Authors: Leigh Greenwood
“How are people supposed to talk to him?”
“Meet him in town or at the saloon. Everybody knows he’s liable to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Why didn’t you tell Amanda?”
“I didn’t think she needed to know.”
“She does if she’s going to work alongside her cowhands.”
“I don’t want her working alongside her hands. I don’t want her working on that ranch at all.”
Broc knew where Corby was going, but he was determined to make the man say what he wanted instead of hint at it. “Why should she pay any attention to what you want?”
“I intend to marry her.”
“Maybe she
wants
to work on the ranch. Maybe she likes making the important decisions about her life.”
“A lady shouldn’t want to work, and she should leave all the important decisions to her husband. That’s what Aman-da’s mother wants for her.”
Apparently when Amanda and Corby were together he did all the talking and none of the listening. If he had, he’d know Amanda wasn’t like her mother. She had enjoyed her day in the saddle. She’d been intent on learning everything she could from him and Leo, from the kind of grass under their feet to the varieties of birds in the trees. She’d even asked Broc to write out a schedule of the things that should be done each month during the year.
“If you want to marry Amanda, you should talk to her more, find out what she wants. It’s not what you might think.”
The magnitude of the condescension in Corby’s smile made it downright insulting. “I know all there is to know about Amanda. I know her better than she knows herself.”
Right then and there Broc decided that if he did nothing else before he left Cactus Bend, he was going to see that Amanda didn’t marry Corby Wilson. It would be better for her to die an old maid than have to suffer living as his wife.
“No man knows all there is to know about any woman, not even after being married for fifty years. That’s part of the wonder of females. No matter how much you know, or think you know, they’re full of surprises. It’s like a treasure hunt that never ends but just keeps getting better.”
What was wrong with him? He was sounding like his happily married friends, not the self-possessed, cynical bachelor he’d become. He didn’t know a damned thing about women, didn’t like surprises, and had never been on a treasure hunt. Obsessing over Amanda was affecting his mind.
“That’s all the advice I have for the evening. Now I think I’ll have that drink.”
“You’re wasting your time with Amanda.”
Broc had started to reenter the saloon, but he turned back to Corby. “What makes you say that?”
“I know you’ve fallen in love with her. She’s so beautiful you couldn’t stop yourself. Nobody can.”
Whatever the state of his feelings for Amanda, they were none of Corby’s concern. “I’m only going to be here for a little more than a week. I doubt Amanda will feel more than a twinge when I leave.”
Corby laughed. “I’m not worried about Amanda. She could never be interested in anyone who looks like you. I just wanted to let you know she’s already spoken for.”
His face again! Was it possible for anyone to see beyond the scars to the man inside? Before the war he’d been a song-and-dance man, dazzling people with his performances and his looks. It seemed no one had ever been interested in who he was as a person.
“I’m not normally one to tell another man his business, but I’m not sure Amanda knows she’s spoken for.”
Corby’s confidence remained unshaken. “We’ve had an understanding for a long time, even before her father died.”
And they weren’t married yet? All the more reason for Broc to think Amanda wasn’t nearly as enamored of Corby as he thought. There was no more to be said, so Broc nodded to Corby, went inside to the bar, and asked Gil to bring him a whiskey. He needed something stronger than beer. Over the next two hours Corby came over to talk to Broc at least once every fifteen minutes. That annoyed Broc so much he had a second whiskey. Corby was standing next to him when Amanda approached them.
“I need to talk to you,” she said to Corby.
“We can talk after I close up.”
“I have to go home before my usual time so I can get up early tomorrow. That’s part of what I wanted to talk about.”
Corby wasn’t happy about that. Broc figured he had no right overhearing any part of this conversation, but he couldn’t make himself leave. Amanda wasn’t his responsibility, but he was determined Corby wasn’t going to pressure her into doing something she didn’t want to do.
“You know the men depend on you being here,” Corby said.
“I don’t have any choice,” Amanda said. “Now that Gary has left home, I have to take over what he’s been doing.”
“I’ll tell him to move back. I’ll fire him if he doesn’t.”
She glanced at Broc. “Don’t. It would just make him angrier, maybe angry enough to leave town.”
“He’s only a boy. He couldn’t go anywhere.”
“He’s seventeen,” Broc reminded Corby. “I’d been working away from home for nearly ten years by then.”
Both looked at him in surprise. Apparently Amanda was going to ask what he’d been doing, but Corby spoke first.
“I’ll marry you and take care of everything. Just set the date.”
Amanda didn’t meet Corby’s gaze. “We’ve already been over this. I’m not ready to get married.”
