. “I declare you scared the life right outta me.”

“You mean that’s why you came running out of the house?” Grace stifled a grin as her racing heart slowed to nearly normal. “I thought something had happened to one of the children.”

“Oh, lands sakes no,” she said with a chuckle as she reached to help Grace up. “My Ruth, she’s already got those sweet angels fed and nigh t’ sleep. Don’t you worry about them, not at all.”

Grace took the hand Theresa offered and stood gingerly, allowing her body to settle and the baby to stop moving before attempting to walk toward the house.

The mention of Ruth caused her to remember the Bible she’d forgotten on Ben’s desk. This sent her thoughts reeling to the ranger, and a stab of guilt reminded her she hadn’t given his health any concern. She’d only thought of herself and the selfish pity she’d wallowed in. The shame of it burned deep.
A clean heart
, she repeated to the Lord.
Please teach me, Father
.

Theresa slowed her pace to allow Grace to catch up. “You worried about Mr. Harte?”

The question pressed further the point of her guilt. “Any improvement?” The baby shifted positions to jolt her insides.

Theresa gave Grace a sideways look. “No,” she whispered. What a cruel irony that she’d asked the Lord to send this ranger to her, and now he, too, could die. At least it seemed that way to her.

Grasping the stair rail for support, Grace shook her head. “I’ll tend to the ranger tonight.”

Theresa opened the door and held it wide so Grace could enter, then closed it softly before hurrying to the stove to stir the pots left simmering there. “I’ve known you too long to argue, Miz Grace, so I won’t even try. Set yourself down and see to that baby of yours with some supper afore you tend to the ranger. That’s all I ask.”

Grace nodded. Satisfied, Theresa reached for the sassafras root and began to chop it into the mixture bubbling in the pot. Grace inhaled a deep breath of the exquisite smells of Theresa’s cooking and sank into the slat-backed rocker by the fire, resting on her elbows to relieve the pain in her back. It would be gumbo tonight, Theresa’s way of using the last of yesterday’s hen in a meal along with the meager contents of the pantry, but it would be good. It always was.

As the flames licked and jumped beside her, the tiredness seeped into Grace’s bones and settled there. The baby protested her bent-over position with a swift kick to her insides, so she accommodated him by shifting to a less confining position.

Instantly the little one stilled, although Grace’s back muscles began to protest. Stifling the complaint she wanted to voice, she turned her thoughts back to Ranger Harte while Theresa began to slice the corn bread.

How could she consider offering to spend her precious sleeping hours taking care of a man who might die before morning? Yet, under the circumstances, how could she not?

“Renew a right spirit.”
The verse from the ranger’s Bible came tumbling back to her, along with the surprise that Jed Harte even owned a Bible, much less read one. What had happened to her right spirit? Had she ever had it in the first place?

A shiver of guilt snaked down her spine. She and Ben had a Bible, a beautiful book Ben had brought in his trunk from Ireland. She’d accepted the Lord based on that book. Now she would be hard-pressed to know where it was.

A forlorn wail punctuated the silence, followed by a crash. Grace struggled to her feet despite the screaming protest of her muscles.

“Oh, Lord preserve us, that’s the ranger.” Theresa bustled out of the kitchen. “He done hurt hisself, I just know it,” she said as she disappeared into the hallway and headed toward the parlor with Grace trailing more than a few steps behind. “Sakes alive, would you look what he’s gone and done?”