Читать книгу Oklahoma Sweetheart - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 5

Chapter One

January, 1893

Kent Corners, Oklahoma

Connor Webster viewed the female standing in front of him. The woman who’d represented his future. He felt the urge to turn his back and walk away, across the porch and into his parents’ home. Not that the woman he’d planned on marrying was unfit for the estate of matrimony. Loris simply was far from a suitable bride, so far as he was concerned. Considering that the baby she carried had been planted in her womb by his own brother, her pregnancy made her totally unsuitable.

Not that Connor couldn’t have accepted another man’s child. It was the betrayal by the pair of them that made him angry. And right now angry was too mild a word to describe the surge of hot-blooded rage that poured through him.

“I’m sorry,” Loris said, her eyes awash with tears. And no doubt she was. But it was unclear whether her sorrow was due to the pain she’d caused him or because she’d fallen pregnant. Either way, he realized his love for her was a thing of the past. Even the tears that filled her soft brown eyes failed to bring him to his knees.

Loris was not prone to crying. He’d seen her conquer her share of adversity and even admit defeat when fate was against her, but never had he seen her shed a tear.

“You’re having a baby. Am I right?” he asked, his voice terse and clipped. “And that baby belongs to my brother. Am I right on that point, too?”

She nodded, twice in fact, and then turned aside, as if she would begin the long walk back to town from his home.

“I know I’ve hurt you, Connor, and—”

“You don’t know the half of it, Loris….” He could barely speak, the betrayal cut Connor so deep. He wondered if he truly could walk away from Loris with no regrets.

“What will I do?” she asked in a soft whisper, turning back to face him again.

For the first time since he’d discovered the truth, he felt a faint glimmer of sympathy for her.

“Maybe James will marry you,” Connor said glibly.

“You know better,” Loris said quietly. “He was out for a good time, and I fell for his promises. I was fool enough to think…” She shrugged, as if realizing that her excuse was lame, and she’d just condemned herself. “He’s your brother, Connor. At first I thought he was only flirting and it was exciting.”

“You thought he’d marry you? But you were already betrothed to me, Loris. Why would James fall into that trap? He’s smart. Apparently, smarter than I.”

“That’s not it,” she said. “I thought he really loved me. That’s where I was dead wrong. I should have known better. Your brother has courted every eligible girl in town—and some that were not so eligible. More than I can count, and I doubt he can keep track either.” She laughed, and Connor thought the sound was singularly without mirth.

“So what do you expect of me?” he asked, knowing already what her answer would be. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and Connor Webster was her only hope of salvation.

“I would like you to honor your promise, and marry me,” she said. The words were flat, without expression.

“I’m not a fool, Loris,” he told her. “I’d planned a future with you, and that included babies and a farm and years of marriage. You’ve ruined all of that. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

Loris’s tears flowed down her cheeks, and onto the front of her dress. Connor felt an unwilling tug of pity as he looked at her. “I’ll help you get out of town, if you like,” he said. “Do you have any relatives who might take you in?”

“No.” She shook her head. “And once my folks find out, I’ll be on the front porch with my valise and nowhere to go.”

“There’s not much I can do for you, Loris,” he said bluntly.

“I thought you loved me,” she told him, her gaze falling to the snowy ground at her feet. She shivered, as though the sight of the newly fallen snow had reminded her of the chill of the dreary January day.

“I did,” he admitted. “We’ve already gone over that. But I trusted you with my heart, and you went behind my back—with my brother.”

Loris turned away, her foot sliding on the slick ground. He reached to grasp her elbow and held her upright, but she withdrew from his touch.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. But for sure I won’t bother you again,” she told him, walking away, her back straight, her shoulders squared, the road to town before her.

Loris Peterson had thought her life was planned, had been happy in her betrothal to Connor Webster, had thought she was in love with the man. Until Connor’s brother, James, had entered her life.

James, was a right good hand with the ladies, a scamp of the first order, her father had said, when he found her speaking with the man in front of the general store one day. She’d been warned, not only by her father, but by her own common sense. And failed to heed the message.

James had been kind and gentle, yet dashing and sophisticated, at least to her eyes. And she had assumed that she was safe with him. After all, he was Connor’s brother. As if that had made a difference.

