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Authors: Shelley Gray
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far," he muttered sarcastically.
"I'm glad you feel that way." Ken handed over a shirt dyed blue. "Mary made this for me last month. I'd like to give it to you."
He raised an eyebrow. "For Vanessa's something blue? I never cottoned you to be so sentimental."
Ken grinned at the joke. "Doing the Lord's work has made me see a lot of things in a different light. Ain't no crime to think of sweet things every now and then."
"I'll take your word for that."
"Mary said your lady will be ready in a few minutes."
Clayton nodded as he wiped his face and slicked back his hair. "All right."
"The kids are caterwauling somethin' awful, they're so excited." He scuffed a patch of mud with the point of his boot."I figure it's best we get started soon."
Clayton was beginning to get the feeling that there was a whole lot Ken was sidestepping around. But Ken had never been one to mince words before, so he merely nodded. "Tell Mary I'll be right in." He picked up the shirt Ken had laid on a post and shrugged into it, thankful Ken was as broadshouldered as he was.
"Will do." Ken turned to walk away, then paused in midstep."Mary saw Vanessa's back."
There it was.
The red bandanna he'd just fished out of his saddlebag flew from his hands and floated to rest on his boots. Clayton bent down to retrieve it, doing his best to keep his emotions in check with effort. Not daring to look at Ken, he focused on how the red cotton was becoming more wrinkled in his hand by the second. "Are the cuts festering? She wouldn't let me look at them last night."
"They look to be healing. Well, more or less. They're fairly wide and deep, Mary said."
"I know."
Ken swallowed hard. "Just to let you know, Mary helped Vanessa clean the cuts and put some ointment on them."
"Tell her thank you. I . . . I should've tended to them better on the trail." Clayton tried to recall if he'd noticed her sitting or moving more stiffly than usual when she'd been brushing out her hair. He should've taken the time to think about that instead of wondering what those silken strands felt like.
"Don't know what you could have done, on the trail and all." Ken swallowed hard. "Anyway, Mary said she didn't know whether to hug Vanessa or act like she'd seen marks on a woman like that a dozen times before."
"I hope she hasn't."
"No, I don't reckon she has. Mary sure felt helpless, though.It's tough to see another person in pain."
"Yes, it is." Clayton knew the feeling. Quickly, he stuffed the bandana in his back pocket then concentrated on buttoning his new blue shirt, afraid to say a word. If he started, he'd likely say too much.
"Who did it, Clayton? What is his name?"
Clayton almost told Ken is was none of his business. But his earlier conversation with Vanessa stayed fresh in his mind.There was a very good chance her stepfather would try to find her. If he had a tracker, he might even locate Ken.
Ken should be prepared. "His name is Price Venture. He's a weasel of a man. Short, soft from easy living. Hard around the eyes. He's Vanessa's stepfather."
Ken's eyes turned to granite. "She all right?"
Clayton knew what he was asking. Grown men didn't whip their stepdaughters for no reason. "As well as she can be, I guess." Finally giving into his need to share the whole story, Clayton said, "She, uh, was beaten because she was fighting him. Price." Recalling her tears and her trembling brought his anger back full force. For about the hundredth time, Clayton wished it had been Price who'd stepped out into the hall instead of Miles or her mother.
Ken crossed himself.
Clayton reached for a cheroot from his saddlebag on the floor. After walking outside the barn, he hastily lit it, finding comfort in the action.
The cold, unvarnished truth was that Vanessa had almost been raped. He didn't know how he'd ever live with himself if she actually had been attacked.
Ken glanced toward the house. "Remember outside Galveston?"
Galveston! Just the name of the place made his stomach turn. "I
"I'm glad you feel that way." Ken handed over a shirt dyed blue. "Mary made this for me last month. I'd like to give it to you."
He raised an eyebrow. "For Vanessa's something blue? I never cottoned you to be so sentimental."
Ken grinned at the joke. "Doing the Lord's work has made me see a lot of things in a different light. Ain't no crime to think of sweet things every now and then."
"I'll take your word for that."
"Mary said your lady will be ready in a few minutes."
Clayton nodded as he wiped his face and slicked back his hair. "All right."
"The kids are caterwauling somethin' awful, they're so excited." He scuffed a patch of mud with the point of his boot."I figure it's best we get started soon."
Clayton was beginning to get the feeling that there was a whole lot Ken was sidestepping around. But Ken had never been one to mince words before, so he merely nodded. "Tell Mary I'll be right in." He picked up the shirt Ken had laid on a post and shrugged into it, thankful Ken was as broadshouldered as he was.
"Will do." Ken turned to walk away, then paused in midstep."Mary saw Vanessa's back."
There it was.
The red bandanna he'd just fished out of his saddlebag flew from his hands and floated to rest on his boots. Clayton bent down to retrieve it, doing his best to keep his emotions in check with effort. Not daring to look at Ken, he focused on how the red cotton was becoming more wrinkled in his hand by the second. "Are the cuts festering? She wouldn't let me look at them last night."
"They look to be healing. Well, more or less. They're fairly wide and deep, Mary said."
"I know."
Ken swallowed hard. "Just to let you know, Mary helped Vanessa clean the cuts and put some ointment on them."
"Tell her thank you. I . . . I should've tended to them better on the trail." Clayton tried to recall if he'd noticed her sitting or moving more stiffly than usual when she'd been brushing out her hair. He should've taken the time to think about that instead of wondering what those silken strands felt like.
"Don't know what you could have done, on the trail and all." Ken swallowed hard. "Anyway, Mary said she didn't know whether to hug Vanessa or act like she'd seen marks on a woman like that a dozen times before."
"I hope she hasn't."
"No, I don't reckon she has. Mary sure felt helpless, though.It's tough to see another person in pain."
"Yes, it is." Clayton knew the feeling. Quickly, he stuffed the bandana in his back pocket then concentrated on buttoning his new blue shirt, afraid to say a word. If he started, he'd likely say too much.
"Who did it, Clayton? What is his name?"
Clayton almost told Ken is was none of his business. But his earlier conversation with Vanessa stayed fresh in his mind.There was a very good chance her stepfather would try to find her. If he had a tracker, he might even locate Ken.
Ken should be prepared. "His name is Price Venture. He's a weasel of a man. Short, soft from easy living. Hard around the eyes. He's Vanessa's stepfather."
Ken's eyes turned to granite. "She all right?"
Clayton knew what he was asking. Grown men didn't whip their stepdaughters for no reason. "As well as she can be, I guess." Finally giving into his need to share the whole story, Clayton said, "She, uh, was beaten because she was fighting him. Price." Recalling her tears and her trembling brought his anger back full force. For about the hundredth time, Clayton wished it had been Price who'd stepped out into the hall instead of Miles or her mother.
Ken crossed himself.
Clayton reached for a cheroot from his saddlebag on the floor. After walking outside the barn, he hastily lit it, finding comfort in the action.
The cold, unvarnished truth was that Vanessa had almost been raped. He didn't know how he'd ever live with himself if she actually had been attacked.
Ken glanced toward the house. "Remember outside Galveston?"
Galveston! Just the name of the place made his stomach turn. "I
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