Naughty Marietta

by Nan Ryan

  “Yes, steaks! Big, thick steaks,” Maxwell said, eyes twinkling now. “And the beef will come from the ranch—we’ll slaughter one of our choice Herefords. The biggest, fattest one in the herd.”

  “Absolutely,” Nettie said, nodding. “And with the steaks we will have roasted potatoes and string beans and corn on the cob and fried okra and glazed carrots and…and—”

  “Don’t forget the salads, Nettie. Ladies like salads, don’t they?”

  “They do. We’ll fix a nice large salad with big ripe tomatoes and crisp lettuce for Marietta.”

  “Have you thought about the dessert?” he asked.

  Nettie smiled indulgently. Then recited her lines, as she did each evening. “Mmm, I don’t know. How about hot fresh peach cobbler?”

  “No, no, you’ve forgotten,” Maxwell objected. “Strawberries and thick whipping cream. Her mother loved strawberries and cream and I imagine she does too.”

  “Strawberries and cream it is,” said Nettie, shaking her head.

  The two continued to talk and plan for the homecoming as the midnight hour approached and silence settled over the big house and city. Nettie was tired, but she stayed at Maxwell’s bedside. She would not leave until he fell asleep. Then, and only then, would she send in the night nurse to sit with him.

  For the past couple of weeks, he had had difficulty sleeping, so Nettie kept him company. She didn’t want him to lie here to brood and worry and wonder if he would live to see his only granddaughter.

  She didn’t think he would make it. Neither did his doctor. Maxwell Lacey was a very sick man. The disease that would kill him was progressing rapidly and he grew a bit weaker with each passing day. He told Nettie that he didn’t mind dying, but he had to stay alive long enough to see his granddaughter. To make things right. Then—and only then—could he rest in peace.

  Nettie assured him that he would live long enough for the reunion and then some. Why, any day now Marietta would arrive and they would all celebrate and have a wonderful time.

  “Nettie,” Maxwell interrupted her now as she continued to go over the plans they both knew by heart, “if I make it, if I live to see Marietta, do you think she’ll…?”

  “Yes, of course she will,” said Nettie. “Now it’s time for you to try to get some sleep, Maxwell. I’m going to turn down the lamp real low. But I won’t leave. I’ll sit here with you, and let’s both be quiet and still.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” he feebly protested.

  “You will be,” she said. Nettie went to the window and raised it higher so the slight ocean breeze could cool the room.

  Maxwell Lacey closed his eyes. “Nettie?”

  “Yes, Maxwell?”

  “Do you suppose she’s pretty? As pretty as…as…?”

  The sentence was never finished. Maxwell Lacey, mercifully, had fallen asleep.

  Twenty-Two

  For three days, Marietta hadn’t spoken to Cole.

  Not since he had so callously informed her that he was not in love with her.

  She still found it impossible to believe that a man could make love to a woman the way he had made love to her and not be in love with her. Not love her, at least a little. But, sadly, it was true.

  Cole had not minced words, had not considered her tender feelings. He had been oblivious to the pain and shame he had caused her. Marietta had never known a man as cold and insensitive as Cole Heflin.

  She despised him.

  Would hate him until she drew her last breath.

  She stubbornly refused to look at him or to talk to him. And she did not answer when he spoke to her. She planned never to speak to him again. Nor would she, no matter how often he asked, ever sing to him again. Let the hard-hearted bastard suffer the way she was suffering.

  Marietta would have been even more hurt and furious had she known that Cole didn’t mind her refusal to talk. He found the silence peaceful. And he sure didn’t miss hearing her sing. He hadn’t had a headache in days.

  He did suffer a small degree of guilt for making love to her. But not because of any misunderstandings on her part. She understood all right. She didn’t fool him. He had known dozens of women like her. Maybe not quite as pretty, but just as devious.

  No doubt the winsome Marietta had dazzled and conquered her share of vulnerable men. The last of which was rich old Maltese, whose bed she had shared every night.

