Kentucky Bride Read online

  Chapter 2

  Three-mile-an-hour pace! What a bossy show-off. As if Gigi knew how fast that would be. Gramps would know, and Papa and Christopher probably did, too, but she didn’t have a clue. She’d wait and let Mister Know-it-all set the pace.

  How rude not to introduce himself by his given name, but he certainly was handsome enough even if he was a Rebel.

  And an officer, too.

  All the decent-looking young men she knew had gone off to war. What a waste.

  In no time, he came riding up beside her and frowned.

  “Let’s pick it up, Miss. Faster by half again.”

  “Oh, really?” She held the reins toward him. “Do you want to drive?”

  “Sure.” He swung off his huge horse, so she whoaed the team.

  What was he doing?

  He tied him onto the back, then came up front, hopped once, then jumped up on the bench beside her. Hardly three seconds could have gone by, and he sat there, touching at the hips. He took the reins and slapped the mules.

  “Hey now.”

  How dare he!

  But then she’d offered. But she never meant it literally!

  The pair quickened their steps. He shook the leather again. “Let’s go now.” They doubled their efforts, almost to a trot. “Good boys.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Been mule skinning long?”

  She ought to slap his face! Instead she used the only weapon acceptable. “Rude humor is beneath an officer of the Confederate Army.”

  “True, but I’m only a corporal. So, guess it’s all right, don’t you think? You sure are pretty. I apologize, ma’am, if I offended you.”

  Wow. He apologized so fast. Gramps, Papa, and her brother hardly ever admitted to a wrong, much less said they were sorry for anything! She didn’t know how to respond.

  Why had he done it? Or commented on her looks either? Wasn’t that rude, too?

  Even if he had said she was pretty. Two heartbeats brought a query.

  “Are you truly asking for my forgiveness because you have a contrite heart? Or, are you just trying to blind me to your nefarious intentions with an insincere apology?”

  “Croaking bullfrog!” He laughed. “Beautiful, astute, and well-read! What a combination, especially in someone so young.” The reins slapped against the mules’ backs again. “Keep it going, boys. No loafing now.”

  His words caused her heart to boom against her chest and through her ears!

  How did one spar with a man who praised in such a way to her own face?

  Her wit failed her, melting away in the light of his compliments. Her mother’s warnings came to mind, backing up all that she’d seen in print.

  “I do love to read, and I’ve read about plenty of men like you, Corporal Kerns. Sweet talkers who spread their hooey around then pounce on unexpecting, vain women. Well, sir, I assure you I am not such a woman!”

  “I see.”

  “Please. Just you drive on in silence as I do not care to hear one more word of your flattery! Not another word that passes through your lying lips.”

  He laughed again—probably at her, but she still liked how melodious it sounded.

  For the next few minutes, he didn’t say anything while her own stinging words played over in her mind.

  Had she been the rude one?

  Before she came to a conclusion, he turned toward her and held out his hand as if to shake hands.

  “Hello, Miss. I’m Ephraim Edward Kerns, born and bred in San Antonio, Texas. My comrades voted to join up with Colonel Terry. And the Confederates made us the 8th Texas Cavalry Regiment. We’re all Texas Rangers.”

  That sounded like the truth; perhaps his way of waving a white flag. She took his hand.

  “Hello to you, sir. I’m Gardenia Garland, but I prefer Gigi. My family runs Garland’s General Store and owns several other buildings in Bowling Green.”

  “Sounds like a fine family.” He shook her hand firmly but gently then pulled back his hand. “What book are you reading now?”

  “What makes you think I am?”

  Ignoring her question, he smiled. “I’m reading May Meriwether’s The Granger. It’s a signed copy, and you might enjoy the story.”

  “You’ve met Miss Meriwether?”

  “She’s kind of kin to a Ranger I know. You may have heard of him, Captain Levi Baylor. Miss Meriwether married his adopted father, Henry Buckmeyer.”

  “Oh my, how interesting. I’d love to read it when you’re finished with it—I mean if it works out. I mean . . . Well, I don’t suppose it will since I’ll be leaving as soon as the meal is offloaded, so . . .”

  She let her voice trail off then remembered the ranger.

  “I have heard of that Ranger though! Quite the list of achievements, he and that friend of his . . . What is his name?”

  “Sergeant Wallace Rusk.”

  “That’s it.”

  The camp came into view, and Corporal Kerns kept the mules at their break-neck pace right up to the barn. A Confederate officer met the wagon.

  The man looked sternly at Gigi, glanced up the road, then downright glared. “Where’s the rest?”

  “The rest? Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Standing, she looked the man in the eyes. “My grandfather said to load twenty-five sacks, and that’s what we did.”

  “I ordered two tons of meal.”

  “If you want more meal, sir, I’ll go get it. Our warehouse is full, and we just got a trainload of goods.”

  “What did you bring?”

  The man certainly bordered on the edge of rude, not in the least acting like a gentleman. Quickly, she calculated the math in her head. “Three quarters of a ton.”

  He best be minding his manners if he wanted more of her goods. She could just as easily sell the supplies to the North.

