Texas Rose

chapter 34

Evie couldn't believe he'd said what he had. She'd never had a family to be compared to. She stared at him with a glazed look on her face, waiting for the punch line. When Peyton didn't say more, she didn't know where to look. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron, then turned to see what Carmen was doing.

The younger girl was listening unabashedly. Shaking her head to herself, Evie gestured at the rocking chair. "Won't you have a seat, Mr. Peyton? I have to start dinner. Tyler and Daniel will be home soon."

Peyton gave her a look of exasperation and still carrying Maria, walked in the direction of Evie's bedroom. "Your husband mentioned your interest in painting, Mrs. Monteigne. Are you working on anything now?"

Evie swung a frantic look to Carmen at the stove, then back to the stranger disappearing into their bedroom. She had spent too many years hoping. She couldn't believe her prayers would be answered so easily. She needed time to think, time to formulate questions, but her mind was a blur of madly spinning wishes and hopes and cries, and she could only follow the man who might hold her secrets.

He was studying the canvas propped on the easel by the window. Maria was swinging her chubby fist at the picture and saying "Tywer" over and over, to make sure the stranger got the point.

"It's a very good likeness of Tyler, my dear," Peyton informed the child calmly. "Your Miss Maryellen is a very talented young lady." At Evie's appearance, he swung around questioningly. "Why on earth do you call yourself that awful name? You did say your mother named you Evangeline, didn't you?"

"She also named me Peyton and Howell, but those names don't belong to me any more than any other. Maryellen had a nice, sweet sound to it, like someone who had a loving family around them." Now that she had come to accept that this man knew some of the answers, Evie calmed down. She would remember Jane Eyre and behave sensibly.

"Evangeline was your mother's middle name, and it was her mother's name before her. It's a good old-fashioned family name. Elizabeth must have wanted you to have your family if in name only. I still can't believe she did that." He shook his head and put down the child who had begun to wriggle to get loose.

"Can't believe she did what?" Evie stood there helplessly, watching this stranger who was examining her canvas with a professional eye and telling her the things she had always wanted to hear.

"There's no proof, I suppose." Sadly, he looked up from the painting to examine Evie in the same way he had examined the canvas. "But I don't know where else you would have come across such a name. Or those looks. And this." He gestured at the half-finished painting of Tyler and Maria.

"Perhaps, if you would explain?" She wasn't following all this. No one else had ever commented on her looks. And she didn't know if he meant the painting itself or Tyler. She knew what she hoped he meant, but Texas had taught her a thing or two about reality. She wasn't going to daydream the most important story of her life.

"I don't suppose you would have any wine, would you?" Peyton turned to stare out the window at the narrow, dirty alley.

"I can send for some. The mercantile might have a bottle."

"It's no matter. I just thought we both could use a drop of something strong." He looked over his shoulder. "You ought to take a seat. I'm not sure I should be saying anything at all, but you have more suspicions than I have answers, and we need to sort through them."

Evie obediently dropped to the edge of one of the beds. "What did you mean about my eyes and hair?"

"You have eyes like mine, like the children's, like my mother's—your grandmother's. Rosita Peyton was a lovely woman, but you look nothing like her except for the eyes. My father used to call them Spanish eyes. I never met Angelina's husband, but I suppose he had dark eyes, too, and the same coloring as my mother. That's why the children look Mexican, I guess. My sister Angelina was a lot like our mother, too. I was the different one; I looked more like my father. He was an Irish-American with a big laugh and a talent for trouble. He wasn't tall, but his hair was auburn and he never could stay out in the sun much. Neither can I. Do you find you have the same problem?" He turned to look at her.

Evie nodded. "I turn red quickly, but I try to wear a hat and carry a parasol. There's not much call for me to be out in the sun."

He nodded and turned back to the window. "I hated farming. My father claimed his father felt the same way and that he died a terrible death in a barroom after he lost his farm while frittering his time painting silly pictures."

Silence fell, and not knowing what else to say to get him speaking again, Evie said, "Carmen tells me you are a famous artist."

Peyton's smile twisted. "I once sold a portrait for two thousand dollars. Money was plentiful back then. I made a lot of it. I don't know if that makes me famous. Anyway, fame—like money—is fleeting. My eyesight is going bad, and my hand is developing a tremble. I can't do as well as you have done there anymore." He jerked his head toward the easel. "I can teach you a few techniques, I suppose, but it looks like you've had some professional training."

"An artist from Paris stayed in St. Louis one year. Nanny insisted that I study with him. He said my work was too feminine, not strong enough. I asked if he thought a woman ought to paint like a man, and we had a terrible fight, but I tried to learn everything he knew."

Peyton chuckled and turned around, leaning back against the windowsill and crossing his arms over his chest. "You sound just like your mother. She once told her father that she wasn't a man, she didn't want to be a man, and if he wanted her to think like a man, then he'd better find her a man's head. Until then, she was doing things like a woman, which was a hundred times better than any man could do."

