A Match Made in Texas Page 3

  “I wish I’d had older brothers to lean on after my parents died. Maybe then I wouldn’t have felt pressured to marry the first man who asked.” Clara bit down on her wayward tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out. Yet a defiant part of her was glad she had. It was true. And no amount of fanciful thinking could change it. She should know. She’d tried for two years.

  “How old were you?” His deep voice melted over her, free of accusation, and in that moment, she knew she was going to tell him.

  He was safe, she rationalized. A stranger passing through. And she’d been carrying the burden too long alone.

  “Eighteen. Papa ran a trading post out here when all that existed were a handful of ranches.” The words poured out of her as she stared at the dregs of chowder at the bottom of her bowl. “He was half Comanche, so people weren’t all that happy to do business with him, but his was the only outfit around, so they did.” She stole a glance at Neill. He didn’t appear shocked by the revelation of her heritage.

  “I imagine he came to earn their respect,” he said, lifting his coffee to his mouth, “since he was able to keep his business even after the town started growing.”

  “He did.” Clara sat a little straighter, pride lifting her chin to face Neill Archer fully. “He ran an honest store and understood the ranchers’ needs better than anyone else. Extended credit in hard times, too, when other businessmen refused.”

  “But his generosity left you without a way to support yourself when he died, didn’t it.”

  Clara nodded. “It wasn’t his fault. He and Mama got the fever during the winter and died before the spring crops could be harvested and the debts repaid. I had to sell the remaining inventory to Claasen’s General Store in order to pay Papa’s suppliers. There hadn’t been much left after that. So when Matthew Danvers, son of the wealthiest rancher in Dry Gulch, starting courting me, I thought my troubles were over. Turns out, they were just beginning.”

  Chapter 4

  Neill’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “He didn’t beat you, did he?”

  If he had, Neill would dig the fella up, shoot his no-good carcass full of holes, and then spit on his bones and leave them for the wild animals to carry off.

  “No.” Clara shook her head, a sad little smile curving her lips. “Matthew was more neglectful than cruel. After our wedding, he set me up in this . . . house.” The word emerged as if she weren’t quite sure the structure qualified for the description. “I think he won it in a card game. One of the few things he managed to hang on to. I tried to make it a home, but he rarely spent more than a night or two under this roof at any one time. He much preferred the hotel in town. It was closer to the saloon. And the card games.”

  How could a man be married to this exotic princess and not want to spend every moment of the day with her? Neill couldn’t fathom such stupidity.

  “He just left you out here . . . alone?”

  She laughed softly at the disbelief in his voice. “I didn’t understand it at first, either. I thought perhaps I had angered or disappointed him. But then his father paid a visit, and everything became clear.”

  Neill’s jaw tightened. “Mack Danvers.”

  Clara nodded, looking down to her lap. “Apparently Matthew had been bucking his father’s orders most of his life. Not surprising, really, what with Mack being such a hard man. Matthew refused to take his place as the heir to the Danvers ranch, shirking his duties in favor of carousing in town. If Mack wanted him to attend church, Matthew opted for an all-night binge in the saloon on Saturday night. If Mack told him to buy thirty Herefords from a rancher in Amarillo, Matthew would return with two dozen longhorns.

  “And when Mack threatened to cut Matthew off if he didn’t marry and produce a son, Matthew married the one woman in town most likely to stick in Mack’s craw. Me.” A brittle laugh escaped her, the sound cutting through Neill’s heart like broken glass. “It’s rather humbling for a bride to realize she was chosen not for her beauty or intelligence or even her cooking skills, but because she was the woman most likely to be disdained by her husband’s father.”

  Neill couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and covered her hand where it lay fiddling with the edge of her empty bowl. She startled slightly but did not pull free of his touch.

  “There is nothing about you to disdain, Clara,” he asserted fiercely. “I’ve only known you a day, but I can see evidence of your hard work, your care and concern for your animals and the babe that will be born soon. You are beautiful and strong, and I admire you more than any woman I’ve come across.”