  “Sir.” Ephraim jumped down and faced the officer. “Her grandfather took sick, and Miss Garland left him at her aunt’s place. After I get these sacks offloaded, I should escort her there and on to Bowling Green.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Yes, sir. That way I can make sure nothing happens to the wagon or the rest of the meal.”

  Ooo! She’d actually call it a grand idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it?

  “How about coffee?” The rude officer glared at her. “You got any fresh beans?”

  “Yes, sir.” Why did he have to be like that? “We certainly do. Bacon or whole hams, too. Our smokehouse is full. I can bring the rest of the meal and fill the wagon with whatever else you need.”

  The officer nodded then looked past Kerns. “You two, there.”

  The soldiers he addressed stopped. “Yes, sir?”

  “Help the corporal offload this meal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Their responses sounded respectful in words, but not tone.

  The man looked to her. “I’ll get you a purchase order. How quickly can you make the turnaround?”

  “We should be able to make it back by dark-thirty tomorrow—if you send the corporal with me. I’m not sure if I’ll have any help loading the wagon once I’m there.”

  Why had she said that?

  Daisy could help. And Mama and Sis, too, if no able-bodied men were about. She never meant to lie! It just popped out.

  “Papa and my brother . . .” Oh. She probably shouldn’t go any further with that since they’d sided with the Yankees.

  “Understood.” The officer looked at Ephraim. “I’ll let your captain know where you’ve gone. Don’t let anything happen to our supplies.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Good! The journey would give her the opportunity to find out more about the handsome Texas Ranger. But would it be worth it? He’d only give her one more soul to worry about.

  Stupid war!

  Even before the man returned with the purchase order for a hundred pounds of coffee beans and ten full shoulder hams, the wagon stood empty and her mules turned around and watered.r />
  “Tell Mister Garland I’m disappointed in him not filling my original order in a timely manner.”

  She bit off the reprimand that almost got past her tongue. “I’ll pass it along, but you’re dealing with me now. My motto is ‘do or die.’ ”

  Her remark stopped the man’s rudeness. He offered an almost smile. “Excellent. See to it then.”

  Ephraim stopped the wagon at the corral, set the brake, and jumped down.

  “What are you doing?”

  He smiled at her, not that he liked explaining his actions, but she didn’t know that, and it was her rig. “Getting us some fresh mules.”

  “These are Gramps best boys; I don’t want to trade.”

  Walking toward the corral, he waved at her over his shoulder. “You can have ’em back tomorrow. They need to rest.”

  Being a corporal, he recruited two privates to help swap out the mules and saw to his horse himself, cutting up with the two underlings, and became privy to the latest scuttlebutt in the process.

  He had them hitch up four good-looking ones to the wagon instead of two, with orders that the two he left were to be right there on the morrow.

  Rumor had it the Yanks were coming, and as much as he wanted to get to know Miss Garland, he hated the thought of missing a fight.

  Finally away from camp, he put the new team on a two-mile-an-hour pace, learning ’em a bit, and paid enough attention to make sure he had them hitched right and see if they had any bad habits.

  “My team better be right there tomorrow, Corporal. Gramps will have your hide and mine, too, if they aren’t.”

  “They’ll be there. Those two privates would rather eat dirt than cross me, and I told ’em not to let anyone get away with your mules.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  With a sideways glance down at her, he chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Quoting Alfred Tennyson. Not such a good idea. And also, the captain. He completely missed your sarcasm.”

  “Do you think so? I wanted to slap him for insulting Gramps. I should have told him to forget it and that I’d sell our meal to Yanks. But I didn’t figure that’d be the right answer, seeing as how they’re on the other side of the river.”

  “Not for long.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re coming. We blew the bridge crossing the Green River to slow ’em down then tore up a bunch of tracks two days ago, but they’ve already started building it back.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Exactly why Captain Yarborough is in a tither over the supplies. He wants everything in hand if we have to skedaddle.”

  “So you’re saying there’s a battle coming?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This close?”

  “It’s as sure as the sun rising tomorrow. I figure soon as they get the bridge back, they’ll be looking to give us what for.”

  “How long will it take them?”

  “To give us what for?” He feigned surprise but couldn’t keep from smiling a bit.

  “No, silly.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “To get the bridge rebuilt.”

  “Don’t know. Three, four more days. Not long.”

  “Oh, Ephraim!” She put her hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  Concerned for his well-being, huh? He liked that and liked her touching him even more. A shame the weather had turned off cold, and he had his jacket on.

  “I always take care. The first two dustups I was in back in Texas, I got shot. Learned from my mistakes though.”

  Realization dawned, and Gigi quickly pulled her hand away from his arm. Had he mistaken her intent? Had she? Gracious! Why was she in such an impossible situation anyway?

  Riding alone with a handsome stranger all the way back to Bowling Green then returning to General Hindman’s camp.

  What would her papa say?

  Except Ephraim had been a perfect gentleman. Well, would a perfect gentleman have mentioned her looks? Others claimed her to be easy on the eyes, but they were relatives and couldn’t really be counted. She had a mirror.

  Perhaps a body only saw the flaws, overlooking the good—or at least pleasant—characteristics when seeing one’s self?

