My Heart Will Find Yours Page 7

  “Look, I—”

  She held up a gloved hand. “No, no. Let me finish. I accepted your invitation to the July Fourth dance. And now, after the entire town knows we have a date, the woman returns, and this time you claim her as your wife.”

  He couldn’t deny he’d put her in a bad situation. “I’m sorry, Danielle. I’d never hurt you intentionally.”

  “Well, you have, Royce Dyson, again. This time I intend to get even.” She turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.

  ****

  As soon as Royce rode into the yard, he smelled something burning. He jumped off Samson and ran to the back steps. His mouth opened to call out, but the words remained trapped in his throat. Texanna’s voice rang sweetly around him. She was singing. It was a song he’d never heard before, but the words and melody were haunting.

  “My prayer…is to linger…with you.”

  He could see them through the open window. Royce removed his boots as he listened to her lovely voice. Quietly—he needed to oil the damn squeaky screen door—he entered the kitchen and removed the burning food from the oven. The door to Pearl’s studio was partially closed, so she hadn’t seen him enter the house. He padded in sock-clad feet to the door to watch, his heart in his throat.

  Texanna sat on a stool, hidden behind the large canvas, paints splattered across the board in her hand. Garrett sat on the floor facing her, a sketchpad across his knees.

  “Tilt your head up for me, Garrett,” said Texanna. “Ah, that’s good. I like that smile. Has anyone ever told you you’re a carbon copy of your father?”

  “What’s a carbon copy?”

  Her laugh of pleasure squeezed his heart. “It means you look just like your father.”

  Royce cleared his throat. Both heads swiveled in his direction. Garrett jumped up and ran to him. He caught his son in a quick hug.

  Texanna slid off the stool. “Oh, goodness. I forgot the time.” She picked up a cleaning rag and started wiping her hands.

  “Don’t hurry. Go ahead and clean your brushes.”

  “Hey, Pa. Look what I’m drawing. Texanna’s teaching me.”

  “Texanna, huh?”

  Texanna avoided his eyes.

  “That’s what she told me to call her, Pa.” His frown showed concern he’d done wrong.

  “That’s fine, Son.” Royce looked down at Garrett’s sketchpad. “Let’s see what you’ve done.” It was a rough drawing of Texanna at the easel. Not bad for an eight-year-old. Clearly he’d inherited some of his mother’s talent. It certainly hadn’t come from his side of the family.

  “It’s not very good, is it?” Garrett’s voice was resigned but his expression hopeful.

  “I think it’s mighty good for a beginner. You may be as good as your moth… as Texanna with a little practice.” Garrett’s face broke into a grin, and he stood up a little straighter.

  Texanna flushed at his near-slip and finished cleaning her brushes. She studied Garrett’s sketch. “Your father is right. It’s very good, sport. I think this afternoon we’ll have drawing lessons. Would you like that?”

  His face lit. “You bet.”

  Royce saw her nose twitch—her sense of smell was no longer blocked by paint and turpentine. “Oh my gosh! I’ve burned the cornbread!”

  “It’s fine, Texanna. I took it out of the oven. It’s overdone but edible.”

  Her face registered disgust. “I burned my first batch of cornbread. Oh! What about the stew?” She dropped her cleaning rag and hurried to the stove. Her face relaxed. “It looks okay. It may be too thick, but I can add some water.”

  “Looks fine to me, I like my stew thick.” Royce put his hand to Garrett’s back and locked eyes with Texanna.

  “Sport? Come on, sport. Let’s wash up.” What kind of name was sport?

  Texanna’s face colored, and he swallowed the laugh that threatened.

  ****

  Texanna watched through the window as the man and boy washed their hands at the water pump just outside the barn. A towel hung on the handle. Sport, indeed. She’d better choose her words more carefully as Royce picked up every small detail. However, what did it matter? He needed to learn she wasn’t from this time period.

