Praise for CBA bestselling author
LORI COPELAND

“Copeland’s latest historical is a fun Western romance in the vein of Linda Lael Miller and Rosanne Bittner, with colorful characters and a spirited plot.”

—Library Journal on Yellow Rose Bride

“As always, Lori Copeland manages to find something new and fresh to bring to her ‘love and laughter’ Western romances. The wild ostriches, the cast of delightful, endearing characters and the added mystery all lend themselves to making Bridal Lace and Buckskin a delight!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Copeland scores big with her latest historical about a woman and a doctor who argue about the best way to handle women’s health concerns. The characters are strong, and the issue will resonate with contemporary readers.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Bluebonnet Belle

“A riveting adventure in page-turning mystery and laugh-out-loud humor. Lori Copeland at her best!”

—Karen Kingsbury, bestselling author of Sunrise on A Case of Bad Taste

Yellow Rose Bride
Lori Copeland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Cheryl Hodde, Brenda Minton and Barbara Warren;

gal pals that keep me laughing through the ups and

downs of publishing.

Dear Reader,

Often an author gets the privilege to revise older novels—to go back and say all she meant to say, but didn’t. Yellow Rose Bride is such a book. Originally published in 1996 in the secular market as Bridal Lace and Buckskin, Vonnie’s and Adam’s story quickly became a favorite with readers.

In 1998, I moved to the Christian market, where I now write exclusively, but my older work lives on. I was asked to rewrite Buckskin for the Christian market, a God-given opportunity to portray the characters and their values in a new light. I hope you’ll enjoy the story—laugh and cry with a couple destined to be together both here and in eternity.

Warmly,

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

Louisiana/Texas Border, 1865

A beleaguered set of riders topped a rise. Shoulders rounded and heads bobbing with fatigue, the weary band rode slowly toward home.

Heat rose from the rutted surface in shimmering mirages; the horses’ heavy hooves left puffs of dry dust in the air. The backs and underarms of the men’s uniforms showed dark sweat pouring from bodies so thin that bones poked through their pale skin.

The soldiers were young, mere boys. War had aged them far beyond their years, stripped their faces of innocence, toughened their hearts and attitudes. Fatigue and bitterness marked their features now; their eyes darted warily to every bush and ditch.

Could it have been only three short years since they had ridden away from their families, filled with idealism, confident of victory?

“Let the Yanks come!” they’d shouted. The South would give them what-for and send them packing, tails tucked in shame.

With fear in their hearts and prayers on their lips, mothers had watched their sons ride into battle.

Fathers had stood by, grim faced, throats working against painful knots that choked the very life from their hearts. A man didn’t cry, but he hurt. Hurt real bad.

Reaching the crossroad, the soldiers paused to shake hands.

Removing his hat, the oldest, El Johnson, spoke first, his voice dry and void of emotion. “Guess this is where we split up.” Horses shied, tails switching flies.

The men nodded briefly before reining their horses in opposite directions.

They had ridden only a few yards before El turned to shout over his shoulder. “No need to let this ruin our lives. War is war. A man ought not be judged for doing what he’s called to do.”

Now they were forced to relive the past few hours. There wasn’t a one who would say they had intended it to happen. Coming up on that family—

Nerves frayed, tempers short. The war was over, but apparently the family hadn’t heard the news.

Each rider searched his conscience for some explanation, a straw to grasp to alleviate his own guilt. Had he believed his life to be at stake? Was that why it happened?

There was no way of knowing now whether the family meant them harm. But if the farmer hadn’t pulled his rifle…if El hadn’t panicked and fired first…

If.

If.

It had all happened so fast. One minute they were warily eyeing each other, the next, violence erupted.

Brutal, unflinching violence.

Shots rang out. Screams filled the air.

Why? God, why?

Heat wrapped around the men like a wet blanket, stifling and oppressive. The air smelled of sweat and blood. Time had stood still.

Afterward, the riders stared transfixed at the lifeless bodies slumped on the blood-soaked ground, horrified by the unexpected brutality. The old man, his wife, two sons and a daughter stared sightlessly up at them.

No matter how many times the men had witnessed death, it made them sick to their stomachs. How did such injustice happen? They weren’t bent on vengeance. They were going home.

Home!

The war was over—there wasn’t going to be any more killing in the name of glory.

The tangible smell of death had hung thick in the air. Teague Taylor finally spoke, his voice a harsh whisper. “Let’s get out of here.”

The men had stood paralyzed, hats in hand, tears rolling from the corners of their eyes as they viewed the carnage. Franz began to recite The Lord’s Prayer in a hushed, heavy German accent. P.K. suddenly bolted toward the bushes to be sick.

Finally, Teague spoke. “We can’t just leave them here. We have to bury them.”

They studied the young girl, maybe three, four years old, a rag doll still clutched tightly to the front of her bloody dress.

“Somebody’s got to bury them. It’s not fittin’ to leave them here like this,” Teague demanded.

P.K. and Franz quietly moved toward their horses for shovels.

As the sound of steel bit into earth, El said that he was going to search the wagon for valuables.

The others stayed back, trying to distance themselves.

Jumping down from the wagon a while later, El grinned, holding up a black velvet pouch for inspection. “Look at this.”

Teague eyed the sack warily. His filthy uniform was ragged, his shoes worn through at the soles and toes. “What is it?”

“Jewels. Priceless jewels.” El lowered his voice. “Rubies, sapphires, diamonds—there’s a king’s ransom here!”

The boy turned away. “Put it back. We can’t take it. It’s not ours.”

“Are you crazy? And leave it for someone else?” El’s eyes darted to Franz and P.K., then back to Teague. Thrusting the pouch into the boy’s clenched fist, he growled, “Look, I’m not proud of what happened, either, but it happened. Keep your mouth shut—I’m going to search the bodies.”

Teague watched as El rolled the farmer’s lifeless form onto its back and searched the coveralls. Removing a gold pocket watch, he tossed it to Teague.

Teague stared at the ill-gotten gain, fighting back a wave of sickness.

When he looked up again, P.K. had stopped short to lean on his shovel, his eyes fastened on Teague. His gaze hardened. Disgust was evident in his strained features.

Teague swallowed. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t his pouch or watch, that El had forced it on him, but his horror at what he had seen stilled his tongue. Words failed him. Loathing burned hot in P.K.’s eyes as he spun on his heel and walked off.

As the last spadeful of dirt covered the graves, P.K. Baldwin averted his eyes. A muscle worked tightly in his jaw, and condemnation burned brightly in his eyes.

The soldiers stood motionless, staring at the five fresh graves. They turned and walked back to the horses.

As El passed Teague, he grinned. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Teague winced. “Those jewels have blood on them!”

El’s features hardened. “Don’t be a fool. You’ve got a family to think of. We all do.”

Swinging into his saddle, El motioned the small party to move out.

Teague stared at the pouch, bile rising to his throat. Spiraling out of the saddle, he stumbled to the bushes and lost the little bit of food they’d scavenged that day.

Chapter One

Amarillo, Texas

1898—33 years later

The most memorable event in Vonnie Taylor’s life took place in rural Amarillo in the late summer of ’98 when Adam Baldwin predictably announced his engagement to Beth Baylor.

“I do declare that Adam Baldwin is the best-looking man in Potter County.” Hildy Mae Addison’s eyes were riveted to the gorgeous sight. “Just looking at him makes my heart flutter like a butterfly’s wings!”

“Hildy Mae!” Mora Dawson slapped a hand across her mouth. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“For what?” The young woman giggled. “I know a good-looking man when I see one.”

“Very good looks,” Carolyn Henderson concluded.

Vonnie edged away, eyeing the tray of cherry tarts, attempting a show of enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “My, doesn’t the pastry look wonderful?”

