A Match Made in Texas Page 6

  All he could manage was a nod. Then he slipped from the room and headed to the stove, hoping the mundane task of putting a kettle on would restore his composure. Heaven knew he needed some. Yearning for a family of his own had hit him so hard, he feared his knees would buckle.

  And not just any family. He wanted this family. This woman. This child. But he’d promised Clara time, and he aimed to keep his word. Although . . . he’d never promised not to woo her over to his way of thinking. A smile curved his lips as he contemplated the prospect.

  So distracted was he by the plans running through his mind, he almost overlooked the shadowy outline of a rider mounting up across the yard. A rider who could only be headed one place. The Circle D.

  Chapter 9

  Neill bit back a shout and ran out into the night to give chase, not that there was any chance he’d catch the spy. Especially in his stocking feet. He’d removed his boots hours ago. Nevertheless, he charged as far as the barn, debating the wisdom of collecting Mo and setting out after the man.

  With the time it would take him to strap on his gun and collect the horse, even if he rode bareback, the other man would be too far ahead to catch. He’d never be able to track him in the dark, and since Neill had no idea in which direction the Circle D lay, it’d be pointless to try.

  No. He’d do Clara more good here. Although they wouldn’t be staying here very long. They’d have to push up their timetable if they were going to have a chance to make their escape before Mack Danvers showed up at the door demanding his grandson.

  No woman should have to do what Neill was fixin’ to ask Clara to do, not after laboring for hours to bring a child into the world. But there was no help for it. It was the only way to keep Harrison and his mama safe.

  Neill slammed the flat of his hand against the barn wall. Blast it all! If there was any other way . . . but there wasn’t. Not unless he wanted to kill the man. Unfortunately, Neill had a feeling God would frown on that solution.

  So that left running. And they’d need to make their departure before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.

  Blowing out a heavy breath, Neill pushed away from the barn and headed back to the house.

  A son. I have a son. Clara marveled at the miracle of it as she gazed upon the drowsy babe at her breast. He had suckled for a while, but now his mouth hung lax, his tiny tongue smacking slightly as sleep claimed him.

  “Mama loves you, Harrison,” she whispered, lifting him slightly so she could press a soft kiss onto his head. “And no one is ever going to take you away from me. I swear it.”

  Clara’s eyes slid closed, a flood of protectiveness surging through her. God, give me the strength to keep that vow. Guard my son. Keep us together.

  A quiet knock at the door brought her eyes open. Neill.

  “Just a minute.” She adjusted her sleeping gown, re fastened all the buttons, then bid him come in.

  He carried a basin before him with a towel slung over his shoulder. “I made sure not to get the water too hot. It’s just one degree above tepid.” He approached the side of the bed and held the basin out for her inspection. “Do you want to test it?”

  She smiled and shook her head slightly. “I trust you.” The words tumbled out before she had a chance to think them through. Yet she found she did trust him. Completely. Even with the well-being of her child. How could she not after he had proved himself over and over? Honorable. Reliable. Capable. Compassionate. Neill Archer was everything she needed in a protector for her child.

  And everything you need in a husband? The perverse thought clung tenaciously to the edge of her mind, despite her efforts to shake it free.

  Neill slowly lowered the basin to the floor, resting it on the braided rug she’d fashioned as a young bride in a hopeless effort to make her house more of a home. Then he turned to her and held out his hands. “May I take him?”

  Clara swallowed hard, her arms instinctively tightening around Harrison’s small body. She didn’t want anyone else to hold him. Not even Neill. But such thoughts were ir rational. All she had to do was look at the awe still stamped on Neill’s face to know he’d die before letting harm come to her child.

  “Be sure to support his head,” she cautioned as she reluctantly loosened her grip on her son.

  Neill’s large hands, tanned by the sun, nicked and scarred from his work, cupped the babe’s head, back, and bottom with easy grace and surprising confidence.

  He glanced at her, his lips twitching into one of those boyish smiles that always set her heart to fluttering. “I’ve got seven nieces and nephews back home, remember? I’ve held babies before.”

