Authors: When Morning Comes
Ten
Seth lay with Ella in his arms and understood that the home he’d been searching for was here. The thought of leaving her or any of the children made him physically ache. However, if he stayed, what would he do to support them?
The problem gnawed at him so deeply he couldn’t sleep. Instead he stared at her beautiful face and contemplated the future. What if he married Ella and took her and the children to Boston?
Seth winced, and Ella shifted in his arms, murmuring and turning toward him with a sigh. Her hand lay above his heart. His chest tightened. He loved her so much. He wouldn’t do that to her.
He could imagine the life she’d live in the North so soon after the war. Snubs, sneers, a deep down coldness that rivaled the winter air. She wouldn’t be happy there, where she couldn’t walk through the fields barefoot or spend her evenings on the porch gazing at the land she loved.
The thought of returning to Boston and spending his days making instruments meant to kill in a place full of loud noises and stifling air didn’t appeal to Seth, either. Despite the money he’d make, all the things he could give them, he’d be miserable and so would they.
Honor and duty tugged him both to the North and to the South. Confused, uncertain, Seth untangled himself from Ella’s warm embrace and went to the window.
Dawn burst over the horizon, spreading orange, pink, and red fingers of light across the land. The apple tree on the far side of the field stretched, strong and full, toward the sun.
And suddenly he knew what he had to do.
***
Ella awoke in her own bed alone. Vaguely she recalled Seth carrying her there. She’d been sleepy, happy, content. He’d kissed her on the forehead and murmured—
“Good-bye?” She sat up, scowling.
Gaby’s cries had Ella scrambling to get into her nightdress before one of the children walked in. Her mind still puzzling over the memory of Seth, she changed the baby and walked down the hall to his room.
The door was open. She could see his bed—empty. Her heart began to thud with fear. He’d touched her, loved her, then left her. She shouldn’t be surprised. Had she truly expected Seth to stay?
From the ache in her chest, Ella guessed that she had. Still, she stepped into the room and checked his closet and the dresser drawers. Also empty. Her eyes burned with tears.
The sound of the other children moving about had her blinking the tears away. She would not let them see how Seth’s desertion pained her. There would no doubt be tears once they knew he was gone, but none of them could be hers. At least not where anyone could see.
She hurried downstairs and fed Gaby before she raised the roof with her howls. The child was doing so much better—had been since Seth arrived. For him she drank her bottles and took her naps. She’d begun to gain weight as a baby should. Ella pushed aside the thought that Gaby would suffer the most without her favorite man in the house.
Thunder on the stairs made her straighten, pat her cheeks to ensure they were not damp, and force a cheery morning smile onto her face before the children streamed in for breakfast.
No one asked the inevitable question until they’d eaten and cleared the table. As the others filed outside to do their chores, then play, Cal hesitated. “Where’s Seth?”
Ella turned away. Sooner or later she had to tell them, but right now she could barely breathe.
“Ella?” Cal stood at her elbow, concerned dark eyes intent on her face. “What’s the matter?”
She hesitated again, sadness and guilt nearly overcoming her. If she hadn’t been selfish, if she hadn’t needed his strength, desired his touch, maybe he wouldn’t have left. Or at least he would have stayed a little while longer. Ella swallowed the thickness in her throat and plunged ahead.
“He’s gone, Cal.”
Surprise replaced the confusion, immediately followed by anger. Ella braced herself to hear horrible insults hurled on Seth’s lying, Yankee head.
“You’re wrong!” he shouted. “He wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye. He wouldn’t leave at all. I don’t believe you!”
Ella blinked. “I thought you wanted him to go?”
“Not anymore. He’s not like everyone else.”
“What’s everyone else like?” He hunched his shoulders and looked away. “Tell me, Cal.”
For an instant she didn’t think he’d answer, then the words came tumbling out. “I loved my pa, but he was . . .” His voice trailed off as he struggled with a way to impart the truth, yet keep from being disloyal.
