One Texas Night

CHAPTER 13

Dawn slowly spread across the sky. Aggie shoved her hair out of her eyes and lifted her head.

Hank lay beside her, looking like he hadn’t moved all night. His jaw had darkened with whiskers and his hair covered his forehead.

She smiled, thinking that he was handsome in his own way. Her poppa used to say that most folks “ugly up” after you get to know them. But Hank hadn’t. In fact, the opposite had happened. The rest of the world might think him strong, and big and rough, but he’d been gentle with her from the first, and funny. Even when he tried to be stern, she could see through the act.

Laughing, she realized he was more afraid of her than she’d ever be of him. She’d known it even in the darkness when he’d jumped at the sound of her voice.

Without warming, he opened one eye. “Where’s breakfast?” he mumbled.

She shrugged and pulled the covers over her. “I think I’ll be one of those wives with the nature to sleep ’til noon.”

He pulled the blanket off her head. “I don’t think so. I’m starving. You agreed to cook breakfast.” He frowned, but she could see the cracks in his armor.

She climbed out and stretched, then laughed at the way he stared at her. She was learning to read this man, and if she was right, he’d just forgotten all about breakfast.

“On second thought . . .” He opened her side of the covers. “We could sleep a while longer.”

“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I’ll put on coffee and bring you hot water. Then I’ll cook breakfast while you shave.”

He groaned.

She grabbed her clothes and disappeared before he had time to argue. Ten minutes later, when she brought him a cup of coffee, he’d managed to sit up but he looked like he’d been thrown by a horse a few times.

“Do you need any help?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” He frowned. “Could I get you to bring the washstand over here?”

“Sure.” She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, dear. Always wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Yep,” he answered. “It’s my nature.”

She moved the nightstand so that he could reach the pitcher and bowl without standing. “Where is your shaving cup and razor?”

“In the mudroom,” he answered.

When she returned, loaded down with everything that had been by the back sink, Aggie studied him. Hank was pale and the pain still reflected in his eyes, but he looked better than he had yesterday.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Any way you make them,” he answered as he brushed hot water into the soap cup and began to circle. “Just make it an even dozen.”

She nodded and turned toward the door.

“Aggie?” He stopped her with one word.

“Yes.”

“Last night was really something.”

She grinned, not allowing his fancy words to sway her. “I agree,” she whispered, and vanished before he saw her blush.

Thoughts of how he’d touched her filled her mind as she made breakfast. Thanks to Lizzy and Blue, the milk and eggs were in the cold box along with butter. Bread and apples sat on the table. Aggie mixed up a fine breakfast.

Hank had dressed by the time she checked on him.

“Can you make it to the table or shall I bring it in here?”

“I can make it.” He stood, then swayed like a tall pine about to tumble.

She moved to his side and helped all she could as they slowly crossed to the kitchen. The stove she’d lit already warmed the room. He sat at the table while she poured him another cup of coffee and served her first cooked meal to him.

He ate as if he’d been starved for days, downing the bread almost as fast as she could spread butter and jelly on it.

They were just finishing when Blue stepped through the back door with a box on his shoulder.

Aggie stood. “Wonderful.” She nodded at Blue. “You brought supplies. Hank’s already eaten through a week’s worth this morning.”

“Nope,” Blue said, setting the box down on the far end of the table. “The supplies are still in the wagon. Jeb sent this box over for you.”

Aggie wiped her hands on the towel she’d been using for an apron and looked inside. Guns, more than twenty of them, all different brands and sizes, each with a tag tied to the handle.

She lifted the first one. “Firing pin broke.” The second said, “Trigger jammed.” The third read, “Needs a good cleaning.”

“Jeb said he has never seen anything like it,” Blue mumbled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Folks started coming in as soon as the rain slowed yesterday. He told me to tell you that he knew you probably had your hands full with taking care of Hank, but he thought he better have me bring out the first box.”

Hank said, “I don’t need to be taken care of,” at the same time Aggie mumbled, “First box?”

Suddenly, she was too excited to finish her breakfast. She wanted to get to work. While Blue brought in supplies, she carried the box of weapons up to her little attic room. Sitting in the center of the floor, she examined each project. Always before, in her father’s shop, she’d been the helper. Now, she was the master.

She had almost finished looking over her work when Blue bumped his way upstairs. “Hank told me to rig you up a table.” He carried two six-foot boards. “It won’t be perfect but it will work until he can climb the stairs and make you a proper desk. He won’t brag on himself, but that man of yours is quite a carpenter.”

That man of mine has many hidden talents, she almost said aloud, but all she could manage to say to Blue was, “I know.”

