Innocent Fire (32 page)

Derek took her back to San Antonio, then proceeded to rebuild the JB.

Miranda’s protests were at first vocal, then silent. He left her in the care of an elderly seamstress, a widow, who lived in town. On the journey back he had realized he’d never be happy living in the city—nor could he let her go back to England. Not ever. He would rebuild the JB, which was close to San Antonio and had never—until Chavez—had a problem with the Comanche, because of its size and location. And somehow he would get her to change her mind, no matter how long it took.

He rode into town once a week to see her. Because he had no cash—indeed, few Texans did—he had to rebuild alone, from scratch, and he started with the house. Because he was the legal owner of the JB, his credit was good for the supplies he needed. By early August the ranch house had been rebuilt, on a smaller scale—one story, three rooms, a kitchen and dining room, a parlor/study, and their bedroom. It helped that all the hearths were still standing. The house could be added on to later. His neighbors had come for a barn raising, and the smokehouse had been finished as well. He had framed the bunkhouse, but decided he would finish it at his leisure. He did need to hire hands to round up the JB cattle, but he had no money for wages, so until he could sell some beef, he would have
to wait and do it himself. He sold his own land on the Pecos. After everything that had happened, he knew that he could never live there again—much less with Miranda.

She was now obviously pregnant—five months, or more. It was so hard living apart from her, and his weekly visits were just not enough. He knew she felt the same way. He loved the way her eyes lit up when he appeared Sunday mornings to call on her. Sometimes, even though he was exhausted after a full day’s work, he would ride into town to see her on a Saturday night—take her to dinner and for a stroll in the moonlight. They would find a secluded spot down by the river and make love as if it were the first time. It was only when they were together that he felt complete, and even though she listened with polite interest to his report of how the rebuilding was going, he knew she was still upset by what he was doing. He didn’t know how he was going to get her to come around. He was rapidly reaching the point where he was losing his patience.

Miranda had been spending part of her time helping Mrs. Leander, the seamstress, in exchange for her keep. She had offered to do so after the first two weeks, when she realized that Derek had no cash. She knew she was imposing on the woman—who was not immune to Derek’s charm—and she was excellent with needle and thread. Mrs. Leander was thrilled to have an assistant for the price of room and board.

Miranda spent her spare time making maternity clothes for herself and clothes for the baby. Sometimes she and Derek would sit together in an easy silence and he would watch her knitting a pair of booties, her face glowing with an expectant mother’s joy. He had reached the point where he didn’t think he cared that the child wasn’t his, or at least not much. He was so glad to see her happy at times like these. If only she could be happy at his side, instead of living apart.

The time came when he felt he had to put his foot down.

The JB was ready. It was a warm summer morning, and Miranda flew into his arms when she saw him, surprised, for it was the middle of the week. “Derek—what are you doing here?”

He held her firmly by the shoulders. “It’s time to pack your things, princess.”

She stared.

“I’m taking you home with me.”

She backed away. “I told you—”

“No, Miranda. You’re my wife and you belong at my side. You’re miserable without me, and I’m miserable without you. We can’t go on like this. I’m taking you back with me. I’d rather you have an open mind. I’d rather you want to please me, to make me happy the way I’ve bent over backwards to make you happy. But failing that, I’m taking you back anyway.”

Their gazes locked. She flushed.

He kept on, ruthlessly. “I’ve never asked much of you. I’ve treated you like the princess I think you are. When John died I gave you time, when I was so in love with you I couldn’t stand it. Even up on the Pecos, I didn’t push you—not when it would have been my right. I’ve accepted this child. Tried my damndest to feel like a father. I know I let you down a few times and damn, I’m sorry, I wish I could do it over. But now I’m asking something of you. I’ve never asked you for anything before. As your husband I’m not even required to ask you for anything, but I am. Please come home with me—please try to make a life with me, at my side.”

Her beautiful violet eyes were wet, and two pink stains crept along her cheeks. “I’ll try, Derek,” she said softly.

“Derek, it’s beautiful!”

He smiled, ridiculously pleased, and swung down from the wagon. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do,” he said modestly, looking at her to see if she meant it. “Here.”