  Cole knew her kind all too well. No shy, retiring violet was Marietta. No innocent maiden deserving of gentlemanly respect. More of a dangerous Delilah to be carefully avoided.

  A man would be an utter fool to care about her.

  Cole shifted in the saddle and looked toward the southeastern horizon. It was midmorning. They had made good time since finally leaving the towering mountains behind and heading out across the plains. They were near that narrow strip between Colorado and Texas called No Man’s Land.

  Tonight they would camp on the Cimmaron River, then tomorrow ride across No Man’s Land and down into the high panhandle plains of Texas.

  Cole squinted, rubbed his chin and did some figuring. He calculated how many miles it was from here to Tascosa, Texas. A long way, but with any luck they could be at the Longley spread in three days, maybe less.

  Cole smiled at the prospect of riding up to the little clapboard house and surprising the two Longley women. He consciously touched his worn saddlebags where the all-important bank-deposit slip was safely kept. Finally, he would be able to keep the promise he had made to Keller Longley all those years ago.

  Cole’s smile quickly fled and a muscle clenched in his jaw. He hoped the Longleys were all right, both of them. He was worried about them. Mrs. Longley was in poor health, had been for the past couple of years. She was too sick and frail to help out much, so all the hard work fell on Leslie. Cole’s eyes clouded at the thought of the pretty little girl having the weight of the world on her slender shoulders.

  Leslie Longley’s slender shoulders sagged with exhaustion. She was in the garden near the banks of the river a hundred yards from the house. The modest house where she lived with her mother on their little plot of land six miles north of Tascosa.

  Leslie’s face was shaded with a broad-brimmed sunbonnet, but her cheeks were red and shiny with perspiration. Her hands were protected with rough gloves and the sleeves of her dress were long, buttoning at the wrists. The skirts of her cotton dress dragged the ground.

  Leslie protected herself as best she could from the broiling Texas sun. But she was hot. And she was tired. It was midafternoon, the hottest part of the day. She longed for the cool shade of the front porch, but she was not finished with her task.

  A long-handled hoe in her gloved hands, Leslie was chopping the weeds that sprang up and grew no matter how hot or dry the weather. If she didn’t keep the weeds cut, they would choke off her prized tomato vines where the plump tomatoes were starting to turn red. By next week, they would be ready for picking.

  Beyond the tomato vines were row upon row of yellow squash, sticky green okra, tender shallot onions, black-eyed peas, string beans, green beans, new potatoes and cantaloupes.

  Leslie paused and gazed out over the large garden she had planted in early spring. She was pleased with the fruits of her labor and planned, the first part of next week, to gather the ripe vegetables, hitch up Blaze to the old buggy and take the produce into town to sell.

  She hoped, prayed, that by selling the baskets of vegetables on the town square, she would get enough money to make at least a token payment on the bank loan they owed.

  Leslie frowned and sighed wearily. She was only eighteen, but she worried night and day about the outstanding debt that she and her mother owed to the Tascosa State Bank. A note secured with the deed to their property. She lived in dread that they would be unable to pay off the note and the lurking Reconstruction carpetbagger bank and its president would take possession of their home.

  Her dear brother was dead at their hands. She must keep the homestead.

  Lesl
ie’s eyebrows knit.

  The only thing they had of value—save their property—was Blaze, her aging bay mare. It had been old Blaze who had dutifully pulled the rusty plow when she’d planted the garden. She had hated to make the gentle mare pull a plow, but there’d been no choice. The mule, Daisy, had finally dropped dead of old age last winter. So she and Blaze had plowed the garden. And she and Blaze would go into town to sell the bounty.

  Leslie went back to her hoeing. She had to keep working, to keep weeding her garden. She would do whatever she had to do, work as hard as she had to work. She would not allow her dear, sick mother to be thrown out of her home.

  Leslie reached the end of the row. She stopped, turned and put a hand to her aching back. She leaned an arm on the hoe handle and rested for a minute. She plucked the edge of her unbuttoned bodice out and blew down inside, attempting to cool herself. Then she took off her sunbonnet and began to fan her shiny face.