Mora sighed. “I wonder if Beth knows how lucky she is.”

Carolyn nodded. “She knows. And even if she didn’t, she’d say she did.”

Giggles broke out. Beth was known to go to any lengths to keep peace. At times she could be insanely agreeable. Yet, everyone knew the Baldwin/Baylor marriage was arranged by the senior Baldwin. Remember that, Vonnie. Arranged…but Adam had consented.

“Ladies,” Vonnie cautioned. “Beth is a lovely person.”

The murmurs readily concurred that Beth was the nicest person anyone could hope to meet. And the luckiest. When the eldest Baldwin son’s engagement to Beth Baylor was announced, the town’s eligible female population had groaned with envy.

Vonnie casually bit into flaky crust, feigning indifference to the conversation though her insides churned like a waterwheel. And now, the nicest person in Potter County would marry the best-looking man in Texas.

How utterly ideal.

The girls nodded when Janie Bennett and her fiancé, Edward Lassitor, strolled by.

“Evening, Jane, Edward.”

“Evening, Hildy.” Jane flashed friendly smiles at the women. “Mora, Carolyn, Vonnie.”

Simultaneous pleasantries prevailed.

“Janie’s so nice,” Carolyn said as the couple walked on. “I can scarcely wait to see her gown. Vonnie, you can’t keep us in suspense any longer! What’s it like?”

“Ah, but you’ll have to wait until the wedding.” Vonnie tried for a teasing tone, doing her best not to allow her true feelings to show. Beth might be the nicest girl in the county, but few wouldn’t agree that Vonnie Taylor was the prettiest. Coal-black hair, amethyst-colored eyes, dimples men found irresistible. Half Cherokee, half white. Yet no one ever spoke of Vonnie’s mixed heritage. Not even P.K. Baldwin.

“You’re not serious! You’re honestly going to make us wait until the wedding?” Mora and Carolyn chorused.

Hildy’s generous lips formed a pout. “You’re cruel!”

Her words held no malice. Vonnie knew she wasn’t just pretty fluff. Brides came from as far away as the West Coast to purchase one of her exquisite gowns. At the tender age of twelve, she had shown an astonishing ability with needle and thread. By fifteen, anyone who saw her work marveled that she was so gifted. She could craft a simple piece of lace into a work of art.

“I’ll bet the gown’s frighteningly expensive,” Mora guessed.

Carolyn sniffed. “Edward can afford it.”

“Edward won’t be paying for it. Tool Bennett is paying for everything,” Mora confided in a hushed whisper.

“Who said?”

“I overheard Mrs. Bennett telling Martha Gibbings at the church social last week. The wedding is costing a fortune, but Tool won’t hear of anything less than the very best for his only daughter.”

“Oh dear,” Hildy’s voice dipped to a reverent whisper. “Will you look at those eyes? Have you ever seen such a deep blue! There’s not a man here who could hold a candle to him.” To Vonnie’s consternation Adam Baldwin was once again the focus of attention.

“He’s so handsome he makes my teeth ache,” Hildy confessed. “And he’s engaged.” She brightened. “To our Beth—though I’m absolutely blue with envy.”

Vonnie had to agree she was blue, emotionally. Adam, in dark gray trousers, frock coat and burgundy vest, was the best-looking man—not just in Potter County, but the world. But then she was partial to this particular Baldwin. Painfully so.

She picked up a silver tray of bizcotela and brightly offered it around. “Cookies, anyone?”

“I’ve heard he’s quite the gentleman,” Carolyn said as she thoughtfully selected a sweet. “Beth said he hung wash for her when she was feeling poorly last week.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did! Beth said so herself.” Carolyn bent closer. “But she made me promise absolute secrecy, so don’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Three heads bobbed. Three pair of covetous eyes returned to Adam’s sculpted features. He was deep in conversation with the governor.

“I tell you, son,” the governor blustered, “the railroad coming in is the best thing that’s ever happened to us!”

“Oh,” Hildy murmured. “He sees us.” She flashed a grin. “Personally? I’d take any one of the Baldwin brothers.”

Carolyn giggled. “To where, darlin’?”

“Who cares?” Mora and Carolyn parroted in unison. Vonnie shook her head.

The four men bore a striking resemblance; it was impossible to say who was the most attractive. They had dark brown, wavy hair, the irresistible Baldwin sky-blue eyes, and skin tanned to nut brown by the hot Texas sun.

Adam, Andrew, Joey, Pat. The brothers were the crème de la crème of Potter County, easily at home in buckskin or expensive Boston tweed.

“Why, Carolyn, what would James say if he heard you drooling over the Baldwin brothers?” Hildy chided.

Carolyn’s cheeks pinked and she daintily lifted her cup to her mouth. “James and I are only friends.”

“Of course, you are.” Vonnie finally entered the good-natured conversation, encouraged by the change in subject.

Hildy suddenly froze, her mouth formed around a cookie. “He’s walking this way.”

The women’s eyes focused on Adam effortlessly weaving his way across the crowded room. His gaze lightly skimmed Vonnie as he approached the four women. “Ladies?”

Carolyn blushed cherry-red. “Mr. Baldwin.”

He cocked his head. “Something wrong?”

“Oh, my stars, no,” Hildy said. She glanced at Vonnie.

“No?” He smiled, showing even, white teeth beneath a dark tan. “Then I trust you’re having a good time?”

“Oh, wonderful,” Hildy said.

“Everything’s so nice,” Carolyn murmured.

“The food’s delicious,” Mora assured him.

He nodded. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves.” His eyes returned to Vonnie. Offering his left arm, he smiled. “Would you do me the honor of having a glass of punch?”

Vonnie’s breath caught when his eyes skimmed her with easy familiarity. She swallowed. “Of course.”

Mora, Hildy and Carolyn stood aside as Adam escorted her to the refreshment center.

Sipping from a cup, Vonnie met Adam’s eyes in silent challenge. Eyes the color of a Montana sky stared into hers. Indeed, Adam Baldwin could make a woman’s head spin.

“You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you. We were commenting that Beth is positively radiant.”

His eyes flicked briefly to his fiancée, who was chatting with Carolyn’s father, the honorable Judge Clive Henderson. “Beth is a beautiful woman.”

His voice set off the same familiar rush of emotion deep inside Vonnie. The resonant baritone left her feeling slightly giddy. Seven years had failed to change anything.

“You’re very fortunate. Beth will make a wonderful mate.”

“Yes, so I’m told.”

“Have you set a date?”

“Not yet.”

The woodsy spice of his cologne circled her. Beneath crystal chandeliers, where dappled prisms of light swirled among the smiling couples, she’d never felt more miserable.

Discreetly stepping closer, Adam whispered softly against her ear. “Why are you here?”

“You need to ask?”

Faking a blissful smile, Vonnie gripped the cup tightly. Her dress of yellow silk trimmed with black lace ruffles whispered delicately against the coarse fabric of his dark gray trousers.

His voice held a slight edge now. “Do you plan to make a scene?”

She peered up at him, her eyes wide as if the mere thought of making a scene was scandalous. “Me? Heavens, no. Why would I make a scene?”

“Strong hunch,” he said, tight-lipped.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. We’re a close-knit community. If any member of the church failed to show up at an event of this magnitude, the neighbors would talk.”

A muscle tightened in his jaw.

She smiled, skimming the room.

“My mother seems to be enjoying herself. She’s eaten at least six petits fours.” Vonnie focused on the fragile-looking woman sitting inside the veranda doorway. Cammy Taylor, a quiet, unassuming lady, sipped punch, giving polite interest to Vera Clark’s endless chatter. Vera appeared to take Cammy’s nodding courtesy for rapt attention, but Vonnie knew better. Her mother wasn’t interested in Vera’s gout. She came tonight to spite P.K. Baldwin.