“You’re nineteen years old!” Corby exclaimed. “How much older do you have to be?” He’d spoken so loudly, several heads turned in their direction.
“You know my feelings on this.” Amanda spoke so softly, Broc had to strain to hear her over the noise in the saloon.
“I know all about your wanting to be in love, but I’ve told you that’s not a sound basis for marriage.”
If Broc hadn’t disliked the man so much, he might have felt sorry for him. He knew what it was like to be in love with a woman who wasn’t in love with him.
My God! Had he fallen in love with Amanda? She hardly
knew he existed. As a potential husband, he was essentially invisible. It was incredibly stupid to have let his emotions get so far out of control. What was it about Amanda that had dismantled his common sense?
What an idiot! He deserved to be locked up in jail.
“…more money as long as Gary isn’t helping us.”
Broc had been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d lost track of the conversation. He wasn’t surprised Amanda would ask for more money, nor was he surprised Corby didn’t want to give it to her.
“You know the only reason I can pay you more than the other girls is that you sing a couple of songs now and then. If you worked more hours, the men would slip you a few more coins.”
“Corby, I just said I needed to work
fewer
hours, not more.”
“I can’t pay you more money for less work. That ought to make sense even to a woman.”
Maybe Corby understood how to run a saloon—decent food, decent liquor, and pretty girls was a good combination—but he didn’t know how to make himself attractive as husband material.
“I understand, even though I’m a woman,” Amanda said, struggling to control her temper, “but I was hoping you’d help me find a way to be worth more to the saloon.”
“You’d have to do more. Sing more. Even dance.”
“But I can barely sing to Oscar’s playing.”
“He’s the best in town. It’s Oscar or no one.”
“Actually that’s not true,” Broc said. “I can play for Amanda.”
“You can play the piano?”
Broc didn’t know why Amanda should be so shocked. She really knew nothing about him.
“Amanda doesn’t need anyone who can play with just two fingers.” Clearly Corby didn’t believe he could play.
“I’ll show you.”
They followed him over to the piano, which had been mercifully quiet for the last several minutes.
“What do you want to hear? A waltz? A march? A ballad?”
“Play whatever you want,” Amanda said.
Broc played one of the dance tunes that had been popular when he played for the riverboats. When that was over, he played a waltz. It wasn’t until he’d finished that he realized the noise in the saloon had fallen so low, he could barely hear the whispered voices.
“Can you play ‘Turkey in the Straw’?” someone asked.
Broc broke into a rendition so spirited, several men started dancing. It was twenty minutes before he stopped taking requests. By the time he finished, the top of the piano was lined with drinks and coins from grateful patrons.
“Can you sing something?” someone shouted.
Broc obliged with a tune that was as racy as it was lively. The men wanted more, but Broc said it was time for Oscar to take over again.
“You gotta get rid of Oscar and hire this man,” one of the men said. “I ain’t heard nothing that good since I left New Orleans.”
Broc gathered up the coins and handed them to Amanda. He wrapped her fingers around them when she tried to refuse.
“You were wonderful,” Amanda said. “I couldn’t believe it when you just sat down and played like it was the easiest thing in the world. I’ve never seen anybody do that. It’s just amazing.”
Broc was caught between happiness Amanda thought he was wonderful and sadness that it was only because he could sing and play the piano. He wanted to be more than a trained bear whose only value was to entertain people. He wanted to be a person who was loved and valued for himself. So far it seemed the only people who saw his true self were the men who’d served with him during the war.
“I’ll give you Oscar’s job,” Corby said. “He never got the men to stop talking long enough to listen to anything he played.”
“I don’t want his job,” Broc told Corby, “but I’ll play for Amanda so she can earn more money and work fewer hours.”
“I’ll pay you twice what I pay Oscar to work here full time,” Corby offered. “If you can entertain everybody like you did tonight, this place will be packed.”
Broc could practically see dollar signs in Corby’s eyes, but he had no desire to add to the man’s wealth or importance in town. “I’m going to be here for only a little more than a week, so it would be unfair to push any man out of his job.” He turned to Amanda. “What songs do you sing?”
Amanda knew only six songs she felt comfortable singing. He knew five of them and figured he could fake the other one after she hummed the tune.
“Let’s try one and see what happens,” Broc said.
“But we haven’t practiced together,” Amanda protested.
“Just ignore me and sing like you usually do,” Broc said. “I’ll follow you.”
