Catch a Shooting Star jd edit 03 12 2012 html Read online

  “Well, then, Miss,” Travis began as he turned to leave her.

  “Savannah,” she muttered without thinking that a woman of her upbringing does not allow any man, let alone a stranger, address her with her given name. Remembering this, she corrected, “Savannah Star.”

  “Miss Star,” Travis said cordially. “I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

  “As am I,” she agreed, dipping her head to the side graciously before turning toward the house.

  She heard him remount his horse and urge it forward with a cluck of his tongue as she tripped up the stone stairway to the man who would now take her life into his hands. An ominous clap of thunder was her initiative to hurry up the stairs and into the house, breezing by Diego without a word. Up the winding grand staircase and out of his reach, she ran to her room and slammed the door.

  She tiptoed to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes to watch the stranger slowly fade away from her life forever. Gone was his gentle touch, his worried expression, his caring gestures. The soft lines of his forehead and the tiny dimples that had shown themselves in the light of the storm would disappear with him and never return to her.

  And his eyes, were they dark gray or brown? The shadows of the trees seemed to have camouflaged them as he’d peered down at her. She wished that she had memorized as much of him as she could in order to relive those precious moments stolen in the midst of the storm. But, it seemed, all she had left of him was a distant memory and the muddled and wet slicker that she had dropped on her floor as she had ran into her room.

  She turned from the window and what could have been a better future if she had just had the nerve to defy her father’s will and let Travis Corbett take her far away from her confounded obligations. Silly and fleeting dream that it was, she knew that it was all that would keep her alive for the years to come—and one that she would dwell upon for the rest of her life, if that is what it would take to keep her sanity intact.

  Chapter Three

  The early morning sun peeked between peach branches that were darkened by its approach in the previous night sky. Its brilliance painted a multi-colored collage of pinks, oranges, reds, purples and deep blues upon the clouds that mingled on the horizon. As it climbed slowly in the distance, its cheerful ascent did nothing to raise the spirits of the young woman who stood in utter misery on the veranda outside her bedroom.

  Lost in her melancholy mood, she did not hear the sharp words of her long-time servant, Bessie, as the middle-aged black woman sashayed outside to reprimand her charge until the woman became irritated by Savannah’s ignoring her, “Missy! What’re you doin’ out heah? You git inside an’ let me git you dressed. You know yore papa don’ like you to be late for breakfast. Now, you git yoreself back in heah and outta that mornin’ breeze. You’ll cetch yore death out there with nothin’ but yore nightdress on. A lady like yerself don’ need to be showin’ up to a formal breakfast with’ a red, sniffly nose.”

  Savannah sighed deeply, her mood unchanged by Bessie’s angry scolding. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked past the portly older woman to sit primly at her dressing table, waiting quietly for her maid to come and help her dress her hair.

  Below the veranda, just out of her line of sight, Travis Corbett lifted his booted foot and pushed himself from his position against the tree where he had leaned and watched the house all night long to insure himself that Diego Fernandez had not caused the young woman any harm. Now that he knew that she was safe, he slipped back to the peach grove and retrieved his mount. He steered the Palomino toward Atlanta to make plans for his vengeance upon the man that she had seemed so afraid of the night before.

  Quiet surrounded him while he lost himself in his thoughts on the path toward town, a stark contrast to the night that they had met in which blazing emotions mixed with the outbursts of thunder and lightning. Fleeting thoughts of what could have happened between them if he’d have had the mind to take advantage of Savannah’s vulnerable situation flashed in his wandering mind, bringing a smile to his otherwise infuriated face. With rising ire, he shook those thoughts away and concentrated on the task that lay before him.

  A sudden hush came over the room when the tall stranger entered the telegraph office in downtown Atlanta. The six or seven souls who had milled about and conversed with abandon seemed to instantly become silent when his heavy footfalls echoed across the small room. They all looked up to see if God Himself had come to take them to Jubilee when his gruff voice asked the clerk to send a telegram. Then they all settled to quiet and muffled whispers while he leaned on the counter and called out the words to be sent.

