A Texan's Promise (9 page)

Unable to help himself, he glanced at her back. Though she was clad in a long white camisole and petticoat, his eyes only looked for her injury. Even in the dim candlelight he could spy the marks on her back. Sure enough, the welts were still there, angry and bright red. Purple bruises had formed around the cuts. Highlighting the trouble they'd seen. Reminding Clayton once again that while they may pretend their marriage was an easy one, there were a number of undefined aspects to their relationship.

"I have some ointment. You want more on your back?" He swallowed as he heard how his voice sounded more husky than usual. As God as his witness, he did not want to run his fingers along her skin again.

But as true as that was, he also couldn't seem to think of anything else.

"No." She slipped a nightgown over her head. "Mary slathered quite a bit on me. If you don't mind, I don't want to think of those cuts right now. Not tonight."

No, not on her wedding night.

Together, they reached the bed. After Vanessa eased down and finally rested on her side, he doused the candle and lay beside her.

Below them, the horses blew out air and shifted, causing the worn oak planks that comprised the barn to creak and moan. A faint burst of air wafted through a chink in the mud that Ken had used to seal some of the biggest gaps in the walls.

In some ways, sleeping in a barn was harder than sleeping outside. It gave the illusion of warmth, but the reality was that it was almost as chilly as the night air outside. Plus, they had no fire to warm them up.

Vanessa shifted by his side, huddled onto the hard mattress."It's cold."

Clayton curled his toes, hoping to warm them up. "It is.Would it be shameful to admit I miss sleeping near a fire?"

"I hope not, because I was thinking that, too. I wouldn't have minded sleeping on their parlor floor."

"They wanted to give us privacy for tonight. I had to accept, Van. Everyone needs to think that this is a real marriage."

"It is. And one day it will be." Vanessa shivered.

Clayton wondered if she shivered from the thought of a real wedding night or if she was thinking once again of Price's pain.

No matter what, he wanted to comfort her. "If we lie closer, the heat will warm us both. Come here, honey."

Gingerly, she laid her head on his shoulder again, against his heart. Little by little her heat mixed with his, offering him solace as well as the knowledge that one day, perhaps, she'd lie against him in a far different manner, her soft skin inviting his touch.

That idea, along with Vanessa's sweet form next to him, made Clayton realize that sleep was not going to come. How could it when all he could think about was their future—the marriage he'd promised himself he'd give her?

There was no way he was going to be able to sleep a wink.More to the point, there was no way he could go through another night of sharing a bed with Vanessa. Even though her eyes had drifted closed, he murmured, "Van, maybe we should leave tomorrow. This bed, being with you like this, I'm not real comfortable, if you want to know the truth."

"Oh. Of course, Clayton. Whatever you think best. I . . .I feel the same way."

Clayton pretended he didn't notice that regret tinged her words. Just as he pretended he never wished things could be different.

Price's hands were on her again.
"Stop!" she cried, thrashing against his weight.

"Vanessa!"

She twisted her hips. Screamed again when rough fingers tore at her skirts. Tore at her petticoat. She knew what was to come. Flinching, she fought to escape.

"Van. Vanessa!"

In a panic, she opened her eyes. The room was dark. She was trapped.

"Vanessa, honey, wake up."

Two arms curved around her. Held her close, so close that if she tried hard enough, she knew she could pretend she was hidden.

"Shh. Shh. It's all right."

Slowly, she opened her eyes again as she breathed deep.Little by little, she recognized the scent. Clayton.

It was Clayton who held her. Not Price. She was in Clay's arms; he was holding her close. Wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She'd been dreaming. Struggling for control, she pulled away.

He let her go, but never looked away. "Are you all right? You're shaking like a leaf."

She wasn't all right. She felt nauseous and sick. Everything she'd tried so hard to push away was scaring her, preventing her from catching her breath. "I . . . I was dreaming about Price."