Adam’s warm breath fanned her ear, and for a giddy moment the room tilted. “I notice your father isn’t worried about proprieties.”

“Father?” She laughed. “A team of wild horses couldn’t have brought him here.”

Coolness shadowed Adam’s eyes.

She tilted a violet glance up at him and clarified, though it wasn’t necessary. “I believe his exact words were, ‘I’d sooner be in a room of rattlers.’”

Chiseled lips parted to reveal a row of perfectly matched teeth as he accepted the lethal thrust. “You’ll be sure to give Teague my best.”

“He’ll be thrilled.”

Lifting a dark brow, Adam appeared to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. When she didn’t respond, he said quietly, “There’s bound to be more you have to say.”

“Yes. I hope you both will be very happy.”

She set the cup aside and quickly walked away. Ignoring the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces, Vonnie swept by them and disappeared onto the veranda. Adam covered the awkward moment by casually threading his way through the crowd, following her.

Acknowledging the various greetings, he trailed close on Vonnie’s heels, pulling the veranda double doors closed behind him for privacy.

“All right,” he accused. “Say what you came here to say.”

“You really want to hear it?”

“Vonnie, don’t make a scene,” he warned.

Whirling, her eyes locked with his in a spirited challenge. “Over you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“What are you really doing here tonight?”

Her brow lifted with mockery. “Who would have a better reason to be here?”

“You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you? I hope we can handle this in a civil manner.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped to a low wall covered in dying bougainvillea. “I’m not sure I can be civil.”

Propping a boot on the flowered garden ledge, he stood silent. Finally he said, “You’re looking good.”

Moving another step away, she surveyed the brilliant sky. The stars looked so close she was sure she could reach up and touch them. She could remember only one other night when they’d been so bright, so perfect.

“You’re not obligated to say that.”

He looked away impatiently. “I wasn’t saying it because I thought I had to say it.”

“Then, thank you.” Her voice was even more unsteady than she’d feared.

Silence stretched between them.

“Why did you come?” he repeated. Grasping her by the shoulders, he shook her gently. “What did you expect?”

What did she expect? Resentment flooded her. What did she expect? Tears burned her eyes and she blinked.

Turning away, he said, “Stop looking at me that way.”

She closed her eyes to keep from seeing him at all.

His voice held quiet desperation now. “I don’t know what you expected.” He struggled for the right words. “You didn’t think it would just go away, did you?”

“I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t expect you to marry Beth.” She heard the hurt in her voice.

For the briefest of moments she thought she saw compassion in his eyes. But then it was gone. She steeled herself against the feelings roiling inside. “Congratulations. With the Baylors’ land and your family’s wealth, the Baldwins will control a sizable chunk of Potter County.”

“I’m not marrying Beth to spite you.”

“Then why are you marrying her?” Vonnie held her breath as she waited for the answer. If you say you love her, I’ll die.

“You know why I’m marrying her.” He refused to meet her eyes.

She averted her gaze. Yes, she knew—his father had arranged the union. P.K. had always wanted the Baylor land.

Lord, how can I bear this? I love him beyond words. How can I let him go to another woman—even to Beth, who would make him a devoted wife? Calm me, Lord, help me be strong, and help me veil how this is tearing me apart.

This time he was the one who looked away. “What does love have to do with it?”

“Are you saying you’re not in love with her?”

His voice turned harsh again. “I’m marrying Beth, understand?”

Oh, she understood. She understood only too well. He was like his father: headstrong and brash. She shivered, drawing the tulle-and-lace scarf closer over her shoulders. She suddenly felt chilled to the bone, though the night was hot. Hadn’t she known it would come to this? Hadn’t she told herself a million times it would end this way? He would never tell Beth. Nor would she. Ever.

“I assume you want my cooperation?”

He avoided her eyes. “Yes.”

She vowed she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Tears were already spilling from the corners of her eyes. “I’m supposed to keep quiet? Never tell Beth we were married?”

“It was just a ceremony. Annulled as soon as we came to our senses. We never had a chance to be married—not in the Biblical sense.”

Just a ceremony. She swallowed against the painful knot suddenly impeding the back of her throat.

“There’s no use in Beth ever knowing. It would hurt her pointlessly.”

“I’d want to know,” she said, turning back to confront him.

“Well, you’re not Beth.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not Beth. Silly me, I was only your wife.”

“Briefly,” he reminded.

“Too long,” she said, knowing it was a lie.

Stepping off the veranda, she disappeared into the darkness.

“Lord, I know I don’t have a right to him. He was never really mine. We were too young, but I love him.”

Tears blurred her sight. Her steps faltered and she searched the sky. God was there; He was beside her no matter how foolish her actions, yet she didn’t believe in her heart that He could help her face this. It was too hurtful, too unthinkable, yet so true—Adam belonged to another.

Chapter Two

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.

Chapter Three

The night Adam married Vonnie Taylor he knew she was all he’d ever wanted from life. She’d looked so pretty in the flickering flames of the judge’s campfire; he had thanked God over and over that she had taken vows to be his for the rest of their lives.

They’d ridden away together. Mr. and Mrs. Adam Baldwin. Just saying the words in his mind had thrilled him. An hour later they’d reached the boardinghouse that sat at the edge of a crossroads. The border town had a store, a church, a one-room school, a stable, three bars. Not much.

The aged lady, wearing a long gown and nightcap, who answered their knock was put out by their late arrival. They had to shout to make her understand they wanted a room for the night.

“You want what? Supper’s over!”

“We don’t need supper. We need a place to stay,” Adam shouted. “A room.”

“A broom! What do you want with a broom?”

“A place to sleep,” Vonnie offered, pantomiming sleeping by tilting her head and folding her hands against her cheek.

“We just got married!” Adam said.

She frowned. “Buried!”

Finally the old woman understood, directing them to a tiny but cozy room on the second floor of the two-story clapboard structure. Vonnie had climbed the stairs in silence. Once inside the room she had stood with her back to the door, looking as frightened as someone who suddenly had found herself on the edge of a cliff—and looking incredibly young, as well. He didn’t feel all that old or wise at the moment.

He had gently turned her to face him, drawing her into his arms. He’d kissed her, but for once she didn’t respond. Instead, she seemed reluctant…uncertain.

“What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“Oh, Adam. We’re really married?” Her slender body shook with emotion.

“That’s right, we’re married. Forever.” He held her tighter, liking the thought. Forever.

She shook her head. “What have we done? Oh, Adam, we’re in bad trouble.”

He suddenly realized the enormity of their actions. He swallowed, wishing he could reassure her, but he didn’t feel very sure himself. “It’s all right, darlin’. We’ll go tell our parents right now.”

“We can’t tell your father! P.K. will rip my hide right off and render me in hot oil. Oh, my stars! What are we going to do?” She broke free of his embrace, wringing her hands.

“It’ll be all right. I…I love you. Everything will work out. P.K. and Teague will be mad—”

“Mad? Adam, mad? They’ll be furious.”

She bit her lower lip so hard he thought she’d bite it clean through. He tried to console her but she resisted.

“We’re married. There’s nothing they can do.”

“Adam, I’m scared. Daddy will have the marriage annulled.”

“I won’t let him.” He tried to take her into his arms, but she pushed him away. She suddenly seemed distant, not at all like the sweet angel he’d married.

“No, Adam. We’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Calm down.” Panic rose in his throat. She stood against the door, trembling, her eyes shining with tears.

“They can never know,” she said.

Her eyes had met his and he would have done anything to erase the fear and remorse he saw. “Stop acting like this. You’re making me crazy.”

“They can never know,” she repeated. “We’ll pretend it never happened.”

The meaning of her words had gradually sunk in. Adam frowned. “Pretend we didn’t get married?”

