Читать книгу Yellow Rose Bride - Lori Copeland - Страница 10

It was impetuous…daring…stupid, they’d decided in the dawn of reality.

Propping his booted foot against the windowsill, Adam tipped his chair back and focused on the rain pattering against the study window. They had been so young. Young and crazy.

Steepling his fingers to his forehead, he relived the summer of ’91. What a pair they’d been. Innocence mixed with the foolish cup of youth.

It had started with puppy love that steadily blossomed from the time Adam had first seen pretty little Vonnie Taylor at the First Freewill Church’s annual Fourth of July picnic. Add a summer night and a full moon and you had trouble. He’d grown from a barefoot show-off into a seventeen-year-old man. Vonnie Taylor had sprouted from an impish tease into a fifteen-year-old woman, who, with the glance of an eye, could reduce him to a bashful kid.

Add the forbidden—neither was supposed to speak to the other—and you had the seeds of a budding rebellion.

In those days neither one of them understood the bitter feud that raged between the two families. They knew there was bad blood between P.K. Baldwin and Teague Taylor, but at nine and seven, they didn’t attempt to understand the origin of the dispute. The hatred between P.K. and Teague had happened long before Adam and Vonnie were born.

Adam was piling potato salad on his plate that hot July afternoon. Vonnie had sidled up beside him, dressed in a lavender calico dress and matching bonnet. She’d sipped a cup of cool lemonade, tilted a dangerous look up at him and read him his future. “I am going to marry you someday, Adam Baldwin. We’re going to be man and wife. Forever.”

He’d about dumped his plate of food in Flossy Norman’s lap.

“You don’t even know what that means,” he accused, feeling a red blush crawl up his neck. He didn’t either…exactly. Forever. He didn’t think so.

Tilting her chin haughtily, she glared at him in challenge. “Do too.”

From that moment on, Vonnie Taylor hadn’t been far from his thoughts.

Adam slid further down in the chair, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth when he recalled the sassy little girl she’d been. They’d been too naive, and too caught up in teasing each other, to care that P.K. Baldwin had forbidden his boys to associate with the Taylor girl. Consequently, the Baldwin brothers went out of their way to plague her. And she returned it in kind.

Every Sunday Adam and Andrew stared a hole through Vonnie the whole time they sat across the aisle from her in the First Freewill Church.

The diminutive black-haired charmer stared right back—singling out the eldest, Adam, to unleash her flirtations upon. He’d poke out his tongue, cross his eyes, push up his nose in preposterous faces in hopes of making her laugh out loud. But she’d look right back at him over her hymnbook and never crack a smile. Though he’d do his best to stare her down, she wouldn’t budge an inch.

The years passed and the Sunday-morning glances became less hostile. Liquid, clear-blue eyes searched sleepy lavender ones with mild curiosity. Shy Sunday-morning smiles replaced silly faces, and his efforts to attract her attention grew more bold.

He tied Beth Baylor’s braid to the church pew.

He silently, but no less earnestly, rolled his eyes while emphatically mouthing Ilda Freeman’s soprano solos along with her.

At fourteen, he responded to the preacher’s request for hymn suggestions by shooting his hand into the air and waving it for attention. He’d requested that they sing “Gladly, the Cross-eyed Bear.”

Vonnie had refused to look at him as the congregation dutifully turned to page thirty-six in their hymnals and sang “Gladly, The Cross I Bear.”

Adolescence evolved into mid teens. Young, lithe bodies filled out. His narrow shoulders broadened, legs lengthened, muscles grew hard, and the peach fuzz on his jaw became a real beard that confronted him daily. Her oval face matured into a puzzle of tilted violet eyes, pert nose and narrow chin. Her quick, thin body softened and rounded. The silent interest between the oldest Baldwin boy and the Taylor girl flourished.

By his seventeenth birthday he’d developed a full-blown case of puppy love for her. That was the summer they’d started sneaking away to Liken’s Pond. Things were starting to get out of hand. They both knew they were courting danger, but that made their secret meetings even more fascinating.

