Unconventional Series Collection (11 page)

A month after Ty's death, Brant knew he couldn't
forestall his sad news from Abby any longer. Their home was going to be
foreclosed. After visiting the bank several times and trying to work something
out by promising to make partial payment this year and the rest next year, his
offer had been declined. Hell, he didn't even know if he could keep that
promise anyway. Between the harsh winter and poor cattle prices, many of his
neighbors were facing similar circumstances.

Sitting atop Sugar, he surveyed the land he
loved; the land he'd toiled and sweated over. The land where he'd lost his
beloved wife and child. He wanted to cry, but kept himself strong. It was time
to move on. He had Abby and Jenny and Luke to think about.

The thought of Abby's sorrow shot an arrow
through his heart. She wasn't doing well. She had become a shell of her former
self, going through the motions of daily living, but grieving continuously. He
couldn't seem to reach her. She'd even wanted to move back into her old
bedroom, but he'd drawn the line there, refusing to allow her to leave his bed.
His kisses and caresses, in an attempt to give comfort, were ignored. He didn't
know what to do, and now he had to break the news that they would eventually be
forced from their home.

Brant patted Sugar's neck. "Well, old girl,
maybe we'll head west to California." Urging his horse forward, he set his
mind to do what he must.

* * *

Abby sat in her rocker beside the cold hearth
while Luke and Jenny worked on schoolwork in their small classroom. She had no
energy to teach and just handed out assignments daily. In fact, she had no
energy for anything. Everywhere she looked, there were reminders of Ty. A sob
caught in her throat just thinking his name. Her baby was gone and she was no
use to anyone anymore. Guilt raged in her heart—guilt for not taking better
care of Ty, guilt for not being able to care for Jenny and Luke now, guilt for
not being a strong wife for Brant. Would her endless despair never leave? Ever
her companion, Wally lay at her feet.

She heard the door open and didn't even turn
around to greet Brant. His boot steps sounded as he walked to the classroom and
spoke quietly with the children before closing the door and returning to her.

Kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in
his, he said, "Honey, how are you feeling today?"

She merely shrugged and looked past him into the
hearth. She heard his sigh, but was helpless to find it within herself to
comfort him.

He continued, "Abby, I have to talk to you
about something. I've been putting it off until you were stronger, but now I
need to tell you."

A silent sob welled up within Abby's breast.
He's
going to send me away because I'm of no use to anyone anymore.

"Sweetheart, I didn't get the prices I'd
hoped for on the cattle so I'm not able to pay the mortgage on our land. I'm
not giving up, but there's a chance our home could be foreclosed."

Abby blinked, confused. "You're not sending
me away?"

Brant looked dumbfounded. "Sending you
away? Why would I do that?"

Abby's lips trembled.

Brant reached his big arms around her. "Oh,
Abby, of course I'm not sending you away. You're my wife."

Abby allowed him to hold her, and when he lifted
and carried her to the bedroom, she didn't protest. She even returned his
kisses and caresses, but decided in her heart what she must do.

Brant felt encouraged by the fact that Abby had
allowed him to make love to her. She'd even awakened early the next morning and
collected eggs to make a big breakfast. When he'd suggested they all go to
town, she'd heartily agreed, which encouraged him even more. Maybe they could
pick up the pieces of their lives and go on.

During the drive, he watched her closely, seeing
her brush tears away a few times. Reaching for her hand, he said, "Honey,
we can get through this." She gave him a little smile and his heart
tripped. How he'd missed her smiles.

In town, he guided the buckboard to the front of
Clyde Jenkins General Store and told Abby to pick out something pretty for
herself. He winked at Jenny and Luke and told them to choose some candy.

"Thanks, Pa," said Luke.

Jenny hugged him. "Thank you."

Abby gave him another one of her smiles and he
wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were
both senseless with desire. Redirecting his thoughts to the present, he said,
"I'm taking Sugar to the blacksmith's to check her shoe."

"Okay, Pa," said Jenny.

Luke was already in the store.

Abby said, "I might walk to the dress shop.
I'd like to ask Mrs. Dennison about a particular pattern I have in mind."