  She pumped water into the pan and washed her hands. Why didn’t Royce and Garrett wash up in here? Maybe it was a habit because if they worked outdoors, they’d be clean before coming in the house. She located bowls and plates and placed them along with spoons on the table. Now, where were the napkins? She found them in a drawer of the Hoosier. The supply was quickly dwindling. As the so-called lady of the house, she’d be washing and ironing a lot to keep them stocked. Yeah, like washing and ironing was her favorite thing to do.

  She took another peek out the window. Here they came. Royce had folded his jacket over his arm. Texanna leaned forward to watch them approach. Royce’s shoulders looked so broad in that white dress shirt. She jumped away from the window. Oh, no. Surely he didn’t expect her to wash, starch, and iron those white shirts. If she remembered correctly, spray starch hadn’t been invented until the 1950’s. Drat! She didn’t have a clue how to make starch.

  The food was already on the table when Royce and Garrett entered the kitchen. Royce carried in a pitcher of milk from the larder and placed it on the table. Stew was in their bowls, but they’d slice and serve the cornbread at the table.

  Royce picked up all the napkins. “Don’t you want to save yourself some washing and ironing? Unless it’s Sunday or a special occasion, we share a dish towel.” He reached back and snagged the towel off the sink.

  He’s a thoughtful man. And here she thought all nineteenth-century men were brutes who wanted to be waited on hand and foot. “Thank you.”

  Royce nodded and reached for her hand, then bowed his head. Garrett’s hand felt so small in hers, Royce’s so big. Royce’s thumb stroked hers as he gave thanks. Texanna felt a chill. Seeing this man and child here at the table in prayer, reminded her of the simple pleasures in life, things taken for granted today. Well, in her time period.

  Someone milked a cow this morning to provide this milk—milk she wasn’t going to drink. She liked milk, but not the raw kind fresh from the cow. But the fresh butter was a different story. Who’d churned it for Royce and Garrett?

  “Texanna?” Royce had asked her a question. She looked up to see she still held their hands.

  “I’m sorry. I was a million miles away. What did you say?”

  “Pass the cornbread.” He cut it into squares and tried to lift a piece from the pan. It fell apart.

  Texanna groaned. It wasn’t just overdone—it was a mess. “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten one of the ingredients.” Darn, why hadn’t she taken home ec in school and learned to cook?

  “It’s fine. We can crumble it in our stew.” Royce scraped some out of the pan into Garrett’s bowl, then hers and lastly his. “Stir it up and it’ll be perfect.”

  She took a bite. It didn’t taste bad at all.

  Royce asked. “What do you think you forgot?”

  Texanna looked at the Hoosier. “The egg.” How could she be so stupid? She’d been in a hurry to paint. “I’ll do better tonight. I promise.”

  “It’s okay.” Royce patted her hand. “There’s enough left for supper tonight.”

  Thank you, God. The thought of heating the kitchen again made her cringe. It was already so hot she’d begun to sweat. She didn’t know which she missed most—air conditioning or indoor plumbing.

  “Be sure and keep water in the tank so I can wash when I get home. I’m filling in for Jason tonight and won’t be in until around midnight.” She groaned. There went any hope of the kitchen cooling off. “You don’t have to get the fire hotter, just add more water after you and Garrett have bathed.”

  She nodded. The heat issue resolved, she remembered his comment about Jason. Royce was working for Jason tonight.

  “Tonight? Did you say you’re working tonight? We need to talk tonight.” Texanna
couldn’t believe it. She needed to tell him all she’d learned about his future and Garrett’s and Jason’s.

  “Yeah, Pa. You were gonna talk to me tonight, too.” Garrett was a miniature version of his father with his blue eyes and dark hair. But he had his Uncle Matthew’s dimples. What did he inherit from Pearl? Maybe he got her love of art.

  “We’ll get to it Garrett. Don’t forget your chores this evening and mind Texanna.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Texanna bit her lip. “Is Jason’s arm still hurting?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Nah, didn’t take long for the soreness to go away.”

  Thank goodness. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but at the sight of the dirt streets, horses and mules pulling wagons, a scene right out of Gunsmoke, she’d panicked.

  Royce stood. “The stew was good, Texanna.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t take the credit. Aggie made it.”

  “You’re not afraid being out here alone, are you?”

