Carolyn Davidson - The Texan

He took the glass, and she reveled in the touch of callused fingertips against her finer skin. Tilting his head back, he drank, his swallows readily draining the glass. And then he held it out to her. “We lived not too far from here, as a matter of fact.”

Perhaps she hadn’t expected his honest reply, and yet, somehow she’d known that when he could, Jonathan Cleary would be honest with her. “Do you see your folks?” she asked, looking up at him.

He shook his head, and his words held a ring of harshness she had not expected. “They’re gone.” And that seemed to be all he would say on the subject as he glanced up at the sky. “Might as well get this job done. I think we’re in for a good rain before nightfall.” His grin was quick, as though his moment of brusque behavior was forgotten. “And that will only make it grow quicker.”

Augusta looked upward, where clouds gathered at the western horizon. “Well, you’ll have to come back for breakfast next week then, won’t you?” she heard herself saying.

His laugh rolled forth and she looked at him warily. “Go get me some more lemonade, sweetheart, or a glass of water from the well. Any sort of liquid will do. I’m still dry.”

She turned to walk away, and his words were a whisper in her ear. “I’ll be back for breakfast, all right. You won’t be getting rid of me, honey.”

Sweetheart. Honey. The simple endearments clutched at her heart as she hurried to the house, hearing the mower’s blade spin behind her. He’d called her names she’d only heard before from her father when he spoke to the woman he adored, in those times when her parents thought their children were abed and out of hearing. Words she’d cherished, knowing how deeply her mother loved him, and how devoted her father was to the woman he’d married.

A woman whose passions she seemed to have inherited.

In the house, a letter awaited her on the kitchen buffet, and a stranger sat, stiffly upright in a chair at the table, a cup of tea before her. “This is Glory,” Pearl said, nodding at the woman who looked as though she were in need of a hiding place. “Came in on the morning train from Dallas.”

“Hello again, Glory,” Augusta said quietly. The new resident had looked healthier the first time Augusta had laid eyes on her, a couple of weeks ago. Now she bore fresh bruises and a bandage on her forehead.

“Ma’am.” Glory’s gaze was fleeting, touching Augusta’s face, then over her shoulder. “Am I still welcome here?” she asked quietly.

“You can share a room with Beth Ann,” Augusta told her, casting a silent request in Pearl’s direction.

“I’ll take care of getting you settled, Glory,” Pearl said. “Miss Augusta’s kinda tied up right now, giving orders in the backyard. And I’m thinking you could use a nice long nap, anyway.”

She picked up the letter from the buffet, and handed it to Augusta. Addressed in a scrawling hand, it was simply sent to Miss Augusta McBride, in care of the postmaster in Collins Creek, Texas. “Bertha brought this from town,” Pearl volunteered. “I was just about to bring it out to you, when I saw you heading for the house. And then I thought maybe you’d like to say hello to Glory here.”

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