“It’s the only answer. No one has to know, Adam, except us. Daddy can’t know—he’d be so disappointed in me.”

“We love each other.”

“We’re too young to love each other,” she said. “Daddy will have your hide. I’m too young to get married. So are you.”

Disbelief had settled over Adam. “You’re more worried about what your father will think than how I feel?”

She shook her head wildly. “I’m worried about you, Adam. I mean it—Daddy will be wild with rage.”

“I agree he doesn’t like the Baldwins…”

“He hates the Baldwins—your father hates the Taylors.”

“We both knew that when we got married.” His voice had started to rise. What was she doing? Fear coursed through him. “Why didn’t that bother you before we got married?”

She had blinked up at him, tears soaking her lashes. Burying her face in her hands, she’d cried harder.

He glared at her. “Is that your answer? To bawl?”

“I can’t face Daddy and tell him I married you. I can’t.”

Adam heaved a sigh of pure frustration. “You’re such a daddy’s girl you’d forfeit my love for his pride?”

Nodding, she sobbed harder.

Something had snapped inside of him. Furious that she would leave him now—now when they had risked everything to be together. He refused to look at her.

“You can stop crying. I’m taking you home.” He didn’t try to keep the contempt from his voice.

“I’m…so…sorry.”

Turning on his heel, he had left the room. Sorry? She wouldn’t have a chance to humiliate a Baldwin a second time.

Shortly after that, P.K. was thrown from his horse during roundup and trampled. His leg was badly injured, and he required complete bed rest. It had been weeks before he was able to ride again. During that time, Adam had been forced to take charge. In a sense it had been a good thing. Long hours and hard work had kept his mind off Vonnie.

From that time on, Vonnie went out of her way to avoid him. Even in church, she sat as far away from him as she could and disappeared as soon as the last amen was uttered. He finally stopped going to services, because seeing her only fueled his anger.

Before he knew it, nearly two years had passed. Vonnie had perfected her talent for sewing and soon was the most sought after seamstress for her remarkable gowns.

One hot night, he found himself alone with her at a church function. By then there was nothing to say about the past, about the one night that was etched permanently into their memory. Like the Baldwins and Taylors, they pointedly ignored each other.

It was as if the marriage had never taken place.

Adam leaned his head back against the chair, recalling the brief ceremony. He’d managed to get her home without being seen and the next morning he had talked to Judge Clive Henderson, who had given him a tongue-lashing, the memory of which still stung. After he’d calmed down, Clive had agreed to arrange for the annulment and promised to take the secret to his grave. So far he had kept his promise.

The room was quiet except for the buzzing of a blue-bottle fly. Adam focused on the question he had tried hard to ignore. Why did he have such a difficult time forgetting that firelight wedding ceremony and the pride and love he’d felt in his bride? He had another wedding in his future. This one would take place in a church where there would be guests and flowers and a proper preacher. Beth would make a beautiful bride, and later, she would keep a fine home, make a loving mother and a caring wife. So why was he still thinking about the one woman he couldn’t forget?

Chapter Four

“Another one?”

“Another one,” Vonnie said, watching Garrett Beasley ring up five spools of white satin thread. “And I’m going to need sixteen more yards of Duchesse lace, Mr. Beasley.”

“I’ll order it right away.” His pot-bellied clerk’s eyes twinkled. “Getting it here, now that’s another thing.”

“Do you think—”

“I’ll send the order out first thing tomorrow morning. You know I will.”

Vonnie smiled. Mr. Beasley had a real talent for making customers feel special.

“There you go, little lady,” he said, adding the thread to her purchases. “Heard you’re making the Wilson gown?”

“Yes, when it’s finished I’ll bring it by and let you see it.”

Rumors about the gown had been in all the newspapers. Hammond Wilson, a prominent Phoenix millionaire, doted on his eldest daughter, Emily, and had commissioned Vonnie to make the point de Flandre gown for a handsome sum. The pure white lace with graceful, rhythmic patterns of leaves, flowers and scrolls was widely regarded as the most beautiful of the pillow laces. The accompanying Flemish Duchesse bridal veil was certain to become a Wilson heirloom treasure.

“Business must be booming,” he said. “Had a man stop by earlier in the week asking about you. Seems they’ve heard about your bridal gowns way up there in New York.”

“Business is good.” Almost too good, she added to herself, thinking about the bolts of cream satin stacked on her cutting table.

“Sounds like the Bennett wedding is going to be quite a shindig.” He transferred a bolt of tulle to the cutting table. “Twenty more yards, you say?”

“Mmm, better make it twenty-five, just to be sure.”

“Twenty-five it is.”

While he measured and cut the silk net, Vonnie browsed. Outside, the sun was beaching the horizon. Most of the stores were closing, while the bars and bawdy houses were just starting their business day.

Beasley’s was one of the first delicatessens in the town. The idea that you could buy ready-to-eat products and dry goods at the same time was a real hit with the customers.

Closing her eyes, she sniffed the tantalizing mix of cured hams, loose spices and fresh pies. Freshly ground coffee and hot cinnamon buns.

The countertops brimmed with a colorful array of foods. Glass cases full of cakes, pickles in trays, and a big tub of sweet creamery butter added character to Beasley’s Grocery. Sitting beside buckets of salt herring and salt mackerel were barrels of crackers, cookies, nuts and other dried condiments. There were big bushels of apples and a crock of mincemeat. Bunches of long bolognas and fat cheeses wrapped in netting dangled from the ceiling. The store was charmingly chaotic.

“Yep, seems like everybody’s decided to get married at the same time. Looks like Adam and Beth will be next,” Beasley continued as he cut the fabric.

“Looks that way.”

“Fine young men, those Baldwin boys. Fine young men.”

Vonnie picked up an ornately carved music box and carefully wound the little key at the back. A boy and girl in a swing turned slowly to the strains of “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.”

“Yes, Beth and Adam make a handsome couple,” Beasley rattled on as he wrote the price of each item on the back of a bag and totaled it. “Reckon P.K.’s hopes are high on having his first grandchild by this time next year—”

“I’ll also need six packages of seed pearls, Mr. Beasley.”

If he thought anything about her interruption, it didn’t show.

“White or ivory?”

“The white, I think.”

He tore a long sheet of brown wrapping paper off the roll he kept under the counter. “How’re your folks doing? Saw Cammy the other day.”

“Good, thank you.”

“And the birds?”

“We have a new batch of babies.”

“Is that a fact? My goodness, those birds must be interesting to raise.”

“They are indeed.”

The community knew how proud Teague Taylor was of his ostriches. Little did Teague know that when he got the pair of adult, pure North African ostriches, he had hit the jackpot. When he’d come home dragging the two birds behind him, rumor had it Cammy was miffed over having another pair of mouths to feed but had quickly changed her mind. The birds developed into a profitable business, with over a hundred birds now at the Flying Feather. The feathers and meat provided the Taylors with a comfortable income.

The store owner peered over his glasses at Vonnie. “What’s that your father calls the chicks?”

“Waddlebabies.” Vonnie laughed, thinking of the newly hatched ostriches. They were curious things, playful as week-old kittens. When they walked across their pens, it was clear why Teague had pinned them with the nickname.

“Waddlebabies. That Teague. He’s quite a character. Always has been.” He tied the string on the package of material. “That about do you for today?” He wrapped the buttons in a second bundle.

“That should do it. Thank you so much.”

Anxious to be on her way, Vonnie paid for her purchases. She’d gotten a late start today, and Mr. Beasley had stayed open later than usual to accommodate her.

Twilight was gathering when she stepped onto the plank sidewalk.

The heavy scent of cattle fouled the air tonight. Cattle.

Cabeza Del Lobo.

Adam Baldwin.

Why did her thoughts always stray to Adam?