"Oh, honey." Ever so slowly, he opened his arms to her again. He offered security and comfort. And, like last night, he offered warm memories of him making everything better.Wrapping an arm around her, he held her close. Pressing his lips to her brow, he rocked her like a child. She let him.

"It's over, remember? He can't hurt you again. I promise you, sugar, he'll never touch you again."

"It felt so real."

"It was just a dream."

But it had been more than that. For a brief time, it had been her only reality.

Little by little, she became more aware of her surroundings.Of Clayton's bay rum and tobacco scent. Of how fresh and clean the quilts felt around them. Of the coolness of the night.

As the air cleared a bit and she became more aware of the faint sound of the horses below, of the howling wind outside, she relaxed a bit. She was with Clayton. He would protect her.Just as he always had.

"I wonder what brought this on?" he murmured after a few moments. "Have you been having these dreams all the time and I've been sleeping through them?"

"No." Some memories had clawed at her while riding, but she'd firmly pushed them away. But this was the first time that she'd dreamed of Price, dreamed of what had really happened, and hadn't been able to push those thoughts away.

After a moment or two, he pressed his lips to her brow again. "Sometimes talking about things can make them better, Van," he said quietly. "You know, you didn't tell me much that night. Maybe it would be better if you talked about what happened."

"No."

He shifted so they faced each other. "I've had my share of bad nightmares, Van. During the war, I saw things. . . . I did things for which I'm not proud. Nothing you could say would shock me."

Vanessa knew better. If Clayton knew what had really happened, he would be far worse than shocked. He'd never look at her the same.

And she couldn't face that. To see that knowledge in his eyes every time they came in contact with each other would be more than she could bear.

Almost worse than reliving Price's attack again. The pain. The horrible, horrible feeling of helplessness under his weight.

She'd almost been glad for his belt.

"I can't talk about it, Clayton. I'm sorry."

After a moment's pause, he nodded, then climbed out of bed. "I understand." With methodical movements, he slipped on his boots and denims. "Dawn's about to break. I'm going to go check on the horses. You go back to sleep, sweetheart."

Panic rushed forth. "Clay—"

"I'll just be down the ladder. I promise. Close your eyes and try to get some sleep, sugar. We'll leave in a few hours."

To her shame, when she was finally alone, the tears came again. Silently, she cried. Muffling her sobs with her fist. Little by little, exhaustion overtook her. As long as Clayton never knew the truth, they would be all right.

As long as they never talked about things, she could pretend they didn't happen. Almost.

Their hasty departure was met with confusion from Mary and a too knowledgeable look from Ken.

"Why don't you stay longer, Clayton?" Mary asked while they were finishing up their breakfast of biscuits and eggs."The trail to Colorado will still be there in a week or two.Besides, Vanessa and I've hardly gotten to know each other."

After a pause, Clayton replied. "Thank you, Mary, but we were thinking it might be best if we moved on."

Everyone glanced at Vanessa, and she could feel her cheeks heat. Mary had brought out a carafe of coffee to the barn early that morning. After placing it and two thick mugs on a small table, she called up to them that she was leaving it, then hurried back to the house. She hadn't known that Clayton was in one of the back stalls organizing their gear.

Moments later, just as Vanessa had been sitting up, he'd carried her up a mug of coffee. She'd accepted it gratefully but had been afraid to meet his gaze. Yet again, their relationship had turned again. Her dream had reminded them both just how extreme their situation was.

They weren't together because they'd fallen in love. They were married and on the run because she'd been attacked. The last thing they needed was to pretend everything was just fine in front of the Willoughbys.

But, oh, how she was going to miss their snug house and the soft feather comforters. She was certainly going to miss being clean and off of her horse.

Just as importantly, Vanessa knew she would have also enjoyed getting to know Mary. She'd had precious few women friends over the years, ranch life being what it was. Vanessa would have enjoyed the companionship as well as the many things she was sure Mary could teach her about running a home and raising a family.

"We do thank you for your hospitality," Clayton added."And, of course, for the wedding ceremony."