  Harrison’s arms and legs flailed as cool air hit his bare tummy while Neill held him out in front of him. “Easy, little man,” Neill murmured. “Gotta get you cleaned up and lookin’ your best for your mama. Can’t be disappointin’ the ladies, now, can we?”

  His nonsense made Clara smile. Holding Harrison’s head securely with his fingers, Neill positioned the babe along the length of his left forearm, then held him over the basin, talking to him all the while. “Your mama, she’s a real special lady, and she sure worked hard to get you here.” He picked up a cloth that had been floating in the basin and drizzled water over Harrison’s chest.

  None too happy about being awakened in such a fashion, the boy’s face crumpled and his cries hit the air.

  “Don’t like the water, huh?” Neill shook his head and made a tsking sound. “That will change. Just wait till I teach you to fish, and swim, and splash through mud puddles. You’ll love the water then. You can catch tadpoles, skip stones, all kinds of fun things. You’ll see.”

  Clara’s heart twisted. He spoke to her son just like a father would. A true father. Not just a nice man who wanted to help out. If she gave him the chance, would he come to think of her as a husband would a wife, not just someone in need of protection? Could he look past her Comanche blood and see her as a woman? A woman worthy of his love?

  Neill finished bathing Harrison, then wrapped him in a towel and snuggled him close to his chest. He pushed to his feet and paced the floor, bouncing Harrison in gentle motions until the baby settled. Clara couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the sight. There was something about seeing a man—a well-muscled, hard-working man—cradling an infant tenderly to his chest that turned her insides to mush and made her heart long for the impossible.

  “Do you have a gown for him?” Neill’s question snapped her out of her musing.

  She nodded quickly and motioned for him to bring her son to the bed. “I rolled it inside the blanket.” She grabbed the bundle from her bedside table and unfurled it. “Lay him here,” she instructed, “and I’ll dress him.”

  Neill sat on the edge of the bed and handed Harrison back into her care. He offered the babe his finger to clasp while she fastened a diaper into place, then pulled free of the baby’s hold when she slipped the white gown over Harrison’s head and threaded his arms through the sleeves. After tugging the long skirt of the garment over her son’s bent legs, she swaddled him in the soft flannel blanket and cuddled him near her heart. When Harrison ceased his fretting and relaxed against her, it dawned on her how quiet Neill had become. Eerily quiet.

  “What is it?”

  His gaze lifted from the babe to her face, his expression grim. “I spotted a man in the yard—one of Mack’s men, I assume. He rode off before I could stop him.”

  A great weight pressed in on Clara’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. Neill lifted his hand and fingered a tendril of her hair before pushing it over her ear. The soft touch comforted, even as the news filled her with dread. Her father-in-law was probably hearing the report of Harrison’s birth this very moment.

  “We have to leave, Clara. By first light. I have to get you to my brother’s ranch before Mack catches up to us, which means we’ve got to get to Amarillo before he realizes you’ve gone. It’s the only way to ensure he doesn’t try to force the matter. He can’t threaten you if he can’
t find you.” His voice echoed with gentleness and regret, yet she recognized the steel behind the softness and was grateful for it. His conviction gave her courage. Hope.

  “Bring me the baby crate,” she instructed, willing her weariness away. “I’ll put Harrison down and see to the packing.”

  Neill laid a staying hand on her shoulder. “Not yet. I’ve got extra water heating for your bath. All I want you to do is see to yourself. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  And he did. He filled a tub with gloriously warm bath water, settled Harrison in his crate-bed, and then left her to her privacy while he packed up his belongings, whatever food he could stuff into a burlap sack, and all the shotgun shells he could find to accompany the only additional weapon at their disposal. She saw the evidence of his industriousness when he carried her to the parlor and laid her on the settee. The daft man insisted she not wear herself out with walking and instead carted her around like an invalid.

