Jodi Thomas: Two Texas Hearts

Kora raised her gaze to him. If all he wanted was a hard working pair of hands, she’d offer him that in exchange for a roof and food. When Dan was stronger, she’d trade this house for tickets to where the sun always shown. Six months, she almost whispered aloud.

‘‘There’s extra bedrooms upstairs for Jamie and Dan.’’ He bit back his lie, knowing he had to make the offer. ‘‘She’s welcome to stay until she marries. And Dan can stay as long as you like.’’

Silently he hoped Jamie would be leaving soon. She’d threatened him while they hitched Kora’s one horse to the wagon and loaded Dan’s ladderback chair, along with an old chest and a few bundles of clothes. Then the girl had continued to rant as she helped Dan into the back of the wagon without a word to her brother about where they were going. She hadn’t stopped talking while Winter rode beside the wagon through the darkness. The only reason his ears were getting a rest now was that Jamie seemed more interested in his horses than seeing the house or watching her sister’s wedding.

He’d gladly left Jamie with one of the hands. When he’d looked back, Dan was still sitting in the back of the wagon looking completely uninterested in his surroundings and Jamie was picking out a mount.

Kora seemed to match his thoughts. ‘‘That was kind of you to offer Jamie a horse.’’

He opened the doors to his office, thinking that she was the first person he could ever remember who thought of him as kind.

As the heavy oak doors parted, three men turned toward them.

‘‘There they are!’’ Logan yelled. ‘‘I told you they’d come.’’

As he recognized the bride, the reverend frowned. ‘‘Mrs. Adams?’’ He looked over his glasses at her. ‘‘I didn’t think I’d see you as a bride. Your first husband is hardly cold in the ground.’’

Kora knew she should probably feel guilty. Everyone over the age of six knew a woman mourned a year before even going out in mixed company, much less thinking of marrying. But Kora lifted her chin slightly and stared at the reverend in silence. She hadn’t any more time to wait. Judging from the reverend’s width, he’d never known hunger or the kind of fear that closes in around you in the night so thick you can’t breathe. She’d been asked by Winter, and for better or worse, she’d stick by her decision. At least he’d been practical and straightforward, unlike Andrew Adams, who’d lied about his wealth in his letters. Not that she could say much since she’d also lied by answering under another woman’s name.

‘‘Kora’’-Winter said her name slowly for the first time-‘‘do you still wish to marry me? I’ll not go against your will in this no matter how much I want a wife. I’ll not ask you to do what you believe is wrong.’’

She leaned close to his shoulder. ‘‘Are you sure you want to marry me? I come with more responsibilities than most new brides.’’ She thought briefly that if the man had any sense, he’d run.

‘‘I’m sure.’’

‘‘Then I wish to continue.’’ She looked at the minister. Winter’s words helped ease her fears. He’d given her the choice. ‘‘Tonight or a year from now makes no difference to me.’’ He offered her a fair bargain and for as long as it lasted, she’d stay.

Winter spoke directly to the preacher. ‘‘Then let it be known that it was I who insisted this wedding take place right away. Anyone who has any objections or raised eyebrows best turn them my way and not my wife’s.’’

The preacher swallowed hard. ‘‘I understand, Mr. McQuillen. I’ll be happy to join you two in wedlock.’’

Staring down a nester’s widow was one thing, but facing a rancher like Winter was quite another. Smiling for the first time in days, Win turned slightly, nodding once toward both cowhands. ‘‘Kora, I’d like you to meet Cheyenne and Logan.’’

Kora faced the two men, fighting the urge to pull up her shawl.

‘‘Logan spends most of his time telling me what to do,’’ Winter said, ‘‘and Cheyenne gets me out of trouble when I’m foolish enough not to listen.’’

Logan’s face wrinkled into a thousand lines as he smiled, but the younger man only lowered his head slowly in a nod much as Winter had done earlier. Cheyenne’s stare was direct and cold. Kora wanted to move away. He reminded her of someone who saw everything in life and liked very little of what he saw. In build, the two men Winter called friends were as opposite as they were in welcoming. Logan was average in height and weight for his fifty years, reminding Kora of old jerky. Cheyenne was as tall as Winter but rawhide thin.

‘‘These are the two men I trust completely.’’ Winter didn’t give the compliment lightly. ‘‘I’d be honored if you’d both witness this marriage.’’

The men agreed.

Winter offered his arm to Kora. ‘‘Are you ready?’’

Kora glanced at his Colt still strapped to his leg. ‘‘Are you planning to wed wearing a gun, sir?’’

‘‘Does my answer affect your decision to become my wife?’’ Winter’s voice was gruff. The gun was a part of his life. He saw no need to remove it now. He’d already unstrapped it once tonight for this lady. He figured once was enough.

‘‘It does not,’’ she answered, realizing that trying to change a man while standing at the altar was probably not the best time.

‘‘Then, if you’ve no further objections, I’d like to get this ceremony over with.’’

When she placed her fingers atop his forearm, Winter said simply, ‘‘Begin, Preacher.’’

Kora had never seen anyone command so much power with little more than a whisper. As the minister spoke, she studied Winter, wondering who this man she was marrying could be. He was so dusty, he could have been little more than a cowhand. But his Colt looked custom-designed, and he’d made the point that it was a part of him. The horse he’d ridden was the most powerful animal she’d ever seen.

The house he kept insisting was hers looked as if it had been totally neglected for years, yet somehow it was a part of him. And his eyes, now staring ahead with a faraway look, as though even during his own wedding he had something more important to worry about than her. She could see a strength in the brown depths and wondered if it would be there when she needed him. Or would he turn away and not even see her as her mother had after Dan’s return?

‘‘I will,’’ Winter said, startling her.

‘‘And you, Kora Adams?’’ The minister waited.

‘‘I will,’’ she answered.

‘‘Then I pronounce you man and wife.’’ The minister closed his Bible with a sigh of exhaustion. ‘‘You may kiss your bride, Mr. McQuillen.’’

Winter leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘‘Thanks,’’ he whispered.

Kora smiled, wondering if she should kiss him, or whisper back, ‘‘You’re welcome.’’

While Logan and the minister took care of the paperwork, Cheyenne stood a few feet behind Winter as if on guard.

Winter thanked them, then insisted on showing Kora the rest of the house. A big kitchen, a dining room, parlor, and sunroom helped the study make up the downstairs. Upstairs, she found four bedrooms, none of which looked as if they’d been lived in for years. They were all furnished with heavy oak and mahogany, and the beds had been covered with tarps.

‘‘Where do you sleep?’’ Kora asked as Winter climbed the stairs to the third floor.

He paused as he reached the top and set the lamp down on the stair post. One huge empty room welcomed them with starlight from all four sides shining through dusty windows. ‘‘Until a month ago I lived in the bunkhouse. When the captain died, I started sleeping in the study, trying to catch up on all the paperwork. Logan said the captain liked to sleep in the sunroom, and from the day his wife died six years ago, never climbed the stairs to the second floor again.’’