“Your father was who he was,” Ella said gently.
Cal sighed, nodded. “He was a friend. He loved me. But he didn’t try to make me a better person. He never punished me. He’d laugh when I acted up and pat me on the back.”
Ella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That sounded just like Henry Elliot. She found it interesting that Cal understood what he needed better than his own father had.
“But Seth . . .” Cal shrugged. “Even though he’s a Yankee, he knows what’s right and wrong, and he wanted me to know, too. I thought he’d live here and keep us safe for always. He’d marry you. Then you’d be our ma and he’d be our pa. We could stay here, and things would be the way they were before.”
Ella put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Nothing’s ever going to be the way it was before, Cal. I’m sorry. Those days are gone.”
“Mama always said that when morning comes things look brighter. And things were startin’ to look brighter with Seth around. He came after the dark times. He’s our morning, Ella.”
She smiled at the poetry in a young boy’s heart and tried to draw him to her. But he pulled away and ran upstairs. She let him go. What could she say?
Truth was truth and Seth was gone.
Exhaustion weighted Ella’s shoulders and she leaned against the stove. Not only had she been selfish to welcome Seth’s embrace, but foolish, too. What if she were with child?
A small sob escaped her lips—not of fear, but of joy. Seth’s child would be a gift. A living, breathing memory of the one and only time she’d known love. She’d cherish the gift and care for the child as she’d care for the others in her charge.
Gaby, left too long in her basket on the table, began to wail. Ella ran the heels of her hands over her eyes to blot the tears. Before she could turn and get the baby, someone stepped through the door. Gaby immediately stopped crying and giggled.
Ella forgot to breathe. The baby never stopped crying like that unless—
She spun about. Seth held the little girl aloft, grinning at her as the sun through the kitchen window caught in her hair and turned it gold.
“Seth!” she cried, and he glanced at her.
“Morning.”
Ella had to sit down. When that didn’t help, she put her head on the table and forced herself to breathe.
“What’s the matter?”
“I—I—I thought you were gone.”
“I was. To town. I had things to do.”
Ella laughed and the sound was a bit hysterical. “Things to do? Like what?”
“Send a few wires. Talk to a man.”
Cal skidded into the room, took one look at Seth, and threw his arms around Seth’s waist. “I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it.”
Seth’s face creased in confusion. “What wasn’t true?”
“Ella said you left us.” Cal glared at her. “But she was wrong.”
“Left you?” Seth echoed and frowned at her over the boy’s head. “Why would you think that?”
“I woke up and—” Ella went silent and glanced at Cal.
“Cal.” Seth brushed a hand over the child’s unruly hair. “Run outside and round up your brother and sisters, please.”
“Sure.” Cal ran out, banging the door behind him.
Seth raised an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.
“You were gone,” Ella blurted. “Your clothes, too. What was I supposed to think, Seth?”
“Not that I’d had my way with you and disappeared into the wilderness. What do you take me for, Ella?” He held up his hand, jiggling the baby with the other. “Don’t answer that. I’m a no-account Yankee. A carpetbagger. The enemy. Will you ever trust me?”
“I want to. I’m sorry. But you have to admit, it looked bad. Where are your clothes?”
“In my suitcase.”
“Aha!”
“In your room.”
She blinked. “What?”
Sighing, Seth kissed Gaby and put her into the basket. Then he crossed the short distance between them and brushed the loose hair away from the nape of Ella’s neck. She shivered at the memories his gentle touch invoked.
“I was hoping to hang them in your closet. After you marry me.”
“Marry you? But—”
“I had to go to town and see a man about a wedding. I figured I’d be back before you woke up. But while I was there, folks kept stopping me on the street to thank me for bringing in those deserters. I hear they’ve been causing trouble up and down the border. People were downright cordial to me today. Not that they kissed me and welcomed me into their homes but—” He shrugged. “Maybe someday I might fit in. Anyway, I brought the pastor home with me. I hope you won’t have me carting him back without earning his pay.”
