Lori Copeland - Yellow Rose Bride

“Then what?”

“Not sure.” At the time, he didn’t want to think about tomorrow and what would surely happen.

“Planning on walking, are you?”

“We got horses, by the trees.”

“Uh-huh. Well, my blessin’s to you both.”

“Thanks, Judge. Thanks a lot.” He looked at his bride. “Thanks a whole lot!”

“Have you spoken to Beth about the building plans?” P.K.’s voice broke into Adam’s thoughts.

Getting up, he moved to the file cabinet. “No, but I’ll get around to it.”

“Get around to it? Son, it takes time to build a house. We’ll need to get the men started as soon as possible. You’ll want to move your bride in shortly after the honeymoon, won’t you?”

“I’ll talk to Beth, Dad.” P.K. had raised his sons with an iron hand. No give, no take. His way or no way. Adam knew the land had been a hard taskmaster. Building a ranch the size of Cabeza del Lobo—Wolf’s Head—out of the desert had been grueling, demanding more than most men could give. Many had folded up and left, selling out to the highest bidder, often P.K. His father had stuck it out, made his mark on the land. He’d done it without a wife’s support, while raising four boys with a housekeeper’s help. Adam respected him for that. They’d butted heads over a lot of things, but how to run the ranch wasn’t one of them. P.K.’s cattle and horse instincts were still indisputable.

The Baldwin ranch was a sprawling establishment with patios and flowering gardens surrounding spacious adobe buildings. P.K. owned four sitios of land, 73,240 acres, but he controlled more than a million acres. At the peak of his prosperity, the ranch supported 50,000 Hereford-graded cattle, 15,000 horses, and 6,000 mules. Some thirty Mexican and Opata Indian families lived on the ranch, harvesting hay, vegetables and fruit, in addition to overseeing the livestock. The Baldwin water supply was plentiful; five springs, creeks that flowed in the spring and fall, and an underground river easily tapped by wells.

Forty acres situated to the south of the main hacienda were reserved for Adam and his wife. Pat, Joey and Andrew had been allotted similar parcels with adjoining property lines.

P.K. had made sure that when his sons married, they had ample room to raise his grandchildren.

Adam knew that the prosperous appearances were deceiving. The past few years Cabeza Del Lobo had fallen on hard times, which was why P.K. was pushing for this marriage with Beth. Adam was expected to step up and do his duty for the good of the family. He sighed. Beth deserved a better man than he. She deserved to marry a man who loved her.

His thoughts turned to Vonnie and the feud between their fathers. Even now, when their children were grown, P.K. and Teague Taylor hated each other more than ever. Sometimes he caught P.K. staring at Vonnie—resenting her heritage? He was never sure. He had never openly spoken about the half Cherokee/half white blood that ran through Teague’s adopted daughter’s veins. He’d known that Teague loved his child with great intensity and whatever lay between the two men, P.K. had never stepped over the line and used racial inequality to further inflame the rift.

Letting the curtain drop back into place, P.K. returned to the chair. “Noticed you drank punch with the Taylor girl last night.”

“Mmm,” Adam responded absently.

“Was that necessary?”

Filing a folder away, Adam closed the drawer. “Only being polite, Dad.”

P.K. grunted. “Noticed her useless father didn’t bother to show up.”

“Did you really expect him to?”

“I expect nothing out of Teague Taylor.” P.K. took a swig of tonic.

The dispute between the two families had gone on for so long Adam had lost sympathy for either side. The act that had sparked his father’s ire was never forgiven.

“Better leave that woman alone. She’ll get you in trouble,” P.K. muttered.

Adam glanced up. “Who?”

“The Taylor girl.”

“Her name’s Vonnie, and she’s hardly a girl anymore.”

“Vonnie,” P.K. repeated. “I don’t care what her name is—you leave her alone.” He was muttering. “I’ve seen her type. Sashaying around—turning men’s heads with those strange-looking eyes. You leave her alone. And you tell Andrew, Pat and Joey to do the same. There isn’t a Taylor worth their salt.”

Adam couldn’t remember how many times they’d had this conversation. It was getting old. “Why tell me? I’m engaged, remember?”

“Engaged or not, you keep your eyes to yourself.” P.K. frowned. “There was a time I worried about you and the Taylor girl.”

Adam glanced up.

“Don’t think I didn’t see the way you two looked at each other when you were younger. I’m not blind. Many a Sunday I considered throwing a bucket of water on you to cool you off. You were just lucky Alma convinced me that it was childish fancies. For a time, I was starting to wonder.”

Adam bent low over the desk. “I didn’t look at Vonnie Taylor any certain way.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t. I’ll tell you now what I told you then. You stay away from the Taylors. All of them.”

“Personally, I think you overreact when it comes to the Taylors.”

“You don’t know a thing about it. The Taylors are trash!”

“How can you say that? The Flying Feather is a respected ranch.”

“The Flying Feather, ha! Teague wouldn’t have a red cent if he hadn’t loaned his last dollar to the owner of a traveling sideshow and had to take that pair of ostriches as payment.”

“Maybe, but he took a pair of birds and built it into a sound business.”

P.K. scoffed. “Until Teague got stuck with those birds he was dirt-poor. The community felt sorry for Cammy Taylor having a baby girl she’d brought home to raise and Teague so broke he couldn’t afford monthly staples. Man didn’t have a lick of sense. If he had a dollar and someone gave him a hard-luck tale he’d hand it over. If it hadn’t been for neighbor’s charity, his family would have gone hungry many a day.”

Today the Taylor spread was the third largest in the community and thriving. A bitter pill for P.K. to swallow.

His father stared out the window, speaking absently, as if he had forgotten Adam was in the room. “Teague always acted like he was so holy and righteous. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth he was so self-righteous. Well, in my book, it’s a sin to let your family do without, especially when you could have done something about it.”

Adam pushed to his feet, his voice bordering on impatience. “For the life of me, I cannot understand what happened between you and Teague Taylor that made you such bitter enemies.”

P.K. looked over his shoulder, back ramrod straight, as if he had just now remembered Adam’s presence. His features darkened. “It’s between me and Teague.”

“So you’ve said for as long as I can remember. What you’ve failed to say is why the hatred runs so deep. All this talk of murder, jewels. None of it makes sense. If you expect me to hate the Taylors as much as you do, you need to give me a reason. A solid reason.”

“My word is my reason. That’s all you need.”

And it’s all he’d get; Adam knew that only too well.

Turning from the window, P.K. downed the last of his tonic. “You won’t forget to talk to Beth about the house plans?”

“I’ll speak to her tonight.”

“Good. I’ll tell Manny to start on your furniture. I thought cherry would be nice. Nice, big pieces—maybe done up in Aztec fabric in reds, blues and yellows. What do you think? Something colorful?”

Adam felt the familiar surge of resentment. P.K. controlled his son’s life down to the furniture he would sit on.

“Beth and I haven’t set a date, Dad.”