The older man made three more trips before he put the boards over empty barrels. Between his loads she managed to slip down and carry up her two boxes of tools. On the second trip, she noticed Hank sitting in the big old rocker on the porch.

She walked to the door. “Will you be all right if I work a while?”

He looked lost but said, “I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to staying in the house. I’m usually out by sunup.” The mild day didn’t reflect in his mood. “When Blue finishes with your makeshift benches, he said he’d carry the leather work up from the barn. I can do it as easy here as there. Maybe tomorrow the ground will be dry enough for me to hobble out there.”

Standing just behind his chair, she moved her fingers through his hair. “Hank,” she whispered and waited until he looked up. “You make me very happy.”

He looked puzzled. “Do I?”

Heat spread into her cheeks. She’d been thinking about her attic room, but realized he thought she meant their good night kiss. “Yes,” she answered, meaning both. The room was a grand place to work, but last night’s “one touch” had been a slice of magic, pure and unreal.

His eyes darkened as if knowing she was thinking the same thing he was, but he didn’t move to touch her. Both knew it wouldn’t be proper in the daylight. Both knew they’d wait.

When she returned to her work space, she decided the stool Blue had brought wasn’t high enough for the makeshift bench, so she tugged the old trunk over. Surprised at how heavy it was, Aggie looked inside the one thing Hank said was sent back home after his mother died.

Layered between tissue paper and smelling of cedar were several finely made quilts.

Odd, Aggie thought. The paper looked as neatly pressed as it must have been the day Hank’s mother packed away the quilts, and Aggie couldn’t help but wonder why Hank, or his father, had never bothered to look inside. Maybe the chest was simply something Hank didn’t want, but couldn’t leave behind for strangers to discover.

She spread the quilts out, realizing each was a work of art, made with great care. They transformed the tiny attic room into a field of flowers and plants, each reflecting a different season.

Finally, she folded them away—all but one. The last, a beautiful spread of bluebonnets, she couldn’t make herself fold. If she put it away the room would go back to being colorless. On impulse, she reached for two small tacks among her tools and hung the quilt on the wall. When she stepped back, she couldn’t help but smile. One wall with windows framing a view of winter across Hank’s land. The other wall now showed a spring field with all the warmth of a quilt made with love. She’d found the perfect place to work.

Time flew as she practiced the skills her father had taught her. In a strange way she felt at home with her hands moving over the weapons that belonged to strangers.

She checked on Hank several times during the day, but his mood never lightened. He was a man used to action who didn’t take to doing chores from a rocking chair. When she came down for the last time, she found him already in bed, asleep.

She felt guilty that she hadn’t thought about the time, or his supper. As wives go she must rank near the bottom. Setting the box of repaired guns by the door, Aggie ate an apple, then slipped into her nightgown and crawled in beside Hank.

He’d had a hard day, she guessed, and she hadn’t been there to comfort him. She moved her hand to his arm and touched him lightly. “It will be better tomorrow,” she whispered just before she fell asleep.

When she awoke, Hank was gone. As she slipped into her clothes, she heard voices coming from the kitchen.

“Now Hank, we’ve done all we can do.” The sheriff’s deep baritone voice rattled through the house.

Aggie slipped on her boots. She heard Hank, but couldn’t make out his words.

As she hurried from the bedroom, the sheriff ’s voice sounded again. “You can’t go after them. You can barely walk, man.”

Aggie slowed her steps as she walked into the kitchen. Three men were sitting at the table drinking coffee. Blue, the sheriff, and her husband.

“What has happened?” she asked as calmly as she could muster.

Hank looked at his cup but the sheriff faced her. “You were right about shooting that fellow. He got as far as Clarendon before he knew he had to see a doctor. He was hit in the left shoulder, just like you said. The doc wired me as soon as he patched him up, and turned him over to a marshal who was in town investigating a cattle rustling gang near there.”

Aggie frowned. Hank still wasn’t looking at her. “Did he say why he tried to kill my husband?”

The sheriff nodded. “He said a man in Fort Worth paid him. Said this fellow made an offer in a bar to anyone interested that if they’d see you had a horrible honeymoon he’d give a hundred dollars.”

Aggie couldn’t believe it. “You mean someone tried to kill Hank for a hundred dollars?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Not kill, just bother. The fellow you put a bullet in swears he planned to knock Hank out and set the barn afire. But he panicked.” The sheriff pulled out a chair for her as Aggie melted into it. “The good news is he’s in jail. It seems he was wanted for a few other crimes as well, and we’d been looking for him for months. We know the man who made the offer in the bar, but it’ll just be his word against this lowlife, and no jury would take the story of a criminal over a railroad executive.”

