by Sandra Brown
“Elena? I’m Lauren. How do you do?” Lauren grasped the girl’s friendliness like a lifeline.
“You’re so beautiful, señorita. I think you be prettier and feel better after a bath. I run the water for you. You get undressed, sí?”
Elena stood back from the chair, and Lauren saw her protruding stomach, announcing the late stages of pregnancy. Was Olivia hiding Elena by “assigning” the maid to her? Her condition would no doubt be an embarrassment to the family and their expected callers.
Elena couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, and seemed unaffected by being seen when her confinement was so near. Her breasts, the dark nipples readily apparent, were almost as large as her stomach, and hung unrestrained under an embroidered white blouse.
She waddled into the bathroom, keeping up lively chatter in a mixture of English and Spanish. The topics of conversation she chose switched as quickly as her languages. When she returned to the bedroom and saw that Lauren had not moved, she scolded her.
“Señorita, your water will get cold, not to mention your supper. Come, let Elena help you.”
Lauren was shocked when Elena turned her around and began undoing her buttons with deft fingers. She wanted to object but was too tired to force the words through her lips. Swiftly Elena divested her of her clothes.
When all that remained were Lauren’s pantalets, corset, and camisole, Elena shook her head from side to side and made a tsking sound.
“A corset! And you are so slim. You can’t even breathe.” She loosened the laces, and soon the offending garment was lying in the heap of soiled clothes at Lauren’s feet.
Lauren caught Elena’s hands when the maid tried to remove her other underwear. Hastily she stepped into the bathroom, which was decorated as tastefully as the bedroom. She looked gratefully at the bathtub of scented water, stepped into it, and eased her tired, sore body into the steamy water. She finished bathing, and was luxuriating in the first relaxation she had known for days, when Elena bustled in. Lauren gasped in surprise for, since early adolescence, no one had seen her naked.
“La señorita is ready for me to wash her hair, sí?”
“No!” Lauren protested, desperately trying to cover herself. When she saw the hurt expression on Elena’s face, she added hurriedly, “I can do it myself.”
“But why should you? I’m here,” Elena said with happy logic. “Señor Lockett say, ‘Take care of the young lady,’ and so I do.” She made the sign of the cross across her enormous breasts at her mention of Ben.
Elena had already begun to take the pins from Lauren’s hair, which needed no encouragement to cascade down her back to her waist. The Mexican girl continued to chatter as she poured pitcher after pitcher of warm water over Lauren’s head. She lathered the thick tresses in a massage that was hypnotic. Lauren felt her nerves dissipating under Elena’s capable hands.
“Señor Lockett look so forward to you coming. He tell all of us about the pretty lady who come to live with us. He order the room be made ready. He check it himself to make sure everything okay.” Before Lauren could protest, Elena pulled her out of the tub.
Lauren’s efforts to cover herself were ineffectual, but Elena didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. The bright pink blush that suffused Lauren’s body was due only in part to her warm bath.
It was necessary for her to change the subject away from herself and Ben. She couldn’t think of him now. Her grief would be saved for a more private time. She asked companionably, “When is your baby coming?”
“Quién sabe?” Elena shrugged. “When he get ready to come, he come.” She smiled.
“What does your husband do?”
“Oh, he one fine vaquero on the Lockett ranch. His name is Carlos. He one fine man.” She rolled her expressive eyes at Lauren, who blushed instinctively. She didn’t want Elena to elaborate.
“Isn’t it late for you to still be working? Feel free to go anytime.”
Elena’s laughter bubbled forth again. “Señorita, I live here. Carlos stay at the ranch, and I stay here. We get together when we can at his mamma’s house in Pueblo.”
Lauren was aghast. “But surely you would rather have your own home and live together!”
“Sí, but we would also like to eat. With no money, we could do neither.” She giggled.
“I see,” Lauren murmured, although she didn’t see at all. Thus far, she understood nothing of this alien land and its people.
