by Hebby Roman
“Don’t struggle. Don’t give them a show.” His strong arms pinned her to the ground. “Are you all right, Lindsay?” He whispered and shook his head. “I mean the babe and all? If there had been any other way…”
She could only nod. It was a moment suspended in time. The nasty mob faded. Her senses centered on Bart. Their hearts pounded as one, curiously synchronized, and their breaths mingled, lightly caressing. The tensile strength of his arms, and the warmth of his embrace enfolded her.
She melted against him, pliant to his touch, blood surging through her veins. Her nipples, crushed against his shirt, peaked into hard points.
“Minnie’s fine, but we'll need the Judge to get her away from Bruno. Do you understand?” he asked.
She heard his words as if from far away, they tumbled through her mind but failed to make an impression. Her body’s reaction to him filled her senses.
Bart’s light-blue eyes drilled into hers. He shook her and repeated, “Lindsay, do you understand me?”
The urgency in his voice finally penetrated. The low murmur of the mob swelled into a roar. Turning her head from Bart’s disturbing gaze, the world above her took on a razor-sharp clarity. She nodded.
He exhaled. “Good.”
He released her and rolled to one side and then got to his feet. The hot July air felt suddenly cold on her skin without Bart’s body covering her.
Leaning down, he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet, announcing, “Show’s over, folks. Where’s Judge Bean?”
The forest of men surrounding them shifted and grumbled, making a path through their midst. Curving his arm protectively around her, Bart led her to the outside of the ring, and they came face to face with Judge Roy Bean again.
“Judge, we need your help,” Bart said.
“And what might that be, newly-weds? I was a’likin’ the show.”
“Yes, but the puppy there,” Bart inclined his head. “That’s my wife’s dog she brought all the way from Boston.”
The Judge stroked his fingers through his grizzled beard and asked, “How much do ya want for ‘er?”
Lindsay took a step back. “I beg your pardon. I love Minnie, she’s my pet. I don’t want to sell her.”
Judge Bean narrowed his close-set eyes. “That’s too bad. She’d be a useful distraction.”
“You mean a sideshow,” Lindsay retorted.
Bart squeezed her shoulder. She knew what he was trying to say without words. She needed to calm down and deal tactfully with the Judge.
Judge Bean hawked and spat a muddy stream of tobacco juice at the ground, narrowly missing her foot. “To put a fine point on it, Mrs. Houghton. That’s exactly what I want your pet fer. What’s yer price?”
“No price, Judge. I plan to keep Minnie.”
The Judge turned to Bart, obviously expecting him to overrule his headstrong wife.
But Bart disappointed the Judge by asking, “Can we get Minnie back?”
The Judge snorted and spat again, this time, hitting the toe of Bart’s cowboy boot. Shrugging, he said, “You're free to take yer dog. I won’t interfere.”
“And you won’t call Bruno off?” Bart asked.
“Nope. Do what ya have to do but don't ‘arm my bear.” The Judge walked back to his saloon.
Rage boiled inside Lindsay. She twisted in Bart’s grasp, wanting to break free. Wanting to scratch the Judge’s eyes out.
Bart held her tightly and tried to reason with her. “It won't do any good. If you attack him, he’ll just fine you. And he won’t help. It’s not worth it, Lindsay.”
“He can’t get away with this,” she huffed. “How can he be so—”
“Callous,” he finished. “That’s the way he is, anything for a dollar. He’s living on borrowed glory, and it’s a thin line. But provoking him won’t help. He's been ousted in elections and investigated by the authorities from Del Rio, but he always manages to hang on. We’ll have to get Minnie without his help.”
“How?”
“Have you tried calling Minnie? You said she was trained.”
She shook her head. “I—I wasn’t thinking.”
“Try.”
She leaned down and snapped her fingers, calling, “Here, Minnie. Here, girl. That’s a good girl.”
Her Maltese looked her way and whined, wagging her tail. But she didn’t come, she just started circling the bear again and sniffing.
