Beautiful Bandit (Lone Star Legends) (39 page)

The boy picked up where he’d left off in his Parker’s First Reader. “You have seen a picture of a cat and a house.”

It was Samantha’s turn. “Did you see a sound?”

“No,” Tim, continued, “I can hear a sound, but I cannot see a sound.”

As the children took turns reading the lesson, Levee’s mind wandered. It was hard to believe that, just last April, she’d been in Boston, a happily married woman with a baby on the way. And here it was, just halfway through December, and she was a widow, forced to accept the only position available to make ends meet until she could afford the train fare back to Boston. If she hadn’t spent most of her pay on supplies for the children, that’s where she’d be right now.

You know better, Levee O’Reilly. Eagle Pass feels more like home to you than Boston ever did.

She perched on the corner of her desk as images of that terrible day on the prairie flickered at the corners of her memory. The stagecoach robbery, those awful men, the gruesome sight of her young husband lying so very still in the dust…. Levee clasped her hands and tried to shake the pictures from her mind with the knowledge that Frank Michaels was dead. Thank God for Kate Neville for firing the shot that killed him!

“Somethin’ wrong, Mrs. O’Reilly?”

Levee felt her cheeks go hot. “Of course not, Tim. What makes you ask such a thing?”

“It’s just, well, you looked powerful mad just now,” the boy said, shuffling his well-worn boots along the floor beneath his desk. “I—uh, we’re finished the page….”

So much for Reverend Peterson’s assurances that you’d forgive that terrible man eventually. Forcing a smile, Levee glanced at the big, ornate clock in the back corner, which had been donated, along with a huge crate of books, by Matilda Montgomery. With only thirty minutes left in the school day, she saw no point in moving on to the next lesson. “You all did such a wonderful job. Just wonderful!”

Just as she opened her mouth to dismiss the class, Mack walked through the rear doors. “Howdy, young’uns,” he said, hoisting a brown sack over his shoulder. “Look what your Uncle Mack has brought you!”

The girls giggled, and the boys shouted, and before Levee could say hello, Mack was surrounded by smiling children. He doled out rock candy, one chunk per palm. He looked so hale and hardy that it was hard to believe what sorry shape he’d been in when the two of them had arrived in Eagle Pass. If it hadn’t been for his will to live, he would have died from Frank Michaels’s well-placed bullet. The morning after the stagecoach robbery, his quiet whimpering had roused her, and she’d removed the bullet and patched him up using tools and tape she’d found in Liam’s medical bag.

For two long days, they’d limped along the San Antonio Road, and with every painful step, Levee’s hatred for Frank Michaels had mounted. Though it hadn’t been his bullet that had killed her husband, it might as well have been. If not for Mack’s strength and perseverance, Liam’s body would have been food for the buzzards and coyotes. After helping her dig a grave using spokes from a broken wheel, Mack had fashioned a crude cross from the boards of the driver’s seat of the stagecoach—hardly the grave or marker Liam deserved, but a long sight better than the alternative. How could any right-minded person—Christian or otherwise—think it possible for her ever to forgive the outlaw or his men?

Then, blessedly, a covered-in-dust stagecoach had appeared on the horizon. Levee had heard of mirages and thought that’s exactly what it was. But the driver had stopped and said he was going as far as Eagle Pass, and, since his only passenger was a mangy mutt named Mischief, he’d delivered the trail-weary passengers to town, where they’d both been ever since.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Levee returned Mack’s warm smile.

“I brought something for you, too,” he said, holding up a thin, rectangular package. “Early Christmas present from me to you.”

In the months since the robbery, she’d learned better than to argue with this bighearted, stubborn cowboy. “Just let me give them their homework assignment, and I’ll be right with you.”

Mack made himself comfortable in the seat closest to her desk as she instructed the children to practice their multiplication tables that evening. To the youngest two, who hadn’t yet progressed that far in arithmetic, she said, “Recite your ABCs.” Then, Levee hugged them all and stood on the schoolhouse porch, waving good-bye.

When she returned to the classroom, she saw that Mack had written “Levee O’Reilly is the prettiest gal in Eagle Pass” across the chalkboard. “Flattering as that might be,” she teased, “you’re not leaving here until you’ve washed that slate clean, Mack Burdette.”

“All in good time. First,” he said, holding out a package wrapped in brown paper, “you need to open your present.”

She gawked at the small, flat rectangle. “But it’s nearly two weeks until Christmas!”

Mack shrugged. “I’ll probably be out at the farthest acres of the ranch by then, rounding up the strays.”

