Laurel, p.19
Laurel, page 19
That thought made Laurel feel so much better she almost didn't mind explaining things that weren't anybody else's business.
"Carlin Blackthorne was my husband. Adam is his son. The Blackthornes want to take him away from me."
"That's disgraceful," Miranda exclaimed. "We can't allow anyone to steal a child from his mother."
"We agree," Grace Worthy said. "That's why I'm trying to get Laurel to move out of that canyon. The sheriff doesn't strike me as the kind of man to stay here forever. Even if he did, Laurel can't go on depending on him. There's already talk about the attention he's paying her."
"Goodness me, what could people be saying?" Miranda asked. "Isn't the sheriff supposed to protect the citizens?"
"Sure he is," Grace Worthy replied, "but any time a man pays attention to a pretty woman, you're going to get talk."
"I don't think you can say he's paying attention to me," Laurel protested.
"Doesn't he go up to see you every day?"
"He comes to tell me about the progress of the chute."
"You could see that for yourself, couldn't you?"
"I prefer to stay in the canyon."
"I imagine the kind of attention she'd receive from those men would be quite unwelcome," Ruth Norton commented. "But you must acknowledge, my dear, people are going to wonder. Mr. Randolph is an extremely handsome man. People will always be curious about anything he does."
"Let them stay curious," Laurel said, pique causing her to speak sharply. "They never believed the truth before. I don't expect they will start now."
Mrs. Norton didn't seem very pleased with Laurel's answer. "There are other reputations involved," she said, her tone and manner a reprimand. "It would never do for people to think Mr. Randolph a philanderer. His discredit would harm the reputation of any young woman to whom he showed special attention." Mrs. Norton eyed her niece with special meaning.
"Don't be ridiculous, Aunt Ruth. The sheriff hasn't shown any partiality for me."
"You can't expect him to show any pronounced partiality in such a short time," Mrs. Norton replied, at her most formal, "but you can't deny he has been very nice in his attentions."
"He's nice to everyone."
"But that niceness takes on a special meaning when an eligible bachelor is paying attention to a single, young woman."
Not being one to beat about the bush, Grace Worthy asked point blank, "Are you saying the sheriff has intentions toward your niece?"
"I would never presume to speak for the sheriff or my niece," Ruth said, as coy as a woman of her age and disposition could be, "but he's from a very wealthy Virginia family that's positively bristling with important people. Did you know the Confederate General Robert E. Lee is a member of his family?"
"It could be some other Randolphs," Miranda said.
"I asked him," Ruth said, looking almost smug. "He's related to a president and a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court as well. I ask you, who in this town is more suitable to become his wife than Miranda? I don't think she would be adverse to his attentions."
Miranda blushed.
"It's news to me he's looking for a wife," Grace Worthy said, her tone sharp. "In fact, the gossip seems to be that he's given every female except Laurel a wide berth."
"His behavior has been extremely proper. It's easy to tell he was born a Virginia gentleman."
"It's been my experience men go straight to what they want," Grace said, impatient with Ruth's pretensions, "especially when it's a woman. I don't think you should go building any great expectations," she said to Miranda. "Men who've reached the sheriff's age without marrying are remarkably slippery characters, especially if they're also rich and good looking. If he's all your aunt says, there must have been dozens of females chasing after him with nets."
Ruth laughed. "I doubt they would go that far, but you've got a point. He's not going to be easy to catch."
"I don't mean to catch anybody," Miranda said. "I like the sheriff very much -- how could I not -- but I have no romantic interest in him. Nor him in me."
"Well, time will tell," her aunt said. "In the meantime, I think we ought to consider some additions to your wardrobe. The seasons here are nothing like Kentucky."
"Not in the least," Grace Worthy agreed. "You won't believe . . . "
Laurel's mind was numb. The rest of the conversation faded into an indistinct murmur. Hen was from a wealthy, aristocratic family. She was nothing but the stepdaughter of one petty thief, the doubtful wife of another. He couldn't possibly fall in love with her. She ought to be grateful he was interested in protecting her.
She looked at Miranda -- cool, stately, perfectly dressed, always knowing exactly what to do. That was the kind of wife a man like Hen Randolph should have. Even if he did like Laurel, he would never think of marriage. Men like that didn't. A little dalliance maybe, something more if she was willing, but nothing permanent.
Laurel stumbled to her feet. "I must go," she said, trying desperately to appear calm. "I don't like to leave Adam alone too long."
"That's all the more reason you ought to think about moving down here," Grace Worthy said. "With a whole town to watch him, you wouldn't have to worry as much."
"I'll think about it." Anything to get out of that house.
"You'll have to come again," Miranda said. "Soon."
"I don't know. I'm awfully busy."
"You'll have more time once you get the money for the water," Ruth Norton said.
"Of course. I hadn't thought of that," Laurel said. "I'm used to having to work all the time."
Laurel didn't want to be rude or seem ungrateful, but she thought if she didn't get out of that house in about two seconds, she was going to start screaming. "I'll let you know. I really do have to go."