Amanda appeared skeptical, but Broc had spent several years accompanying anybody who wanted to get up and sing. That included farmers who couldn’t carry a tune, spoiled children with high squeaky voices, over-the-hill opera singers, and women who were convinced their local church choir would have fallen apart without them.
“I’m used to Oscar.”
“Then pretend I’m Oscar,” Broc said.
Amanda shrugged, turned to face the men in the saloon, and started to sing. Broc found the key and began with a simple single-note accompaniment. Once he was sure they were feeling the same rhythm, he started to add more notes until both hands were busy. Amanda’s singing gained confidence as they went along. By the time she finished the third verse, she had all the men in the saloon tapping their feet. When Broc sang a harmony line on the last verse, Amanda’s eyes widened in surprise. The saloon erupted in applause as they finished. She had to sing all six songs before the men would let them stop.
Amanda looked so happy and excited, Broc felt the same way. It didn’t matter that they weren’t happy about the same things. He was willing to take what he could get. She went back to waiting on tables and he went back to the bar to kill time until her evening was over and he would escort her home. He was surprised when Gary approached him.
“I didn’t know you could play like that,” he said.
“Your sister is a fine singer. You should be proud of her.”
Gary’s expression clouded. “I would if she wanted to work here instead of on that ranch. I hate cows.”
Broc laughed. “Lots of people do.”
“Then why do Mama and Amanda like them so much?”
“I doubt it’s the cows they like so much as the kind of life owning a ranch gives them.”
“What does it give them but getting up with the chickens—I hate chickens by the way—and working until you’re so tired you don’t feel like eating?”
“Some women don’t like being stared at. Others think certain kinds of work aren’t respectable. Others simply like different things. I think your sister likes the freedom the ranch gives her.”
“The freedom to work like a slave and still not make money.”
“The ranch will become very profitable in time. Your father made a wise decision when he bought that bull. Nobody says you have to like the Lazy T, but don’t let it drive you away from your family.”
“It didn’t. They did. I gotta go. Seems like everybody’s thirsty at once.”
“Think about it,” Broc said. “They miss you.”
Broc couldn’t tell whether Gary believed him. He just hoped the boy wouldn’t cut himself off from his family. Broc’s scars had done that for him. Much of his family’s success had been based on the handsomeness of the family. They would have no place for a disfigured monster. It was better for him to stay in Texas. Cows didn’t care what he looked like.
“I still can’t get over it.”
Amanda had said that so many times, Broc cringed.
“It’s not so surprising,” he said. “It’s what my family did. It was our work just as waiting tables is yours or tending bar is Gary’s.”
“It doesn’t take any talent to do what we do,” Amanda said.
“Everything takes talent, even serving beer. It’s just a different kind of talent.”
“I refuse to let you make light of your piano playing,” Amanda said. “It was wonderful. Incredible. You had everybody in the saloon whistling, humming, tapping their feet, even singing. Corby was so happy I thought he’d burst his buttons.”
“Forget about Corby. He was thinking only about how much more money he could make, which is good, because I intend to make sure you get a chunk of it.”
Amanda turned to gaze at him. “Why are you doing this? You’re going to jail if you don’t collect this debt we don’t owe. You should be trying to prove the debt is real. Instead you’ve forgotten about the debt and are helping me on the ranch as well as in the saloon.”
The light buggy bounced uncomfortably over the wheel tracks in the road, but the sky was clear, the air soft and mild. It was the kind of evening when the drive between town and the ranch would be much too short, when the words that could never be uttered were the only words he wanted to say. It was also the kind of evening when a man who wasn’t careful to keep a tight rein on his heart could imagine anything could come true. When that man was sitting next to a beautiful woman whose eyes sparkled with excitement and whose face was wreathed in smiles, keeping a tight rein on his emotions was impossible. It was too easy to invest that excitement, that happiness, with another meaning.
“I suppose there are lots of reasons why I’m doing it,” he said, “but the only one that matters is that I want to.”
“Why? You don’t know me or my family. You’re going to jail because of us.”
Why? Because he was certain there was something going on here that needed to be brought to the light. Because he was certain the Liscombs
did
owe the debt. Because he had to do something to fill up the days before he went back to Crystal Springs. Because they needed help and didn’t have
it. Because he hated to see someone like Carruthers bully people who weren’t as rich or strong as he was. Because he didn’t want them to lose the ranch. Because it gave him a chance to perform again, to enjoy the nectar of applause. Because it gave him a chance to spend whole days with a beautiful woman he was falling in love with.
But maybe the real reason he was doing all of this, or any of this, was because Amanda was the only woman he’d ever met who seemed unaware that his face was hideously scarred.