Two brothers could not have been more unalike. Connor was steady, reliable and rock-solid. The sort of man a sensible girl would choose for a husband. And Loris considered herself eminently sensible. At least, she had until James had swung her around the dance floor at Eloise Simpson’s wedding. His offer to escort her had been kind, she thought, with Connor gone on business.

James had been gallant, serving her with small cakes and cups of punch, and walking her outside when the grange hall became too warm for comfort, due to the number of exuberant dancers filling the floor.

Outside, he’d been funny, telling her stories that tickled her, probably more so because of the spiked punch he’d coaxed her to drink. He’d halted their progress beneath a tall oak tree, and there in the shadows that surrounded them, he’d kissed her for the first time.

Now, she wished fervently that it had never happened, or that it had been the first and last kiss she’d received from his experienced lips. There was something about a man with experience that appealed to a woman, Loris decided.

James knew how to bend her to his will, knew that his mouth against the nape of her neck would make her shiver with delight. Possessed of blue eyes and dark hair, he was handsome. Gifted with a body that was tall and well-muscled, he was strong, and yet he had a gentle streak that appealed to her as a woman. For surely a man so sweet would never cause her harm.

She laughed aloud as she passed the church, and then stifled the sound, lest some holy presence might strike her dead for her sins. Though that seemed unlikely, for hadn’t the Lord himself forgiven the woman caught in sin?

Right now, she was more interested in the forgiveness of her parents, and that was not a likely occurrence. They would be horrified. Her mother would cry and carry on, her father would be stern and judgmental. And she would be forever left with the burden of guilt she carried.

Through it all would be the knowledge that her life was ruined. Ruined by one moment of temptation, one glimpse of pleasure, one man set on having his way with her. And he had. In the depths of her father’s barn, where the hay lay soft and deep in a storage stall, he’d talked her out of her clothing, whispered sweet words of appeal, and taken her virginity. That he was very good at what he’d done seemed of little consequence now, for guilt overwhelmed her as she thought of her unfaithful behavior. At the time her thoughts had been of the years ahead, when she and James Webster would spend their lives together.

It was not to be. James had been offered a job as manager of a ranch in Missouri and planned to leave town soon. He’d told her of his opportunity, and she’d looked up at him pleadingly. “What about me?” she’d asked.

“Connor loves you,” he’d told her. “He’ll marry you.”

“I doubt it,” she’d said sadly. “I’m going to have your child, James. I’ve cheated on him. I hate myself. How can I expect him to forgive me?”

“Tell him I forced you into it,” James said loftily. “He’ll believe you.”

“And then he’ll tell me to force you to marry me,” she said. “And if my father hears of such a thing, he’ll get out his shotgun and you’ll be wearing a load of buckshot in your fanny.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” James had said. “Connor will marry you, and you’re smart enough to never let your father hear my name in connection with this.”

Loris turned in at the gate and climbed the steps to the front porch of the big house she’d been born in nineteen years ago. Behind the house was a barn and corral, a henhouse and a garden. The property was not large, but prosperous. She clasped the door handle and turned it. The front door was closed but not locked, for the folks in this town seldom set a bolt on their doors.

People in Kent Corners, Oklahoma, could be trusted not to infringe on another’s property. She’d heard that all of her life, and now she laughed as she stepped into the front hall. Most folks could be trusted, but not James Webster, who had done more than infringe on his brother’s property. He’d seduced his brother’s fiancée.

Then he had turned his back on his responsibility and walked away. His departure was scheduled for that very day.

Loris climbed the stairs, holding the smooth banister firmly, her legs not seeming solid beneath her. She thought for a moment of her father’s shotgun, and wondered how it could be used to put her out of her misery. Then dismissed that thought as not worthy of contemplation. She’d never be able to pull the trigger.

If she had to find a place to live, scrabbling for food, making a way for herself, she would. If Connor was willing to pay for her passage out of town, maybe he’d help her move someplace close by, an abandoned house perhaps. There were several of them west of town, where families had renounced their dreams, and moved on instead to a more prosperous place.

She trudged to her room and sat down dejectedly on the side of her bed, unconcerned for once that she might muss the quilt. Her mother’s training went deep and sitting on the bed, or, heaven forbid, lying down on it in the daytime, was strictly against the rules of behavior taught to young ladies who intended to be thought of as women of distinction.