Franz Schuyler slowly made his way down the sidewalk, his stool hooked over one arm and his long-handled lighter held like a scepter. He lit the gas lanterns, one by one, until the dusty street resembled a brick-paved city avenue.

Lamplight had always been a delight for Vonnie. Franz was like some wizened elf who quietly went about his work without fuss or bother. With a touch of a wand, the town’s gas lanterns sprang to life.

“Evening, Franz,” Vonnie called.

The old man had always been a favorite town character. Of Dutch and German descent, his parents had cursed him with a strange little body. Squat and decidedly rotund, he reminded Vonnie of Santa Claus pictured in the books Cammy had ordered from back East. His snow-white hair and twinkling blue eyes made her want to sit on his lap and recite her Christmas list. Wouldn’t that have raised a few eyebrows!

The lamplighter glanced up and waved. “Shopping again?” He made his way down the street toward her, carefully trimming and lighting each of the lanterns. The sun had disappeared now. The mellow lantern light gave the street a golden glow.

“My, my,” he said, standing back to admire her. “Has anyone told you that you get prettier every day?”

Vonnie’s smile was one of deep affection for the man who, she was sure, was not as old as he appeared to be. “No, but it’s sweet of you to say so.”

“It’s true.”

“You say that to all the girls.”

“Not to all of them,” he denied. “Only the prettiest ones.”

They shared a comfortable laugh, then turned toward the north as a cool breeze suddenly sprang up.

“Nice weather today,” he commented.

“Yes, it’s been so hot.” At times the sun seemed cruel. “How’s Audrey?”

Sadness touched Franz’s eyes, and he slowly shook his head. “Not good, little one, not so good.”

“I’m sorry.” Vonnie rested her hand on his sleeve.

Audrey Schuyler was dying, slowly but surely. Everyone knew it. With a quiet dignity she bore the knowledge that she hadn’t many days left. Audrey and Cammy Taylor had been friends since childhood. Vonnie couldn’t remember a year when the Schuylers hadn’t been at the Taylor house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Audrey’s special cherry-rum fruitcake was a treat they all looked forward to sharing on Christmas Eve.

But the fruitcake wouldn’t be there this year. For the past few months, Audrey had steadily lost ground, and Cammy Taylor refused to accept her friend’s terminal illness. She still clung to the belief that a miracle would occur and Audrey would be spared.

“But,” Franz sighed, his smile returning, though it was a bit dim. “Any day you wake up is a good day, isn’t it?” He touched the packages she held. “Guess you’re making another beautiful wedding dress?”

“Yes. Janie Bennett’s. She’s getting married next month.”

“Ah, yes.” Franz nodded. “I saw the young lovers at the party the other night. Edward appears smitten to the gills.”

“He is. Hopelessly so.”

Setting his stool and stepping up, he touched the wand to the lamp above her head and smiled wistfully. “Ah, to be that young again.”

Yes. To be young and foolish again.

“Franz,” she said, “if Audrey feels up to it, why don’t you come for supper Wednesday night? Mother would love it. She’s been wanting to bake a blackberry cobbler, and what’s a blackberry cobbler without you around to eat it?”

Franz chuckled. “Well, I don’t know what would stop us. A man can hardly pass up an offer like that. I’ll tell Audrey. She’ll feel better just thinking about it.”

“Wonderful. We’ll expect you Wednesday.”

“Wednesday, we’ll look forward to it.”

She accompanied him as he carefully made his way down the sidewalk. His wife’s lingering illness had taken its toll on him. Where he had once stood straight and proud, he now was slightly stooped and worn. Her heart ached. What would Franz do without Audrey? They were so close, married young, and had no children. They had no one but each other.

“Oh, and Vonnie?” Franz called over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Tell Cammy to put enough sugar in the cobbler this time.” He flashed a grin over his shoulder that reminded Vonnie of a younger, happier man. “Last one was right-down sour.”

Shaking her head at his good-natured teasing, she waved and laid her packages on the seat of her waiting buggy. She had to hurry. Cammy would be fussing, and Teague would be upset if she wasn’t home before dark.

The light breeze faded quickly. A stillness lay over the countryside by the time she got home.

She glanced toward the ostrich pens as she left her buggy for the stable hand, Roel, to unhitch.

“Mother?” Vonnie called out, dumping her packages on the mahogany deacon’s bench in the foyer.

The Taylor house was a large, two-story cedar, built by Vonnie’s grandfather, Reginald Edimious Taylor, and his sons. The Italianate Victorian house, with its slightly pitched roof, square towers and round-arched windows, represented more than a home: it was a tribute to the Taylor men’s ingenuity and quality craftsmanship, which had earned them a living in those days.

“In the kitchen!”

The click of nails on hardwood floors signaled that Suki, the family mutt, was approaching to extend her usual greeting. Leaping high in the air, she demanded Vonnie’s attention.

“Down, Suki…yes, I’m happy to see you, too.” She rubbed the dog’s ears, then gave her an affectionate pat. “Come on. Let’s go find Mother.”

The aroma of frying meat filled the air, and Vonnie followed it to the kitchen at the back of the house. The spacious cooking and eating area was her favorite room in the house. Fourteen windows kept the room light and cheery all year round, and she never tired of the panoramic view. Cammy Taylor was at the stove, dishing up thick slices of ham.

Cammy, a small, frail-looking woman with the figure of a young girl, looked up. Her laugh was a tinkle, her eyes bright as a bird’s, and she was never certain of anything, she’d tell anyone—except that she’d loved Teague Taylor since she was a girl of fourteen.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it home before dark.”

“You know Brigette. She can smell the barn a mile away. She was high-stepping by the time we reached the lane. Daddy not in yet?”

“No, I’ve called him twice, but he’s still out at the pens.”

Vonnie hung her bonnet on a peg and went to the hutch to get the everyday china. “Mmm, smells good in here.”

“Daddy wanted ham tonight—and rhubarb pie.”

“I saw Franz earlier.” Vonnie gathered silverware to set the table.

“You did? Did he say how Audrey is today?”

“Not good, I’m afraid.”

“Well, after supper I’ll have your daddy carry a big piece of pie over to her. She loves rhubarb. Always did, even as a child.”

Folding napkins, Vonnie placed one beside each plate.

“I invited them for supper Wednesday night.”

“Wonderful. The fresh air will do Audrey good. She stays closed up in that house too much.” Dumping collard greens into a bowl, Cammy carried them to the table. “That daddy of yours—Vonnie, go tell him his supper’s getting cold.”

The words had no sooner left her mouth when the back door opened, and Teague Taylor came in, stomping his feet. Her daddy had always reminded Vonnie of P.K. Baldwin. They were from the same hardy stock: whipcord thin, skin leatherlike from the sun, hair a steel-gray, eyes that squinted permanently into the future.

“Well, well,” he said, glancing at Cammy, then at Vonnie. “If it isn’t the two prettiest little gals in Potter County.”

“Oh, go on with you,” Cammy said, waving a long fork in his direction.

Vonnie was amazed that after thirty-five years, Teague Taylor could still make her mother blush. She smiled, enjoying her parents’ spirited antics. Her mother and dad had an enviable relationship, an affectionate and teasing kind of love that made her long for a marriage like theirs. They’d adopted her young, an infant, but she’d never thought of her birth mother. Cammy was her only mother.

Cammy carried a bowl of potatoes to the table, brushing past Teague on the way and bumping him pointedly with her hip.

With a sweep of his arms, Teague scooped his wife off her feet and held her to his chest in a bone-crushing hug. Protesting laughingly, she swatted at him, demanding to be put down.

Teague and Cammy had that rare relationship, able to weather any crisis that came their way. Theirs was a marriage of respect and mutual trust. A marriage based on love for each other and love of God. Teague and Cammy lived their belief, except for Teague’s unrelenting hatred for P.K. Baldwin. If Vonnie could find a man who would make her half as happy as Teague made Cammy, she’d marry him on the spot.