  The clomping of the four mules filled the silence. She needed to change the subject, think on something else. Then something he’d said came to mind.

  “By the way, why would you think I shouldn’t quote Tennyson?”

  “Don’t you see the parallels?”

  What was he talking about? What parallels? She studied on it a moment. She’d read the poem but hadn’t taken anything away from it other than to do what you were told at all costs.

  “I do not follow your logic, Corporal. Won’t you please enlighten me?”

  “The charge that the Light Brigade made was doomed from the first, yet they rode into the Valley of Death anyway. A lot of them died or were wounded for their foolishness. From what I’ve seen and read, the Confederacy is in the same situation.”

  Why in the world, if he thought that, would he have come all that way to fight for the South? If it were true, she certainly rejoiced that Papa and Christopher joined the North. She studied on Ephraim and his statement, considering it.

  “But . . . If you believe that, why are you in that gray uniform? I mean, aren’t you calling your own self foolish?”

  “There are rumors that Sam Houston and several others are planning on making the state a republic again. Besides, I couldn’t let my comrades march off to war without me.” He slapped the reins over the mules’ backs.

  “Pick up the pace, boys, we’re burning daylight.”

  “But what does Texas being a republic have to do with fighting for the South?”

  “If the Rebs could win, defeat the Union Army, then Texas would secede and become a bona fide country in their own right again.”

  “Oh.” For the moment, she acted like she understood, yet . . . “But still, if you think the Confederacy is doomed, foolishly marching into the Valley of Death . . . Why would you do it?”

  A wheel rolled into and out of a pit in the road. The jolt pushed her back a bit, but she righted herself, keeping a respectable distance between herself and the man.

  Pulling her collar up, she ducked into the cold breeze the mules caused at such a clip and pondered everything he’d alleged.

  For the next quarter mile or so, she listened to the faster tempo of the trace chains’ song.

  Had the Almighty placed her there? On that day, at that time?

  Thrown her together with the man for His purpose?

  As far as she was concerned, there were no coincidences.

  Perhaps the divine meeting existed only for the purpose of giving her the opportunity to talk him out of being a fool. That sounded logical.

  Yes.

  Not for her to meet her own Prince Charming, but to save him from himself.

  Never before had she seen such a contradiction. Obviously well-read, he proved himself a free thinker.

  Yet, he’d merrily gone along with his buddies to put his life on the line for a cause he deemed doomed even before it got going well . . . or rather badly. From what she’d read, there’d already been way too many causalities.

  “I hate this war.”

  Glancing over, he smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. Wouldn’t have ever met you otherwise.”

  What a stupid thing to say. She balled her fist but instead of hitting him, pushed her knuckles into his arm.

  “That’s nothing if not preposterous! What a thing to say! Men and boys have been dying daily! And after tomorrow, you’re probably never going to see me again!”

  “Maybe. You read much Shakespeare?”

  “Yes, of course, I do. What does he have to do with anything?”

  “What if you’re my Juliet?”

  “Surely you jest.” She scooted away from him, as far as the bench allowed. “I will most certainly not drink poison! Not fo
r you, not for anyone.”

  “That wasn’t my point.”

  “Well then, what was?”

  Chapter 3

  Gigi waited for his answer, but not for long.

  It came quick enough along with a slight shoulder hike.

  “Just like Romeo. I don’t have time or the luxury of coming to call for a month of Sunday dinners. Instead of our families being at war, our country is.”

  She twisted sideways some and studied on the man. He looked back but kept glancing at the road.

  “You best not wreck our wagon.”

  “I won’t.” He shook his head from side to side as he responded. “I’m trying to memorize your face.”

  Ah! Such a flatterer! But oh, so handsome a one. It seemed to her his looks had improved some even from that morning.

  “Tell me about yourself, Corporal Kerns.”

  His lips pursed then flattened, and he studied the mules for a bit as if thinking what to tell or how to tell it. Up ahead, the branches of a big oak tree arched over the road, shading it.

  Before he determined the words to use, the wagon was well on the other side of it. Without looking at her, he finally spoke.

  “Comanche killed my father and carried off my mother and aunt when I was only three. Uncle, they left for dead, but he was only wounded. He took me to a neighbor’s place then left to track them down.”

  “How awful! I’m so sorry, Ephraim.”

  “He got himself killed for his troubles. Granddad fetched me once he got word, then he died the day I turned sixteen. I joined up with the Rangers a month later. Wallace Rusk was responsible for getting me on. He’d been orphaned at a young age, too.”

  “So, you knew him well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked at her. Tears welled, but he blinked them away. “I don’t tell that story much, but . . . figured you needed to know.”

  Her breath caught. She sniffed then widened her own eyes to keep the tears from falling. “I’m so sorry, Ephraim.”

  “Me, too. I’ve looked for them both, Mama and Auntie. Even learned enough Comanche to quiz the savages I came into contact with, but no one knew what happened to them.”

  “Gracious. Did your grandfather do right by you?”

  “I’d say so. He was hard, but fair. Treated me better than his slave, but not much. We’d count licks after a strapping. Bo claimed he always got three more than me.”