Evie managed a smile. Her mother had said something like that. Those words were music to her ears. Her mother existed somewhere besides in her imagination. This man knew her mother. She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for more. "My mother and I must think alike, then."

His smile disappeared. "Let us hope not. Tell me about this Nanny of yours. How did you know your parents came from here if you grew up in St. Louis?"

Evie explained about the arrangement with the lawyer that she had learned about after Nanny's death. Peyton began to shake his head in dismay halfway through her tale.

"Elizabeth had too much of her father in her. She thought money would take care of the problems of the world. Maybe it does. Who am I to say? But if she had just written to me, told me, I could have come and found you. Maybe that's why she didn't. She wanted you to grow up a lady, and not an itinerant artist's daughter without a penny to her name."

Tears stung Evie's eyes as she gazed at this bearded stranger who seemed to be saying he was her father. It was too frightening to take in all at once. What did he want from her? Did he think she ought to run into his arms and accept his story and forgive him for a lifetime of neglect? Or was he more interested in her mother's money? Why did she have to let him know so much about herself? How long would it take before the news would be all over town? And then everyone would know what she was. An unwanted bastard.

She stared down at her hands. "Why didn't you marry her?" she asked through a voice choked with tears.

"I wanted to. But as I said, I didn't have a penny to my name. Elizabeth said she didn't care, that she loved me, that she always wanted to be with me. But when I decided to make our wealth in California, she heeded her father and not her heart. She said she'd wait for me." He had taken to staring at the far wall, but now his head turned in her direction again. "When were you born?"

"September 10, 1850," Evie answered without hesitation.

A glimmer of warmth lightened his eyes. "A farewell gift. I left for California at the end of January, the year after the great rush for gold in '49. I'd heard the tales about gold and didn't think I'd make much of a miner, but I thought I might find another way or two to make a penny. I'd thought Elizabeth would be coming with me, so I wasn't very careful. You're a married woman, am I embarrassing you?"

Evie shook her head. "Tyler was... Well, I know what you mean."

"Jumped the gun, did he?" Peyton chuckled. "Well, then, you know what me and your mother felt like." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The night she told me she couldn't go with me, I felt like I'd been poleaxed. I didn't think to inquire about intimate details, although I suppose it would have been too soon for her to know anyway. I just packed and left in a rage."

"Did you ever write to her? Let her know where you were?" Evie wasn't certain if knowing why she was a bastard would assuage the hurt any, but all these years of curiosity demanded answers.

"Hell, I wrote to her all the time. I wrote to her every night and mailed the letter whenever I got a chance. It takes months for mail to be delivered, so it was a while before I realized I wasn't getting any answers. Then I started to write once a week. When I still didn't hear from her, it dwindled to twice a month. By the end of the year I was making a little money, and I offered to come get her. I sent one of those letters every day in case they got waylaid. Finally, I lowered my pride and wrote Angelina. She was just a kid, but she wrote Elizabeth had left town and hadn't come home."

"She went to St. Louis to have me," Evie answered quietly. "I didn't know she stayed that long. I don't think I could give up a baby I'd come to know and love."

"Elizabeth was a strong woman. She knew her own mind. She hated Mineral Springs. She fought constantly with her father. She couldn't let anyone know she'd carried the child of a half-breed penniless farmer, and out of wedlock at that. So she did what was best for you. She gave you the life she had known before she came here." Peyton gave Evie's expensive dress a knowing look. "You didn't lack for anything, did you?"

"Only love." Evie turned at the sound of the front door opening. Tyler didn't explain what he did all day but he came home at this time every night. She supposed he was gambling at the saloon, but the big games were at night. He couldn't be making much.

Tyler filled the doorway, his eyes taking in the scene without expression. As usual, he was dressed like a gentleman, wearing the frock coat and tie and low-crowned Stetson that set him apart from the rough ranchers and farmers and merchants of town. He took the Stetson off and spun it toward the bed with a proprietary air.

"Peyton." He nodded laconically.

"My daughter and I were just getting acquainted." There was a note of defiance in Peyton's reply.

Tyler's gaze swept to Evie's strained face. She looked to be on the verge of tears, and he crossed the room in two strides. Pulling her up from the bed, he brushed a kiss across her cheek, and she came into his arms as willingly as a lamb. He held her protectively in his embrace, and something dangerous inside of him clicked into place. He turned back to Peyton.

"I wondered if you were man enough to admit it." Tyler felt the shock rippling through the woman at his side, but Evie would come around quicker if he made her mad. He gave her a look of satisfaction when she tried to pull free. "Sorry, darling, but the resemblance is pretty clear even without the name. I'm surprised you haven't got around to carrying paintbrushes in your pockets."

"Tyler Monteigne, I'm going to smack you if you don't let me go right now. You've no call to be rude to my father."

Tyler reached around her and slipped his hand into the deep pocket of her gown. He pulled it out again with his fist clenched triumphantly around an assortment of oddities. Pulling a charcoal pencil from the litter, he held it out to the man watching them with uncertainty.