Whether or not Loris held out any hopes of achieving that exalted position now seemed of little concern, for she knew that her position in society would henceforth be that of a fallen woman.

Now came the difficult part, she realized. Talking to her parents was the very last thing she wanted to do, yet was, of necessity, the most important item on her list of things that must be faced.

Suppertime would be the best time, she decided. In the meantime, she’d do well to sort through her clothing and see how much she could carry with her when her father showed her the door.

“You’re really walking away from this?” Connor asked. His younger brother stood in the barn doorway, holding the bridle of his gelding, his saddlebags bulging as they hung over the horse’s withers.

“What would you like me to do?” James asked. “When the folks find out what’s happened, they’ll be after me like flies on a manure pile, and I don’t fancy being tossed on my ear by Father.”

“Why don’t you marry Loris?” Connor asked, his heart aching as he thought of the pearl ring she wore. A ring he had put on her finger himself, just six months ago.

“I’m not planning on marriage. Not for a long time,” James said, his handsome face twisted in anger.

“A little late to be planning a life as a bachelor, isn’t it?” Connor asked, grasping James by his shirt. He’d loved James, been his friend as well as brother. Now pure hatred rose within him as he shook the man who had betrayed him.

“I am a bachelor,” James answered quickly. “Women are a commodity that men have been buying for centuries, but in this case, I got a girl without much effort at all, and it certainly didn’t cost me anything.”

Connor released his grip. “Loris is in the family way. Don’t you feel responsible?” he asked.

James looked at him and grinned, then his face reddened and he took on a pensive look. “Yeah, I’m responsible, I guess. But I feel worse about letting you down than I do about fooling around with Loris.”

“Don’t you like her?” Connor asked.

James grinned again. “Of course, I do. She’s pretty, she’s got a good figure and she’s smart. Who wouldn’t like her?”

“You don’t respect her, though, do you?”

James thought about that for a moment. “Not a whole lot. No, I don’t. Trust me on this, Connor. You’re better off without her. If you decide to marry the girl, I’ll thank you for taking on my child, but I’ll understand if you walk away.”

“I’ve already told her I’m done with her,” Connor said.

“What will she do?” James asked, and for a moment Connor wondered if his brother was having second thoughts. “Can she leave town, stay with someone?”

“That’s what I asked her,” Connor said. “I offered to pay her way if she wanted to leave.”

“Tell you what I’ll do,” James said slowly. “I’ll give you some cash for her. I’ve got a bit saved, and I’m heading for a sure job at a good wage. Tell her I said to take care of herself.” He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and placed over half of it in Connor’s hand. “It’ll keep her for a little while, anyway. Maybe she can find a place to stay. Or a job somewhere.”

Connor laughed harshly. “Who’d hire a woman who’s having a child without benefit of a husband?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” James said impatiently.

Connor turned away, holding the blood money his brother had given him, and headed for the house. His mother was crying in the kitchen over James departure. At least she had been half an hour ago, when her favorite son had walked out the door, saddlebags in his hands. He’d see if she was calmer now, ready to talk. And he’d think seriously about filling her in on the situation in which he found himself.

“I’ll kill Connor Webster for getting you in this fix,” Alger Peterson said loudly, his voice ringing throughout the dining room and probably resounding from the parlor ceiling.

“That won’t do a bit of good, Daddy,” she said calmly. “Connor isn’t the father.”

Alger looked stunned, his mouth falling open at her announcement. It was almost as much a surprise as her first declaration, a whispered notice that he would be a grandfather before the year was out.

Not that her father was averse to the title of grandfather, but he’d expected it to be part of her marriage. He’d given his blessing to her betrothal, and welcomed Connor into the Peterson household as an honored guest.

“Connor isn’t the father?” Alger’s eyes widened as if he’d been observer to an unbelievable sight. “What are you talking about? Of course he’s the father. He’s responsible for it.”

“No, Daddy,” she repeated. “He’s not.”

“Well then, who is?” her mother asked. Silent up until now, Minnie Peterson was nonetheless a woman who always managed to speak her mind. “Whoever it is, he’d better march over to the parsonage and take you along. There won’t be a church wedding, young lady, but there will be a wedding.”

