Читать книгу Lawman - Laurie Grant - Страница 14

If her words hurt him, it was difficult to tell. The only change she could detect in Cal was a certain stillness, as if he were bracing for the next blow. She waited, her face turned away from him, listening for the sounds of his boot heels thudding down the steps.

The chair creaked, but the only other sound she heard was his intake of breath. She turned back to see him standing by the chair.

“Livy, I…maybe you’re readin’ somethin’ I didn’t mean into my wantin’ to visit. I know you’re recently, uh, bereaved. I—I didn’t mean…”

She looked away again. “Oh, I think you did. But don’t worry about it, Sheriff. I’m used to men assuming too much about me. They assume that since I had a Mexican lover, I’m fair game for any man. Well, I’m not.”

“Now it’s you who’s assuming, Mrs. Gillespie,” he said, his voice cold as a Texas norther. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your mourning, no matter who it is you’re mourning for.”

A second later, she heard the door close and the sound of his boots retreating down the steps.

I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your mourning, no matter who it is you‘re mourning for.

Oh, Lord, she had gotten carried away in her defiant pose, and it had succeeded too well. The way she had worded it, it sounded as if she were admitting that the stories about Francisco and her were true. Now Cal believed the gossip—if he hadn’t already—and he would despise her for being a treacherous, faithless woman.

It was for the best, she told herself, even as she sank back into the pillows, scalding tears flooding her eyes.

Cal marched back down the road into the heart of town, head erect, but not really seeing anything or anyone he passed. Her words still stung. How could Livy, the woman who had been his sweetheart years ago, praise him as a hero and compliment his mustache, then turn on him again? As if she hated him, as if she suspected him of—of assuming she was a woman of easy virtue, and wanting to sample her favors!

He hadn’t given much credence to the story of the supposed Mexican lover, until he’d found her standing by his rose-decorated grave. And now she had come right out and admitted it was true! They assume that since I had a Mexican lover, I’m fair game for any man…

Then he thought about what she’d said last—I’ve learned to live without depending on a man, and I find I like it that way…

Well, that was just fine. He was going to be busy being the best sheriff Gillespie Springs ever had. He wasn’t going to have time to be paying courtesy calls on an ill-tempered widow, even if she didn’t have any other friends. She’d made her choice. He’d found Jovita for her, so she wouldn’t be alone and helpless while she regained her strength.

Now, come on, Cal, tell the truth, at least to yourself. Could he honestly say there wasn’t a shred of truth in her accusations? Could he put a hand on his worn, wellthumbed Bible and say he didn’t still want her, that somewhere deep inside he hadn’t been hoping that after a decent interval, she and he might begin again what his going off to war had ended?

No, he couldn’t, but as God was his witness, he hadn’t intended anything dishonorable, anything that would hurt her. But she hadn’t hesitated to hurt him— again.

He let himself remember that other time, back in 1861, when he’d ridden over to Childress Hall, her father’s cotton plantation, to tell her of his decision and to ask her to wait for him.

She’d been wearing a dress of some sort of flimsy, light blue material sprigged with dark blue flowers, over a hoopskirt that swayed when she’d walked across the veranda to meet him, giving him glimpses of her lacetrimmed pantalettes and neat ankles above kid slippers.

“Cal, you must be reading my mind! I was just about to send a note asking you to supper! Delilah’s cooking chicken and dumplings, and strawberry pie, and…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “But you look so serious! You aren’t still thinking about that silly quarrel we had the other night after the church picnic, are you?”

“Yes. No. That is, not about the quarrel, Livy. You know I can’t stay angry with you. But I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow—to join the army. I’ve come to say goodbye, and to ask you to wait for me…if you want to, that is.”

He’d seen her fine eyes narrow into blue storm clouds and the lips he loved to kiss tighten into a furious line. “I might. But it depends. What army are you joining, Cal Devlin?”

“Aw, Livy, don’t make this so hard. You already know the answer to that—I haven’t changed my mind. How can I, when it would be going against all I believe in?”

She’d looked at him as if he were some species of vermin. “Evidently you don‘t find it hard to contemplate going against your fellow Southerners, against other Texans. or to think about having to kill them in battle?”

“Livy, I hate the idea. You know I do. But in this instance my fellow Southerners are wrong, and I have to fight on the side I believe to be right. Livy, my family’s all fired up at me about this, please don’t let it divide us, too! Disagree with me about my choice, but please say you’ll wait for me? This awful conflict isn’t going to last too long, sweetheart. It can’t. The South doesn’t have the wherewithal to fight like the North does. And then we’ll have the rest of our lives to be together, Livy, if you’ll be there waiting for me when I come home to you…”

She’d laughed then, scornfully and without mirth. Her face was that of a stranger, a stranger who smelled a foul odor. “Wait for you? You must be joking, Cal Devlin. Unlike you, I have some loyalty to my country—”

“Your country is the United States of America, Livy,” he’d interrupted her to say. “We’re trying to preserve the Union—”

“My country’is the Confederate States of America now,” she’d informed him in lofty tones. “And as a loyal daughter of the South I despise all her enemies— and that includes you, Caleb Travis Devlin.” She’d turned her back on him before saying, “I suggest you get back up on that stallion and ride outa here before my papa takes a bullwhip to your hide.“

He’d ridden away as ordered then, and left to join the Union army the next day. A year later, in a letter from his mother—Sarah Devlin wrote him regularly, even if she’d deplored his choice—he’d learned that Olivia had married Dan Gillespie, a captain in the Confederate army, when Dan was home on leave.

So much of that world was gone now, almost as if it had never been, Cal thought. He had ridden past Childress Hall on his way to Gillespie Springs. The plantation was a ruin. After Livy’s father had died, shortly after the war ended, the estate had been bought by carpetbaggers at a fraction of its value. Those scoundrels had had no notion of how to manage such a place, parceling it out to sharecroppers and living in just a room or two of the formerly splendid mansion. The big house looked as if it would fall down around their Yankee ears any day now.

Yeah, he’d forgotten Livy could hurt him like that, but he wasn’t going to lie awake at night and ache, as he had after his long-ago dismissal.

He was so deep in thought that he nearly bowled right into a plump matron coming out of the general store.