But then, that’s exactly what she had done, wasn’t it?

Kissing her soundly, Teague set Cammy back on her feet, then hugged Vonnie.

“How you doing, Puddin’?”

“Good, Dad. How about you?”

“If I felt any better, you’d have to tie me down!” He pumped a wash pan full of water, splashed his face and reached for a towel. “Order that lace you wanted?”

“I did. And the buttons. Mr. Beasley’s ordering more Duchesse for me. Should be here in plenty of time to finish the Wilson dress.”

“Duchesse, huh? I suppose that’s something all womanified and frilly?”

“Something like that.” She grinned. Womanified. “How are the birds?”

“Looking good, ladies. Real good.”

Cammy slid a pan of biscuits from the oven. “Harold Jenson stopped by this afternoon. Said there was a man in Phoenix interested in buying a pair.”

“He wants adults?”

“Harold thought he did—and Lewis Tanner stopped by again. He wants that fifty acres, Teague. He’s offering to pay top price for it.”

Teague grunted. “I’ll bet he does.”

“Honestly, you ought to consider his offer. We don’t need the land.”

“We sure don’t need Lewis’s dirty money. The Good Book says we’re to avoid the appearance of evil, that includes taking money earned in ways God wouldn’t approve. Besides, you know he hates the birds. He’d like nothing better than to see us sell out to someone who’ll run cattle.”

“You’ll do what you want, but I think the offer’s worth considering.”

Teague switched the subject. “That’s the third person this month wanting birds. If I keep selling at this rate I won’t have enough roosters for my own flock.” He rubbed a bar of soap to a high lather and scrubbed his elbows.

“Daddy, I saw Franz when I was in town.”

Teague kept scrubbing. “Did you?”

“He sends his best. He and Audrey are coming for supper Wednesday night.”

Teague rinsed his arms. “Well, your momma will enjoy the company. Hand me a towel there, will you, Puddin’?”

Vonnie stepped to the hutch to get a hand cloth. “Franz said to tell you to put enough sugar in the cobbler this time, Mom.”

“You tell Franz Schuyler that I’m baking the cobbler, not him.”

Handing the towel to her father, Vonnie grinned. “You tell him yourself.”

“Don’t think that I won’t.”

Drying off, Teague met her gaze. “Heard you danced with Adam the other night.”

Vonnie winced. “Mother.”

“Oh, don’t get all flustered. I remarked to your daddy that it was a shame there was such bad blood between him and P.K. Adam’s a fine man. Not only handsome, but responsible and levelheaded. A woman could do worse.”

Teague tweaked Vonnie under the chin as he moved to the table. “You stay away from the Baldwins. If I catch you anywhere near one of P.K.’s boys, I’ll tan your hide.”

The teasing tone was gone. “I mean it, Vonnie. P.K. Baldwin may go to church and believe in the Almighty, but he’s not my idea of a Christian. I don’t want my girl taking up with a nonbeliever—”

Vonnie interrupted. “Adam believes!”

“Nevertheless, you’re not to go around him. Besides, he’s about to be married.”

Vonnie busied herself with cups and saucers. No use trying to convince him that Adam was a Christian. Teague Taylor held to strict beliefs. He wasn’t a man who took his faith lightly. “You don’t have to remind me that he’s marrying Beth,” she couldn’t help adding.

“That’s Leighton Baylor’s problem, not mine.” He glanced at his wife. “What smells so good?”

“Ham…rhubarb pie,” Cammy announced.

“Rhubarb? You little sweetheart!” He pecked her on the cheek as he walked by. “If we weren’t already married, I’d marry you again.” He eyed the heaping plate of meat. “I could eat a horse.”

“Sit down, I’m taking up the gravy right now. Vonnie, honey, hand me a—” Cammy suddenly paused, frowning. “Teague? What’s wrong?”

Teague’s face had suddenly turned white as a sheet, his mouth tight with pain.

“Daddy?” Vonnie looked up as she was about to place a fork on the table.

Shaking his head as if he didn’t understand himself, his left hand drifted to his chest, his fingers curling into his shirt. A puzzled look came into his eyes, then surprise.

“Teague?”

“Daddy?” Vonnie reached out to steady him as anguish marked her father’s face. His gaze met hers, his eyes suddenly full of love. A cold wave of panic swept her.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. Then his legs buckled, and he slumped to the floor, both hands against his chest.

Screaming, Cammy dropped the platter of meat. Ham scattered across the floor, mingling with the shattered china.

“God help us! Teague!” Sinking to her knees, Cammy cradled her husband’s lifeless form in her arms. “No, no, no,” she whispered over and over. “You can’t do this—you can’t do this—you can’t leave me—don’t leave me, Teague—”

Kneeling beside her father, Vonnie reached for his hand, hoping to find a pulse. There was none.

In the blink of an eye, Teague Taylor had left this earth.

Chapter Five

Mourners began arriving for the funeral mid-morning. Buggies filled the yard of the Flying Feather Ranch; the kitchen table groaned beneath the weight of food brought by thoughtful friends and concerned neighbors. Cammy had withdrawn into herself. Vonnie was concerned about her mother.

Drying her eyes, she watched the guests’ arrival from the parlor front window. She’d retreated here to escape the soft words of sympathy that were beginning to grate on her nerves. Everyone was well-meaning, but nothing could soften the pain of the loss that cut so deeply through her. Cammy hadn’t come out of her room yet today. Vonnie was even more worried about how she was going to get her through the funeral. Her mother and father had been so close.

“Vonnie?”

She turned from the window. “Yes, Mrs. Lincoln.”

“The preacher’s here. Dear, Cammy hasn’t come down yet. Should someone go see about her?”

Moving from the window, Vonnie dabbed at her moist eyes with a handkerchief. “I’ll go. Tell Pastor Higgins I’ll be with him in a few minutes. Has everyone had coffee?”

“Everyone’s fine. You see to your mother. Is she doing all right?”

“Not so well, Mrs. Lincoln. She and Daddy were—”

“I know, dear.” Eugenia Lincoln and Cammy had been neighbors for years. Mrs. Lincoln had lost her own husband five years earlier. “It will take time, but one day she’ll begin to take up her life again. Oh, the pain will still be there, but it will lessen. One day she’ll begin to remember the good things about her life with Teague.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln.” Vonnie smiled, dabbing at her eyes. “She’ll need your friendship.”

“She’ll have it.” Eugenia said, patting Vonnie’s arm.

A moment later, Vonnie knocked lightly on her mother’s door. When there was no response, she opened the door gently.

“Mother?”

The shades were drawn down tight. It took a moment for Vonnie’s eyes to adjust, then she saw her mother half-reclining on a fainting couch in the corner.

“Mother, the service will begin in half an hour.”

Cammy hadn’t dressed yet. Her hair hung in a tangled mat over her shoulders. She looked as if she had aged twenty years in the past twenty-four hours.

“Pastor Higgins is here, and all our neighbors and friends. You should come downstairs.”

“I can’t…I can’t go through this.”

Vonnie knelt beside the couch, her fingers gently reaching to stroke her mother’s trembling hand.

“You must, Momma. They’ve been so good to come, to offer their help and sympathy.”

Cammy turned lifeless eyes on her. “What good will words do? Teague is gone. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

“I know you feel that way now, Momma, but you can’t hide up here for the rest of your life. As painful as this is, we have to face it, together.”

“I can’t be with those people. Not now—please, leave me be.” Vonnie’s patience was stretched to the breaking point.

“Momma, Daddy wouldn’t want you to behave like this. He’d want you to be strong, to trust God. You know Daddy trusted without question. He’d expect us to do the same.”

