“The one that means the most to you.”
He gave a slow hesitant nod. “How can I convince him that I’ll be able to play with the others?”
“You just play for him, and he’ll find a way to make it work.”
“Will you iron my Sunday-go-to-meetin’ shirt?”
She smiled. “And I’ll cut your hair and trim your nails.”
He chuckled. “You probably ought to shave me, too.” He lifted his hands. “Look at how much I’m shaking.”
She wrapped her hands around his. “Just play from your heart.”
“I want this, Loree, like I’ve never wanted anything.”
She saw him off at dawn, his violin safely housed in the wooden case she’d given him for Christmas, tucked beneath his arm. Then she sat on the top step, Grant in her arms, and waited.
She gauged the distance into town, the time it would take him to play, and figured he’d ride home at a gallop. It was late morning before he returned, and she’d never been so glad to see anyone.
He dismounted, set the violin case on the porch, and sat beside her.
“Brought these for you,” he said, holding out a handful of red and yellow flowers.
“They’re beautiful,” she said as she took them.
“I couldn’t find you any that were blue.”
“That’s all right. I like these.”
He touched Grant’s tiny fist. The boy’s fingers un- furled and wrapped around the larger finger that was waiting for him.
“He’s got a strong grip,” Austin said quietly. “It won’t be much longer, and he’ll be able to hold a bow.”
“I didn’t think it’d take you this long,” Loree said, anxious to know all that had transpired. “I guess you had a lot of details to work out, traveling to arrange—”
“He can’t use me, Loree.”
She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d told her the sun was going to start setting in the east. “Is he deaf?”
He gave her a sad smile. “No.”
“Why didn’t he want you?”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob. “He didn’t think the people in his company would be comfortable traveling with a murderer.”
“But you’re not a murderer!”
“The law says I am and that’s all that matters.” He unfolded his body. “I need to change clothes and repair some fence for Dallas on the east side.”
She watched him disappear into the house, and even without the aid of his violin, she heard his heart breaking.
Loree drew the wagon to a halt and studied her husband, standing with one leg straight, one leg bent, his elbow resting on the gnarled and crooked fence post, the barbed wire curling on the ground like a ribbon recently removed from a girl’s hair.
His hat shadowed his face, but she knew he was staring in the distance, toward the railroad tracks that he couldn’t see, but knew existed. She heard the lonesome train whistle rent the afternoon air.
Austin stepped back, turned, slid his hat up off his brow with his thumb, and gave her a warm lazy smile. “Hey, Sugar, wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”
He ambled to the wagon and Loree’s throat grew tight. “I brought you some lunch.”
