Kitabı oku: «Yellow Rose Bride»
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
MILLS & BOON
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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.
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