Ella opened her mouth, shut it again, frowned.
“Is that a no?”
“No. I mean—” She didn’t know what she meant.
“I’m not doing this right.” Seth got down on one knee, took her hand, kissed her palm. “I love you, Ella. Say you’ll marry me. Today.”
Still she hesitated. Marrying Seth was a dream come true, but there were other people to consider besides herself.
His smiled faded. “Was I wrong in thinking that you love me, too?”
“Of course not. I do love you, Seth, but—”
“No buts. That’s all that matters.”
“No, it isn’t. What about the children? This farm? My farm? Your life in Boston? Your job? All the other things that matter make my head spin.”
“I’ve taken care of them. Don’t worry. You always worry.”
“Someone has to.”
“From now on we’ll worry together. And I have to admit, life might get rough.”
She snorted. “Rougher than it’s been?”
“Good point.” His hand tightened on hers. “Maybe if we’re together, rough won’t seem so . . . rough. And in answer to your questions, the children will be ours. The two farms will become one. Like us.” He winked and Ella blushed. “As for your other questions, I sent two wires this morning. One to my mother informing her I wasn’t coming home.”
“Oh, Seth, that’s not the way to tell her.”
He shrugged. “It’s done now.”
“You got a reply?”
“Yes. And here’s where things get disagreeable. She disinherited me.”
Ella gasped. “Because of us?”
“Because I refused to take my proper place in society.” He grimaced. “I loathe society. I loathe Boston and the job she had planned and the wife she had picked out.”
“Wife?” This was the first she’d heard of one.
He waved away her question and the wife as if they were no more important than a fly. “Her choice, not mine. I barely knew the woman.”
“Oh, well, that explains it then.”
He raised an eyebrow at her tone, but let the matter drop. Ella decided to do the same.
“I was raised to do my duty to my country and my family. I was confused and torn, until last night. My family is here. So is my home. I can’t do the job my father did. Hell, I’m not sure I can do this one, either.”
“Which job is that?”
“Do you know anything about apple orchards?”
“Apples?” Confused, Ella shrugged. “A bit.”
“Good. Because the other wire I sent was to buy as many apple trees as I could get my hands on. I think they’ll grow very well here, and there’s going to be a demand for Southern fruit products now that the war’s over.”
“I thought you’d been disinherited. How will we pay for the apple trees?”
He grinned. “I do have a little money of my own. Soldiering doesn’t pay much, but what it paid, I put aside. Enough to get us started. Then we work.”
She’d once thought he wasn’t a farmer and he never would be. Yet here he was becoming one. Of course, she’d thought she would never marry, never have children of her own.
Ella’s heart fluttered with hope. Life would never again be the way it had once been. It would be better.
“Marry me?” he repeated.
“Please.”
Ella put her hand in Seth’s. Together they left the house, gathered their children, and promised forever beneath the apple tree.
And Cal was right. When morning came, everything did look brighter.
Read on for a peek at the first Western-set historical romance in the
Once Upon A Time in the West
series by Lori Austin
BEAUTY AND THE BOUNTY HUNTER
Available October 2012 from Signet Eclipse
A half hour later, Cat reached Alexi’s tent, which was large enough to serve as a Rebel hospital. Mikhail stood outside. “Hitch the horses,” Cat told him. He moved off without argument.
Cat drew aside the flap and ducked in. Alexi was sprawled on a feather tick, one arm around a blonde and another around a brunette. The women were naked and fast asleep. Alexi lay naked and wide-awake.
Cat’s gaze swept his body. Everywhere.
He smirked. “Care to join us?”
“We need to be on the road.”
His lips flattened. “What did you do?”
“Now, Alexi.”
He came to his feet, tumbling the blonde onto the ground and the brunette into the dip where his body had been. Both awoke with a jolt and a gasp.