  Afraid? Of what? “No, but you probably should show me where the guns and ammo are just in case.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “How much do you know about guns?”

  “A lot.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Whatever you’ve got, I can probably load and shoot it. I’m a pretty darn good marksman if I do say so myself.”

  Royce studied her for a minute. Four years ago, Pearl would pick up a gun if necessary, but the only one she knew how to use was the 20-gauge shotgun. And she certainly wasn’t comfortable with it, and he didn’t trust her to use it if she had to. On the nights he worked, Jason usually came out to stay so she wouldn’t be afraid. He sighed. Here was yet another mystery for him to unravel. He didn’t know whether to believe Texanna or not, but a cattle drive came through town today, and the men and cattle were camped on the Brazos. He couldn’t leave her and Garrett here defenseless. After seeing her with the boy, he didn’t worry she’d hurt him or be unkind to him. But, could she really protect Garrett and herself?

  “Garrett, scrape the dishes, and take the scraps out for the chickens.”

  He took Texanna’s elbow and escorted her upstairs to his bedroom. A gun cabinet stood next to the washstand. The key hung on a nail behind the wardrobe. As soon as he opened the door, Texanna reached in and pulled out a rifle. “Oh, my, God. An actual Winchester Repeating Rifle.” She looked at the patent markings, and then opened the chamber and sighted down the barrel. “An 1873 model short rifle.”

  The woman stupefied him. He’d never seen one so interested in firearms. He muttered. “Hold that rifle in position, and let me see if you’re strong enough to actually use the thing.”

  She weighed it in her hands for a minute. “I think I’m strong enough.” A smile of pride lit her face. “I used to shoot in the small-bore rifle competition in my 4-H Club. We went all the way to nationals one year. I used a .22, but I think this is a little heavier.” It weighed less than eight pounds, but the barrel was twenty-inches long. He watched as she held it in place for sixty seconds, more than enough time to be able to fire off the ten rounds in the chamber.

  After she’d had a chance to look it over, Royce took the rifle and put it back in the cabinet. Head in the gun case now, looking at his weapons, she whistled. “Wow, is that a genuine Peacemaker?” She flashed him a quick glance over her shoulder and asked. “Were you in the Army?”

  He nodded. The 1873 .44-caliber Colt single action revolver was standard Army issue today, but it wasn’t the one he’d used then. He’d been issued an earlier model.

  She picked it up, an expression of awe on her face. “Heavier than modern revolvers, but in a pinch I could hit something with it. Daddy inherited Granddaddy’s Colt but never would let me fire it.”

  Modern? His weapons were about as up to date as a person could get. He shook his head as he watched her test the gun’s weight, open the barrel, and spin the cylinder. Damned if she didn’t look like a gunfighter. The thought didn’t ease his mind any, just made him worry more about what the hell was going on.

  He yanked the Colt and holster from her hands and handed her the 12-gauge double-barreled short shotgun. It was his favorite for dispersing a crowd. He liked it so well, he’d bought one to keep at home. Just hearing the breech snap closed would scare off most intruders.

  “Let me see you load this scatter gun.”

  She opened the breech, plucked two shells from his hand, popped them in the barrels, and closed the breech. The butt of the gun rested on her hip, muzzle pointed toward the ceiling.

  He nodded. “Good.” Her ability to load it didn’t surprise him. Most women knew how to use the pepper gun for protection.

  “Bet this thing kicks like the devil.”

  He grinned. “Yes, it does. But it can save your life.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She stuck her chin out. “I’m not afraid to use it if I have to. Probably be bruised as all get out, but I won’t let anything happen to Garrett, I promise.”

  Royce’s heart twisted at her words. He gauged her sincerity and didn’t doubt for a moment she’d do her best to take care of his boy.

  Voice gruff, he muttered. “Don’t get these out unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’ll go out in a day or two, so you can get the feel of the shotgun and the rifle.”

  “How about the Colt? I’d like to give it a try.”

  He swallowed his laughter. The gun would knock her on her butt. “I’ll bring home a smaller handgun for you to use if necessary.”