  A sheen of tears misted her eyes, but she blinked them away and shook her head. “There’s plenty in me to disdain as far as Mack Danvers is concerned. The Comanche killed his wife, you see. His wife and his oldest son, the one who was supposed to be his heir. All they left him was his grief and a boy so full of anger and hurt that rebellion was his only outlet.”

  Clara tried to ease her fingers from his hold, but Neill tightened his grip. “You’re not responsible for the actions of a handful of renegade warriors any more than I am responsible for the actions of the whites who slaughtered Comanche women and children in retaliation. Mack Danvers is wrong.”

  “He might be wrong,” Clara said, tugging her hand free at last and pushing to her feet, “but he’s a force to be reckoned with in this county. He sits on the city council and is well respected not only for his wealth but for his dedication to town growth. It’s because of his money and influence that Dry Gulch has a school, a sheriff. People listen to him.”

  She wrapped a protective arm around her stomach for the briefest of moments before reaching to collect the dirty dishes. It was a motion so instinctual, Neill doubted she was even aware she had done it. But he was. More than aware. The telling gesture set off alarms in his gut.

  Mack Danvers wasn’t through making trouble for Clara.

  Clara was amazed at how quickly she’d grown accustomed to Neill Archer’s presence. After only three days, they’d fallen into such an easy routine, it felt as if he’d been working on her place for years.

  He’d surprised her the first morning by milking Hester and leaving the full bucket inside the back door for her to find when she emerged from the bedroom. He’d mucked the stalls, too, and replaced two broken rungs on the loft ladder before carting it over to the edge of the house and climbing onto her roof. All before breakfast.

  The man knew how to work.

  Yet it was the evenings she would miss the most when he left, not the labor. For at the end of the day, they’d linger over dinner and coffee, talking about the day and about deeper, more personal matters. Matters they’d probably never have had the courage to put voice to if they didn’t know their time together was so fleeting.

  She’d told him the tale of how her Comanche grandmother had arrived at her grandfather’s trading post with a half-dozen moccasins to barter for food and blankets and how her grandfather had slipped a handful of penny candy into her supply sack when she wasn’t looking in hopes that the sweet treat would bribe her into returning. It did. In the course of a summer, he’d managed to teach her English, a few Bible stories, and what it meant to fall in love with a white man.

  Neill had spoken about leaving home two years ago, and about how that leaving had hurt his oldest brother, Travis. The man was more father than brother to him and didn’t understand why Neill felt compelled to buy his own spread when the family ranch was his home. Clara suspected that leaving had hurt Neill, as well, though he didn’t say so. Instead he talked of the land he hoped to buy. About trees that stretched to the sky and lush pastures where his cattle would graze. About his best friend, Josiah, a local sharecropper’s son, and their dream of running the ranch together. Josiah had stayed behind to accumulate a starter herd while Neill traveled from place to place, earning the funds necessary to purchase the land.

  When he talked about his friend, a light came to his eyes that signaled more than a casual camarader
ie. It seemed a deep bond existed between the two. Neill claimed he wanted the spread as a way to prove he was his own man, yet Clara couldn’t help wondering if his motives had more to do with Josiah. Sharecroppers had a rough lot—working another man’s land for only a fraction of the profit. Few men escaped such a life, never able to save enough from their meager earnings to invest in land of their own. She’d seen Neill’s compassionate side, his altruistic nature. There might have been a part of him that chose to leave home in order to escape the shadow of his brothers, but she’d bet her new roof that his leaving had more to do with creating opportunities for his friend than for himself.

  Clara leaned back in her bedroom rocker and allowed her eyes to slide closed. Her hands went lax, and the tiny gown she’d been sewing pooled in her lap. The rhythmic pounding overhead lulled her as Neill fastened shingles to the roof. Such a comforting sound. The sound of a man nearby. The sound of protection, provision. Her baby pushed against her womb, a tiny knee or foot bulging against the place where her palm rested on the shelf of her belly. A smile curved her lips. She never tired of feeling her baby move. Such a miracle.