“Leave.” He flicked one hand as if shooing a fly. The girls were obviously familiar with Alexi because they snatched their scattered clothes and fled. “Should we expect a posse or merely the sheriff?”
“Hard to say.” Depended on whom she’d knocked out—citizen or visitor—and what kind of friends he had.
“I need to know,
cara
,” Alexi said softly.
Since he did, Cat quickly told him what had happened. Alexi didn’t say she shouldn’t have gotten involved. He knew she couldn’t turn away. He also knew she’d been right.
Alexi might have more bed partners than hairs on his head, but they were always willing. He would consider it a terrible breach of his principles to take what wasn’t given freely. Women offered their bodies, men offered coins, horses, jewels. After a few hours, sometimes even moments, with Alexi, they just couldn’t help themselves.
Alexi struck the tent—folding it over and over, then shoving it onto the floor of the wagon and placing the feather tick that had been his bed on top. Mikhail hitched the horses, the two of them performing their tasks so smoothly it was obvious they’d done so many times before. In less than an hour they left St. Louis.
They traveled five miles that day without incident, setting up camp near a thin stream of creek as the sun set. Cat was exhausted, but camp had to be made, horses watered, fed, and hobbled, fires started, food prepared.
She’d just sat down with a plate of rice and ham, along with the coffee she’d wanted so badly that morning, when Alexi strode up. The tent rose behind him, a white cloud against the ebony night. The dancing flames of her fire threw shadows across his face, making the fine bones even more pronounced. His dark blue eyes swept over her. “You have to change.”
“Don’t you like me just the way I am?”
“No time,
querida
.” Reaching down, he hauled her up by the arm. “They’re here.”
Cat didn’t bother to ask how he knew. Alexi always knew, because Mikhail, whose large ears seemed to hear better than anyone else’s, always told him.
She still wore her boy’s clothes. Driving a wagon in a skirt was always a mistake, but she should have thought ahead, realized that dressing like this—a woman in pants—was an even bigger one after the events of that morning.
She shoved her plate and cup at Alexi. He nearly dropped them, sloshing coffee over his hand and dumping the plate onto the ground. He cursed, several languages all mixed together so that they sounded kind of pretty, then called after her, “Costume,
bébé
. You know what to do.”
Cat stripped out of her boy’s clothes and shoved those at Alexi too. He’d dispose of the evidence, probably in her own fire, then, wearing only her underthings, she ran to the tent and ducked inside. Not an instant too soon. Seconds later the steady beat of horses’ hooves drifted on the night and someone hailed the camp.
Cat’s gaze swept the interior, lighting on the valise where she’d once stored her costumes sitting atop Alexi’s bed. She couldn’t believe he’d kept it for over a year. She tore through, pulling out a brightly colored skirt with many flounces that ended well above the ankle. Cat found an equally bright blouse that dipped low enough to distract just about anyone.
Add large Gypsy earrings that would sparkle and twirl and capture every gaze, then scrub some water through her hair until it appeared tousled by lustful hands and slap on a bit of makeup to darken the skin. Her light green eyes were a problem. But if she kept them cast down and let her hair fall over them, maybe in the dusky light—only one lantern burned within the tent—they’d mistake her for someone Alexi had picked up south of the Rio Grande.
Thanks to Alexi, her Spanish was quite good, and what she didn’t know, she’d invent. She doubted anyone in a Missouri posse would notice.
“Everyone out of the wagons and tent!” The man sounded like he meant business. Whoever the fool in the alley had been, he seemed to have good friends indeed.
Cat peered into a hand mirror. The woman gazing back smiled seductively. She shoved her blouse off of one shoulder, tugged the waist of the skirt a little higher to reveal more of her calf. She just might do.
“Exactly who are you searching
for
, gentlemen?” Alexi sounded half asleep, as if he could care less who invaded his camp or rifled his property.
“Cat O’Banyon.”
Ah hell.
Cat recognized the voice. Obviously she hadn’t hit the man in the alley hard enough.