They were back in the bedroom. Elena took a nightgown out of one of Lauren’s bags and slipped it over her head. Lauren stood in the middle of the room feeling lost and helpless as Elena arranged dishes on a large tray. Apparently she had carried it up with her and deposited it on the table before she had awakened Lauren. Delicious aromas filled the room as Elena lifted the lids of the dishes, and Lauren’s mouth began to water. She hadn’t eaten since… when?
Elena set the tray on Lauren’s lap. On it were a beautifully grilled steak, potatoes, a salad, and two kinds of bread. One was a yeast roll, and the other was a flat, round bread that was totally foreign to Lauren. There was also a bowl of beans with a tomato sauce ladled over them.
“What is this?” she asked, pointing to the bread.
“Tortilla. Bread made of corn,” Elena explained.
Lauren took a bite and found that it had very little flavor. Then Elena scooped some butter on it, salted it lightly, and rolled it like a cigar. It was delicious. “Tortilla?” Lauren repeated the word, and Elena nodded, clapping her hands.
Lauren then pointed to the bowl of beans.
“Frijoles,” Elena said. “With picante.”
Lauren had lost her timidity now, and took a generous mouthful. She knew instantly that she had made a grave error. Her mouth was on fire! She quickly swallowed what she couldn’t manage to spit out, appalled that she could do such an unladylike thing. Elena was laughing so hard that her breasts and stomach were bouncing.
“Water,” Lauren croaked. She gulped the glass that Elena gave her and asked for more. Finally the fire was out, but she tentatively tasted the other foods before taking any more big bites. The rest of the meal was delicious, and she finished everything—except the frijoles.
Despite Lauren’s objections, Elena braided her hair into one long plait. The maid then hurried to pull down the bedcovers.
“Go to bed now, señorita, and rest. It has been a hard day, sí?”
“Yes, it has.” She climbed into the bed as Elena quietly loaded the tray and went around the room turning off the gas lamps.
“Buenas noches, señorita,” she whispered as she left the room.
“Goodnight, Elena.”
Lauren burrowed between the sheets. The house was quiet, though she could pick up muted and indistinguishable voices that wafted up the stairs.
“Ben Lockett, how could you do this to me?” she asked into her pillow, and was immediately ashamed of her thoughts.
After the dreadful scenes she’d been subjected to before leaving North Carolina, Ben’s strength, affection, and warmth had been her salvation. She had hoped to start a new life with Ben’s family. Now, all those hopes were dashed. Ben was dead. This splendid house seemed to swallow her. And what of the cold, formidable woman who dominated it?
It occurred to Lauren then that Ben’s widow hadn’t shown any signs of emotion. Maybe Olivia was one of those people who expressed their grief privately. Maybe. The thought was disturbing.
What would Jared Lockett think when he learned of his father’s death? Why would a man who had money and position get blind drunk and make a public spectacle of himself? Ed Travers had intimated that it wasn’t at all unusual to see Jared in such a condition.
Well, it’s none of my concern, Lauren thought as she resolutely closed her eyes. She wouldn’t have any dealings with him.
He was very tall, wasn’t he? She wished she could forget the tremors that had coursed through her when his hands had closed around her waist and caressed her back. The heavy pressure of his hea
d against her breasts hadn’t been an altogether unpleasant sensation. His hair was light brown. Did sunlight bring out streaks of gold as she knew it did in the down on his chest?
* * *
Lauren awoke languidly, after ten hours of sleep. The room was awash with sunlight, which filtered through the airy, yellow drapes in the east windows.
She flung off the covers and padded into the bathroom. Desolation over Ben’s death and uncertainty over her future still weighed heavily on her mind. She couldn’t stay here now. And she definitely couldn’t return to North Carolina, either.
Elena came in just as Lauren finished dressing.
“Buenos días, señorita,” she greeted her cheerfully.
“Good morning, Elena,” said Lauren, continuing to brush her thick, black hair.
“Did you sleep well?” Elena asked conversationally as she spread the covers smoothly over the bed. She busied herself with straightening the spotless room, watering the plants and flowers, and arranging the breakfast dishes on the same tray that had held Lauren’s dinner the previous night.