“You’re both wrong,” Loris said quietly. “I’m no longer engaged to Connor, and it will be official when I give him back his ring. The other person in this situation has already left town, and I won’t be marrying him either.”

“Left town?” Her father blustered loudly as he marched around the table and gripped her shoulders. Dragging her to her feet, he shook her, then apparently decided that action was not sufficient to express his anger and so delivered two ringing slaps to her face.

Loris stood silently before him, her eyes closed. She could not bear to look on his face, could not abide the disdain he showered on her. Her cheeks stung from his blows, but compared to the painful disgrace she had brought upon her family, the pain was of little importance.

“You can pack your things and move out,” her father said bluntly. “You are no longer our daughter.”

“Mama?” Loris turned to Minnie and spoke the title as if it were an entreaty for mercy. As indeed it was.

“Your father is the head of this house,” Minnie said primly. Even if she’d wanted to side with her daughter, Loris knew that her mother shared Alger’s views on such things as family honor.

“All right. I’ve got my things packed in the tapestry valise, Mama. I knew this would happen. When I’m settled somewhere, I’ll send it back to you.”

“You can keep it,” Minnie said. “I couldn’t look at it again.”

Loris left the dining room, walked up the stairs slowly and entered her room. She was cold, not due to the weather outdoors, but instead to a chill that seemed to emanate from deep inside her body.

Her warmest clothing was on the bed, a pair of men’s long red underwear she’d been given by her father when they shrank in the wash, becoming too small for him. Before this, she’d only worn them when she went to the river to ice skate in the winter time. Tonight, they would keep her from freezing to death. She didn’t plan on forcing her parents to buy a coffin for her, so it would behoove her to start out walking with enough clothing on to keep warm.

By the time she’d found her heaviest woolen shirt, donning it over her dress, and then pulling her heavy leather boots on her feet, she was breathless from the exertion of preparing to leave. Or maybe it was just the prelude to a fit of crying that seemed to be imminent.

Valise in her hand, she walked down the stairs and saw her mother awaiting her in the wide hallway. “Here are your mittens and a warm scarf,” Minnie said. “I have no use for them. You may as well take them with you.”

It was a backhanded gesture of kindness, and though hurt by her mother’s words, Loris offered her thanks.

“Let us know where you are,” Minnie said.

“Will you really care?” Loris asked, and then bit at her lip. There was no point in estranging her mother from her any more than she already had with her announcement.

“Yes, I’ll care, Loris,” her mother said righteously, pressing a bundle into her hands. “Here’s enough food to keep you going for a day or so.” Minnie touched her daughter’s shoulder as a gesture of farewell and spoke again. “Just wait until your child is grown and you are hurt by that child beyond measure. You’ll find that you still care.”

“Maybe.” Loris pulled her mittens on, knowing she would be thankful for their warmth, and wrapped the scarf around her neck. The front door opened and she stepped out onto the porch. The sun had set, the moon had risen, and the night was clear and cold. Stars glittered in profusion across the sky, but they blurred as she walked down the steps and made her way toward the street, her falling tears blinding her.

Yet, she cried but little, for she forced herself to blink them away, knowing she didn’t have enough energy to waste on feeling sorry for herself. She struck off for the western edge of town, since it was closer to the shelter she sought than walking through the business district. Taking that route raised her chances of meeting someone she knew.

The road was rutted, so she chose instead to walk on the grass at the side, now overlaid with a light covering of new snow. At least her boots would keep her feet from freezing, she thought, shifting the valise to her other hand. It was heavy, but she’d brought everything warm she owned. And then topped off the contents with a quilt that seemed to be an intelligent addition to her collection. It would keep the wind from her, should she decide to wrap it around herself.

For a moment, she wondered just where she would be when she unfolded the quilt and curled in its folds. Maybe in someone’s barn. Although the scent of fresh hay in a barn turned her stomach these days. Had, in fact, for three months, ever since the evening James Webster had pressed her deeply into a bed of the fragrant stuff in her father’s extra stall. As if it had never happened, James had ignored her for weeks, while her own guilt had nagged at her, as she continued her discreet courtship with Connor.

She’d been a fool. And not for the first time, she cursed the dance she’d shared with James, the kisses he’d offered, the bedding he’d instigated with her full cooperation.