  Travis turned on his elbow to address the people who stared at him and whispered behind cupped palms to their neighbors. A smile showed them that he was not as harmful as he seemed and they smiled back as if he had forgiven them of their transgressions and therefore, had given them leave to continue as if he had not disturbed them. His smile disappeared when the clerk returned with a reply.

  “There will be a wait of a day or two,” the small, bald man said timidly from under his dark visor. “It seems there is a line down around Texarkana.”

  Inside, Travis fumed, but he smiled thankfully and nodded to the clerk, who let out a loud hiss of relief when the bulk of a man left the room.

  He would wait, Travis told himself calmly as he passed the two men who whispered back and forth as they eyed the twin pistols on his hips. That will give him time to go to the plantation where that Mexican bastard was holed up and finally have his revenge.

  He made his way to the hotel and secured a room for three days just in case it took that long for his reply. He wasn’t desperate to hear about how his ranch near Galveston was faring, but he knew that it had been at least five years since he had left it in the capable hands of his foreman and the old man’s wife, Abigail. And since that time, he had only sent them a letter or two giving them an update on his progress to avenge his own wife’s murder. Knowing that because of his constant journey, he would never hear back from them, he had not made an effort to wait for a reply.

  But, this time, something told him to wait. He was never one to listen to his inner voice, the one that nagged him to give up this obsessive need to bleed that Mexican dry and laugh while he begged for forgiveness. But, somewhere, deep inside him, he felt a tug from that lonesome ranch which he had made with his beloved wife, Melody. Somehow, he knew that he needed to go back again even though he had not set foot on the long covered porch, which he had painstakingly built just for his new bride, in what seems like ages ago.

  It called to him like a prairie wind on the grassy landscape, “Come back to me!”

  But, still, he stayed away, fearful of the overwhelming pain that he knew would assault him the minute he rode beneath the arch that held the initials of the lovers who had built it. Still, he put off walking into the modest two-story house that he had built with his own two hands. And still, he agonized about stepping into the bedroom where they had shared so many wonderfully passionate nights.

  Not since he had kissed her good-bye that fateful morning when he had started yet another long trip to seek out new buyers for Cox & Corbett Treasures & Trinkets, his family’s catalogue business, had he held a woman in his arms and felt the surge of love in his lonesome heart.

  But something inside him told him otherwise, for, not since last night in the storm, when he had held that frightened little butterfly, who had somehow made a place for herself in his hopeless heart in just those few brief moments that she had fluttered into his life, had he felt that familiar tug at his empty chest. With all his might, he tried desperately to replace her face with that of his beloved Melody. But, try as he might, the tiny, drenched woman-child held her ground in his mind and, by God, in his heart. And, there, she remained, like a bolt of lightning that seared his aching heart, branding him with the longing to see her again, to touch her again, and to finally possess her as she had done with him.

  After Be
ssie followed close behind Savannah from the veranda and into the girl’s bedroom, she reached for the stays of the girl’s morning gown in order to hasten the business of undressing her and then dressing her again in appropriate attire for the occasion. She clucked her tongue and shook her kerchief-covered head before she scoffed, “I dee-clare, Missy, you’d think yore papa was askin’ you ta jump off a cliff.”

  Her hands quickly went to work brushing out the girl’s long black hair until it shone with bright blue highlights that put the sunrise to shame. Her brush stopped in mid-stroke when her charge retorted, “Well, it would get the same result. It would take me away from my home, the people I love. Why, I may never see Father again.”

  She turned suddenly in her chair to face the maid and grabbed her thick, brown hands in hers as she declared, “Oh, Bessie, I don’t want to get married. Robin’s Glen is all I know. This Diego Fernandez will take me far away to his home in Mexico. I may never be able to return.”

  Bessie closed both hands about Savannah’s young face and scolded, “Hold still, Missy.” She pinned a coal-black curl and stuck another pin between her teeth, talking all the while, “You will. I’m sure that yore new husband wouldn’t keep you from yore chil’hood home.”