Miranda slid over to him, and he carefully helped her down.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He was worried. They had traveled at a snail’s pace, even though he had been assured by two doctors that a wagon ride would not hurt Miranda in her condition. Every rut had made him wince.

“Fine,” she assured him, smiling and looking around. When she had said she’d try to make a life with him out here in the wilderness, by his side, she had meant it—thoroughly ashamed of herself when she realized that everything he had said was true. She loved Derek, and in the course of their relationship he had done nothing but give—while all she had done was take. Now she was going to give everything she had because she loved him so dearly.

“Let me show you inside,” he said, taking her elbow.

He showed her the kitchen. The hearth was as before, a great iron kettle hanging inside it. He had made a round table big enough for eight, and eight chairs, all of oak. The floors were oak planking. There was a large work space, and Derek had installed an indoor pump.

“An indoor pump,” Miranda breathed, going over to it and trying it. She smiled when water dripped out into the tin basin on legs.

“I don’t want you having to run back and forth to the well,” he said. He turned as Elena burst into the kitchen with a cry.

“Soon a
niño
,” she cried, overjoyed. Like everyone else, she thought the child was Derek’s. “A big, brave boy, to grow to a big, brave man, like his father.”

Miranda smiled, hugging her. “It’s so good to see you,” she cried. Derek had told her how Elena had hidden and survived Chavez’s raid. She had been living these past months in town, and had been eager to return to Miranda and the JB.

Derek took her arm and led Miranda into the parlor, which boasted a couch in front of the hearth and two chairs, all purchased on credit. “We’ll just keep adding until the place is exactly the way you want it.”

Miranda smiled. “I love it,” she told him, meaning it, surprised that she did. “I love it because you did all this by yourself, for us.” She rubbed her belly.

Sometimes, every now and then, her maternal and expectant pride would cause a rising feeling of anguish, bitterness, and dismay in Derek. Like now. He quickly quelled it. He was going to be a good father. He was going to make Miranda happy.

“I think you should lie down and rest,” he said, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom. “Elena can bring you in some lunch.”

Miranda stared at the bedroom, the coziest room in the house. The bed was a four-poster of oak, and she knew it had been made to order in San Antonio from the Swedish cabinetmaker. There was a plush chair and footstool in front of the fireplace, and a fur rug both there and on one side of the bed—her side, Derek told her, so her feet wouldn’t get cold when she got up in the morning. A beautiful quilt coverd the bed, handmade, many different pieces sewn together. There were two windows on either side, both with cheerful curtains, tiny pink roses with green stems on a cream background. There was a small table on her side of the bed, too, with a candle and a book.
In a far corner of the room, past a pine wardrobe, was a lacquered screen. Behind that was a washstand and chamber pot and a copper tub. The bedroom was by far the largest room in the house.

She walked around the bed and picked up the book on the nightstand. It was a Bible. She felt tears rise, and she opened it and saw the inscription. “From your loving husband, always, Derek.”

She turned to him. He was waiting, his eyes so intense, so warm and loving. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This is—so beautiful, Derek.” She clutched the Bible to her breast.

He smiled. “I want to give you more, Miranda, and I will, one day. Jewels and silks and—”

She reached him in time to cut him off, placing one finger on his lip. “This is enough.”

He hesitated, then lowered his face, touching her mouth very softly with his. Their love enveloped them, soaring.

A few days after he had brought her back to the JB, Derek was out riding to take a count of his stock to see what was left on his land, and where. He was about ten miles from the house, high on a ridge overlooking his valley. He turned his gaze to the northwest, disturbed, and instantly saw why. Some ten miles away, there was a great group of riders coming at an easy pace, probably a trot, indistinct except for the cloud of dust. An awful feeling seared him.

His eye was trained. Even at such a distance, he could tell there must be two hundred riders. So many riders had to mean trouble. Miranda was back at the house—alone except for Elena and one teenage boy he had hired on for room and board and the promise of wages. He spurred the chestnut into a gallop and raced back to the ranch at breakneck speed.