Cammy covered her eyes with her hand and held a sodden handkerchief to her trembling lips. “He shouldn’t have left me.”

“He didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to die, Momma!” She took Cammy’s hand, holding tightly. “God will give us the strength needed.”

Cammy began to sob, and Vonnie was sorry she’d been sharp with her. She had spent most of her life with Teague Taylor, and part of her was gone. She had every right to grieve. Vonnie had been a gift from God. Cammy believed she would never have a child. Then one afternoon she had stumbled across a dying woman. A dying woman who had given her a child. Her parents had doted on her. The three had become nearly inseparable. Vonnie understood that her mother would grieve deeply, but this retreating to her room, to inside herself, distressed her.

“I’ll help you get dressed. What about the blue? Daddy loved the blue dress on you.”

Vonnie began to search through the armoire for the new dress she’d made her mother in the spring. “I sewed it special for Easter, remember? And Daddy commented on how nice you looked in it.”

“Vonnie—”

“Try, Momma. The burial is in thirty minutes. You’ve got to be there.” She took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “For me.”

Resigned, Cammy got up, visibly weak from not eating.

She managed to get dressed and brush her hair into a semblance of order. She leaned heavily on Vonnie’s arm as they descended the stairs. Mrs. Lincoln was in the foyer and saw them first.

“Cammy,” she murmured, stepping forward to meet them. “Teague would say you look like a bluebonnet in the summer.”

“Oh, Eugenia.” Cammy broke down, walking into her friend’s arms.

Vonnie let Mrs. Lincoln take charge of her mother, watching them go into the large parlor together. Murmurs of condolences floated out to her as Vonnie retreated outside.

The sun was shining, a light breeze. She lifted her eyes to the heavens and whispered, “You’re going to have to help us get through this. I know Daddy’s there with You, but this is so hard for us.” A peace filled her and for a moment she imagined that she felt Teague’s firm hand on her shoulder, urging her on.

Moving toward the family cemetery, which Teague had prepared in a grove of birch trees about a hundred yards from the house, she gathered her fortitude around her like a shroud. Teague’s parents were buried here. They’d lived with Cammy and Teague until their deaths, when Vonnie was three. And Great-Aunt Alice and Uncle Sill were here. Vonnie pushed open the gate, pausing momentarily as the gaping hole in the ground where her father would be laid to rest jarred her senses. The ranch hands had been busy this morning.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She sagged against the gate as the enormity of the past twenty-four hours hit her.

She clung to the weathered boards, her lips moving in silent prayer. Now, as never before, she realized the comfort of being a child of God. How could anyone go through life without the love and strength that only He could give?

She remained at the grave site, grieving alone. When she started back to the house, the funeral party was already spilling out onto the lawn, parting to stand aside as six pallbearers carried the freshly planed pine casket toward the cemetery. Cammy, still firmly in Mrs. Lincoln’s control, followed her husband’s body, a linen handkerchief to her eyes. Vonnie watched the strangely quiet procession make its way across the wide lawn.

Ed Hogan had come. Teague had bought feed from him for years. The Newton sisters were there because they were simply good neighbors. Cammy had taken a kettle of chicken soup to the sisters when one had come down with pneumonia last year. Teague had gone with her and cut a cord of firewood when he noticed their supply was running low.

There was Pastor Higgins, and his wife Pearl, and Franz and frail Audrey. Hildy Addison, Mora and Carolyn were there having arrived last night to be with her.

And then there were the Baldwins. They’d come as a matter of courtesy rather than friendship. It would have looked impolite if they’d been missing, since most of the town had seen fit to pay their condolences.

The five men stood well back from the group now circling the casket. Andrew, two years younger than Adam, had disliked Teague intensely. Vonnie knew he’d had a crush on her since school, but he’d detested her father. They’d been in the same class throughout their childhood. He and Adam had even fought over her once when they thought P.K. wasn’t looking.

Her eyes slipped to the woman who was standing beside Adam. She should be standing by him, not Beth. He should be by her side, to console her, to hold her, to love her…. Her thoughts stopped short. Beth was one of the nicest women around—kind, even tempered. Vonnie couldn’t find it in her heart to resent Beth’s place beside Adam.

“Dear friends,” Pastor Higgins began as the assemblage gathered closer to the open grave.

Vonnie moved to one side of Cammy as Mrs. Lincoln closed in on the other. Cammy clung to Vonnie’s arm like a lost child.

“We are gathered here today to say goodbye to a loyal friend, a loving husband and father, a good neighbor—”

Andrew Baldwin held his hat in both hands, his eyes lowered. He studied his feet and the casket, but Vonnie could feel his frequent glances.

“—and we know that one day we will see our friend again and we will then rejoice together. Let us pray. Our Father…”

Bowing her head, Vonnie watched Adam standing beside Beth through brimming eyes. P.K., Andrew, Pat and Joey stood nearby. P.K., like her father, was a pillar of the community. The men had more in common than just being neighbors. They were two of a kind, the breed of man who had carved a place for families in this vast land, who proved that perseverance and providence, yoked by sweat and ingenuity, could build a good life.

Alike in spirit, they were alike in appearance as well—tall, rangy, broad shouldered, faces weathered, near the same age.

She studied Adam, her eyes blurred with pain and tears, praying to block out the sight of the man she loved. The warm sun brought out the blond highlights in his brown hair. If she had been taking inventory, she could have noted that he’d not bothered to get a haircut in several weeks. His hair had a tendency to curl when he let it grow, and now it was waving against the collar of a blue shirt that matched his eyes.

Suddenly the memory of the boy she’d loved sprang up. At seventeen, Adam had been larger than most of the boys his age. He’d done the work of a grown man since he had been thirteen. Everyone knew that he and his brothers would one day inherit Cabeza Del Lobo.

The other boys accepted that. Each had his own duties. Andrew was in charge of the hired hands, while the others worked the horses and cattle. Vonnie had heard her father comment to Cammy that P.K. was staying closer to the house more and more these days. Stiffening of the joints, he’d said, made the days long for P.K. Whatever the differences between the two men, her father’s notice of Adam’s father had been genuine.

It would be natural, she’d thought, for the two men who were responsible for Amarillo turning into a thriving community to be friends, or at least business partners. But such was not the case. P.K. and Teague rarely looked in the same direction when forced to be in the same place at the same time, much less socialized.

Yet, she’d found no real reason for such hatred. Differences maybe, but Teague had tolerated differences with everyone but P.K.

“Amen.”

Pastor Higgins motioned Vonnie forward, and she carefully took a handful of dirt and sprinkled it on her father’s coffin.

Oh, Daddy. What are we going to do without you?

The moment was so emotional she felt her defenses crumbling. Holding on to her mother’s arm, she helped Cammy sprinkle dirt on the casket.

“I’ll be stopping by in a day or two,” Pastor Higgins murmured as he grasped their hands a moment later. “My prayers are with you. Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

Vonnie blinked back tears. “Thank you, Pastor. It was a lovely service.”

Suddenly she wished everyone was gone. She wanted to be alone, to cry and grieve with her mother.

One by one the mourners passed by, the women hugging first her mother then her, the men shuffling by uttering a few barely audible words.

Everyone had expressed their remorse when P.K. approached. For a moment he didn’t say anything, just looked down at the ground. Eventually, he cleared his throat and met Vonnie’s eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. Reaching for Cammy’s hand, he squeezed it briefly before moving on.

“I’m sorry, Vonnie,” Andrew said, taking her hand in his.

“It was kind of you to come, Andrew.”

“Vonnie,” Pat said. He seemed uncertain of what he should say when it was his turn.

“Thank you for coming, Pat.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am…I’m real sorry for you and your mother.”

Ma’am. The address made her sound so old.

Joey nodded and followed his brothers out the cemetery gate.