  Gently, she nudged the rocker into motion with her foot and rubbed slow circles over the area where she imagined the baby’s back was. She caressed her child and hummed one of the tunes Neill played after retiring to the barn each night.

  With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine it was night now, the soft refrains of his fiddle offering her a lullaby sweeter than any bird’s song.

  She’d taken to sitting in this very chair, a wrapper covering her nightdress, the lantern extinguished as she waited for the soft, lilting music—music that touched her soul like a tender caress—to float to her through the propped-open window.

  He said the music eased his loneliness. She feared when he left, the memory of it would magnify hers.

  Clara fell into a light doze until the sound of an approaching rider brought her head up with a jerk. Her heart thumped against her chest, as it always did when unexpected visitors paid a call. Until Neill, she’d never experienced a favorable outcome from such a visit.

  Neill.

  Her pulse steadied. She wasn’t alone.

  Yet as she moved from the bedroom to the main part of the house, she noticed an absence of hammering. Had Neill left while she dozed to see to some other chore, or had he just paused in his work to take stock of her caller?

  Praying it was the latter, Clara took Matthew’s shotgun down from above the doorframe and cracked the door open.

  A dull pain ripped across her abdomen at the same time she recognized the horse and rider coming to a halt in her yard. She winced and immediately sent her prayers reeling in the opposite direction. Please let Neill be far away. For his sake, as well as hers.

  Mack Danvers had little patience for men who interfered in his business. And right now, she was his business.

  Chapter 5

  Neill crouched on the back of the rooftop, careful to keep his head low. As a hired man, it wasn’t his place to interfere in Clara’s affairs. Nevertheless, instinct warned him to stay close. He didn’t recognize the barrel-chested man who had just ridden in, but judging by the scornful glances he cast at the house and barn as he dismounted, Neill had a pretty fair guess as to his identity.

  “Hello, Mack.” Clara’s greeting confirmed his suspicion. The porch overhang blocked her from his view, but he imagined her standing tall and proud as she faced down her father-in-law.

  “Clara.” Mack Danvers took a few strides closer to the house, then braced his feet apart and crossed his arms over that broad chest. “I see you haven’t birthed my grandson yet.”

  “What do you want, Mack? I haven’t changed my mind since your last visit, and I won’t be changing my mind any time in the future. So leave me be.”

  Neill grinned at the way she cut to the heart of the matter. She’d not forfeit control to her adversary, even in conversation.

  A scowl darkened Mack’s features. “I ain’t leaving until you and I come to an understanding.” He took a menacing step toward the porch. Neill tensed, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action if needed. But Mack stopped his advance after that single step and just glowered at his daughter-in-law.

  “Is it more money you’re wanting? I shoulda known you’d be a greedy creature. That’s why you married my boy in the first place, right? Thought you’d live out at the Circle D surrounded by finery, didn’t you? Ha! Matthew might’ve loved to thumb his nose at me, but even he knew you didn’t belong there. That’s why he stashed you out here, away from decent folk.”

  Neill’s jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground together. Pain radiated up his forearm from the increased pressure of his grip on the hammer, now digging into the heel of his hand. He glanced at the tool, then slowly unfurled his fingers from around the handle, afraid he would hurl it at Mack Danvers’s head if it remained in his grasp.

  “Five hundred,” the man growled. “Five hundred and you sever all ties to the child. Go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. But I keep the boy and raise him to take his proper place at the Circle D. I’ve got a wet nurse ready to take over his care the minute he’s born. He’ll want for nothing.”

  “Nothing but a mother’s love.” Clara’s soft voice held an edge of steel.