Ken picked up a formal-looking slip of paper that he'd placed on a sideboard. "I almost forgot. Here's your marriage certificate."

Without unfolding it, Clayton slipped it in his broadcloth's pocket. They finished the rest of their meal in almost silence.An hour later, their saddlebags were packed and Coco and Lee were ready.

"I hope we'll meet again," Vanessa said to Mary after she'd hugged Sam, Lanie, and Pete good-bye.

"I hope the same. And I'll pray for you, dear, and hope your trip continues safely. I'll pray for you and Clayton, too." Mary whispered in her ear, "I have a feeling you two are going to do just fine together."

"I hope so," Vanessa said before saying good-bye to Ken.Then, just as the sun gleamed a broad morning glow across the prairie, Clayton helped Vanessa mount Coco, then led the way back to the trail. Coco pranced a bit, looking refreshed and eager to be on her way.

As they meandered to the valley, then proceeded west, miles passed until the Willoughby's impressive home faded into the distance. As a hawk flew overhead, the cool breeze turned heated, and the man next to her became ever more vigilant, Vanessa only knew one thing for certain. A certifi- cate in his pocket tied them together. So had their vows. For better or worse, they were man and wife.

But inside, she felt as alone and confused as ever.

Ten days later they arrived in Santa Fe. The town's streets were parched and dusty. Tall, two-armed cacti dotted the outskirts, their brilliant green silhouettes standing vigilantly like soldiers. In the distance, snow covered the mountains.

"I thought we'd stay in a hotel tonight," Clayton said as he nodded to a band of vaqueros keeping watch near the worn faded wood fronting an old boarding house. "Sleeping in a room with four walls instead of the open air will be a welcome change."

"Sleeping in a bed sounds like heaven," Vanessa admitted, eyeing other stucco-covered buildings with interest, fascinated with how their colors mingled with the hues of the earth and how their interiors looked cozy and comfortable.

Almost every day they'd ridden for hours, rising at sunrise, dismounting at sunset. With the exception of two of the days, when they'd only ridden three or four hours in order for the horses to rest, she and Clayton had stopped only to rest and water the horses.

Their pace was so hard, Vanessa sometimes wondered if Clayton was rushing to his sister or running from her stepfather.

Vanessa wasn't sure what guided their pace. Now that the searing memories of Price's attack were fading, she felt more confused than ever. Had the Lord brought her and Clayton together for love and marriage, or for her protection, as he seemed to think?

She began to have small, quiet doubts about everything they'd left behind, too. Maybe things wouldn't have been all that bad if she'd stayed. Maybe her mother and Miles would've eventually helped her stand up to Price.

Maybe things would've just been better if everything had stayed the same. Of course, there was no use wishing for what could have been. Nothing in their lives would ever be like it used to be. They were on a journey—one that circumstances had foisted on them. More than anything, they needed to see it through to the end. They needed to trust in God and pray that they'd understand His will.

As they made their way through the streets of Santa Fe, Vanessa hoped to see those signs from God, letting her know that everything was happening just as it should. She'd feel better if she was reassured that He was leading them in the right direction.

She looked around the bustling town expectantly, hoping for something, anything, to signal reassurance. But all she saw were men and women going about their business.

"We'll stop right here, at this general store," Clayton murmured, just moments before pulling on Lee's reins. "We need some supplies."

Vanessa hurried to halt Coco as well.

Two boys about fourteen years old hurried to greet them at the livery. "Ma'am. Sir," the shortest one said, tipping his floppy straw hat.

Clayton threw them both a coin. "Rub down the horses, then take our bags to the hotel."

"Yes sir."

After Vanessa rearranged her skirts, she clasped Clayton's forearms as he swung her out of the saddle. "Yes, I sure will enjoy a bath tonight," she declared brightly, hoping he wouldn't see the hurt she felt when he stepped away from her the moment her boots touched ground. What had happened to the tangles of awareness that had been strung between them the night in the Willoughby's barn? "And to wash my hair."