"Okay, honey. How about we meet back here
in an hour?"

"Okay. I'll see you then."

* * *

With her heart breaking, Abby watched Brant
drive the buckboard across the road to the blacksmith's. When he entered the
building, she entered the mercantile, said hello to the owners, and then told
Jenny and Luke she was going to the dressmaker's. Walking swiftly down the
boardwalk, she reached the shop, but passed it and entered the bank two
businesses down. Purposefully walking to the door marked, Bank President, she
knocked and opened it without waiting for an invitation. Mr. Berry looked
startled by her intrusion, but invited her to sit.

"I'm very sorry about your loss, Mrs.
Samson."

Abby nodded. "I only have a couple of
minutes, Mr. Berry, so I'll get right to the point. You are aware, of course,
that I have deposited a sizeable sum of money in your bank from the sale of a
home I owned in Philadelphia."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you have never told my husband, per my
request?"

"That's correct."

"I understand that you are foreclosing on
our home."

Mr. Berry looked uncomfortable. "It's not
up to me, Mrs. Samson. The board decides who will be foreclosed on and–"

"Hogwash. You have influence over the
board. My husband's land is prime property and the bank wants it because of
that. However, that's neither here nor there because I'm going to pay off the
debt in its entirety. I want you to draw up the paperwork immediately, while I
wait."

"Mrs. Samson, that's highly
irregular."

"I don't care how irregular it is. I want
it done now and I want the deed in my hand before I leave here. If I have it in
the next few minutes, there's a hundred dollar bonus for you. Of course it's a
bonus only the two of us will know about."

Mr. Berry tapped his fingers on his blotter.
"You know, I think I can fulfill your request, Mrs. Samson."

Within fifteen minutes, Abby had the deed to
Brant's land in hand and a sizeable withdrawal of cash, of which, she handed
one hundred dollars to Mr. Berry. "This transaction regarding my husband's
property is strictly between us. If you open your mouth to anyone, I will accuse
you of accepting a bribe. Do I make myself clear?"

The bank president coughed,
"Perfectly."

"Good day, sir."

Quickly retracing her steps to the dressmaker's,
Abby entered and spoke with the proprietress, asking questions about a pattern
she already knew the answers to. Several minutes later, Brant entered the shop.

Surprised to see him, she thanked Mrs. Dennison
for her information and excused herself.

"I got Sugar taken care of so I thought I'd
spend time with you. Is there something you want to buy, Abby?"

His sweet gesture, when she knew he had little
money to spare, caused her to slip her hand into his. "No, Brant. I just
needed to ask some questions."

When they strolled back to the general store and
passed the hotel bulletin board, she paused and acted like she was perusing the
notes posted there, when, in actuality, she was checking the departure date and
time for the next stagecoach headed to east Texas. In two days she intended to
be on that coach.

During the ride home, Abby said, "You know,
Brant, I think it would be a good idea for Jenny to spend some time with Cora's
daughter, Tilly. I don't think Cora would mind taking her for a couple of
days." Abby's heart pounded waiting for his reply.

"I think that's a great idea. Why don't you
go, too? It would do you both good to get away."

"No, no. I'm fine."

Brant looked at her profile. "Well, I'll
cut my work short on those days and come home early."

"No, Brant. You and Luke just do your
normal activities. It'll give me time to get some sewing done." Abby held
her breath.

"Okay, honey. I'm happy you're feeling
better. We've got to go on with our lives."

Abby reached to encircle his forearm; not
because she was doing better, but because she wanted to touch him as much as
she could before she left.

The next day Luke escorted Jenny to the
MacGregors' ranch for a two-day visit and Brant hung around the house until
Abby said, "Brant, go to work. I have sewing to finish and your constant
mothering is very distracting."

He chuckled, "Okay, sweetheart. I'll be back
for lunch."

Abby nodded, pretending to be interested in her
sewing. When he left, she leaned her head against the back of the rocker and
let her tears flow. No longer could she remain in the place that reminded her
of her darling Ty day in and day out. Eventually, she rose and decided on the
items necessary to take with her in her valise.

