Yellow Rose Bride. Lori Copeland

leave that woman alone. She’ll get you in trouble,” P.K. muttered.

      Adam glanced up. “Who?”

      “The Taylor girl.”

      “Her name’s Vonnie, and she’s hardly a girl anymore.”

      “Vonnie,” P.K. repeated. “I don’t care what her name is—you leave her alone.” He was muttering. “I’ve seen her type. Sashaying around—turning men’s heads with those strange-looking eyes. You leave her alone. And you tell Andrew, Pat and Joey to do the same. There isn’t a Taylor worth their salt.”

      Adam couldn’t remember how many times they’d had this conversation. It was getting old. “Why tell me? I’m engaged, remember?”

      “Engaged or not, you keep your eyes to yourself.” P.K. frowned. “There was a time I worried about you and the Taylor girl.”

      Adam glanced up.

      “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you two looked at each other when you were younger. I’m not blind. Many a Sunday I considered throwing a bucket of water on you to cool you off. You were just lucky Alma convinced me that it was childish fancies. For a time, I was starting to wonder.”

      Adam bent low over the desk. “I didn’t look at Vonnie Taylor any certain way.”

      “Don’t tell me you didn’t. I’ll tell you now what I told you then. You stay away from the Taylors. All of them.”

      “Personally, I think you overreact when it comes to the Taylors.”

      “You don’t know a thing about it. The Taylors are trash!”

      “How can you say that? The Flying Feather is a respected ranch.”

      “The Flying Feather, ha! Teague wouldn’t have a red cent if he hadn’t loaned his last dollar to the owner of a traveling sideshow and had to take that pair of ostriches as payment.”

      “Maybe, but he took a pair of birds and built it into a sound business.”

      P.K. scoffed. “Until Teague got stuck with those birds he was dirt-poor. The community felt sorry for Cammy Taylor having a baby girl she’d brought home to raise and Teague so broke he couldn’t afford monthly staples. Man didn’t have a lick of sense. If he had a dollar and someone gave him a hard-luck tale he’d hand it over. If it hadn’t been for neighbor’s charity, his family would have gone hungry many a day.”

      Today the Taylor spread was the third largest in the community and thriving. A bitter pill for P.K. to swallow.

      His father stared out the window, speaking absently, as if he had forgotten Adam was in the room. “Teague always acted like he was so holy and righteous. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth he was so self-righteous. Well, in my book, it’s a sin to let your family do without, especially when you could have done something about it.”

      Adam pushed to his feet, his voice bordering on impatience. “For the life of me, I cannot understand what happened between you and Teague Taylor that made you such bitter enemies.”

      P.K. looked over his shoulder, back ramrod straight, as if he had just now remembered Adam’s presence. His features darkened. “It’s between me and Teague.”

      “So you’ve said for as long as I can remember. What you’ve failed to say is why the hatred runs so deep. All this talk of murder, jewels. None of it makes sense. If you expect me to hate the Taylors as much as you do, you need to give me a reason. A solid reason.”

      “My word is my reason. That’s all you need.”

      And it’s all he’d get; Adam knew that only too well.

      Turning from the window, P.K. downed the last of his tonic. “You won’t forget to talk to Beth about the house plans?”

      “I’ll speak to her tonight.”

      “Good. I’ll tell Manny to start on your furniture. I thought cherry would be nice. Nice, big pieces—maybe done up in Aztec fabric in reds, blues and yellows. What do you think? Something colorful?”

      Adam felt the familiar surge of resentment. P.K. controlled his son’s life down to the furniture he would sit on.

      “Beth and I haven’t set a date, Dad.”

      With a gesture, he brushed the detail aside. “It’ll take a while to get the furniture built. No use waiting until the last minute. What do you think? Aztec fabric?”

      Adam shrugged. “Talk to Beth.”

      Moving back to the window, P.K. gazed out. Adam could see the pride glistening in his eyes. Cabeza Del Lobo had been built by sweat and hard work. No one had ever given P.K. Baldwin anything. He had taken ten acres and carved out an empire. He would die if he lost the place in payment of a bad note.

      Teague Taylor had taken two birds and lucked out.

      Adam studied his father from beneath lowered lashes. He stood at the window, his lean body more bent than Adam remembered, shifting his weight on one leg. He suddenly found himself wondering what had taken place between Teague and P.K. to cause such bitter animosity?

      He’d heard things like, the man’s foolish. He wasn’t worth his salt. Traitor to his own kind. But never a concrete motive for such resentment.

      When he married Vonnie he’d been too young to approach P.K., to demand a reason for the dispute.

      Now, all of a sudden, he wanted to know.

      Chapter Three

      The night Adam married Vonnie Taylor he knew she was all he’d ever wanted from life. She’d looked so pretty in the flickering flames of the judge’s campfire; he had thanked God over and over that she had taken vows to be his for the rest of their lives.

      They’d ridden away together. Mr. and Mrs. Adam Baldwin. Just saying the words in his mind had thrilled him. An hour later they’d reached the boardinghouse that sat at the edge of a crossroads. The border town had a store, a church, a one-room school, a stable, three bars. Not much.

      The aged lady, wearing a long gown and nightcap, who answered their knock was put out by their late arrival. They had to shout to make her understand they wanted a room for the night.

      “You want what? Supper’s over!”

      “We don’t need supper. We need a place to stay,” Adam shouted. “A room.”

      “A broom! What do you want with a broom?”

      “A place to sleep,” Vonnie offered, pantomiming sleeping by tilting her head and folding her hands against her cheek.

      “We just got married!” Adam said.

      She frowned. “Buried!”

      Finally the old woman understood, directing them to a tiny but cozy room on the second floor of the two-story clapboard structure. Vonnie had climbed the stairs in silence. Once inside the room she had stood with her back to the door, looking as frightened as someone who suddenly had found herself on the edge of a cliff—and looking incredibly young, as well. He didn’t feel all that old or wise at the moment.

      He had gently turned her to face him, drawing her into his arms. He’d kissed her, but for once she didn’t respond. Instead, she seemed reluctant…uncertain.

      “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

      “Oh, Adam. We’re really married?” Her slender body shook with emotion.

      “That’s right, we’re married. Forever.” He held her tighter, liking the thought. Forever.

      She shook her head. “What have we done? Oh, Adam, we’re in bad trouble.”

      He suddenly realized the enormity of their actions. He swallowed, wishing he could reassure her, but he didn’t feel very sure himself. “It’s