  “He wouldn’t be that cruel,” Savannah stated as she narrowed her eyes at the woman in the shattered mirror who puffed air through her ample lips, sending the pin flying into the mirror.

  “Ain’t no man that cruel,” Bessie declared, squaring her large shoulders behind Savannah. “Besides, yore papa wouldn’t let you marry a man who would hurt his little Vanny”

  Savannah pushed away the other woman’s hand that had concentrated on one curl much too long for her patience as she retorted, “Father doesn’t seem to be concerned with my wellbeing right now. All he is worried about is losing his precious Robin’s Glen.”

  “You don’ believe that, Missy,” Bessie admonished as she returned her fingers to that same curl. “You mean more to him than anything.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem that way,” Savannah huffed as she folded her arms in front of her in childlike defiance. “I knew I should have married James Linden two years ago when I had the chance. But, he is so infantile!”

  “Yep, you sho’ should have married that boy!” Bessie agreed, nodding her large head and patting the curl into place with a stubby finger. “Now, Emma Sanders sho’ didn’t waste no time in grabbin’ him up when you turned him down.”

  Savannah pursed her lips as she seethed through clenched teeth, “And he settled for the likes of her. That shows just how desperate he was to get married.”

  Bessie sighed and said with a fond smile at her charge, “They sho’ seem happy, though, with that little chil’ and another one on the way.”

  “And they’ve only been married a year and a half. It sounds to me like the cow was already milked before he bought it!” Savannah teased, hiding behind her fingers in mocked embarrassment.

  “Missy!” Bessie scoffed as she turned away to hide the smirk on her own face.

  “Well, it’s true. Anyone, I don’t care how stupid they are, could figure out that Emma had been tossing in the hay long before the bed was made.”

  Deciding that the conversation was becoming more objectionable, Bessie scolded, “Now, that’s enough of that, Missy! Sounds like you’re a little jealous.”

  “Jealous!” Savannah growled as she whirled around to face her accuser. “Jealous? Of that hussy? Why, she’s no better than a street walker in New Orleans! If you ask me, that first baby isn’t even James’. Maybe not even the second. Why, she’s probably got a whole string of bastards that nobody knows about.”

  A resounding slap stung Savannah’s fair cheek as Bessie tried to curb the girl’s slanderous talk. Immediately, Bessie apologized for her actions, but still clucked her tongue to warn the girl against continuing her insults.

  Savannah’s hand went to her burning face and her eyes widened with surprise. Bessie had not laid a hand on her since the time she went skinny dipping when she was ten years old. But, this time, it hurt her pride more than her face. Savannah knew that Bessie was aware that the blossoming girl had secretly loved James long ago, even though she swore she couldn’t stand the sight of him. It hurt her to know that her Bessie would take the side of that money-hungry heifer.

  Bessie’s large hands went up to cup the girl’s saddened face, then her ample arms surrounded Savannah, nestling the young woman’s head between her bulky breasts. Her heart broke every time that girl’s mouth turned down in a pout of discontent. She cooed consolingly as she patted the girl’s back, “I’m sorry, Missy. I don’t like to hear you talk like that. Ever since yore mamma died, I been raisin’ you ‘cuz yore papa was too upset to tend to you. I thought I was raisin’ you right, but to hear you talk like a rantin’ rooster, I think I’ve done failed.”

  “You didn’t fail, Bessie,” Savannah reassured her maid as she rubbed the older woman’s shoulder affectionately. “I promise to watch what I say from now on. No more talk about what could have been and missed opportunities…”

  Without warning, Travis’ face flashed into her mind. The memory of his touch sent shivers down her spine and she crossed her arms in front of her to ward off the warmth that soon took over. What could have been was so far away from her, she knew and there was no need to reminisce at this time, so she shook herself free of the image and the oncoming feelings of grief at not accepting his unspoken invitation to let him protect her from all that would harm her.