  This was what Mack Danvers wanted? To separate her from her child? No wonder Clara refused to talk about it. The very idea was abhorrent. Neill knew firsthand what it was like to grow up without a mother. His brothers had loved him and filled the void as best they could, but there’d been no softness, no kisses on skinned knees, no lullabies. A piece of his heart had always felt neglected, no matter how he denied it to himself or others. He’d never been able to identify what had been missing until Travis wed Meredith and they’d had their first baby. Watching his sister-in-law lavish affection on his nephew finally opened his eyes.

  Perhaps that was what had drawn him to music as a boy. He’d been trying to replicate the comfort of a mother’s song.

  “Come now, Clara.” Mack’s condescending tone raised Neill’s hackles. “How do you expect to provide for the boy? All you have is a run-down shack that will probably collapse during the next snowfall. You have no money. No way to provide a living for yourself, let alone a child. And even if you could find work, who would tend the baby? Quit being sentimental and selfish. Do what’s best for the child. Give him to me to raise.”

  “Yes, because you did such a great job with your own sons,” Clara spat back in retaliation. “One never lived to be a man and the other grew up despising you.”

  Mack charged the porch, his face livid. “It’s only because of you and your heathen kind that my boys are gone!”

  Neill shoved to his feet and ran across the roof. When he reached the porch overhang, he grabbed hold of the edge and swung himself over the side, tucking his legs up to his chest in order to dodge the railing. He landed on his feet with a thud and immediately put himself between Clara and her father-in-law.

  “What . . . ?” Mack jerked back. “Where the devil did you come from?”

  Neill ignored the question. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “This is a family matter, mister. Between my daughter-in-law and me. Step aside.”

  Neill didn’t budge. “Where I come from, family supports one another. We don’t exploit each other’s weaknesses for personal gain.” He leaned his face close to Mack’s. “Nor do we try to take children away from their mothers.”

  Mack glowered at him. Neill glowered back, his arms tense and ready should the man require some physical convincing. So focused was he on the threat Mack presented that he failed to notice Clara’s movement behind him until she stood by his side, lightly touching his arm.

  “Let it go, Neill. This is none of your concern.”

  None of his concern? How could she say that? No man worth his salt would stand by and let another man bully a woman. A pregnant woman, at that. Maybe he had no claim on her, but
that didn’t mean he couldn’t stand up for what was right.

  “I’m not leaving.” His eyes never left Mack’s. “I won’t interfere if you want to have more words with this yahoo, but you’ll have to do it with me here. I aim to see that Mr. Danvers keeps a lid on that temper of his.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she insisted, her fingers tightening a bit around his forearm. “I believe my business with Mr. Danvers is concluded. He could offer me five thousand dollars, and I’d still not give up my child.”

  “You’re a fool, Clara.” A hardness came over Mack’s features, a hardness that made Neill’s insides go cold. “That boy belongs with me, and I won’t give up until he’s mine.” He turned from Clara to Neill, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Your guard dog won’t be here forever.”

  Neill’s hands balled into fists, but Mack took a step backward, easing himself off the porch.

  “Oh, by the way,” he added nonchalantly when he reached his horse. “I’ve given orders for the Circle D hands to take turns watching over your place. I felt it my family duty.” He speared a quick glance at Neill. “I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you in your delicate condition, my dear. And, of course, with my men close at hand, I’ll be sure to hear the happy news as soon as my grandson’s cry hits the air.”

  Clara’s grip became a vise on Neill’s arm, and it was all he could do to stand still at her side when what he wanted was to pummel Mack Danvers into the dirt.

  The man lifted his foot to the stirrup, mounted, and then saluted the two of them with an arrogant flick of his wrist before finally taking his leave.

  Neill watched him go, the man’s words ringing in his ears: “Your guard dog won’t be here forever.” His gut clenched. Mack Danvers held all the cards. He could just wait Neill out. Wait for Clara to be vulnerable. Unprotected.

  The roof was nearly finished, and Clara had yet to give him a list of chores. He might find a way to lengthen his stay by a day or two, but what then? What would become of Clara and her baby when he left?