Page 63 of For the Roses (Claybornes' Brides (Rose Hill) 1)

  Harrison’s jaw was clenched tight. Mary Rose knew he was still trying to recover from Bickley’s attempt. She decided she would take his attention away from the matter by talking about the trial.

  “Father, wasn’t Harrison wonderful?”

  “Yes, he was wonderful. I’m glad he didn’t have to get brutal. It worked out just the way he planned it.”

  “He wasn’t brutal?”

  “Oh, heavens no. I thought he was very agreeable.”

  “Harrison? How did you get Mitchell to lie?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then . . .”

  “He told the truth . . . as he knew it to be,” he deliberately added to mislead her.

  “Was it a plan of some sort?”

  “Yes.”

  She leaned against him. “Quit talking in such clipped tones. I know you’re mad at me. It’s a wife’s duty to protect her husband. Do try to get past it.”

  He lifted her up onto his lap and shoved the side of her face down onto his shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you, son,” Elliot told him.

  “It was easy, sir. Adam was innocent.”

  “But that wasn’t what this trial was all about, was it?”

  “No, sir. It was about hate.”

  Elliott nodded. They all fell silent as the buggy climbed the road. Elliott was thinking that he couldn’t wait to get Harrison alone and find out what the plan had been. He knew how Harrison’s mind worked, and he also knew, without any doubt, that he would never, ever lie in court. He wouldn’t get anyone else to do it for him either. So how had he pulled it off?

  Part of the answer was smiling up at her husband. Harrison hadn’t lied in court, but he had lied to Mary Rose and her brothers. Elliott understood why he’d done it, of course. They wouldn’t have been as calm and controlled if they’d known beforehand what Livonia’s sons had done to their Mama Rose.

  Elliott wondered if Harrison would ever tell them the truth. He’d ask him just that question tonight, he decided.

  “I’ll have to get back to England soon,” he announced.

  “You can’t leave yet. I have so much to show you. I want to introduce you to Corrie, and I want to show you my mountains. I’ll show you where the ghosts are buried if you stay.”

  Elliott was pleased she didn’t want him to leave. His eyes became misty, and he slowly nodded. His voice was shaky when he said, “All right, daughter. I’ll stay another couple of weeks. You and Harrison can come to England to visit me next summer. I’ll add on another week if you promise me now.”

  “But you have to come back here next summer. I can’t leave then,” she said.

  “Sweetheart, we can take a month and go back. I want to show you Scotland,” Harrison insisted.

  “I won’t promise until I talk to Harrison, Father. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

  He agreed. “I don’t want to wait to hear about the ghost graveyard. Tell me all about it now. Who did you bury there?”

  “Monsters from under my bed,” Mary Rose answered. “When I was five or six, I wouldn’t sleep in my own bed. I’d always wait and sneak in with one of my brothers. I always did sleep with them when I was younger, and they were trying to break me of the habit.

  “Douglas hung a curtain up to separate me from the living area. We were still living in a cabin then. Anyway, I was sure I heard monsters under my bed. All my brothers but Cole tried to convince me I was imagining things.

  “Cole took a different approach. He got down on his knees, looked under the bed, and then let out a whistle. ‘Well, I’ll be. There’s a monster under here all right. Mary Rose, close your eyes real tight while I haul him out. He’s too ugly for you to see.’ ”

  Harrison and Elliott were both smiling. “Cole had already taken his gun out. He shouted to Douglas to open the door. He went running outside so I couldn’t see him. Then I heard a shot.”

  “He killed him for you.”

  “Of course,” she answered. “He promised me he’d let it stay there all night so other monsters would know what the Claybornes think about them, and in the morning, we’d bury it. I was very young, and of course I believed him. I made him shoot a monster about once a week. I figured I was safe then. Cole would put an empty box out on the stoop. He told me not to look inside or it would scare the curls out of my hair.”

  She laughed thinking about it. “I was very vain about my hair. I didn’t dare take the chance. We walked across the meadow and up the first hill and gave the monster a burial. We didn’t pray over him because I didn’t want the thing to get into heaven.”

  Harrison pictured the little girl holding on to a gunfighter’s hand. “You were surrounded by love,” he whispered.

  “Yes, she was,” Elliott agreed. “Tonight you must tell me another story. I found out quite a lot about you from the letters. Your mother didn’t hold a grudge. I wonder where you came by that trait?”

  “I think from Cole,” she answered.

  “And Douglas and Travis,” Harrison supplied.