  She stopped abruptly.

  She heard something.

  Leslie turned her head, stood totally still and listened alertly. A chill instantly skipped up her spine. The Comanches were always a threat. Their stronghold in the Palo Duro Canyon was close, too close.

  She and her mother had no one to protect them. She lived in fear that a band of renegades would ride onto their property, burn the house and steal Blaze.

  Leslie exhaled with relief when she spotted a horse and buggy coming up the dirt road. She lifted a hand, shaded her eyes and studied the approaching buggy.

  Then stiffened, made a face and nervously bit the inside of her bottom lip.

  She recognized the rig and the driver. The president of the Tascosa State Bank. A carpetbagger straight from Cincinnati, Ohio, one of Grant’s worst. The repugnant Thomas McLeish. She couldn’t believe that he had driven all the way out here to collect the late payment on their bank loan.

  Leslie swallowed hard. She took off her work gloves and anxiously buttoned up her undone bodice. Then she smoothed her blond hair. And she began to silently recite what she would say to the bank president, how she would ask that he give her just one more week to make a payment on the loan.

  Leslie drew a deep breath, then made herself raise a hand and wave as if she was glad to see him. She bent and laid the hoe, her bonnet and gloves on the ground, intending to return to her work as soon as he left.

  By the time Leslie reached the yard, the short, stocky Thomas McLeish had rolled to a stop before the little house and was climbing down out of the buggy. Leslie regarded him and felt her stomach do a turn.

  Thomas McLeish, a married man with grown children, always looked at her in a way that made her uneasy. Each time he saw her he licked fleshy lips and his pale eyes gleamed demonically. She got the impression that when he looked her up and down as he often did, his thoughts were improper. She didn’t like having to see him on her visits to the bank. She sure didn’t want him anywhere near her home.

  “Mr. McLeish,” Leslie finally called a greeting to him. “What brings you all the way out here on such a hot summer day?”

  The rotund president smiled, bowed and said, “Come now, I think you know why I’m here, Miss Longley.”

  “Well, yes, I do,” she said. Then hurried to add, “Believe it or not, I was planning to ride into Tascosa early next week.”

  “Really?” he said, reached out and took hold of her elbow. “Then it appears I have saved you a trip.”

  Leslie pulled her arm free. “And I could have saved you a trip had I known you were coming. You see, I don’t have the money right now, Mr. McLeish.”

  The corpulent bank president continued to smile, then licked his lips and looked at her in the manner that made her flesh crawl.

  He said, “Why don’t you invite me inside where we can talk about your little dilemma.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” she stated emphatically. “Monday I’m going into town to sell my vegetables. Whatever they bring, I’ll give to you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have nothing for you today.”

  “Where’s your mother?” he asked, lifting a pudgy hand to stroke his bushy gray mustache.

  “She’s inside, lying down. She’s not well.”

  “Then let’s not disturb her,” said McLeish. He grinned and his eyes twinkled anew when he said, “Take a little buggy ride with me, Miss Leslie.”

  Leslie made a face. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m quite busy weeding my garden, Mr. McLeish, so if you’ll kindly excuse me…”

  “I will not excuse you,” he said and again he took her arm. “I have excused you long enough, my dear. A payment on your loan was due over a week ago. But I excused the lateness because I am fond of you.” Leslie didn’t answer, just hugged herself defensively. He asked, “Do you want to keep this house, this land?”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied. “I told you, I plan on paying next week.”

  “Next week will be too late, I’m afraid,” he said, shaking his balding gray head. “That’s why I drove all the way out here today. I have been lenient with you, Miss Leslie. But now you must pay up.”

  “What with?” she said, her forehead creased, her arms coming unfolded, hands balling into fists at her sides. “I have no money. No assets. Nothing to pay you with.”

  Thomas McLeish licked his fleshy lips in that irritating way, smiled as if he had some wicked secret, leaned close and whispered, “Ah, but you do, my dear child.”