That evening and night, she put on an act worthy
of a New York actress. After supper she sat on the porch with Brant and watched
the sunset. Then she initiated lovemaking that was not an act.

The next day he and Luke rode out after
breakfast, returned for lunch, and then rode out again. As soon as they were
out of sight she rushed outside and called for Wally, leading him to the shed.
Going down on her knees, she hugged him fiercely. "I love you, Wally.
You're the best friend anyone could have. Because of that, I know you'll follow
me and then try to warn Brant that I'm leaving. I'm sorry, but I have to lock
you in the shed." She sobbed, "I'm going to miss you." After that,
she saddled Daisy, tied her valise to the saddle, and then rode to town.

In a daze, she stopped at the local stable and
asked the boy to feed and board her horse, assuring him that someone would pick
the mare up soon.

"Sure, Miz Samson." He took the reins
from her. "You okay, ma'am?"

She mumbled a reply and walked swiftly away.
Crossing the street to the hotel, she nodded to Charlie before entering the
ornate door and buying a one-way ticket to Bingham. Next, she walked to the
dressmaker's shop to kill time. Returning to the hotel at three o'clock,
nervousness had her pacing the length of the porch while the stagecoach drivers
readied the horses.

"You goin' somewhere, Miz Samson?"
asked Charlie.

"Ah, yes, Charlie. I'm visiting friends for
awhile."

"I was right sorry to hear about your
loss."

Abby looked away from him. "Thank you,
Charlie."

After a lengthy silence, Charlie said, "I
never told nobody this, but I lost my whole family ten years back to the
fever—my wife and five youngins'."

Abby turned an incredulous stare on him.
"Oh, Charlie," was all she managed to say.

He gave her a toothless smile. "Yep, after
they died I run fer years and almost drank meself to death. Then one day, I
heard me wife talkin' in me ear. Some might say it was the drink, but I knows
it were her. She said, 'Charlie, I'm right put out at what you've become. Me
and the children are in a wonderful place and you're in hell. You need to
respect yerself enough to finish out yer life in dignity. Now stop drinkin' and
start livin'.'

"After that I settled here and started
workin' fer folks doin' odd jobs and singin' at the hotel. I love the folks in
this town. Well, that is, most of em. Some still haven't learned about human
kindness, but they will—everyone gets that lesson."

The stagecoach driver hollered, "This stage
is leavin' for Bingham! All Aboard!"

Abby gave Charlie a goodbye nod and climbed into
the coach with the assistance of the driver. Three more travelers were loaded
into the cramped space and then the driver yelled out their departure again.
Abby leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Throughout the three hour journey, she kept her
head averted from the three business men traveling to California to take
possession of a hotel they'd purchased as partners. When one of them had tried
to engage her in conversation, she'd merely said she suffered from motion
sickness and wasn't much for talking. After that, she'd listened to their
political debate with closed eyes and realized she did feel queasy.

At dusk, she arrived in Bingham and accepted her
valise from the driver. With her heart in her throat, she entered the hotel and
asked for directions to the Willowoods' house.

The friendly clerk said, "Oh, they live
just off Main Street. Him bein' an attorney, he needs to be close to the
courthouse." Abby listened to his directions and his ramblings and then
excused herself when she thought it wouldn't appear rude.

The streetlamps were being lit when she finally
located the house. A little sob escaped as she rushed to the front door. Pulling
the bell rope she held her breath and waited. An old servant opened the door.

"I-I would like to see Mrs. Willowood,
please."

The man looked at her strangely. "Whom may
I say is calling?"

"Abby. I mean, Abigail Vaughn. We traveled
together on a stagecoach from Ft. Worth."

The servant gave her another curious look and
then said, "Please come with me and wait in the drawing room."

Abby followed him, her pounding heart making her
breathing irregular. What if Mrs. Willowood refused to see her? Thankfully, she
didn't have to ponder her question for long because the older woman burst into
the room.

"Abigail! What a delightful surprise! I'm
so happy–" Mrs. Willowood stopped talking when she saw Abby's face.
"Dear, what's wrong?"

With a wrenching sob, Abby cried, "My baby
died."