"I'm ready to shave with warm water," he admitted, leading her inside the mercantile. "My cheeks will thank me, I believe."

The front face of the store was made of reddish clay bricks.Its architecture was intriguing, though it was hardly bigger than a line shack at the Circle Z.

After a moment, they were greeted immediately by a man dressed in black from head to toe.

"Clayton Proffitt," the somewhat rotund proprietor said, flashing a grin. "Never thought I'd set eyes on you again."

Clayton laughed. "I was thinking just the opposite about you, Hank. I'd hoped you'd still be here." For the first time in two days, he curved a hand around Vanessa's waist, bringing her closer to him. "Please meet Vanessa, my wife."

"Mrs. Proffitt," Hank nodded, his gaze full of frank appreciation.

"How do you do?" Vanessa asked, hardly aware of anything except for Clayton's touch—and his introduction. This was the first time she'd heard herself referred to as Mrs. Proffitt.The title felt right.

When he ran his hand down her arm, finally linking her fingers with his own, Vanessa once again felt a pull toward him that had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with the memories of his kiss on their wedding day.

"I do fine, real fine," Hank replied before turning to Clayton."Didn't know you got yerself hitched, Captain. It's a big country, but I still manage to hear things from time to time."

"Our marriage, it was a recent thing."

"Well, ain't that something? That's even better! Congratulations."

"Thank you," Vanessa replied, though she couldn't help but notice that Clayton looked uncomfortable.

After clearing his throat, he released her hand. "Honey, you want to look around for a spell?"

"Of course," she said with a smile. Though the store was small, it looked to be packed with treasures, and it was toasty warm. After miles and miles of staring at vast open spaces, the cramped mercantile was a welcome change.

Clayton forced himself to turn away from his wife when he noticed Hank regarding him with a bemused expression. "So.Did you ever marry again, Hank?"

"Nope. After Penny, no woman seemed like a right fit." He shrugged. "Besides, women are hard to come by here in New Mexico Territory." He winked. "At least the good ones, anyway.Mrs. Proffitt is a real lady, Captain. You must be proud."

"I am, thank you." Looking at his old friend, he shook his head. During the war, Hank had always been on the skinny side. Now, his girth seemed to have grown with the size of his store. "By the looks of things, I'd say you're doing fine for yourself."

"Good enough. We get lots of travelers pressing through to California here. Business is good. So good I'll likely never leave Santa Fe. Where you headed?"

"Colorado."

Hank whistled low. "It's gonna get colder."

"That's a fact." Clayton looked at Vanessa again. Remembering just how little he'd stuffed in that pillowcase, he said, "We're going to need a few things. My wife needs a coat and thick gloves. Do you know anyone who could help her out?"

"Me, for one. I've got some ready-made things out back. A girl named Callie sews them up real fine. You staying at the Las Brisas Hotel?"

"We are."

"I'll send her over to the hotel with a couple of things later on. Mrs. Proffitt can pick and choose there."

"Sounds good."

Clayton watched Vanessa, fingering the bolts of fabric with a rapt expression. Her purely feminine interest brought forth a pull of possessiveness. Though their circumstances were rocky at best, Vanessa had somehow become his wife. His, for the world to see. He felt a surge of pride.

Lowering his voice, he said, "Hank, we got married a few days back, but I didn't have a ring. You got any?"

"Always." Hank chuckled. "I'd hardly be worth my weight if I didn't have some on hand. We get our share of shotgun weddings out here." After unlocking a safe, he pulled out a thin gold band. "Will this do?"

Fingering the band, Clayton felt the metal heat up under his touch. Though there was no fancy scroll work, nothing to signify it as different from any other wedding band, Clayton knew it was the right choice. It represented the vows he'd said, the companionship he felt with Vanessa, and everything he'd hoped their marriage could one day be.