  Although, truth be told, she was as weak as a newborn kitten after pulling herself out of that tub and dressing. Still, it was shameful to be toted around like a helpless lamb. Even if such action left her feeling delightfully cherished.

  “Any mementos or geegaws you want me to pack up with your clothes?” he asked on his way to her room, a small trunk tucked under his arm—the trunk that had once carried her trousseau.

  She’d banished the leather case to the barn loft, packing away the table linens and embroidered pillowcases she’d lovingly crafted as a young woman, after she realized the true reason Matthew had married her. A tiny act of rebellion, one he’d never even noticed, but an essential one for her. She’d had to preserve her hopes, protect them from the withering forces of reality. Somehow it made it easier to endure a loveless marriage if her dreams were packed into a trunk for safekeeping.

  Now they were back and in the hands of another man. Would he care for them? Or simply dump them on the floor to make room for clothing and supplies?

  “Clara?” he asked again. “Anything special you want me to pack?”

  Feeling rather like Gideon laying out a fleece, she said nothing about the linens. “Just the photograph of my parents and my mother’s Bible on the bedside table.”

  He nodded crisply, then disappeared into her bedroom. Drawers opened and closed, and a blush rose to her cheeks as she imagined him stuffing her undergarments and stockings into the trunk along with her two good skirts and shirtwaists.

  Then a great rustling ensued. What on earth was he doing in there?

  A moment later the answer became apparent as he carefully navigated the doorway with her mattress, minus the soiled bedding, tucked under his arm.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  He gave her a stern look. “You are going to rest in the wagon on the way to Amarillo. I’m not about to have you come down with childbed fever because you were forced from your home hours after giving birth. Harrison needs his mama, and I aim to see she stays around to watch him grow up.”

  Clara opened her mouth to protest, then promptly shut it as she recalled that Neill’s mother had died from such a fever mere days after he was born. His high-handed orders were symptoms of his concern. She supposed she could let him coddle her a bit if it made him feel better, though there was no way she’d actually sleep with the threat of Mack Danvers hanging over their heads.

  But sleep she did. Nearly the entire way to Amarillo. She woke when the buckboard’s wheel hit a rut and she found herself under a pile of blankets. Harrison’s crate lay beside her, sheltered from the wind by the sides of the wagon and her trunk.

  She craned her neck to peer up at Neill. He was facing forward, his wide shoulders and broad back exuding strength as he somehow managed to keep the two mismatched horses to a steady gait. Mo towered over her little gray mare, but the two seemed to have settled into a rhythm.

  Clara’s gaze darted to her trunk, curiosity compelling her forward. Was her fleece wet or dry? Biting her lip, she cast one last glance at Neill, then quietly levered herself to a sitting position and began working furiously at the trunk straps. Once they were loose, she opened the lid and dug her hand down past the petticoats and nightdresses until her fingers stroked a neatly folded fabric edge. Her heart did a little flip as she latched onto the piece and tugged it upward. Embroidered flowers of blue and yellow danced across white cotton. Her eyes misted as her lips curled upward.

  He’d kept her linens.

  Chapter 10

  Neill ran a weary hand over his face as the train rattled along the tracks. Whiskers scratched his palm. His lids closed over eyes that burned from a combination of too much soot and too little sleep. They’d been on this train for the better portion of two days. Two days of hard wooden seats, stale air, and noise that never seemed to end.

  He hadn’t been able to afford passage in a sleeping car, as much as he wished he could give Clara that luxury. Still, she never complained. She leaned against the window using his coat as a pillow and slept as much as she could manage. When darkness fell and the cabin grew chilled, however, Neill gathered her into his arms and urged her to rest against him, where it was warmer. He tended Harrison while she slept, and when she awoke and took over, he grabbed what rest he could, knowing he’d need all his wits in the coming hours.

  Mack was on their trail.

  He’d said nothing to Clara. She already looked behind her enough as it was. She didn’t need more worry heaped on her shoulders. He’d tell her when the need arose, but until then, he’d carry the burden on his own.