  “I wasn’t a perfect child, Father. I complained, and I always told Mama Rose if my brothers did anything I didn’t like.”

  “Will I have to shoot monsters for our children?”

  “Of course. It’s a father’s duty. If we have a boy, I’ll name him Harrison Stanford MacDonald.”

  “The Fourth,” he added.

  “The Fourth,” she agreed.

  “And if it’s a girl?”

  “I think I’ll name her after the two women who loved me so much. Agatha Rose. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  Elliott was too emotional to speak. He nodded to let her know how fine he thought the name was. And fitting.

  All three of them thought about the traditions that would endure and continue.

  They reached the ranch a few minutes later. His brothers wouldn’t let him take Mary Rose into the bunkhouse. They wanted him to answer some questions for them first.

  They weren’t going to give in. Harrison sat down on the porch, pulled his wife onto his lap, and waited for the questions to begin.

  Travis was first. “How did you get Alfred Mitchell to lie on the stand?”

  “I’m going to give you one week to figure it out on your own. Then I’ll tell you.”

  Douglas asked a question next. “I understand why you had me bring all the rental horses home. You wanted Lionel and Reginald to be stuck in town.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew they’d hate it. How did you know that?” Cole asked.

  “Adam told me about their way of life down south before the war came. The brothers were used to luxury. I wanted them to be miserable and start complaining.”

  “What else did you do?” Douglas asked.

  “I talked to Billie and Henry and Dooley. Adam, you’ve got some loyal friends here.”

  Adam smiled. “Yes, I know.”

  “Billie fed them every meal. He made sure it was awful. Henry substituted Ghost’s homemade brew for Billie to use whenever he served them, and Dooley kept track of what they were saying about folks. Then he’d tell me.”

  “And you’d go tell the folks what they said and get them to sign a paper?”

  “No, Dooley would have already gotten them riled up. I would merely give them my sympathy and hint at possibly being willing to bring suit against them.”

  “Slander?” Cole asked.

  “Something like that,” Harrison answered.

  Elliott stood up. “I’m going to get out of these city clothes. I don’t believe I’ll be able to figure out what you did, Harrison. You’re going to have to explain about Alfred Mitchell’s testimony in a week, I suppose. I know you well, son, and you wouldn’t do anything underhanded.”

  “One week, sir. Please wait that long. Adam, how does it feel to be free? You’ve had the worry hanging over your head for a hell of a long time.”

  “It feels good,” he whispered. “I don’t believe I’ve taken it all in yet. I believe I’ll go on inside and take

that poem off the wall now. Tell me something, Harrison. Why were the words so special to you? You memorized them, remember?”

  “I remember. I read the passage to my father almost every night. He liked it. It gave him comfort.”

  Adam nodded. Harrison suddenly felt drained. Mary Rose looked exhausted. He told everyone good-bye and took his wife back to their “home.” He needed her to give him strength again, in body and in spirit, so that he could go out and slay the monsters again.

  He stood inside the door of the bunkhouse and watched her take off her clothes. She was just about to remove her chemise when he asked her to sit down on the side of the bed.

  He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his.

  “Your Mama Rose is fine. Alfred Mitchell didn’t lie on the stand.”

  “I know. You never would have asked him to lie. Is she really all right?”

  “Yes, she is. I lied to your brothers because I didn’t want them to hear the truth without at least questioning it while they were sitting so close to the men who’d hurt their mother. I knew what would happen.”

  “What will happen to Livonia when her sons return home?”

  “Sweetheart, Livonia’s dying. One of Mitchell’s brothers is going to wire us when that happens. Alfred hired a man to guard her day and night. He’ll watch after your mother too, but I don’t think Lionel and Reginald will be in any hurry to get back. They have to be worried about facing charges.”

  “Why didn’t you explain to my brothers on the porch?”

  “What do you think Cole would have done if he’d known the truth?”

  “He would go after them.”

  Harrison nodded. “I’m giving Livonia’s sons a week to disappear. Otherwise I might have to defend Cole on two murder charges.”

  She pulled her hand away from his and gently stroked the side of his face.

  “Cole would do something foolish. At least I think he would. You were balancing my brothers’ reaction against Adam’s defense. You did the right thing.”

  “Thank you for trusting me.”

  “You needn’t thank me. I believe in you. Don’t you understand yet? You’re part of my family now. We’ll argue and bicker and kiss and apologize; we’ll lecture one another and offer comfort at the same time; we’ll do all the other wonderful things families do. Love is all the strength we’ll ever need.

  “It’s what family is all about.”