Aggie felt horrible. Hank being hurt was all her fault. She didn’t have to ask a name, she knew only one railroad man, Potter Stockton. “What’s the bad news?” she managed.

The sheriff looked at Hank as if waiting for permission to continue.

Hank covered her hand with his and nodded.

“The bad news,” the sheriff mumbled, “is that the guy says there were two men that night in the bar who took the railroad man up on his offer.”

Aggie felt as if someone was choking her. “Someone else is out there?”

The sheriff nodded. “He may have given up and gone back, but I came out to warn you to keep a lookout for trouble.”

The sheriff left, with Blue by his side. Blue had picked up the box of repaired guns and said he’d be back from town in an hour.

When they were gone, Aggie stood beside Hank’s chair and waited for him to say the first word. If he hadn’t married her he would have been working today, not losing money while laid up with a broken leg. She wasn’t even good company since she’d spent the day upstairs. He couldn’t have even climbed up to see her.

Finally, he reached for her hand. “I should have guessed Potter was a hothead. He must have sent that drunk at the train station to stop me, and when that didn’t work he planned to at least see that we couldn’t be happy.”

She moved closer and leaned her shoulder against him. “I am happy, dear. I hate that he broke your leg and somehow I’m probably to blame, but you must know that I’m happy—here on the ranch—with you.”

He looked up at her then as if he wanted to believe her, but something deep inside stopped him. She thought he was about to argue, but he only said, “I want you to promise to wear my Colts today. Don’t take them off.”

She nodded.

“I can’t just sit here and wait for trouble to come, but I can work in the barn. I’ll have Blue move my workbench so that I can keep an eye on the house and my rifle will always be within reach.”

“I’ll bring my tools out. It’s warm enough for me to work in the barn.”

He pulled her into his lap and held her gently. She thought of a hundred things that needed doing, but it felt so good to have him holding her. She’d almost woken him last night to ask if he would. She knew he liked her here but didn’t completely believe her when she’d told him she was happy. Maybe it was the way they married with no promises of love. Or maybe it was more deeply rooted in his past, when his mother left him and never returned.

Aggie kissed his throat and Hank stilled as if returning to reality.

“We’d better get to work,” he said.

She nodded and stood, wishing he’d kissed her back just once.

An hour later Blue returned with another load of broken revolvers and a few rifles from Jeb, and a box of new tools shipped in from Wichita Falls. Aggie was so excited she went right to work, hardly noticing Blue moving Hank’s bench to the other side of the barn doors.

They worked all morning, their backs to one another. Hank sat on a stool with his leg propped on the crossbar of his workbench. She preferred to stand when she worked with rifles. He asked her to pick up a hammer he dropped, and once she asked if he’d help her pry a jammed cartridge shell out. Neither talked of anything else.

At noon Aggie went to the house and brought back leftover meat and cheese for lunch. She insisted he rest his leg while he ate. She talked about a few of the problems with the rifles, but he said little. His eyes were always looking beyond the barn.

When Blue returned that evening, Hank asked if the hired hand would lend him a shoulder to brace against so he could make it to the house.

Aggie almost cried. He’d worked too hard. He should have turned in hours ago and gotten all the weight off his leg. She grabbed her tools and ran for the house. “I’ll work upstairs for a while,” she said as she passed the two men. “You rest, dear.”

“I’ll want no supper,” Hank answered. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

She wanted to argue that he needed to eat, but she didn’t want to nag in front of Blue. Instead, she went to her little space above the kitchen and worked, telling herself tomorrow would be better.

She worked until the box of guns was repaired. When she finally crawled into bed, she wished there was something that could make Hank happy, or at least make him believe that she was happy. At some point, when he’d been little, he’d stopped believing he could be loved. That’s why he could offer the partnership—it had been safe, there wouldn’t be a disappointment, for love wasn’t part of the deal.

Shoving a tear away, she silently scolded herself for crying, then she realized why she couldn’t stop. Hank didn’t believe in love and she loved him. She might never be able to say the words or make him believe, but she loved him.

An idea struck her. Slipping from the bed, she ran back upstairs. Within minutes another quilt was hung, this one on the blank wall of their bedroom. Tomorrow, no matter what the weather, Hank would wake to a sunny day filled with sunflowers and morning glories.

Laughing to herself, Aggie slipped out of her nightgown and into his flannel shirt. Then she crawled in beside her husband. As she moved close to his warmth, he circled her and pulled her against him. His slow, steady breathing told her that his action was more instinct than thought. She molded against him and whispered, “Good night, dear,” a moment before she fell asleep.