Alexi began to laugh. “The bounty hunter? Why would he be here?”
“Word is that O’Banyon’s a woman who likes to dress as a boy.”
“You think a woman could get the drop on all those desperate characters?” Alexi’s voice dripped with scorn. “I heard that in Abilene three men caught Cat O’Banyon red-handed, chased
him
for thirty miles. Although . . .”
He drew the word out, and even Cat, who knew Alexi’s tricks, found herself leaning forward in expectation of what he might say next.
“The man is quite clever,” Alexi continued. “What better way to throw everyone off the trail than to pretend to be a woman?”
Silence descended. Cat held her breath, hoping that Alexi’s talent at lies had saved them again. She should never have made the idiot in the alley say the words. That must have been what gave her away. But she hadn’t been able to help herself.
“Doesn’t matter,” the leader said at last. “Even if the woman we want ain’t O’Banyon, she assaulted a citizen. We gotta take her in.”
“Why would you think she’s here?” Alexi asked.
“Folks along the river said you left in an awful hurry.”
“Is that a crime?”
“In my experience, a quick exit usually means something’s fishy.”
“I assure you we’ve done nothing wrong.” Alexi’s voice held just the right amount of sincerity and outrage. He was so damn good at this.
“Then you won’t mind if we look around.”
“Be my guest.” The statement was followed by clangs and thumps as they searched the wagons. They wouldn’t find any elixir; Mikhail always sold every last bottle before leaving, which made it easier to deny ever selling it at all.
A short while later, the tent flap parted and several big, rough, dusty men strode in. The leader was easily distinguishable by the big tin star on his burly chest, the man in the alley equally recognizable by both the huge knot on his forehead and the sway of his enormous belly.
Cat had been peering into a hand mirror so she could see them enter without staring at the doorway as if she were expecting them. When they crowded into the tent, she spun, gibbering Spanish, berating them for invading her domicile, demanding to know who they were, calling them every name and every curse word she remembered.
None of them paid any attention to her words, her face, or anything else but the slow slide of the brightly colored material as it cascaded downward, catching on the swell of one breast.
Cat stroked her collarbone, making everyone who watched wonder how her skin would feel right there, stretched taut over such a fragile bone. While they considered that, she used the other, unwatched hand, to tug on the hem of the blouse so that the neckline dipped low enough to tantalize. Perhaps they might catch a hint of nipple if the garment would only slip just a little . . . bit . . . more.
Every man in the place, except Alexi, who’d already seen this show, held his breath and prayed.
Cat sauntered across the room, chattering in
español.
Speaking it brought back memories of the sudden spring snowstorm in South Dakota, the deserted cabin with more holes in the walls than boards. They’d huddled around a fire, and to pass the time Alexi had shared every word and phrase that he knew.
She was very good at learning languages, and she made up for her lack of vocabulary with a flair for invention, adding a few words that sounded like Spanish but weren’t anything at all.
Her skirt twirled, revealing more leg than was proper. Her feet were bare; she’d tied a piece of red string around one ankle. Several of the men couldn’t take their eyes off it.
Another thing Alexi had taught her—some men liked legs, some breasts—so it was best to give everyone a peek at everything. If they were to survive, people such as Alexi—and Cat—needed to use each gift they’d been given.
Though few could drag their eyes above her neck, she’d let her hair fall over her too-light-for-a-Mexican-peasant eyes, and she kept her distance from the fat man with the knot on his head. From what Cat had observed of the fellow so far, she should have hit him harder.
Cat glanced at Alexi, gibbered louder, waved her hands, which served the dual purpose of distracting attention from her face even more and making her breasts jiggle enticingly beneath the thin cotton blouse. One of the men choked, another muttered, “Holy hell.”
She thought Alexi managed, just barely, not to smile.
The lawman shook his head hard and dragged his gaze from Cat’s chest. “Why didn’t you come out when we called?”
Alexi pushed his way through the crowd until he stood at Cat’s side. “I’m afraid she doesn’t speak English.”
