Oklahoma Sweetheart

She shook her head, offering him forgiveness, for she could do no less. He could have knocked her to the floor. And yet, he’d only spent his anger on her in passion. Even now, she felt his arousal prodding at her, and she backed away from the reminder of his desire.

“I won’t hurt you again,” Connor said harshly. “Don’t be afraid of me, Loris.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.”

“I’ll chop some wood for you,” he told her. “And then I’ll go into town and get you some supplies.”

“You needn’t do that,” she told him. “Just leave me, Connor. I’m not worth your concern.”

“Ah, but you are,” he muttered. “James left some money for you, and I’m going to spend it on the things you’ll need for the next little while. And then we’ll figure out what to do.”

“James left me money?” Her mind latched on that bit of information and she felt a surge of anger. “I don’t want his money,” she said bitterly. “I’d rather starve.”

“Well, as long as I’m alive and breathing, you aren’t in any danger of starving,” Connor told her. He helped her onto a chair at the table and turned away. “I’m going out to chop wood, and I’ll be back in a bit. There should be enough in that stove to keep you warm for a couple of hours.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, unwilling to meet his gaze, lest she begin crying and be unable to halt the deluge. Her tears would not be only for herself, but for the pain she had brought to Connor and his brother. For her own weakness that had forever caused a rift between two men who had been as close as any brothers could be. And for her loss of the man with her now. Connor could never forgive her or love her again, and her heart ached at the knowledge of what she had lost.

Chapter Three

Connor’s generosity was surprising—and almost overwhelming. The woodbox had been replenished before he left her alone. He’d gone to town, bought supplies for her and chopped more wood on his return, for over an hour, piling an impressive amount of kindling and good-sized logs on the back porch.

And then he’d left, mounting his horse and riding away without another word, only a casual wave of his hand. Would he return? She doubted it, but then she’d have laid odds that he wouldn’t have shown up the first time. But Connor was a kind, gentle man, feeling a sense of responsibility to a woman in need, even if that woman was his former fiancée.

Loris found a fresh loaf of bread in the supplies Connor had carried into the kitchen. He must have stopped at the bread lady’s house, a small cottage at the edge of town, where lived an elderly soul, Hilda Kane, who existed on the pitiful amount of money her baking brought to her. She baked daily, and Loris had been sent there almost that often to pick up a loaf or two for her mother.

“I could bake my own,” her mother had said more than once, “but she needs the money and I can’t make it any better than Hilda’s.”

Fresh bread was almost enough to make a meal from, Loris decided. She ate the last of the cheese and the few bits of beef left from the morning, and settled before the stove again. The sun had sunk into the western sky and dark clouds hid the moon and stars, promising snow by morning.

But the kitchen was warm, and by tomorrow perhaps she’d feel like venturing into the other rooms, try to settle in a little better. After all, she couldn’t sleep on the kitchen floor for the rest of her life. But for tonight, it would do just fine.

The woman was crazy. There was no way she could survive alone in that deserted house. Connor frowned, finishing up the evening chores. He handled twice as many now, with James gone, but they were done automatically, without thought, as if his body was created to perform the familiar duties of a farmer.

For that was what he was. A farmer. Like his father before him, and his grandfather before that, the Webster men lived off the land. He’d been milking these cows and feeding the stock ever since he could remember.

Connor doubted if his life would be any different than those who’d gone before. He’d always thought to find a nice girl, get married and work the homestead, taking care of his parents until they were gone from this world, leaving the property equally divided between the brothers. His children would follow suit, working and living off the land, and there was a solid feel of security there.

The land would never let you down, his grandpa had said. If you tended your soil and fertilized and weeded your crops, you stood to reap a fine harvest. Unless the summer was dry and the rains refused to fall. Like last year, when the dry spell had chased several families from town, unable to cope with the poverty they faced without a harvest.

Now Loris had claimed the right to squat in one of those places left deserted. And a squatter is what she is, Connor thought bleakly, living on property that didn’t belong to her, yet was unwanted by anyone else. It could probably be purchased for taxes, Connor thought, but Loris didn’t have any money to speak of.

He felt the wad of bills in his pocket, touched the bulk with his palm and recognized that he’d barely made a dent in the cash James left behind for Loris. Maybe Loris would accept the cash more readily if he spent it on back taxes and she could live where she was, legally and aboveboard.

The manure pile was heaped, the fresh bedding spread and the cow milked, all while Connor debated the options left to him. He brought the horses in from the pasture; indeed, they were more than willing to enter the warm barn and find their stalls. The cold was bitter, the wind biting through Connor’s coat as he headed back toward his parents’ house, a place in which he no longer felt the warmth of home.