He couldn’t help but think:
Comanche
.

They had been too quiet for the past few months. The twelve renegades who had attacked their camp on the Pecos didn’t count—that kind of raid was a part of Comanche life, the way they lived. There could be no other explanation for several hundred riders than a Comanche war party heading toward San Antonio. And the JB was almost in their path.

He galloped into the yard, yelling for the boy, Jake, and
immediately gave instructions. He shouted for Miranda, who had already come running when she heard him arrive. “Derek, what is it?” she cried.

“Start pumping water,” he said, “and douse the house down.”

“What’s happening?” She became frightened.

“Now,” he roared. “Have Elena help you.”

They closed the shutters on all the windows of the house, bolting them. The shutters were made of six-inch-thick oak, with just such an emergency in mind. The original house had been built to withstand a siege if something so unthinkable should ever occur, and Derek had rebuilt it the same way. All smoked meats were brought in from the smokehouse. The four horses were brought into the parlor and hobbled. Ammunition and guns were laid out. Then Derek and Jake helped the women throw pail after pail of water over the house. He was glad it wasn’t larger, and thanked God that it had rained the past two nights in a row.

“It’s Comanche, isn’t it?” Miranda cried, leaning against a pillar and rubbing her back.

“You’ve done enough,” he said sharply. “Go inside, stand by the hearth in the parlor. Do you remember how to load rifles, Miranda?”

“I don’t know,” she said tightly, her face white.

“Just go inside,” he said.

“Jesus!” Jake yelled. “I can hear them!”

So could Derek. The thundering was like an earthquake underfoot. He saw the mass of riders, and his heart leaped to his throat. He had been wrong. There weren’t two hundred, but twice that number. “Everyone inside,” he said, his voice even and cool now. He slammed the thick oak door behind him, bolting it, and he and Jake pulled all the furniture in front of it. “Jake, you take the bedroom,” he said.

He went to stand by the one window in the parlor, now shuttered. Each shutter had a small window to fire from, something quite common in Texas. “Elena, you show Miranda how to load, in case she’s forgotten. I want both of you to keep a steady supply of loaded weapons for me and Jake.”

“It’s done,” Elena said.

Miranda couldn’t move. She was frozen with fear. She realized that Elena was talking to her, and she looked at her, staring without seeing. Then she heard the war cries, and Derek and Jake both firing.

Something snapped inside her. Her husband, whom she loved, was standing there defending her, their baby, and their home from these savages. Anger rose in her, furious and boiling over. She reached down, picked up a rifle, and ran to the window to stand by Derek’s side.

“What are you doing?” he said, glancing briefly at her.

She gritted her teeth and poked the rifle through the square opening in the shutter, peering through. She gasped, fear filling her up again. Never had she seen so many Indians at once, all painted and screaming. They were shooting arrows at the house. A few had muskets, and a very few had modern rifles. They had torched the out-buildings, and were torching their home. Anger welled anew in Miranda’s heart. She aimed and fired, crying out when her target fell from his pony.

“Great shot!” Derek exclaimed, tossing his Colt to Elena, picking up a rifle. He handed Miranda his other Colt. “Use this. You were always better with the six-shooter than the rifle.”

They stood side by side for what seemed like hours to Miranda, but in truth was less than thirty minutes. Over half the Comanche had not even stopped when they rode up to the house, had kept on going toward San Antonio. The house did not catch fire. Miranda didn’t know how many Comanche Jake and Derek had shot, but she herself had hit at least six. Then as suddenly as they attacked, they wheeled and rode away, south.

The yard was littered with wounded and dead Indians, two dozen or more.

Miranda placed her Colt on the windowsill and brushed the sweat out of her eyes. She realized that Derek was staring at her, and she managed a wan smile. “My back is killing me,” she said.

“Miranda,” Derek breathed. “Miranda, look what you did.”

She looked at him and suddenly smiled, a smile so
triumphant that his heart leaped wildly. “We showed them,” she said fiercely. “Those bastards will think twice about ever coming here again!”

Derek threw back his head and roared with laughter, then swept her into his arms. “God, you’re magnificent,” he said.