"Are all artists absentminded dreamers, or did she inherit that trait like the talent?"

Evie elbowed Tyler and grabbed the pencil still wrapped in his palm. "I am not absentminded. There are perfectly good reasons for everything in there. Now give me back my things, Tyler, or I'll start going through your pockets."

Tyler dumped the jumble into her hands, then held his palms free of his clothes. "Search away, woman, see what you can find."

Evie's gaze drifted to the area where his trouser pockets were located. If they had been alone...

But they were never alone. With a wry grimace of acceptance, she reached for his inside coat pocket and pulled out the derringer he kept there. "Does it have real bullets?" she asked with wide-eyed innocence as she pointed it at him.

Gingerly, Tyler disarmed her, and put the gun back where it belonged. He gave Peyton an apologetic look. "She really isn't as dumb as she pretends to be."

Since the "she" in question was now alive and kicking instead of pale-faced and teary-eyed, Peyton nodded in appreciation of Tyler's tactics. "I wouldn't expect her to be. Her mother was an intelligent woman. I'm the one missing in the brains department."

Tyler grinned as he caught Evie's arms to keep her from any further assaults. "Well, I've been told the same thing, but I'm smart enough to know a good thing when I see one."

"I am not a thing, Tyler Monteigne," Evie hissed, struggling to be free of his grasp.

"Who says I'm talking about you?" Tyler released her wrists and held up his hands again. Seeing the bouquet of roses filling the vase on the dresser, he grabbed one and handed it to her. They weren't the real thing, but they were all he had to offer. "Truce OK? Am I going to get to hear the whole story or do I make up my own?"

Years of details tumbled out over the next few hour as Daniel came in and dinner was served and everyone had their own stories to tell. Although James Peyton had left Texas long before the children were born, they had memories of their mother reading his letters, of the gift she bought for them when he sent her money, and excited voices carried the meal long after dark.

When Evie and Carmen finally took the youngest off to bed, Peyton glanced around the main room with puzzlement. Daniel sat on the straw pallet by the fireplace reading a book. The boys had gone off to the back bedroom, and Maria was being bedded down in the front bedroom. He shook his head and gave Tyler a considering look.

"They don't leave you much privacy, do they?"

Having discarded coat, tie, and waistcoat in the evening heat, Tyler sat at the table in shirtsleeves, sipping his coffee. He shrugged lightly at the question. "There's a few problems we haven't conquered yet."

Peyton's eyes narrowed. "What do you do for a living? Seems to me if you're in a position to marry you ought to be in a position to offer a wife a house of her own."

Tyler merely set his cup down and offered his most charming grin. "I prefer challenges, sir. Any man can find himself a sweet little wife and settle her in a cozy cottage and bring home enough coins to keep her happy But that's not enough for me."

Daniel spoke up from his corner, glancing over the top of his glasses. "He means he's a gambler who'd rather take his chances on a crazy woman for wife. Evie isn't precisely the settling-down sort."

Tyler leaned back in his chair and gave Daniel a puzzled look. "They don't come much more settled down than Evie. Who else would land in town and immediately cover herself up with children?"

"A woman with more energy than sense," Peyton replied with a chuckle. "The boy's right. Evie's got a restless soul. It doesn't take a father to see that."

Disgruntled to be told something he hadn't discerned for himself, Tyler went back to sipping his coffee. He fully intended to wait out the lot of them. He'd let Evie go to her own bed last night because he'd known she was rattled by the day's events, but he had no intention of being so generous tonight. She could mother the whole damned town all day if she liked, but at night, she was his.

When Evie finally emerged from the bedroom, Tyler watched her closely. She was so beautiful that she made his heart ache, along with other parts of his anatomy, he acknowledged. But it wasn't just her beauty that held his interest. Perhaps it was her restless soul as her father called it. But it certainly didn't seem restless tonight. She looked a trifle subdued in the light of the lantern she was adjusting.

Tyler couldn't stand the waiting any longer. He stood up and announced to the room at large, "I think we need to turn in early tonight. Evie, is there anything you want to take with you?"

She shot him an uncertain look, then looked at the lantern as she set it down. "Mr. Hale says Cleveland isn't legally a minister."

Tyler felt the knife through his middle even before her words registered. It was in the tone of her voice, the way she turned away from him. He was in trouble now, but he'd found his way out of worse spots. He gathered his shattered wits and applied them to the problem.

"Hale is a troublemaker, but if it will make you happy, we'll do it again at the church."

Evie gave him a sideways look as she played with the crocheted doily on the table. "You'd better think about it first, Tyler, while you still have a chance."

He felt like he'd just been hit by a timber and abandoned. He stiffened and reached for his coat. "If that's the way you feel about it, then maybe you're right."

He walked out, leaving everyone else in the room staring at Evie. She stood there frozen, the crushed doily in her hand. Then donning a familiar smile, she made her excuses and returned to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.