  Leslie, an innocent, was puzzled. “I do? What? What do I have that you could possibly want?”

  “A little kiss for starters,” said the smiling McLeish, his pale eyes flashing. “Take a ride with me.” Before she could object, he continued, “A short ride in my buggy, that’s all I ask. Nothing that would really compromise you, Miss Leslie. A few kisses. Who is to ever know?”

  “Mr. McLeish!”

  “You misunderstand, my dear. I’m not asking you to behave immorally. Just allow me to kiss you and perhaps touch your—”

  “Get off my property!” Leslie commanded, her face afire.

  “Your property?” he mocked. “I am not leaving here empty-handed, Miss Leslie. It’s up to you. Either pay me what you owe or get into that buggy.”

  “I will not!” she said, horrified, and began backing away.

  “No? You refuse me a few harmless kisses? Well, fine. But I’m not going back to town without taking something. You still have that old bay mare?”

  “You wouldn’t!” she said, her heart pounding. “Please don’t take my mare. She’s all I have. Without Blaze I’d have no way to get into town. For heaven’s sake, be reasonable, Mr. McLeish.”

  “You’re the one who’s being unreasonable, Miss Leslie. I don’t want your aging mare,” he said. “All I want is a few kisses.” Again he reached out, took hold of her arms, tried to draw her to him. “Please, please kiss me,” he begged, puckering.

  “Get your dirty hands off me!” Leslie shouted and forcefully pushed him away. “Get out of my sight, you disgusting animal! Go before I get the shotgun!”

  “You, miss, are making a big mistake,” he warned angrily. “You’re so high-and-mighty you won’t allow me to touch you. Very well, I shall take the mare as your overdue payment.”

  With that, he turned on his heel, circled the yard, walked out back to the barn and came out leading the loudly whinnying Blaze. Her hands to her mouth, a stricken Leslie watched as the bank president tethered her beloved mare to the back of his buggy. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

  Leslie stood in the dusty road and watched helplessly as McLeish drove away with the bewildered, neighing Blaze tied to the rear of his buggy.

  When they had finally gone out of sight, a beaten Leslie Longley sank slowly down onto her knees in the road, put her hands to her face and cried.

  Twenty-Three

  Marietta tried hard to hate the cold, uncaring Cole Heflin. She was not totally successful. While she swore to herself that she despised him, she nonetheless found it impossibl
e to forget what it was like to be held and loved by him. She had never dreamed that such splendor was possible, had had no idea that there was a man who could make her his willing wanton.

  As they silently rode knee to knee across the flat, monotonous southeastern plains of Colorado, Marietta was aware that the lovemaking had meant nothing to Cole, while it had meant everything to her. His touch, his kiss had stirred in her a fiery passion that had shocked and surprised her.

  She flushed when she recalled how she had cried out in orgasmic ecstasy. And now, each time she looked at Cole, she inwardly shivered, recalling all the wonderfully forbidden things he had done to her, the way he had made her feel when she was naked in his arms.

  She wondered, sadly, if she would ever in her lifetime feel that way again. She knew the answer. She would not. It was only in his arms, and his alone, that she would experience such incredible bliss.

  And she would never be in his arms again.

  Her heart aching, Marietta glanced covertly at Cole from beneath lowered lashes. He slouched in his saddle in an attitude of lazy indifference. Eyes squinted, hat brim pulled low, he looked straight ahead, not at her. Never at her. He didn’t want to look at her when it was all she could do to keep her eyes off him.

  Cole was unaware that Marietta was secretly examining him. She was on his mind, but his thoughts were quite different from hers. For him the hot lovemaking had been enjoyable but nothing more. The knowing, naughty Marietta had teased and tempted him until he had finally taken her. Simple as that. She was willing. She was convenient. He was aroused.

  A mindless roll in the hay with a beautiful, brazen young woman who, in all likelihood, had had more than her share of rolls in the hay.