She turned and fled.
People who spoke to her as she hurried down the street were clearly startled she didn't answer, but she didn't dare stop. They expected her to be rude. That would be old news before dinner time. If she started crying in the middle of the street, they'd be talking about it for days.
"Going home already? I thought you ladies would have your heads together half the afternoon."
Hen!
Laurel's heart thumped painfully in her chest. Her body seemed incapable of movement. She felt heat burn her skin. He was the one person she didn't want to meet, the one she was least prepared to face. She couldn't look up, at least not yet. If she did, she might faint dead away.
Hen fell into step beside her. "Did they say anything about your moving into town?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to?"
"Not yet."
She wanted to scream she would never move into town where she would have to come face to face with him a dozen times a day, especially if he married Miranda. She had to get as far away from him as possible. Her world had started to fall apart the moment he came to Sycamore Flats.
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Will you think about it?"
"Yes." Never! But she'd tell him anything just to get him to leave her alone.
"Why are you in such a hurry? Are you upset?"
"No."
"Look at me."
Laurel kept walking.
Hen kept up with her. "What's wrong?" he asked in a softer voice.
"Nothing."
"I know you."
"Nobody knows me. I don't even know myself anymore."
They had reached the wash behind town. Hen took her hand and forced her to turn and face him. "Did one say something to hurt your feelings?"
"No. They were extremely kind, especially Miranda."
They had been. At least they tried to be. Ruth Norton had no idea she had virtually plunged a knife into Laurel's heart. She thought only of her niece, a wonderful girl who fully deserved a husband as rich and kind as Hen Randolph.
"Then what's wrong?"
"I guess I'm tired of people trying to run my life for me," Laurel said, lashing out in her pain. "I'm tired of people telling me where to live, what to do, what to think, when to do it, who I should be afraid of, what I should wear, what kind of job I should have, what I should do with my money."
"They're only doing it because they're worried about you."
"Well they can stop. You can tell yourself I'm fine. I'm going to be fine. I've always been fine. Now I've got work to do. I'm sure you must have rustlers to catch."
"I caught them."
"Then go throw some drunks into jail."
"The saloons haven't been open long enough."
"Then go talk to Miranda Trescott. I've got work to do. And please don't walk me home. I can find my way."
"I'll be up in the morning. I hope you're feeling better by then."
"I'm sure I will be," Laurel said with a sniff as she stalked off. Then she stopped and turned back. "Thanks for being worried about me." She turned and almost ran from Hen. She knew she wasn't being fair, but she couldn't take any more. She had to be alone.
* * * * *
Laurel set her basket down and leaned against the tree. It seemed she had picked up more laundry today than any other day in her life. She had already sent Adam back up the canyon with all the burro would carry. She had so much left over she had to stop and catch her breath. She was uncharacteristically tired because she hadn't gotten any sleep last night.
She couldn't help but glance toward the sheriff's house. She knew he would come up to the canyon today. After spending the whole night trying to decide what to say to him, she had finally decided not to say anything. How can you tell a man you really don't mind if he falls in love with another woman, that you'll get over your broken heart somehow?
You couldn't. She couldn't.
She would try to pretend nothing had happened. She didn't know if she could do it, but she would try. In the meantime she might as well get going. The laundry wouldn't walk up the canyon by itself.
She heard the sound of hoofbeats as she bent over to pick up the clothes. She looked up to see a horseman ride out of town, cross the wash, and out toward the desert.
Avery Blackthorne. What was he doing in town?
We'll come back and get you. And when we're done, we'll tear this town apart.
She remembered every word of Damian's threat. If Avery was around, it meant they were getting ready. Her first thought was for Adam. She relaxed when she remembered she had already sent him up the canyon. But he couldn't run free anymore, not with Avery around.
She had to tell Hen. Maybe Avery meant to lie in wait for Hen, to shoot him in the back. Laurel picked up her basket and headed toward the sheriff's house. She was startled when Hen came to the door, fully dressed and ready to ride.
"I thought you'd still be in bed."
Hen stepped outside. "Jordy is. I don't like to wake him."
What kind of man would leave his own house so a nine-year-old scamp could sleep late? She didn't think she would ever understand him.
"Avery Blackthorne is in town."
"Did you know you look particularly lovely in the morning?"
His response nearly rendered her speechless. It was the last thing she expected him to say. She blinked.
"I said Avery Blackthorne is in town."
"It guess it's the morning light. It makes your skin almost translucent. I never knew skin could look like that."
Laurel wondered if he had gone crazy or if she had. Here she was trying to tell him that his life was in danger, and he was talking about her skin. The worst part was she wanted him to talk about her skin. She wanted to simply stand here drinking in every wonderful word he said.
She pulled herself together with a jerk. She had to make Hen understand. Avery had come to Sycamore Flats to kill him.
"Avery is the oldest. He's the leader."
Hen turned toward the East. The sky was light, but the sun had yet to rise above the horizon. "It has a wondrous effect on your hair as well. It's so rich and black."