“Yes, very well.” Lauren swallowed uncomfortably when she recalled some of her dreams. They had been unsettling. Tall men stalked her. One man had white hair and Ben’s smiling face. The other’s face was shadowed by a large black hat, but she recognized the physique. It was imprinted on her mind with indelible clarity.
After eating the large dinner last night, she didn’t think she could be hungry. But the fresh melon slices were delicious and juicy. She drank the hot coffee, though she would have preferred tea. Timidly she asked Elena if she could have tea from now on.
“Oh, sí, sí. My mamma, she is the cook.” She laughed at the startled expression on Lauren’s face. “She work for the Locketts since before I was born. You call her Rosa.”
“I hate to think of you carrying that heavy tray upstairs for my meals, Elena, but Mrs. Lockett made it clear that I am to stay as close to this room as possible during the funeral preparations and while they’re receiving callers.” Her gaze drifted to the open windows as another wave of sadness ebbed over her. “Is the funeral still scheduled for tomorrow?”
“Sí,” Elena answered softly. “Lots of people coming from places far away.”
“Well, I guess I shall busy myself somehow,” Lauren sighed.
She managed to while away the long hours reading and embroidering a sampler she had brought with her from Clayton. She was denied Elena’s company; the girl explained that she was needed to help her mother in the kitchen.
The day passed slowly. To Lauren, who was accustomed to activity and would seek out chores if none were apparent, it seemed interminable.
Late in the afternoon, she paused in her reading when she heard a heavy tread in the hallway. Whoever it was entered a room before reaching the end of the hall where her room was located. Slipping off her eyeglasses to rest her eyes, she listened closely to the sounds of drawers opening and shutting, of wardrobe doors swinging back, of heavy shoes or boots dropping with a thud onto the floor. Stockinged footsteps shuffled back and forth.
Lauren heard the clink of glass on glass, water splashing, a few low mumbled words, the scraping of furniture against wood floors, the rustle of clothing.
Some minutes later, the person was finished with his toilette and left the room. A door closed quietly and footsteps receded down the hall. Someone occupied the room on the other side of the bathroom. Lauren hadn’t been aware of anyone being in there since she had moved in.
That evening, Lauren was embroidering as Elena gathered up the dinner tray and said goodnight.
“Elena,” Lauren asked, “who occupies that room through the bathroom?”
“Ah! That is Señor Jared’s room.” Elena’s eyes widened expressively. “My Carlos threaten me never to go near it.” She giggled as she adjusted the tray around her expanded belly. “He say Señor Jared can please any woman.” She winked broadly as she closed the door.
Lauren’s gray eyes stared unseeingly at the bright bead of blood on her pricked finger.
Chapter 4
The sun refused to shine on the day of Ben Lockett’s funeral. It, too, seemed to be mourning the man who had spent long hours under its hot rays, worshiping the land and its elements.
For two days, Lauren had watched from her window as all types of people came to pay tribute to Ben. There were wealthy visitors, their affluence evidenced by their clothes and their conveyances. Others looked to be farmers or ranchers wearing clean but worn clothes. Their wives tagged after them staring at the beautiful house in awe. Vaqueros in dusty leather chaps rode up to the house on trail-weary horses. The mourners came singly, in pairs, or in groups, but there was a continuous parade of them. Lauren couldn’t imagine the woman who had greeted her with such hostility graciously welcoming the humblest of these visitors.
The hearse came down the shell lane, glistening blackly. With its tassel-trimmed, fringed drapes, plumed horses, and driver who wore a cutaway coat and top hat, it looked like some sort of circus vehicle. Ben would hardly have chosen such an ostentatious, frivolous conveyance to carry him to his grave, Lauren thought, feeling another pang of grief for the rugged, virile man.
Lauren watched from her window as Olivia was escorted down the front walk by a man no taller than she. From Lauren’s perspective, his bald head seemed on a level with Olivia’s veiled black hat. His black coat fit snugly across a portly torso. Shyly he touched Olivia’s elbow as he assisted her. It was hard to tell if his hesitancy in touching her was in deference to her grief or in fear that she would turn on him. His attitude toward her seemed to be almost subservient.