“All right,” Bart said. “Let’s try it another way.” He turned to her. “Can you be patient and wait with your brother?”
“Of course, but—”
“No buts—no arguments. Just be patient.” He traced his index finger along her jaw, his light touch evoking fluttery feelings in the pit of her stomach.
She raised her head high, purposely avoiding Bart’s unsettling touch. And then she squared her shoulders and walked to her brother’s side at the back of the mob.
Waiting, she watched the shifting crowd. The sun was at its zenith. Part of the mob broke away, in twos and threes, to seek the relative sanctuary of the Jersey Lily’s deep porch. Peering through the broken circle, she glimpsed Bruno and Minnie lying side-by-side in the dirt, surrendering to the heat.
She relaxed a little but kept her eye on the slumbering animals and waited for Bart. She saw him approach with a paper-wrapped package in his hands from the only dining establishment in town, the hotel.
He put the bundle on the ground and winked at her. Then he began unsaddling his dun gelding. Wrapping his arms in the dun’s saddle blanket, he picked up the package and walked into the vacant ring of ground surrounding the sleeping animals.
Lindsay tracked his every move, wanting to understand his plan. But when he approached the bear, a cry rose to her throat. She crossed herself and prayed he’d be careful. And she bit her lip to stop from screaming and awakening the bear.
He approached the dozing Bruno. When he was within a few feet, he opened the package and tossed a huge beefsteak on the ground in front of him. Snorting, Bruno awakened, scenting the meat and rising up on his haunches. Still drowsy from his nap, the bear groped blindly for the steak before snagging the hunk of meat and pulling it toward him.
Lindsay worried her dog would smell the meat, too, but the hike from the ranch and all the excitement must have exhausted Minnie. Heavens be praised, she stayed asleep.
Bart retreated a few steps with his blanketed arms held in front of him, a paltry form of protection against a sudden swipe of Bruno’s deadly paws. Standing perfectly still, Bart’s gaze was trained on Bruno, watching the animal’s every move.
The bear devoured the steak in the hot sunshine. After the last bite, he reared back, as if on the attack again, but his eyes drifted shut and he tumbled to the ground.
A loud snore rent the silence. Bruno had fallen asleep again. Bart stepped forward. Lindsay’s heart stuttered to a stop. And the very breath in her lungs was suspended—waiting.
Bart scooped up Minnie from the ground. The sleepy Maltese lay curled in his arms. He crossed the distance in three long strides and halted beside Lindsay. “Here she is, safe and sound. Take her.”
Tears stung the back of her eyelids, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. Opening her arms, she cradled her precious dog. “Thank you, Bart.”
* * *
Lindsay put the basket of food in the shade of a drooping willow. Bart had chosen a large bend in the creek to build his three room cabin with an attached horse shed. And he’d gotten Manuel Longoria, the only shepherd who knew some carpentry, to help him lay the pier and beam foundation.
Now he and Manuel were digging a trench beneath the wooden beams leading to a large pit, several hundred yards away, they’d also dug. Bart had explained this was for the indoor plumbing he was installing, using copper piping to carry the waste away.
She’d asked him why he didn’t pipe the waste into the creek, and he’d replied it would foul their neighbor’s water, downstream.
She hadn’t thought of that, but it was nice to know Bart was considerate of others.
Having lived in Boston, she knew about indoor plumbing, but most homes in West Texas made do with outhouses. She and Chad had an outhouse, and Abby’s boardinghouse had one, too. She was surprised Bart was so fastidious about his personal hygiene.
Most of the remainder of the building materials had arrived and were stacked in the barn or under tarps in the yard. The cabin raising would take place Saturday next, just in time before the ranchers started to prepare for fall shearing.
And after what had happened with Bruno, the bear, she’d found everybody wanted to come, and all the women were pitching in and bringing food, too.