"Will you listen to me and stop talking about my skin and hair!" Aware that she had practically shouted the words, Laurel forced her self to calm down. "I just saw Avery ride out of town. He wouldn't be here unless he's come to kill you."
"Why don't you want to me talk about your hair?"
"Avery Blackthorne means to kill you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"He's been here about a week now."
Laurel could hardly believe her ears. "You've known all that time?"
Hen nodded.
"And you haven't done anything?"
"What am I supposed to do? He hasn't broken any law. He has as much right to be here as I do."
"There must be something you can do. You can't just let him go anywhere he pleases until he kills you. Or steals Adam."
"I don't think he means to do but, but keep him at home for a while." Hen put his fingers under Laurel's chin and lifted it to the light. "I can't get over how black your eyes are this morning. There's not even a hint of brown."
In frustration, Laurel slapped his hand away.
"Don't you understand Avery means to kill you?"
"You should always be seen in morning light. You can't believe how vivid you are."
"All right, don't listen to me. Ignore Avery. Get yourself killed. But don't tell anybody you weren't warned. You're just too crazy to listen."
"I won't ignore him."
"Then why won't you do something?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"Quit. Go to another town."
"If a man starts running from the Avery Blackthornes of this world, he'll be running all his life. He's got to stay and face them if wants to call himself a man."
"Spoken like a true gunfighter," Laurel shot at him. "Don't use your head. Just your guns."
"Have you ever seen me kill anybody?"
"No, but Avery will try to kill you. It's all he knows."
"Then I'll be ready for him."
"You can't be ready for somebody like Avery. He would shoot you in the back."
"Then I won't turn my back on him."
"Don't be so pigheaded. It won't do you any good to be a dead hero. You act like you're not even worried."
"No point in worrying about something that may never happen. Might as well take things easy. Then if trouble does show up, you won't be all tense and liable to do something you shouldn't."
Laurel grabbed up her basket of clothes.
"Okay, take things easy. And plan your funeral while you're at it. Don't expect me to have anything to do with it. I wouldn't lift a finger to bury a man who doesn't have the sense to try to save himself."
Laurel headed up the wash unconscious of the weight of the full basket. Stubborn, conceited, hardheaded Hen Randolph was determined to get himself killed. She didn't know whether he thought she was a silly woman worrying about things that didn't concern her, or whether he thought Avery Blackthorne was an overrated gunman. Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to do anything to save himself.
She had to help him. She might be so mad at him she could hit him, but she couldn't stand by and let him get killed, even if he didn't love her. She ought to go wake up Mrs. Norton. If she was so anxious to have Hen marry Miranda, let her get grey hair worrying over him.
But she knew she wouldn't do it. Hen had gotten into this trouble because of her. She would have to do something.
Only she didn't know what.
* * * * *
Laurel handed her letters to the postmistress.
"What can you want sending so many letters to preachers?" the woman asked, looking at the addresses. "The whole tribe is nothing but a lot of trouble."
"Just send them off," Laurel said. "And make sure you let me know the minute I get an answer."
"You must have had a hundred already. It's five or six years you've been sending these off regular as clockwork."
"There'll be another batch next month," Laurel said.
And every month after that until she got the answer she wanted.
Chapter Seventeen
Laurel almost bumped into Hope as she came out of the restaurant.
"You're looking very pretty today," Laurel said. Hope had always been attractive, but recently she had started to wear some very masculine clothes. Today, however, she wore a bright yellow dress with a yellow ribbon in her hair. "Who's the lucky boy?"
"I'm not interested in boys," Hope said as she fell into step next to Laurel. "All they think about is horses and guns."
"Sometimes," Laurel agreed. "But they usually get serious enough when they meet the right girl."
"I haven't got time to wait for them to get serious."
"You're rather young to be in such a hurry to get married."
"I'm fourteen," Hope said, as though that made her a woman full grow. "Lots of girls get married at my age. Corrin Anderson is only a year older, and she already has a baby."
"I got married when I was sixteen and had a baby when I was seventeen. That was definitely too young." Too young to get married, too young to understand the consequences, too young to take on the responsibilities. "Most girls your age are thinking about having fun, not marriage."
"I've got to start thinking about it so I'll be prepared when someone asks me." They walked a few steps in silence, then Hope stopped and turned to Laurel. "Do you think I'd make a suitable bride for the sheriff?"
The question so stunned Laurel she couldn't think of an answer. Was every unattached female in Sycamore Flats hoping to marry Hen? What had he done to make Hope think he might marry her? Did Mrs. Worthy know what was going on in her daughter's mind?
"I really can't say," Laurel finally managed to answer. "I'm not sure I think it's wise for a girl to marry a man twice her age."
"But I'd be exactly the kind of wife he wants."
"How do you know?"
"I asked him."
Laurel stared at Hope, dumbfounded. "You asked him?"
"Sure. How else was I going to find out?"
Nonplussed, Laurel asked, "What did he say?" She knew she shouldn't have asked, but she had never shown any common sense when it came to Hen. It was useless to think she would develop any at this point.