  He’d spotted Mack Danvers in Amarillo. And worse, Mack had spotted him. Clara, thank God, had already been onboard the train with Harrison. Neill had been seeing to the trunk when he heard a shout from down the street. Mack Danvers stood in front of the livery, kicking up a fuss and gesturing wildly at the gray mare and worn buckboard the owner had just purchased. From Neill.

  Clara had insisted he sell the wagon and gray mare, not knowing when or if they’d return. She’d encouraged him to use the funds to purchase their tickets, but when she wasn’t looking, he’d slipped the money into her handbag. Should she decide not to marry him, he wanted to make sure she had a bit of money to make her own way. But with Mack so close, he wished he’d just turned the old mare out to pasture somewhere outside of town. Somewhere void of people so no one could give out his description or point Mack in the direction of the train station. He’d been careful not to mention their travel plans, but when a stranger wandering through sells his horse and wagon in a railroad town, there was only one logical conclusion to make.

  He’d hurried onto the train after that and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving when the final whistle blew. The train started its slow chug out of the station as Neill made his way to his seat. But halfway down the aisle, he spotted a man on horseback racing to catch the train. Neill bent low to peer out the window, his gut telling him the man’s identity before his eyes confirmed it.

  Mack.

  The horse came alongside the car, and Mack’s gaze bored into his. There was too much noise to hear what he yelled, but Neill had no trouble reading Clara’s name on Mack’s lips or the threat raging across his features.

  Mack Danvers hadn’t been able to pull them from the train, but Neill knew the man wouldn’t be far behind. There was another departure on the Amarillo schedule, slated for the afternoon. He and Clara had a few hours’ cushion at best.

  Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Neill peered over Clara’s head to the window, his bleary eyes drinking in the sight of pine trees zipping past. Home wasn’t far now.

  “Have a biscuit, Neill. It’s a little stale but still filling.” Clara held the golden roll out to him with a tired smile.

  He glanced down at the burlap sack in her lap. The thing was pitifully flat. He shook his head. “You take it. You and Harrison need it more than I do.”

  “I ate while you were resting,” she said. “Please, Neill. You’ve barely slept and hardly eaten. I promise I won’t wast
e away if you have the last biscuit.”

  Neill exhaled a heavy sigh at the same time his stomach let out a lusty growl. Clara’s eyes widened, her mouth twitching suspiciously. Suddenly they both erupted in quiet laughter.

  “Give me that thing,” Neill groused between chuckles. He took it from her hand and bit into it with comical relish. Clara grinned at him with such affection that it was all Neill could do to swallow the biscuit bite without choking as a new hunger emerged. Only their lack of privacy kept him from leaning forward to taste her lips.

  Clara must have sensed the change in him, for she quickly glanced away, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks. She set the empty sack aside and lifted a fussing Harrison from his crate at her feet to her shoulder.

  Neill ate the rest of his biscuit in silence.

  “Do you think Mack will follow us?” Clara finally ventured.

  He nodded, knowing the time had come for candidness. “Yep. I spotted him in Amarillo before we left. A few well-worded questions around the depot would let him know our destination. He’s probably just a few hours behind us.”

  Clara worried her bottom lip with her teeth and lifted her hand to shelter Harrison’s head, tucking the babe close to her neck. “Is there a chance he could catch us before we get to your brother’s ranch? He’ll be able to travel much faster as a single rider than we will in a wagon.”

  Neill wrapped his arm around Clara’s shoulder and drew her into his side. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and held her tight. “I wired Travis before we left Amarillo yesterday. He’ll be expecting us. And the trouble on our tail. We’ll have reinforcements.”

  As long as the telegraph had been delivered.

  Neill kept that worry to himself. Oftentimes the telegraph office in Palestine held on to messages for those who lived on outlying ranches and farms. They didn’t have the manpower to deliver messages out of town. He’d used the word Urgent at the beginning of his message, hoping that would spur the telegrapher to hire someone to deliver it immediately, but he couldn’t be sure it had.