  “I really do need to get in some practice tomorrow. I don’t have that many days to practice. Maybe I could set up a target out back and practice while you’re at work.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” The woman was a puzzle. “What do you mean, you don’t have days? I want to know what’s going on in that head of yours, woman.”

  She stuck her nose in the air and walked toward the door. On her way down the stairs back to the kitchen, she turned and tossed him a haughty look. “You will, as soon as we have our talk.”

  He followed her. “Dammit, if the town wasn’t going to be full of drunken wranglers tonight, I’d stay home so we could talk. But I can’t let my deputies work short tonight.” He wouldn’t take a chance on the town’s safety.

  She frowned. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I can wait until you have time.”

  At the back door, Royce watched her as he slipped into his jacket, strapped on his gun belt, and stood with his hat in his hand. This was one damn awkward situation. This woman, whoever she was, had fired his blood. Without knowing her identity, he wanted to make love to her. Damned if he’d leave without kissing her again.

  Casting glances over her right shoulder, she watched his every move from her position at the sink, her hands in soapy water. Her eyes conveyed apprehension and caution, but not fear. When she met his eyes, she started shaking her head.

  “Royce, this is not a good idea.”

  “What’s not a good idea?” He couldn’t keep from grinning.

  She moved from the sink and put the table between them. “You know what. Kissing.” She made flapping motions with her hands slinging soapsuds around the room. “Just go on to town.”

  He couldn’t help it. Laughter erupted. He faked a lunge to the left and caught her as she moved to the right. Arms locked around her waist, he grinned down at her. Then sobered when he remembered what she’d done to Jason and how she’d thrown him on his butt. That was just one more thing they needed to discuss. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “I won’t be home for dinner tonight. I’ll get something at Maybell’s Restaurant.”

  “Good.”

  “Think you’ll miss me?”

  She snorted. “Miss you my as…”

  Never one to pass up an opportunity, he seized the moment and kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth. Just when he was beginning to enjoy her taste, she bit down with just enough force to hold him captive. He tried to pull back but she wouldn’t turn
loose. Thank God she didn’t draw blood. She fluttered her eyes at him.

  The vixen was asking for it. And he was here to oblige. With both hands he grabbed her buttocks, squeezed, and jerked her against him. She shrieked in rage. His tongue escaped unharmed.

  On the way out the door, he flashed a grin. “Don’t wait up for me, darlin’. I’ll wake you when I come to bed.”

  Her screech of fury followed him out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Royce was tired to the bone. He’d broken up two fights between wranglers, and put one of the cowboys in jail for shooting the poker dealer at Cotton’s Saloon. On top of that, he was covered with dirt from lending a hand to old Jeb Mason who was driving his straggling steers off Clay Street and out to where his herd was grazing. Tomorrow he’d have to hand Jeb a bill for the damage his steers had done to the buildings. The scared cattle had bumped porch posts, causing the roofs to collapse.

  He curried Samson and turned him into the pasture to forage until morning. The night was too nice for the animal to be cooped-up in the barn. It wouldn’t be long until he’d have to find a horse for Garrett. When he’d decided to build on the edge of town, he’d bought as much acreage as possible. Horses need space to run, and at the time, he’d hoped he and Pearl would have several children needing horses. Many hopes died the day Pearl disappeared.

  The memory of kissing Texanna after dinner made him smile. She was a gutsy woman. He admired that about her. Four years ago, he wouldn’t have grabbed Pearl’s butt as he’d done today. She would have died of embarrassment and said, “Royce, it’s the middle of the day!” But then again, she wouldn’t have avoided his kiss. This woman, who looked so much like his Pearl, was as different from her as night and day. Look at the way she’d handled his guns. Yes, she was definitely changed, and he was anxious for them to have time alone to talk.

  He carried the round tin tub in from the back porch to the kitchen. Ah, Texanna remembered to fill the reservoir so he had warm water to bath. He sank into the tub with a sigh of pure enjoyment. Soon he’d order a real bathtub. One you could lean back in and soak. Maybe they could find a place in the house where they didn’t have to move it around, some place close to the kitchen and hot water. He’d put in a wood stove so they wouldn’t freeze in the winter.