And then it was Adam’s turn. Beth clung to his side, holding his arm protectively. Taking Vonnie’s hand, he held it for a moment. The show of respect made her pain even more evident. “I’m sorry, Vonnie.”

She swallowed, overwhelmed with the impulse to lean against his broad chest and sob her heart out. She had realized her foolishness long ago. She should have respected their vows, stood up to Teague, but she hadn’t. Now she had lost Adam forever.

“Thank you,” she managed.

His thumb moved lightly across her knuckles. He’d held her hand this way, his thumb brushing back and forth, the night they stood before an ill-prepared judge and were married.

For a moment she swayed lightly against him, overcome by emotion. Her forehead rested against his chest, her eyes closed. She felt his need to put his arms around her, to hold her, but he didn’t. What had been between them was over. The love they’d once shared was nothing but a nice memory.

When Adam had begun courting Beth, Vonnie knew P.K. was pleased. Beth was the kind of woman P.K. appreciated, one who was agreeable. Nothing ever upset her. She was flexible; she adjusted. Whatever Adam wanted, Beth was willing to accommodate. She would be the ideal wife, and her father owned land P.K. had wanted for years.

When it was apparent she’d lingered too long, Vonnie straightened, color flooding her cheeks. How could she have weakened like that, leaning on Adam and making a spectacle of herself? Beth would think her shamelessly forward.

Always thoughtful and good-hearted, Beth was the first to the bedside of a sick person, the first to lend a hand at church with any event. True, sometimes Beth’s giving nature could get on her nerves, but Vonnie was honest enough to realize the differences in their personalities. If she was serious about serving God maybe she should try to be more like Beth.

Quickly regaining her composure, she dropped her hand to her side. “Thank you, Adam. I appreciate your coming. I must admit I was surprised to see your father here.”

Adam’s eyes followed P.K. as he walked away from the grave site. “I wonder if he didn’t care more about Teague than he’s willing to admit.”

“If he did, then it’s too bad he never told him,” she said. “For all concerned.” Their eyes met briefly before he looked away.

“I’m so sorry about your father,” Beth said, slipping her hand into Vonnie’s. “If there’s anything I can do, you must let me know.”

“Thank you, Beth. Tell your mother I appreciate the chicken she sent over.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow and—well, we’ll all have a nice, long visit.” She tilted her head, smiling encouragingly. “Would you like that?”

“That’s kind of you. Mother is so upset. I’m not sure that she’ll be up to visiting. Mrs. Lincoln is going to stay with us a few days to help out, but I’d like your company. The house seems so empty without Daddy—”

She faltered, a lump forming in her throat. The realization that her father would never again come in the back door and call for Cammy hurt. Never again would he hug her and call her “Puddin’.” Never again would the aroma of his pipe float through the big house he’d helped build with his own hands.

It seemed so senseless, a man struck down before he could enjoy his declining years. A man who’d worked hard deserved to put his feet up by the fire for a few years at least, didn’t he?

As the crowd began to disperse, Beth moved Adam toward the Baylor buggy. Cammy was surrounded by several well-meaning matrons who went on about how sad it was that Cammy was “left alone” in her prime. In clucking, sympathetic voices, they invited her to join their quilting club on Thursday afternoons. It was little more than a gossip group, Vonnie knew, but it would be good for Cammy to be with friends.

Vonnie’s gaze moved over the mourners, most of whom were heading back to the house to eat lunch from the food brought in; all except the Baldwins. The five men had ridden away immediately after the ceremony.

It was evening by the time the farm quieted down. The house was so still that Vonnie couldn’t stand it. She decided to go check on the ostriches. Suki followed her outside and scampered around her feet, demanding attention, as she walked toward the pens that were built two hundred yards back from the house.

“Settle yourself,” Vonnie scolded the dog. “You’ll upset the birds acting like that.”

The ostriches were accustomed to Suki’s interruptions, but they were easily disturbed by anything out of the ordinary.

Ten pens stood in a row, with a pair of adult ostriches in each. The little “waddlebabies” were kept separate, each hatch together in a pen until they were big enough to begin pairing.

The most recent hatch was only a week old, but they were a handsome group. Vonnie liked watching them. They ran back and forth in the pen as if on a very important mission, their brown-gray feathers just covering bodies balanced on legs that looked far too thin to support egg-shaped abdomens and long, thin necks. Large eyes were as bright and curious as buttons; they split their time pecking at various bits on the ground and watching her approach.

“Hello, babies,” Vonnie crooned, counting the chicks to make sure they were all accounted for.

Some of the young ones came to the fence and peered up at her, a couple of them pecking at the woven wire fence in curiosity. She slowly walked around each pen, checking that no wires were loose or had slipped and that the edges were all anchored into the ground. The pen material had to be specially made with squares of wire, small enough to keep the adult ostriches from poking their heads through and choking, yet large enough so the little ones could get their heads out if they poked them through.

They weren’t the dumbest birds in the world. They just seemed like that sometimes. Curious, they’d try for anything that captured their attention, sometimes getting their heads hung in the fence. More than once, Teague had lost his hat to the lively birds.

If frightened, they’d run pell-mell into the end of the fence, breaking wings, necks or legs in their hasty flight. And they were temperamental. Like humans, some were gentle and some had a temper. Some could be handled and petted; others didn’t want to be touched at all.

They could be persuaded to move to another area, not herded there. An adult ostrich could run like the wind, reaching unbelievable speeds. A man on a fast horse would have difficulty catching one, once it got going.

Tears brightened her eyes. But, oh, how her father had loved these funny-looking creatures. Did they miss the sound of his voice, the gentle touch of his hand?

Suddenly Vonnie detected a shadow from the corner of her eye.

“Who’s there?”

She peered into the twilight, a frown creasing her forehead. Goose flesh raised on her arms.

“Who’s there?”

A figure stepped from behind a tall cactus at the edge of the pens.

“Andrew?” she said, relieved when she recognized him. “You frightened me.” A person could get himself shot creeping around the ostrich pens. The hands knew to shoot first and ask questions later.

“Sorry,” he said.

Andrew Baldwin was nearly as tall as Adam, with the same wavy brown hair. He was the most serious of the four boys. He’d walked with a limp ever since she could remember, the result of a fall from the loft of the Baldwin barn. He had broken his leg, and the injury had never healed properly. Andrew was rumored to have read all the books in his father’s library, a feat P.K. himself had never accomplished.

“Just stopped by to see how you’re doing,” Andrew said, “and decided to take a look at the birds.”

“You gave me a bit of a start,” Vonnie admitted. “I’m surprised to see you out this late.”

“I wanted to talk to you at the cemetery today. But there were a lot of people around, and you were talking with Adam.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“Wanted you to know if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate that.”

Andrew was the odd duck in the Baldwin group. Where Adam was most like his father, Andrew was broody and quiet. No one really knew what was going on in his mind.

The sound of a horse coming at a fast clip drew their attention. Vonnie identified the tall figure astride the big bay immediately.

“Looks like we have company,” she murmured, watching Adam dismount.

“Andrew.” Adam acknowledged his brother as he approached. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His eyes swept Vonnie curiously.

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to be here,” Andrew returned.

Vonnie glanced from one brother to the other. A thread of tension ran between them, and she wondered why.

“Dad’s looking for you,” Adam said curtly.

“Is he now? He sent you to find me?”

“I don’t believe he thinks you’re over here.” Accusation colored Adam’s tone.

The two brothers stared at each other.

“Then I suppose I’ll go report in,” Andrew stated coldly.

“Thank you for coming by—” Vonnie’s words faltered as she watched him limp to where his tethered horse waited.

Swinging into the saddle, he looked back at her, then touched the brim of his hat briefly and a moment later disappeared into the thickening darkness.

Turning around, she gave Adam a perturbed look.

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