The pond, one of the few that survived the hot summers, was tucked behind scraggly creosote bushes that lined the bank. A few yards out, yuccas pointed white flowers toward the clear blue sky, their green spiny leaves contrasting with the sandy soil. Piñon and cypress trees crept close to shade the banks after noon. Juniper trees mingled with mesquite bush. But where Adam and Vonnie sought privacy, the sycamore shaded them in the summer, and floated its leaves like boats on the water in the fall. It was a special place, a place of wonder.

It was Saturday. Chores were done. A shimmering sun beat down on the scorched earth. The fragrance of grass baking in the heat-saturated air.

The pond was a good two miles from George Liken’s house. Only an occasional, wandering Hereford intruded upon their privacy.

Treading water, they faced each other, arms looped over shoulders, savoring the stolen moments. If P.K. or Teague ever got wind of the secret meetings, their budding relationship would stop.

“What did you tell your father?”

“Told him I’d be with Tate Morgan shoeing a horse. He’ll say I was if anyone asks. What about you?”

“Doing needlepoint with the new neighbor, Nettie Donaldson. I asked God for forgiveness.”

Even now, years later, Adam could smell the sweetness of her skin, still see the silken curtain of her hair floating in the water—

“Am I interrupting, son?”

Adam brought the chair legs to the floor with a thump, sat up straight and forced himself to focus on his father, who stood framed in the doorway. Still a commanding figure, at fifty-two, his snow-white hair was the only external evidence that time was passing. But Adam knew his father’s health had not been good of late.

“No, come in, Dad.” P.K. entered the study, carrying a foul-looking herbal tonic. He caught Adam’s glance at the glass and shrugged. “Rain has my knee acting up.”

Sinking into the oversize leather wingback chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him, balancing the glass on his thigh.

“Nice party last night.”

Laying a stack of papers aside, Adam reached for the grain report he’d been reading earlier.

“Yes, Alma knows how to throw a party.”

“Mmm-hmm,” P.K. mused. “Don’t know what we’d do without Alma. Fine woman. Beth have a good time?”

“Seemed to.”

“Now there’s a woman you can be proud of, son. Beth’s an excellent choice for a wife. Comes from good stock. None finer than Leighton and Gillian Baylor. You’ll be starting a family right away?”

Adam shook his head, negative.

“Have you discussed kids?” P.K. asked. “You’re not getting any younger.”

Adam focused on the grain report. “What’s age got to do with it? I know many a man that’s fathered a child late in life.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Two young people in love—I’d have thought the subject might have come up. Thought maybe new ways had changed the idea of not discussing it until after the marriage, but apparently it hasn’t.” P.K. sipped his tonic. “You want children, don’t you? None of us is getting any younger, you know—”

“Actually, Dad, I haven’t thought about it.” Children were the last thing on his mind. He had to get through the wedding first.

“I wouldn’t put it off too long,” P.K. said. “Time passes quickly.”

“I know, Dad. You want grandchildren.”

“I do, and I’m not apologizing for it. Should have a houseful by now.”

Adam quieted his irritation. What was this talk of love and grandkids? P.K. Baldwin didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. He tossed the grain report onto the desk. “I guess we’re pretending this isn’t an arranged marriage. If Beth didn’t bring a dowry of five hundred acres of prime land you wouldn’t be so eager to have her become a Baldwin.”

P.K. lifted his glass, staring at the murky liquid. “That’s a little cold, isn’t it?”

“But true.” Adam’s tone hardened. “The town’s abuzz with the Baylors’ daughter marrying into the family.”

“She’ll make you a good wife.”

“And the Baylors’ land doesn’t hurt a thing. That right?” P.K.’s features remained as bland as Alma’s bread pudding. “Son. It’s only land, and we have all we need. I’m thinking of your future happiness.”

Alma bustled in, bearing a tray with cups and a silver pot of fresh coffee. The Hispanic woman was more than a housekeeper—she was a vital part of the Baldwin family. She had single-handedly raised Andrew, Pat and Joey after Ceilia Baldwin’s death when Adam was ten.

“I thought you gentlemen might enjoy coffee.”

“None for me, thanks,” P.K. said as Alma set the tray on the corner of the desk.