“You finished?” his mother asked, dishing up a bowl of stew for him. “Your pa ate already. He’s not in a good mood,” she said glumly.

And wasn’t that the truth. The man had been deserted by his favorite son, had been left with one less pair of hands to keep the place up. He’d no doubt have to hire a man to help out. And that would involve finding a place for that man to sleep. Probably a small room could be made habitable in the barn, or else Pa might just hire someone who lived nearby, close enough to come in by the day.

“All done?” his mother asked again. She’d been crying, her eyes swollen and reddened, her skin shiny as if it had been washed by a multitude of tears.

“Yes, I’m not very hungry,” Connor said, rising from the table. Things were different with James gone. He’d always been the joker, the one with a ready wit and a tall tale to tell over the supper table. Now they were reduced to eating separately, for he’d guarantee his mother had eaten standing at the stove. Nothing was the same.

“Did you go see Loris?” his mother asked. “Did she know that James was gone?”

“She knew,” Connor said quietly. And then decided he might as well fill her in on the mess James had left behind. “Loris is going to have a baby, Ma. And James is the father.”

Peggy Webster’s mouth dropped open, but no words came forth. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron, then stuffed them in the voluminous pockets, still silent.

“And before you ask, James knew when he left that Loris was bound to be abandoned by her folks. They kicked her out last night.”

“Where is she?”

“In a deserted farmhouse. I followed her tracks and found her this morning. Got her some supplies and chopped a bit of wood for her.”

“James wouldn’t marry her?” Her voice was dull, her eyes hopeless, as if she couldn’t imagine her son ignoring his responsibilities so casually. “He got her in the family way and just ran off? I can’t believe your brother would do that.”

“He gave me some money for her, but she doesn’t want to accept it,” Connor said, deliberately concealing his planned use of the cash.

“And Minnie threw her out? It was bitter cold last night.”

“Minnie Peterson doesn’t act like she gives a good gol-dern about her daughter, Ma. I saw her this morning, and she was as cold as any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe she’ll change her mind. After all, that’s her grandchild Loris is carrying.”

“It’s your grandchild, too,” Connor said softly, and watched as that fact sank into his mother’s conscious mind.

“So it is,” she said idly, smoothing her apron with a practiced touch. “Would she come here, do you suppose?”

“Loris?” And at his mother’s nod, Connor shook his head. “I doubt she wants much to do with any of us right now. She’s got pride aplenty, and she’s bound and determined to make it on her own.”

His mother stood silent a moment, then spoke words that sounded almost spiteful, he thought. “James must have had good reason not to stick up for her. Maybe she’s just bad news.” She paused and then sighed, rather dramatically, he thought. “But you’re going to help her, aren’t you, Connor?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll help her, Ma. As much as she’ll let me.”

He’d go to town tomorrow and check at the tax office, see what was owed on the place where Loris had camped out. Find out if he could pay the taxes and take over the farm.

In the meantime, he’d do well to ride out there and be sure she was all right, staying on her own in a deserted house, with no gun or even a dog to keep her safe. In ten minutes, he’d saddled his horse and donned his heaviest coat. A warm scarf circled his throat and heavy gloves warmed his fingers. From the kitchen, his mother watched as he rode away and he offered her a wave of his hand, causing her to lift her own palm to press against the window. It was a gesture he’d seen many times before, whenever one of her menfolk had left home and she couldn’t bear to wave goodbye.

The Webster place was on the opposite end of town from Loris’s haven, and Connor made his way past the business establishments. Everyone was gone home for the night, only the saloon still being lit, with voices sounding loudly within.

He passed the home Loris had lived in all of her life, noting the lights glowing in the front parlor and in a bedroom window upstairs. How they could rest, not knowing where their daughter was, was beyond him. Didn’t they care? Or did their hurt run so deeply they couldn’t allow themselves to yearn for their girl?

He rode on, past the lighted houses where folks were readying for bed. And then he spotted the farmhouse where Loris was keeping warm. He rode to the back yard, tied his horse to an upright post and climbed the three steps to the wide porch. Through the window, he caught sight of a shadowed figure, passing between himself and the lamp glow.

His knuckles rapped twice on the door and he called her name. “Loris? It’s Connor. Can I come in?”

She opened the door, just a few inches, as though loath to allow him entrance. “It’s late, Connor,” she said softly. “I’m about to blow out the lamp and go to sleep.”