  She looked at Bessie and promised, “From now on, I’ll be a perfect lady.”

  Bessie smiled in pride as the girl twirled around and then curtseyed before her in nothing but her under things, saying, “You’ll be no lady dressed like that. Let’s get you dressed so’s you can make yore papa proud.”

  Bessie’s brown eyes sparkled as she reached for the dark green silk gown that she had laid carefully across the four-poster bed when she had entered the room. She held the dress above Savannah’s head and then let it drop over the girl’s shoulders. She guided it over the silk chemise and the tightly corseted waist, over the full, rounded hips and down the slender legs to fall across the dainty bare feet. Then, she smoothed the soft fabric until it clung endearingly to the curve of the girl’s exquisitely endowed body. She plucked at the lace that discretely covered the swell of her breasts as it trailed the low-cut neckline, making it stand at attention in an effort to hide what nature gave her and what any natural man craved to catch a glimpse of.

  Standing back to survey her artwork, Bessie smiled at her expertise in making a beautiful girl transform into a voluptuous woman without even trying. Granted, she knew that Savannah’s body was not a blank canvas and that very little effort need be put forth in order to make her look as stunningly as she always did when she was dressed in her finest. True, the girl would rather don her drab riding habit and stomp around in her riding boots than flaunt her beauty in fine gowns and dainty shoes. But, when she agreed to wear those lavish clothes, she radiated a beauty that nothing could compare to.

  “Now, don’t you just look handsome,” Bessie cried as she stepped toward Savannah to replace a wayward curl. “That nice Mister Don will surely fall in love with you if he hasn’t already.”

  “Mr. Fernandez,” Savannah corrected as she swept the woman’s dark hand away in sudden anger. “And I’d rather not try to impress him.”

  She tore at the gown and it ripped under the pressure of her temper tantrum. Pulling at the silk bodice, she shed the beautiful dress and threw it onto the bed. With determination, and ignoring the rebukes from Bessie, she picked up the muddy riding habit from the floor and began to thrust it on.

  “There is nothing I’d rather wear to a horse auction than this!” Savannah seethed as she tugged on the mud-covered boots and stomped toward the door.

  With all the fury that she could muster, she clamored down the ornate staircase and down the hall toward the dining room. She stopped just long enough to
take in a breath and renew her annoyance at having to display herself for the highest bidder who waited with her father in the cavernous dining room beyond.

  “Well, my Vanny,” Father started with a pleasant voice as his daughter entered the room, her head held high and her shoulders thrust back in defiance.

  “Father, dear,” Savannah said with more affection than she felt for him at the moment. “You know I don’t like for you to call me that.”

  Benjamin Star allowed her to kiss his upturned cheek before he patted the hand on his shoulder and answered, “I know, Kitten. But, it’s what I’ve always called you. It’s hard to think of you as a grown woman with grown-up ideas.”

  Savannah removed her hand from his grasp and whirled around to face the guest at the other end of the table as she added without acknowledging her father’s apology, “Grown up enough to make my own decisions.”

  Benjamin nodded slowly in agreement, but interjected, “Decisions that would affect more than just your own life.”

  “Yes, but ones that could be detrimental to my own life,” she retorted, staring boldly at Diego’s indifferent expression.

  “You are just frightened by the uncertainty of a new life beyond Robin’s Glen,” Father rejected her tone as childish and selfish.

  “Robin’s Glen is all I know, Father,” she argued, still ignoring Diego’s blank stare.

  “But it is for our home that you must do this,” Benjamin pleaded before she left his side in a huff and pulled angrily at her chair.

  As she fell into the finely carved chair, she reached for the linen napkin and placed it daintily in her lap as if it would protect her finest garments instead of the atrocious attire that she was wearing. Then, turning back to Diego, she said in her most accommodating voice, “I’m sure that Mister Fernandez will take wonderful care of my home while he is in Mexico. Tell me, Mr. Fernandez, how do you plan to mind Robin’s Glen from so far away?”