Lauren inhaled sharply when she saw the figure behind the other two. His height and the breadth of his shoulders gave away his identity, though she still couldn’t see his face under the wide-brimmed black hat. His black suit bore no distinguishing details. He appeared to be withdrawn, oblivious to the sympathetic friends who watched him with pity as he followed his mother and the other man to the covered carriage which waited behind the hearse.
The coffin was ceremoniously lifted into the hearse. Lauren thought Ben would have scoffed at all this pomp and circumstance. She was sure he was somewhere watching all of them, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement. She offered a prayer for his soul as the hearse led the procession away from the house.
As the family’s carriage rolled by, she noticed a strong, lean, tanned hand dangling negligently against the door.
* * *
The summons came so suddenly that Lauren was unprepared for it. Elena had flung open the door to the room and, with colorful skirts swirling around her bare legs, and breasts bobbing like lanterns suspended on a wire, she sputtered the message.
“La señora wants to see you pronto, señorita. Quickly she say. Quickly. She is with Señor Wells in Señor Lockett’s office.”
She was a flurry of motion as she helped Lauren button her shirtwaist, which had been discarded when she had prepared for a nap. Her hair was hastily pulled into its usual bun. Elena knelt down to button her shoes. Lauren would have thought it impossible for Elena to fold herself into that position, but didn’t have time to wonder about it now. She was breathing rapidly, her heart was pounding, and her palms were sweating. In all her life, she had never been this nervous.
They left the room after Lauren grabbed a lace handkerchief. Whether it was to dry her hands or to have something to hold on to, she didn’t know. Elena also seemed jittery as she led Lauren down the hall to the wide staircase. They descended quickly and walked toward a large sliding door. Elena gave Lauren a quick nod of encouragement and pulled aside one panel of the door. Lauren drew a deep breath.
She stepped into the room and was again surprised at the simple beauty of the house. There were floor-to-ceiling book-shelves on one side of the room. Other shelves flanked a large fireplace. The mantel was intricately and masterfully carved. Wide, full-length windows composed the fourth wall.
An Aubusson rug covered most of the
hardwood floor. Leather chairs and small tables, strategically placed, lent themselves to private conversations. There was a long sideboard loaded with decanters and glasses of cut crystal. The window drapes had been completely opened, allowing the afternoon sun to stream in and reflect on the glass surfaces.
In front of the windows was a massive desk littered with ledgers and papers of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Olivia sat in the high-backed leather chair behind the desk. The short, stout man Lauren had seen with her as she left for the funeral was seated in a chair in front of the desk. He stood and walked toward her.
“Miss Holbrook, this is indeed a pleasure. I’m sorry that circumstances have prevented me from meeting you before now. I hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable since your arrival.” He seemed to expect no answer as he continued, “I am Carson Wells, an old friend of Ben’s and Olivia’s, and also their lawyer. How do you do?”
“How do you do, Mr. Wells.” Lauren’s nerves were calmed by his graciousness. She replied steadily, “I have been most comfortable. I’m only sorry that I was an intruder at an unhappy time.”
“No one blames you.” He spoke to her gently, and she was glad for his presence in the room. He was bald except for a skimpy fringe of nondescript brown hair which adorned the back of his head. As if to compensate for his bald-headedness, bushy sideburns grew, in an outdated fashion, to within inches of his fleshy nose. His eyes were kind and smiling, and he seemed aware of her awkward situation.
Olivia had not uttered a sound. Now, she said in level tones, “Mr. Wells and I wish to speak to you, Miss Holbrook. Will you sit down? Would you care for some sherry?”
Lauren accepted the chair Mr. Wells held for her and declined the sherry. Olivia’s position in front of the glare of the windows outlined her frame, but kept her features dark and inscrutable. Lauren wondered if Ben had thought how advantageous this placement of his desk would be to the person sitting behind it. She almost had to squint to see Olivia clearly.