“What else am I going to do?” That wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was safer.
“You could go back to California.”
“I have to serve my time in jail. I’ll figure out what to do after that.”
“You could come back here. Corby would practically get down on his knees and beg.”
If she had said come back and
work with me
he might not have been able to resist, but she didn’t. “We’ll see. Now we need to talk about teaching you some new songs.”
They talked about which songs she thought the men would like best, when to practice, whether she should sing solo or if he should add harmony, but he was barely able to hold up his end of the conversation because his mind was consumed by the effort it took to keep from touching her, putting his arm around her, even kissing her. The only thing he’d ever done that was harder was to accept what had happened to his face. It was almost a relief when he pulled the buggy to a stop before the ranch house.
“Thanks for seeing me home,” she said as he handed her down, “and thanks for volunteering to help me at the saloon.”
“I enjoyed both.”
“I can hardly wait for tomorrow. I haven’t been so excited about anything since we moved from Mississippi. Please come
back after you get out of jail. You’ve only been here a few days, and already I feel like I’ve known you forever. I’d love for us to work together.”
She said it!
Us. Him and her. Not her family. Not Corby. Not anyone else. Just him and her. “I’ll think about it.”
She gripped both of his hands and looked full into his eyes. “Are you sure?”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure of anything. He could barely form a coherent thought. Visions of impossibilities bloomed with the profusion of bluebonnets in the spring. He looked into her eyes and saw the possibility of happiness. What had seemed impossible for so long, now seemed to be within his grasp. All he needed to do was reach out and take it.
So he kissed her.
It was impossible to tell whether it lasted a second or a minute. Everything around them—the horse blowing through its nostrils, the breeze that teased her hair, moths that danced in the light from the window—faded into nothingness. Nothing existed but the two of them.
Her lips were unbelievably soft and sweet. He had imagined they would be, but reality outstripped his imagination. Everything felt so different, he might as well never have kissed a woman before. Was this how it was supposed to be when everything was right, when a man found the one woman meant for him? If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. If it was his imagination, he didn’t want to face reality. If this was his only chance, he wanted to stay here forever. Nothing else mattered. Only this. It was perfect. It was sublime. It was magic.
Until Amanda jumped back with an expression on her face that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He tried to speak, but his words came out in a strangled whisper. She opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind. She turned and ran inside without looking back.
It took a moment for the importance of what had happened to sink in. When it did, Broc felt the strength go out of him in a rush. He stumbled as he turned and walked back to the buggy. He leaned against it, took deep, controled breaths to slow his racing heart. Gradually the pounding in his head began to ease. Slowly, inevitably, he returned to reality and the grim realization of what he’d done.
He might as well saddle up and leave tonight. She would probably fire him first thing in the morning. She certainly wouldn’t want him to play for her in the saloon. Once she told Corby what he’d done, Corby wouldn’t want him, either.
He took an exceptionally deep breath and forced himself to stand erect. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself. He’d done what he knew he shouldn’t have done. Now he’d have to abide by the consequences.
“Come on,” he said to the horse. “It’s time for both of us to get some sleep.”
The horse didn’t seem particularly interested in Broc’s need for rest, but it was eager to get out of the harness, so it followed readily. Broc’s steps were heavy and slow, which caused the horse to nudge him along.
“Impatient, are you? I was, too, so let that be a lesson to you.”
But as he walked, his steps grew lighter, his spirits started to rise. Finally a smile played across his lips.
“At least I got one kiss.”
“You’re home early,” her mother said when Amanda walked into the house.
Amanda’s mind was in such turmoil, she couldn’t concentrate. She didn’t want to talk to her mother, but she knew it would be worse if she went straight to her room. Her mother would know something was wrong, and Amanda couldn’t explain to her mother what she couldn’t explain to herself.
“I told Corby I had to leave early because I need to get up early now that Gary has left.”
Her mother’s expression grew animated. “Did you talk to him? When is he coming home?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him.”
“Why not? I told you just before you left you had to talk to him. I even told you what to say.”
“Broc convinced me that would only make Gary angrier, more reluctant to come home.”
“You listened to that man instead of your mother?”
“He has lots of brothers. He understands how boys think.”
“I’m Gary’s mother. I know how he thinks.”
Amanda’s control broke. “If you knew how he thinks, if you cared
what
he thinks, he’d be here now.”
“Amanda Elizabeth Liscomb,” her mother intoned in that awful voice mothers have when they’re about to pronounce that you’re an unnatural child and they don’t know what they did to deserve you, “I never thought I’d live to see the day you’d speak to me like that.”