Give Me A Texan. Jodi Thomas
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shook her head. “I want to go home.”
Hank no longer cared about the weather. He’d been so many years without a family, without anyone, heading home with Aggie seemed almost too good to be true. He had a feeling any moment he’d awake from this dream and find some other man had won her hand. The thought brought to mind Potter Stockton’s frown last night. The railroad man had made fun of the proposal almost all the ride back to Fort Worth. Hank hadn’t missed the anger in Potter’s remarks. He’d hinted twice before they split near the depot that Hank would be smart to go on back to Amarillo alone and leave the courtship of Aggie to a man who knew how to treat a woman like her.
Hank couldn’t help but wonder, if he’d missed the train last night, would she have agreed to meet Potter Stockton again, or would she have turned both men down and moved on to the next sister’s house? Hank remembered how Stockton talked about her beauty and how he’d laughed and commented that shy ones always “take the bit” without too much fighting. Hank didn’t even want to think about what Stockton meant.
If Hank hadn’t already asked for her hand, he would have turned around and ridden back to Aggie just to warn her not to see the railroad man again.
If she wasn’t cocooned in her slicker, he might have tried to tell her where his land started, but with the rain she could see little. He wished he’d had time to telegraph ahead and have his hand, Blue Thompson, light the fire in the house and put lamps in the windows to welcome her.
When they reached the ranch, even though it was late morning, all was dark. He leaned down to open the gate. She twisted in front of him, holding tightly to his slicker.
He straightened and pulled her close once more. “It’s all right, Aggie. I won’t let you fall.”
Her hood slid back enough that he could see her nod, but she didn’t turn loose of her grip on him. When they reached the long porch that rounded three sides of his house, he lifted her with him as he stepped from the saddle and carried her up the steps. Old Ulysses, his guard dog, barked from beneath the porch.
“Hush, Ulysses, it’s just me,” Hank mumbled.
The dog growled, but quieted.
When they were well out of the rain, he sat Aggie down beside the only piece of furniture he’d brought north with him when he’d homesteaded—his father’s rocker. “Don’t worry about Ulysses. He’s mean and hates everyone, including me, but he’s a good guard dog. He keeps snakes away and warns me if anyone gets near the place.”
Hank straightened and gripped the doorknob. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have…”
He didn’t finish. It was too late for explanations or apologies. “Welcome home,” he managed as the door creaked open.
Aggie walked in ahead of him and didn’t stop until she was in the center of the polished floor. The storm’s gray light shown the open area in layers of shadows. He stood at the threshold and stared at her back. The big main room looked empty with its two chairs and one long table. The fireplace was cold and dusty. The curtainless windows were stark, letting all the rage of the storm inside and holding no warmth.
“There’s a kitchen and mudroom behind the fireplace. My room is to the left and yours will be to the right once I get my tack out of it. I’ll move my bed in for you until I can build you what you need.”
She hadn’t moved. Her back was so straight he decided she must be in shock. To him the house had been great, but to her it must look cold and bare.
“The kitchen ceiling is only seven feet. I built an attic above it.” He almost said “for kids.” “I haven’t been up there in a while, but it would make a good storage room if you need one. All that is up there now is an old trunk someone sent back to my father after my mom died.”
“You weren’t there when she died?”
He shook his head. “She left my father and me when I was barely walking. Never heard from her. There must have been nowhere to send her trunk. Our address was still written on the top so they shipped it home to my father. We never opened it.” His words sounded hollow, even to him, but better that, he decided, than angry, which is how he’d felt most of his childhood.
He watched Aggie closely. “I could move it to the barn if you need the space. I don’t even know why I lugged it from East Texas when I moved.”
He had no idea what Aggie needed to feel at home here, but he planned to make sure she had it. “We could order more furniture if you want. I never had much use for it until now.”
She took a step toward the archway leading to the kitchen.
Hank had to keep talking. “You can’t see them for the rain, but there’s a bunkhouse and barn about a hundred feet to the north, and we got a windmill and a good well. In the spring the view is a sight to see from every window.”
She’d reached the kitchen and still hadn’t turned around or said a word.
“I hire hands to help with the spring calving and branding, but during the winter, Blue Thompson and I do all the work. He and his wife, Lizzy, have a place down by the breaks halfway between here and town.” Hank felt near out of information. If she didn’t say something soon he wasn’t sure what to do.
Without warning, she twirled suddenly, her arms wide, her head back, her hair flying behind her.
He watched, hypnotized by the sight of her. If angels ever touch ground they could look no happier than she did right now.
When she stopped, she faced him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I love it,” she said.
“You do?”
She nodded. “All my life I’ve lived in tiny little rooms crowded with too many people. Here I can breathe.”
Hank relaxed. “Then I can bring your stuff in and you’ll stay?”
Tugging off her slicker, she answered as she disappeared into the kitchen. “Yes, dear, I’ll stay.”
Chapter 7
Aggie explored her new home while Hank brought in her boxes and bag. Like the main room, the kitchen was twice the size of any she’d seen, and her bedroom had enough space for all four of her sisters to join her. The windows everywhere were tall. She laughed, deciding Hank built them that way so he could see out without leaning down. Her father was short, only a few inches taller than she, and always fidgety in movement. Getting used to Hank would take some time. His strides were long and easy, graceful in a powerful way. But when he was still, he was perfectly still.
While Hank moved his bed into her room, she inspected the area above the kitchen and was surprised there was nothing in it but the battered old trunk he’d mentioned. She couldn’t imagine a house with so much space that there would be an empty room. It also amazed her that he seemed to think it should be her room to do whatever she liked with. She moved around the attic, touching each wall, each window—silently saying hello to her new world.
“Aggie?” Hank called from below. “Come down and meet Blue.”
She hurried to the kitchen and nearly collided with a gray-haired man almost as tall as Hank and twice as wide.
The man shuffled out of her way. “Pardon me,” he mumbled, then laughed and added, “I didn’t know you’d be flying down from above. Truth is I’d forgotten that room was up there.”
Even with his slicker covering most of his body, she could tell his right shoulder was twisted, but there was nothing weak or soft about him. His frown seemed tattooed across his face and mistrust danced in his eyes. The big man looked as afraid of her as she was of him.
She fought to keep from running to Hank.
As if he sensed her fear, her husband moved to her side and looped his arm around her shoulder. “Aggie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Blue Thompson.”
She