  Dear Children,

  Livonia is at peace now. She was given a proper burial last week. I stayed outside the church during the service, and then followed her to the cemetery. I stayed awhile with her after every one else had left, and I said my farewells to her. I shall miss her.

  I’ve found a companion to travel with me, and at long last I’m coming home. There’s a town in Kansas, filled with black people who left the South and settled there. I’ll rest there a few days and see old friends before I continue the journey.

  God keep you until I get there.

  Your Mama,

  Rose

  Adam, dearest, I’m bringing your bride with me.

  Of all flowers, Methinks a rose is best.

  It is the very emblem of a maid;

  For when the west wind courts her gently,

  How modestly she blows, and paints the sun

  With her chaste blushes! When the north comes

  near her,

  Rude and Impatient, then, like chastity,

  She locks her beauties in her bud again,

  And leaves him to base briers.

  She is wondrous fair.

  ... Methinks a rose is best.

  —from The Two Noble Kinsmen, by William Shakespeare and John Fletcher

  Please enjoy this excerpt from Julie Garwood’s

  THE IDEAL MAN,

  now on sale in paperback and as an e-book.

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  Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  ONE

  The first time she slit a man’s throat she felt sick to her stomach. The second time? Not so much.

  After cutting five or six more, the blade in her left hand began to feel like an extension of her body, and she started to take it all in stride. The exhilaration subsided, and so did the nausea. There was no longer a rush of anxiety, no longer a racing heartbeat. Blood didn’t faze her. The thrill was gone, and that, in her line of work, was a very good thing.

  Dr. Eleanor Kathleen Sullivan, or Ellie, as she was called by her family and friends, was just two days shy of completing a grueling surgical fellowship in one of the busiest trauma centers in the Midwest. Since trauma was her specialty, she had certainly seen her share of mangled and brutalized bodies. It was her responsibility to put them back together, and as a senior fellow, she had the added duty of training the first- and second-year residents.

  St. Vincent’s emergency room had been full since four a.m. that morning, and Ellie was completing what she hoped was her last surgery of the day, a repair of a splenic rupture. A teenager, barely old enough to have a driver’s license, had decided to test the limits of the speedometer in his parents’ Camry and had lost control, rolling the car over an embankment and landing upside down in an open field. Lucky for him, he had been wearing a seat belt, and luckier still, a man following some distance behind him had seen the whole thing and was able to call for an ambulance immediately. The boy made it to the emergency room just in time.

  Ellie was observed by three second-year surgical residents, who hung on her every word. She was a natural teacher and, unlike 90 percent of the surgeons on staff at St. Vincent’s Hospital, didn’t have much of an ego. She was amazingly patient with the medical students and residents. While she worked, she explained—and explained again—until they finally understood what she was doing and why. No question was deemed too insignificant or foolish, which was one of the many reasons they idolized her, and for the male residents, th

e fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t hurt. Because she was such a talented surgeon and supportive teacher, all these fledgling doctors fought to sign up for her rotation. Ironically, what most of them didn’t know was that she was younger than most of them.

  “You’re off duty this weekend, aren’t you, Ellie?”

  Ellie glanced over at Dr. Kevin Andrews, the anesthesiologist, who had asked the question. He had joined the staff six months before and, since the day he’d met Ellie, had been hounding her to go out with him. He was an outrageous flirt and yet very sweet. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall, and well built with an adorable smile, he could turn the head of almost every woman in the hospital, but for Ellie there just wasn’t any spark.

  “Yes, I am,” she answered. “Charlie, would you like to close up for me?” she asked one of the hovering residents.

  “Absolutely, Dr. Sullivan.”

  “You better hurry,” Andrews said. “I’m waking him up.”

  The resident looked panic-stricken.

  “Take your time, Charlie. He’s just messing with you,” she said, a smile in her voice.

  “Tuesday’s your last day at St. Vincent’s, isn’t it?” Andrews asked.

  “That’s right. Tuesday’s my last official day. I might help out on a temporary basis later on, but I’m not promising anything yet.”

  “Then you could decide to come back permanently.”

  She didn’t reply.

  He persisted. “They’ll give you anything you want. You could name your price, your hours ... you should stay here, Ellie. You belong here.”

  She didn’t agree or disagree. In truth, she didn’t know where she belonged. It had been such a hard road to get this far, she hadn’t had time to think about the future. At least that was the excuse she used for her indecision.

  “Maybe,” she finally conceded. “I just don’t know yet.”

  She stood over Charlie, watching like a mother hen. “I want those stitches tight.”