“None?” The leader of the posse sounded skeptical.
Alexi grabbed Cat by one wrist and yanked her close. “No need,” he murmured, running his palm across her bare shoulder.
Cat shivered. Good Lord, those hands.
Alexi brushed his thumb along the soft skin at the crook of her elbow, and Cat planted that elbow in his stomach. She proceeded to give him a piece of her furious Spanish mind. If they weren’t careful, she’d end up in jail or worse.
Alexi, who had turned his back to the others, rolled his eyes and smirked, but he let her rant on. They both understood that the more Spanish she spoke, the less Cat O’Banyon she appeared.
“What’s she sayin’?” whispered the heretofore silent man. Considering his high-pitched voice, Cat understood his reticence to speak.
“How should I know?” muttered the lawman. “This is Missouri, not Texas.”
Alexi winked at Cat, then turned. “I doubt very much you’d want to hear the translation.”
The leader’s gaze narrowed. “I say we do.”
Alexi shrugged. “She says you are the sons of swine to barge into a lady’s tent. She believes your mothers were . . .” Pausing, he tilted his head. “Well, I should not repeat that in the presence of a lady.”
“
She
said it,” one of the others pointed out.
“Nevertheless,” Alexi continued. “Something about how you will die. Blood, sweat, pain, your intestines in a fire.” He waved one hand. “It all blends together after a while.”
The men shuffled and murmured. Cat was certain she heard one of them say, “Witch.” She tensed. Being accused of witchcraft didn’t happen often these days, but it happened. And it always ended badly.
For the witch.
“What good is she if she can’t speak English?” the lawman asked.
“Ah, but, gentlemen.” Alexi glided in behind her, then dipped one hand down the front of Cat’s blouse, boldly cupping a breast and thumbing the nipple until it peaked and drew every eye, every thought, in the room. “She is so very good at everything else.”
Cat gritted her teeth and waited for the men to leave. Unfortunately, Alexi was giving them a performance for free that they couldn’t find outside a raree-show for several dollars.
He kept his hand down her shirt, palm around her breast, thumb just brushing the nipple. She wanted both to elbow him again and to lean back against his shoulder and sigh. It had been so long.
However, it hadn’t been long enough that she could overlook an audience.
“
Vete
,” she muttered.
Alexi put his mouth to her ear, as if he were nuzzling her. “Patience,
chiquita
,” he murmured, then licked the lobe.
The moan that escaped her was low and full of promise. A couple of the men watching answered in kind.
Alexi lifted his head, but he kept his hand right where it was. “Pardon me. I had forgotten you were there.”
Cat couldn’t see his smile, but she heard it in his voice. Felt it in his—
He pulled her more firmly against him. Yes. He was definitely smiling with more than his mouth.
“You will understand if I ask my associate to show you out.”
Cat risked a quick glance through the curtain of her hair. Mikhail stood in the opening, and she hadn’t even heard him arrive.
“Hold on, now,” the lawman began, and turned. When he had to lift his head, then lift it some more, for his gaze to reach Mikhail’s, the remainder of what he’d been about to say faded to a gurgle.
Everyone else appeared frozen, staring as well. Obviously none of them had seen Alexi’s show or purchased his elixir. Which was probably for the best.
Mikhail cracked his knuckles—the sound like gunfire in the sudden silence—then swept aside the tent flap. The posse filed out, though each one could not resist throwing a final glance over his shoulder. Perhaps to make sure the big man was not going to break their necks as soon as they turned their backs. Or, more likely, to discover if Alexi would be unable to wait until they were gone to toss her onto the mattress, throw up her skirt, and—
He pulled his hand free of her shirt, and Cat had to stop herself from snatching it back. What was he doing?
She spun, clapping a palm to either side of Alexi’s head, narrowly missing the boxing of his ears—she was out of practice at the art of grabbing a man with anything other than violence—and yanked his mouth to hers.