Almost from the moment Dr. Lane had given him a clean bill of health, Mack had been a ranch hand for the Neville family at the Lazy N Ranch. He seemed born to the work, for in the time he’d been their employee, he had grown lean and tan, and his brown eyes glowed with power and pleasure. Though it made Levee feel conceited and vain to admit it, she knew that his happiness was in part because he’d taken a shine to her. His boyish grin, his impromptu visits, and his thoughtful little gifts for her and her students made it clear he hoped that she’d return his feelings someday.

But it had taken months to accept her fate as a widow. Had taken months more to decide that she never again would allow romantic notions to sway her from doing what was right. If she’d fought harder against moving to Mexico back in April, Liam would be alive today. And, since Mack had the same persuasive tendencies, she could not—would not—allow her fondness for him to grow into something more.

Gently, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pried her fist open, and laid the parcel on her palm.

“You really shouldn’t have, Mack.”

“Sure, I should’ve. Now, go on, open it.”

She peeled back the brown paper and exposed a bar of chocolate.

“Imported,” he explained, tapping its wrapper, “all the way from Switzerland.”

Levee had seen the candies at J. W. Riddle grocery store and knew they cost far more than he could afford. “It’s too much, Mack—really! You should take it back. I’m sure Mr. Riddle will give you a refund, or exchange it for something—”

He took the candy bar from her hand, opened it, and, grinning, bit off a corner. “Can’t take it back now,” he said around the mouthful, “so you might as well enjoy it.”

He handed it back to her, and she took a bite, mostly to humor him. “I’ll just save the rest. If I’m disciplined, it might just last until you’re back from ‘the farthest acres’ so you can share it with me.” Levee rewrapped the candy and tucked it into her canvas bag. “Thank you, Mack. But, really, you shouldn’t have. You’re too thoughtful and generous for your own good sometimes.”

“No such thing as ‘too generous’ where you’re concerned, Levee O’Reilly.”

And he meant it. She could see proof of it all over his handsome, mustached face, could hear it in his voice. A blush crept into her cheeks, and, to hide it, Levee led the way to the door. “Will you be here for the children’s Christmas pageant? I’m sure they’d love seeing their Uncle Mack in the audience.”

A strange expression skittered across his face—a look of hope that told her nothing would please him more than to hear her say she would love seeing him in the audience. But it wouldn’t be fair to mislead him. He deserved a woman who’d give him her all, not one who aimed to live out the rest of her days alone. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said from the porch. “Not for all the world.”

Just as she wondered what in the world to say to that, a rich, baritone voice called out, “Say, Burdette, you gonna stand there jabbering with the schoolmarm all the livelong day?”

Mack smiled and waved. “Hey, Dan. Finished at the granary, are you?”

“Yep.”

How could she have been in town all this time without having seen the man before? Not at Sunday services or church socials, not in the shops in town or on the roads to and from Eagle Pass. As Mack threw his gear into the back of the wagon, Dan’s gaze locked to hers.

If she’d ever seen bigger, bluer eyes, Levee didn’t know when. Shining, golden curls peeked out from under his hat brim, and then he smiled, reminding her of how it feels to glimpse the sun after days of dreary rain. The warmth of it tingled from the roots of her hair to the soles of her stockings.

About the Author

Long before becoming a writer, best-selling author Loree Lough literally sang for her supper. She enjoyed receiving rave reviews and applause and touring the country but sensed it wasn’t what the Lord had in mind for her. She tried everything from shrink-wrapping torque wrenches to spinning pizza dough to working as a chef in a nursing home kitchen, to name just a few, without finding one job that fit her. Then, while visiting her parents in Baltimore, Loree worked for an insurance corporation, where she met the man she would marry.

Loree began writing when her husband, Larry, had a job change that moved the family to Richmond, Virginia. She started out writing a neighborhood column and soon began getting assignments from the publication’s editor—as well as the editors of other publications. But it wasn’t until she penned her first novel, the award-winning Pocketful of Love, that Loree finally understood what the Lord had in mind for her: seventy-three books (and counting) later, she’s still touching the hearts of readers worldwide.

In addition to her books, Loree has sixty-three short stories and 2,500 articles in print. Her stories have earned dozens of industry and Reader’s Choice awards. Loree is a frequent guest speaker for writers’ organizations, book clubs, private and government institutions, corporations, college and high school writing programs, and more, where she encourages aspiring writers with her comedic approach to learned-the-hard-way lessons about the craft and industry.

An avid wolf enthusiast, Loree is involved with the Wolf Sanctuary of Pennsylvania. She and Larry, along with a formerly abused, now spoiled pointer named Cash, split their time between a remote cabin in the Allegheny Mountains and a humble house in the Baltimore suburbs.

Loree loves hearing from her readers, so feel free to write her at [email protected] To learn more about Loree and her books, visit her Web site at www.loreelough.com.