A long-forgotten quotation from 2 Corinthians came to mind. "
I will gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well."
How true those words felt right at that moment!

When he realized Hank was still waiting for a reply, Clayton nodded. "It'll be fine." Reaching into his pocket, he asked, "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a thing. This is my treat."

Surprised, Clayton tore his gaze from the ring. "Hank, that's not how I do things."

"Good, 'cause this here's my store. It's how I want to do things that counts."

Clayton felt shamed. Was it that obvious he didn't have a lot of extra money? Pulling out his roll of cash, he prepared to salvage his pride. "I don't want charity."

"I'm not offering you charity." Hank stopped the gesture with a hand to his arm. "It's for payment due," he muttered, his voice turning serious. "I owe you, Captain."

Memories of patrolling East Texas hit him hard. In an instant, Clayton could feel the hot, sticky humidity, remember the feel of chiggers on his skin and the terrible gnawing of ever-present hunger settling in the pit of his stomach. They'd been desperate, indeed. His boots had worn out, his uniform was long gone, and only a handful of bullets resided in his pockets. The only thing any of them had had in abundance was respect for one another. "We're both lucky to have survived.You don't owe me a thing."

"I know you don't want to speak of it, but we both know better. Those days when you read the Bible to me, talked to me about your faith and Jesus . . . it got me through more than you'll ever know. Your words pulled me along and carried my weight, Captain. I'll never forget."

Since Vanessa was approaching, Clayton slipped the ring in his pocket. "Then I'm much obliged."

"What was that all about?" Vanessa asked as they walked toward the hotel.

Still stung by the memories, Clayton pushed them away."Nothing. Just talk from the war."

"Hank rode with you, too?"

That surprised a chuckle from him. "No. He was a farmer."Images of them both, far younger and greener, floated back.Hank had been married to Penny, the sweetest girl this side of the Mississippi. To hear him tell it, Hank's life had been idyllic until the war. Soon after his family left to go fight, the Yankees had come and taken all their livestock.

Clayton had brought his unit there just days later, billeting in Hank's home for the night. The man had been dead-set against it, fearful for the safety of his wife. "There's nothing left," he'd said, though Clayton and Merritt and Ken and Will and the others knew Hank wasn't speaking of his things. He was guarding his woman, and they'd respected that.

The atrocity of Galveston was still fresh in their minds.It had been raining for a week. Clayton hadn't slept in three days. Mud had seeped into what was left of his boots, had embedded itself into every inch of his blistered feet.

One of his men had been shot and was most likely going to lose his arm to gangrene, if they got him to a surgeon at all.There had been no way he was going to make his men stand in the rain for one more minute. "We don't want anything except a dry place to lie down," he'd said. "I promise."

To most men, Clayton's iron will and no-nonsense tone would have instilled fear—or at least a healthy respect.

But instead of cowing, Hank simply crossed his arms over his chest. One skinny frame defending everything he had against a band of seasoned soldiers. "Promises don't mean nothing. Not anymore, they don't."

"They do to me. I'm a man of my word."

Hank had stared hard at him. "If you're a liar, I'll hunt you down."

"If I was a liar, I'd expect you to," Clayton had replied with a level look.

They'd ended up staying five days. Hank's wife Penny doctored Billy's arm, cleaning his wound and placing a poultice on it to draw out the infection. Hank and Clayton had forged a bond over chicory coffee, the Word, and a bushel of wormy apples.

He and his men had left hungry but dry—and with filled souls, which still counted for a lot. As a gift, he left Hank with an extra rifle so he could protect his wife.

Later on, someone had heard that Penny had died of the influenza.

He was surprised Hank remembered him so well. Surely there'd been a hundred more strangers who had passed through his farm before the war ended.

Clayton took Vanessa's elbow and guided her into the hotel. It was beautiful, and a far sight grander than many he'd seen in some time.

Vanessa looked around wide-eyed, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Which, of course, seemed to bring every randy man running.He needed to get that ring on her finger as soon as possible.