As a couple, their escapade with the Judge’s bear had gained them a bit of local notoriety. And it had even helped her to win more donations for the new church.
Now, if she could find someone who was good with a needle, she could get started on her Christmas project, sewing clothes for the poor children of Langtry. She’d have to try harder to recruit ladies to help her with that particular charity, as it would take a prolonged effort of work and time, not a simple donation.
But the harder she worked, the better. It kept her from daydreaming about Bart or thrashing around in her lonely bed at night.
No matter how much she wanted to look away, she couldn’t help but gaze at his muscular back as he bent over the trench. Just seeing him half-clothed made her heart go pitter-patter. And she remembered exactly what he’d felt like, stretched on top of her when he’d rescued her from Bruno.
She was a wanton—that much was obvious. Because she couldn’t stop thinking how it would be for him to hold her again, with his big, rough hands exploring every inch of her.
And beyond her wicked desires, since the day he’d saved Minnie, she felt the slow, sweet seep of tenderness toward him. After all, he’d been nothing but kind to her. Sometimes, kinder than her own brother.
Feeling tender toward him, she’d not been able to do enough for him. That was why she’d made him and Manuel a picnic lunch of fried pork chops, turnip greens seasoned with bacon, and her special steamed parsley potatoes.
He straightened and put his hand to the middle of his back. He must have seen her, standing beside the willow because he smiled and waved. Then he thrust his shovel into the hard-baked caliche and pulled out a handkerchief, dusting his hands.
She returned his wave and smiled, too, calling out, “I’ve brought lunch. You should rest during the heat of the day.”
He turned to Manuel and pointed to the trench, saying something in Spanish.
Manuel nodded and Bart trudged toward her, grabbing his shirt from the branch of a live oak tree and shrugging it on. Even so, in this heat, he didn’t bother with the buttons and she glimpsed the springy, black hair on his chest. And his well-defined pectoral muscles, along with his washboard-flat stomach were a sight to behold.
She cupped her stomach, knowing she was starting to show and doubting anyone, much less a handsome man like Bart, would have wicked thoughts about her, given she was pregnant with another man’s child.
He came and stood beside her. “Thank you for lunch. That was kind of you.”
“Aren’t you going to let poor Manuel eat?” She was teasing, of course. Bart was kind to the shepherds, too. “I brought enough for two.”
He smiled again and winked. “What if I want it all to myself?”
She blushed, wondering if what he was saying was as innocent as it sounded. “You shouldn’t be greedy.”
He lifted a tendril of her hair that had escaped her bun and brushed her ear with the feathery tip.
She trembled and gooseflesh sprang up, covering her arms. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to act nonchalant, but inside, all she wanted was for him to take her in his strong arms.
“I won’t be too greedy.” He winked again. “There’s only a couple more feet to dig. I told Manuel we’d stop for today after he finished. Your timing couldn’t have been better.”
She curtsied and said, “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. She turned her face into his hand, wanting to kiss his fingers. His gaze captured hers, locked and held. And he moved closer to her, half a pace.
Despite working in the heat, she savored the smell of him, this close up—real man mixed with the piquant scent of the hair tonic he used. She wanted nothing more than to have him kiss her.
But would he kiss her? Here in front of Manuel and God and anyone who might be looking?
And what if he did? They were married, after all. Only Chad knew the truth. No one else.
She closed her eyes and leaned toward him. She puckered her lips and waited.
Bart cupped her chin and then, he released her.
She almost fell in a puddle at his feet.
He touched her arm. “Thank you again, Lindsay. Would you like to share lunch with us? We can take our shoes and socks off and put our feet in the creek. It’s some cooler there, under the willow.”
Disappointed and frustrated, she felt as if the skin all over her body was too tight, as if she was going to burst at the seams. She’d thought he was going to kiss her. As a husband might kiss his wife.
But what a little fool she was. Their marriage was a sham. And no man would want her, anyway. Not after what she’d done.