“Then you would like one of the nice cinnamon rolls I just took out of the oven, sí?”

Adam smiled. “Just coffee, Alma.”

She bent to pat his lean cheek. “You should eat. You will need all your strength to make many niños for your father, no?” Picking up the silver pot, she smiled at P.K. “Señor Baldwin?”

P.K. toasted her with his glass. “I’m drinking my pain tonic.”

She sent a cautious look at him before shuffling out on slippered feet.

When the door closed behind her, P.K. pushed himself up and stepped to the window. Tugging the curtain aside, he focused on the rain rolling off the roof of the hacienda and splashing onto the rock veranda.

Adam bent over another report, but he didn’t see it. He heard the rain drumming on the roof, but his mind had returned to that hot summer day seven years earlier.

“Adam, this is crazy!” Vonnie giggled as they raced through the small grove of trees, hand in hand. The orange sky was in the midst of another spectacular sunset.

Flinging his arms wide, Adam let out a joyous whoop, causing her to break into laughter. She tried to clamp her hand over his mouth, but their feet tangled and they toppled to the ground, laughing. Between short, raspy breaths, they hugged each other so tightly he thought their ribs would crack.

He could hardly believe it! He’d convinced Vonnie to marry him!

Sitting up, he looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, Vonnie Taylor.”

He could see in her eyes that she believed him, to the very depths of her soul.

“You know we’re going to be in trouble when they find out.”

“Trouble” wouldn’t cover it. His father would horse-whip him. “They can tie me to the stake and burn me alive,” he vowed. “We’re going to do it.”

“But how do we even know the judge will travel this road—”

His hand covered her mouth, stifling her protests.

“I overheard the men talking at the feed store, yesterday,” he whispered. “They said a judge from Lubbock was coming through here today. All we have to do is watch for him, Vonnie. He’ll ride through here.”

“But it’s late…”

“Come on.” He pulled her to her feet.

It was nearly dark when a dust-covered Jenny Lind buggy, with patched roof and floral curtains for privacy, rolled down the road. Vonnie and Adam studied it and the lanky driver from the shadows.

“Do you think it’s him?”

“It’s got to be.”

The tall, thin man in the dusty black frock coat and stovepipe hat gingerly stepped down from the buggy and gathered some pieces of wood. In a few minutes he had a campfire going and a skillet on the fire, into which he forked thick slices of bacon.

Adam and Vonnie approached the campsite. “Judge?”

Startled, the man frowned up at them.

“What do you want?”

Drawing a deep breath, Adam cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt your supper, sir, but me and my lady here…we want to get married.”

Straightening, the man studied a trembling Vonnie. “Married?”

“Yes, sir.”

Adam was holding her hand so tightly she protested with a soft whimper.

The old man’s pale eyes swept Vonnie. “You got your folks’ permission?”

“Don’t need it, sir. We’re old enough to make up our own minds.”

The man’s eyes centered on him.

“You are the judge, aren’t you? We heard you were coming.”

The man nodded slowly, his attention drifting back to Vonnie.

“You can marry us?”

“If you got a dollar for the license—”

“I got a dollar,” Adam said, digging into his pocket and producing a silver coin.

The coin Adam dropped into the judge’s narrow hand disappeared into the pocket of the shiny suit jacket.

“Got a ring?”

“No, sir,” Adam said.

The judge eyed Vonnie. “You sure you want to do this, young lady?”

“I’m sure,” she said.

Adam slipped his arm around her and drew her closer to his side.

The judge dusted his coat and straightened it, then settled his hat more firmly on his head, tugging it down low on his forehead. Adam could barely see his eyes now.

“Do you love this…woman?”

“I do,” Adam said.

“You’ll take care of her come sickness or other troubles?”

“I will.”

“No matter what happens, you’ll stay with her?”

“I will,” he vowed. “We both believe in the gospel, sir. I’ll take care of her.”

“Young lady, do you love this man?”

“I do,” she whispered.

“You’ll take care of him in the good and bad times?”

“I will.”

“No matter what life hands you, you’ll stick with him?”

“I will.”