She passed the edge of town and paced steadily beside the road. Trees met overhead, their branches bare of leaves, the faint noise of their rubbing together in the wind contributing an eerie sound to the quiet of the evening. Ahead was a farmhouse, one belonging to Joe Benson, a friend of her father’s.

She skirted it, walking on the other side of the road as she passed by the lane leading to the big house. Being seen would be bad enough. Being recognized would be worse. The valise was heavy and she shifted it again, feeling the muscles in her arm cramp.

The next two houses were small, lived in by hired help, men and their families hired by the Bensons to help them on the farm. She walked as quickly as she could without stumbling and falling. She couldn’t afford to turn her ankle or twist her knee. It was difficult enough keeping a steady pace while her legs were sound. Making her way in the dark with pain as her companion would be unthinkable.

An hour passed slowly, and Loris walked on, knowing that she had barely begun her trip. Clouds began to appear in the sky, lowering clouds that made her think they might contain snow. The stars disappeared in another hour or so, and the wind came up, its cold fingers cutting through her clothing as if she were barely clad.

To her right, just ahead, she caught sight of a building. It looked to be an abandoned farm, left by a family who’d moved onward and left their house to the elements.

If that were true, she might be able to get inside and build a fire, she thought. Maybe sleep for the night before she walked on in the morning. Turning up the lane that led to the small structure, her heart beat faster, and she peered at the shuttered windows as she rounded the side to where a small back porch offered shelter.

She climbed the steps slowly, fearful of encountering a locked door. But the knob turned readily and she pushed the door open. Darkness met her, but with an innate sense, she knew the house was empty.

In the depths of the room, she spotted the looming bulk of a cookstove and her hopes rose. Taking her mittens off, she approached the black form and felt across the top of the warming oven, hoping for a box of matches. Her search was rewarded by the discovery of just such a find, and she opened the box, finding it over half full.

Lighting a match, she blinked and then lifted one of the stove’s burner lids and peered inside. Ashes met her gaze, but on the floor to one side of where she stood was a woodbox, holding a good supply of short pieces, apparently cut to size for burning.

A bit of brown paper was crumpled beneath the first two chunks of wood and she placed it in the stove, then added pieces of wood and a bit of kindling she found scattered on the floor. Lighting another match, she set the paper ablaze, then watched hopefully as it caught the kindling in its path, flaring up around the larger pieces of wood.

With care, she settled the lid in place and hovered over the stove, waiting for some small bit of warmth to reach her fingers. It took but five minutes or so for the fire to penetrate the iron and reach her. She shivered, held her hands over the stove lid and closed her eyes.

Maybe she could sleep right here in the kitchen, she thought. It would be the warmest place in the house, and though sleeping on the floor lacked comfort, she could not be fussy. She looked around the room, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. The shape of a lamp hanging over the table on the other side of the room was encouraging, and she carried the box of matches there, lighting one as she lifted the globe from the lamp and sought to light the wick.

It caught, flared, and then softened a bit as she dropped the globe in place. Now the room was clearly visible, and her heart lifted as she saw the kitchen dresser across the room, the doors protecting an assortment of dishes behind the wavy glass.

The bundle of food her mother had pressed on her was in the pocket of her coat, and she brought it forth into the light. Half a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese and a generous portion of roast beef lay wrapped inside a dish towel. Enough food for at least a day, perhaps longer if she rationed it out.

The floor did not seem overly dirty, she decided, and was certainly warmer than any other room in the house. Tomorrow was soon enough to go exploring. For now she eyed the bare floor and found it welcoming.

Another chunk or two of wood in the stove would warm her for a few hours, and she could replenish the fire during the night if need be. The stove lid clunked dully into place as she fortified the stove, and then herself, for the rest of the night.

Her quilt was warm, and for that she was grateful, pulling it around herself as she curled on the floor, her head cushioned by the valise. From beneath the stove, glittering in the reflection of the lamp, two tiny eyes watched her, and even the thought of a stray mouse could not stir her from the cozy cocoon of her quilt.

“I’ll worry about you in the morning, Mr. Mouse,” she said softly. “Just stay out of my food,” she warned the tiny creature, thankful that she’d tucked the package into her valise.

And then her eyes closed as weariness overcame her. Even the desolation of her shelter was not enough to keep her awake, and she basked in the heat of the stove, her hands tucked between her thighs for warmth.