She forced her mouth into the semblance of a smile. “Thank you, Bart, but I’ve already eaten. And I’ve got some cleaning to do. Please, bring the basket back. Will you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, turning away and climbing up the hill to the ranch house.
Chapter Six
“Thank you for coming to help build my brother’s cabin,” Lindsay announced. “The cabin looks neat and sturdy. We all appreciate your help.”
Bart wondered if she was nervous. It was hard to reconcile this radiant creature, standing on the improvised dais they’d erected in the barn, with the everyday Lindsay who cooked and cleaned and didn’t mind getting her hands dirty.
“Thank you again, folks.” She lifted her arm and indicated the long table, piled high with bowls and platters overflowing with food. Just the smell from all the different dishes their neighbors had brought was making his mouth water.
“Please, help yourselves to all you can eat. We ladies are proud to serve you hard-working men.” Then she turned to the improvised band of musicians standing behind her and clapped her hands three times, proclaiming, “Let the music begin. Dancing will be here in the barn.”
Bart watched as Lindsay was assisted, by at least four men, from the nine-inch height of the dais. He understood their solicitude. Lindsay had never looked more beautiful.
She was dressed in a fitted gown of aqua satin. The dress must have come straight from Boston. It was, by far, the most fashionable of all the ladies’ dresses. Bustled in back and edged with ivory lace at the throat and hem, its high neck made the gown, at first glance, appear demure. But the way it clung to every voluptuous curve of Lindsay’s body, left little to the imagination.
Surrounded by ranchers’ wives in calicos and simple cotton dresses, she stood out like a peacock among a flock of sparrows. And every man, from eight to eighty, was aware of it. The women’s reactions, on the other hand, were harder to gauge. And he worried their envy might be her undoing, in the months to come. He hadn’t thought she’d wear such a provocative dress just before her pregnancy started showing. The contrast would be hard to miss. He shook his head and wondered what she’d been thinking.
For him, the color of her gown was even more enticing than its stylish cut. The effect was subtle, but being accustomed to well-dressed ladies from New Orleans to San Francisco, he fully appreciated the result.
Aqua enhanced Lindsay’s natural coloring, making her sparkle like a finely-crafted gemstone. Her palomino-colored hair took on an added luster, her peaches and cream complexion glowed, and her strawber
ry-red lips seemed brighter in contrast, as if she’d applied lip rouge.
But it was her hazel eyes the gown complimented best. Her changeable eye-color was reflected in the color of the dress, and they shone with the blue-green depths of the Caribbean Sea.
A queue of men formed around her, laughing and talking, competing for her favor. She chose a tall lieutenant, dressed in the uniform of the United States cavalry, as her first partner. The lieutenant’s presence was an indication of how few social events there were in this remote area. He and several other officers had traveled at least seventy miles from Fort Clark to attend the cabin raising and dance.
Watching Lindsay whirl away in the young officer’s arms, Bart turned aside. He should have helped her down, should have asked her to dance. After all, he was her lawful husband. But he had the distinct impression she’d dressed as she had to tweak his interest.
During the past week since that day by the creek, she’d been purposely distant. And he could guess why—he’d seen her pucker her lips—as if she’d expected him to kiss her. What made it worse, was he’d wanted to kiss her, badly. But if he’d stolen a kiss from his wife-in-name-only, where would that leave them?
He didn’t know. Did he want Lindsay as his real wife? Enough to overlook her mistake and love her and another man’s child as his own. He was sorely tempted, wanting her in the Biblical sense every time he looked at her.
He couldn’t stay away from her—couldn’t stop thinking of her.
And it was too late to leave Langtry and the beguiling Lindsay behind. His capital was invested in the ranch. He and Chad had already purchased the wire and contracted for the posts for the northern fence line. During the winter, they were planning to travel to San Antonio to purchase Merino rams to upgrade their flocks. And he’d spent the remainder of his savings on materials for his cabin.
There was no turning back.