“Then I pronounce you man and wife. Kiss your bride.”

Adam’s arm tightened around her; his lips brushed hers. “I love you,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I love you, too.”

The judge bent to turn his bacon before it burned. “Where you heading now, young people?”

“We’re staying with friends tonight,” Adam said.

“Then what?”

“Not sure.” At the time, he didn’t want to think about tomorrow and what would surely happen.

“Planning on walking, are you?”

“We got horses, by the trees.”

“Uh-huh. Well, my blessin’s to you both.”

“Thanks, Judge. Thanks a lot.” He looked at his bride. “Thanks a whole lot!”

“Have you spoken to Beth about the building plans?” P.K.’s voice broke into Adam’s thoughts.

Getting up, he moved to the file cabinet. “No, but I’ll get around to it.”

“Get around to it? Son, it takes time to build a house. We’ll need to get the men started as soon as possible. You’ll want to move your bride in shortly after the honeymoon, won’t you?”

“I’ll talk to Beth, Dad.” P.K. had raised his sons with an iron hand. No give, no take. His way or no way. Adam knew the land had been a hard taskmaster. Building a ranch the size of Cabeza del Lobo—Wolf’s Head—out of the desert had been grueling, demanding more than most men could give. Many had folded up and left, selling out to the highest bidder, often P.K. His father had stuck it out, made his mark on the land. He’d done it without a wife’s support, while raising four boys with a housekeeper’s help. Adam respected him for that. They’d butted heads over a lot of things, but how to run the ranch wasn’t one of them. P.K.’s cattle and horse instincts were still indisputable.

The Baldwin ranch was a sprawling establishment with patios and flowering gardens surrounding spacious adobe buildings. P.K. owned four sitios of land, 73,240 acres, but he controlled more than a million acres. At the peak of his prosperity, the ranch supported 50,000 Hereford-graded cattle, 15,000 horses, and 6,000 mules. Some thirty Mexican and Opata Indian families lived on the ranch, harvesting hay, vegetables and fruit, in addition to overseeing the livestock. The Baldwin water supply was plentiful; five springs, creeks that flowed in the spring and fall, and an underground river easily tapped by wells.

Forty acres situated to the south of the main hacienda were reserved for Adam and his wife. Pat, Joey and Andrew had been allotted similar parcels with adjoining property lines.

P.K. had made sure that when his sons married, they had ample room to raise his grandchildren.

Adam knew that the prosperous appearances were deceiving. The past few years Cabeza Del Lobo had fallen on hard times, which was why P.K. was pushing for this marriage with Beth. Adam was expected to step up and do his duty for the good of the family. He sighed. Beth deserved a better man than he. She deserved to marry a man who loved her.

His thoughts turned to Vonnie and the feud between their fathers. Even now, when their children were grown, P.K. and Teague Taylor hated each other more than ever. Sometimes he caught P.K. staring at Vonnie—resenting her heritage? He was never sure. He had never openly spoken about the half Cherokee/half white blood that ran through Teague’s adopted daughter’s veins. He’d known that Teague loved his child with great intensity and whatever lay between the two men, P.K. had never stepped over the line and used racial inequality to further inflame the rift.

Letting the curtain drop back into place, P.K. returned to the chair. “Noticed you drank punch with the Taylor girl last night.”

“Mmm,” Adam responded absently.

“Was that necessary?”

Filing a folder away, Adam closed the drawer. “Only being polite, Dad.”

P.K. grunted. “Noticed her useless father didn’t bother to show up.”

“Did you really expect him to?”

“I expect nothing out of Teague Taylor.” P.K. took a swig of tonic.

The dispute between the two families had gone on for so long Adam had lost sympathy for either side. The act that had sparked his father’s ire was never forgiven.

“Better leave that woman alone. She’ll get you in trouble,” P.K. muttered.

Adam glanced up. “Who?”

“The Taylor girl.”

“Her name’s Vonnie, and she’s hardly a girl anymore.”

“Vonnie,” P.K. repeated. “I don’t care what her name is—you leave her alone.” He was muttering. “I’ve seen her type. Sashaying around—turning men’s heads with those strange-looking eyes. You leave her alone. And you tell Andrew, Pat and Joey to do the same. There isn’t a Taylor worth their salt.”

Adam couldn’t remember how many times they’d had this conversation. It was getting old. “Why tell me? I’m engaged, remember?”

“Engaged or not, you keep your eyes to yourself.” P.K. frowned. “There was a time I worried about you and the Taylor girl.”

Adam glanced up.

“Don’t think I didn’t see the way you two looked at each other when you were younger. I’m not blind. Many a Sunday I considered throwing a bucket of water on you to cool you off. You were just lucky Alma convinced me that it was childish fancies. For a time, I was starting to wonder.”

Adam bent low over the desk. “I didn’t look at Vonnie Taylor any certain way.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t. I’ll tell you now what I told you then. You stay away from the Taylors. All of them.”

“Personally, I think you overreact when it comes to the Taylors.”

“You don’t know a thing about it. The Taylors are trash!”

“How can you say that? The Flying Feather is a respected ranch.”

“The Flying Feather, ha! Teague wouldn’t have a red cent if he hadn’t loaned his last dollar to the owner of a traveling sideshow and had to take that pair of ostriches as payment.”

“Maybe, but he took a pair of birds and built it into a sound business.”

P.K. scoffed. “Until Teague got stuck with those birds he was dirt-poor. The community felt sorry for Cammy Taylor having a baby girl she’d brought home to raise and Teague so broke he couldn’t afford monthly staples. Man didn’t have a lick of sense. If he had a dollar and someone gave him a hard-luck tale he’d hand it over. If it hadn’t been for neighbor’s charity, his family would have gone hungry many a day.”

Today the Taylor spread was the third largest in the community and thriving. A bitter pill for P.K. to swallow.

His father stared out the window, speaking absently, as if he had forgotten Adam was in the room. “Teague always acted like he was so holy and righteous. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth he was so self-righteous. Well, in my book, it’s a sin to let your family do without, especially when you could have done something about it.”

Adam pushed to his feet, his voice bordering on impatience. “For the life of me, I cannot understand what happened between you and Teague Taylor that made you such bitter enemies.”

P.K. looked over his shoulder, back ramrod straight, as if he had just now remembered Adam’s presence. His features darkened. “It’s between me and Teague.”

“So you’ve said for as long as I can remember. What you’ve failed to say is why the hatred runs so deep. All this talk of murder, jewels. None of it makes sense. If you expect me to hate the Taylors as much as you do, you need to give me a reason. A solid reason.”

“My word is my reason. That’s all you need.”

And it’s all he’d get; Adam knew that only too well.

Turning from the window, P.K. downed the last of his tonic. “You won’t forget to talk to Beth about the house plans?”

“I’ll speak to her tonight.”

“Good. I’ll tell Manny to start on your furniture. I thought cherry would be nice. Nice, big pieces—maybe done up in Aztec fabric in reds, blues and yellows. What do you think? Something colorful?”

Adam felt the familiar surge of resentment. P.K. controlled his son’s life down to the furniture he would sit on.

“Beth and I haven’t set a date, Dad.”

With a gesture, he brushed the detail aside. “It’ll take a while to get the furniture built. No use waiting until the last minute. What do you think? Aztec fabric?”

Adam shrugged. “Talk to Beth.”

Moving back to the window, P.K. gazed out. Adam could see the pride glistening in his eyes. Cabeza Del Lobo had been built by sweat and hard work. No one had ever given P.K. Baldwin anything. He had taken ten acres and carved out an empire. He would die if he lost the place in payment of a bad note.

Teague Taylor had taken two birds and lucked out.

Adam studied his father from beneath lowered lashes. He stood at the window, his lean body more bent than Adam remembered, shifting his weight on one leg. He suddenly found himself wondering what had taken place between Teague and P.K. to cause such bitter animosity?

He’d heard things like, the man’s foolish. He wasn’t worth his salt. Traitor to his own kind. But never a concrete motive for such resentment.

When he married Vonnie he’d been too young to approach P.K., to demand a reason for the dispute.

Now, all of a sudden, he wanted to know.