Texas Bride

by Leigh Greenwood

"You want me to move?" Lester asked Newt. He was sitting between Newt and Manly.

  "I don't care where you sit as long as you keep your mouth shut," Newt growled.

  Owen shuffled the cards. "High card deals first, winner after that. Okay?"

  Newt and Manly nodded as they settled into chairs. Owen won the cut with a king. "I'll let Myrl deal for me," he offered. His opponents nodded, their expressions grim. Owen decided this wasn't going to be an easy night.

  Two hours later Owen conceded he'd understated the case. Neither man was a good loser. They weren't good poker players, either. Owen had learned to judge the strength of Newt's hand by the increase in his cussing. Manly was more difficult to read, but Owen noticed that his eye twitched when he thought he might have a winning hand. Owen had won more than twenty-five dollars from each of them.

  "I'm tired," Owen said.

  "You can't quit a winner," Newt said.

  "We can play again tomorrow night."

  "Keep on playing."

  "I'm sure you can find somebody here--"

  "They're all yella-bellied cowards. None of 'em will take a hand with me."

  "It's because you beat them up if you lose," Manly said.

  "They cheat," Newt said.

  "I hope you're not accusing me of cheating," Owen said.

  "Can't be," Myrl said. "Lester and me watched everything you did."

  Newt looked stymied. "You sure won an awful lot."

  "That's because I fold when I know I'm going to lose." Newt played every hand.

  "Well, I'm folding," Newt said and tossed down his cards. He had a single pair.

  "How about you?" Owen asked Manly.

  "I'm thinking."

  "Suppose I offer a different bet," Owen said.

  "Like what?" Manly asked.

  "Let me ride over the Gwynne place."

  Manly's eyes grew hard. "I told you she ain't selling."

  "From what I hear, nobody's made an offer. If I like what I see, maybe I can talk her into it."

  "It's a waste of time."

  "It's my time and money. You got something you don't want me to see?"

  Tension held the group as still as statues.

  "Like what?" Manly asked, his eyes harder then ever.

  "I don't know," Owen said with a self-deprecating smile. "I haven't seen the place yet. I'll raise you ten against your showing me about."

  Owen didn't like the way Manly stared at him. He wasn't afraid of the man in a fair fight, but Manly looked like the kind who'd make certain the fight wasn't fair. Manly laid down three jacks. He showed virtually no reaction when Owen laid down three queens.

  "When do you want to come out?" Manly asked.

  "How's Tuesday?"

  "Fine."

  Manly pushed his chair back, got up, and left without any comment. Newt got up and went over to the bar. Owen heard him order a whiskey. A couple of men who'd been watching the games came up to the table. "Mind if we sit?" one asked.

  "I'm about ready to leave," Owen said.

  "We just wanted to know why you're thinking about buying a ranch when there's so much rustling."

  "Because I intend to stop it."

  "How?"

  "All of us working together to organize a system of watches. Let your men ride with other crews."

  The men didn't appear to like that idea.

  "Don't you trust your men?"

  "Sure."

  "You trust your neighbors?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's going on here?" Newt asked from behind Owen's shoulder.

  "We're organizing to catch the rustlers," Owen said.

  "How're you going to do that?"

  "Work out a system where the cowhands work on different ranches."

  "And who's going to work out this system of yours?"

  "Anybody can, but I was going to offer."

  "Maybe we don't like some stranger coming in here accusing us of rustling."

  "I didn't accuse anybody of rustling."

  "You accusing me of lying?"

  "Are you?"

  Newt charged him, but Owen sprang out of his chair and drew his gun.

  "You wouldn't have the guts to call me a liar if you didn't have that gun in your hand."

  "I haven't called you a liar," Owen said. "But if I do, I'll do it without this gun."

  "I ain't letting you organize no ranchers," Newt said.

  "I think that's up to them."

  Newt turned to the three men at the table, placed his hands on the table, and stared straight at them. "I say he ain't organizing nobody. Anybody here say different?"

  The three men looked as if they'd swallowed their tongues. "See," Newt said, turning back to Owen, "nobody wants you to organize nothing."

  "It sounds like a good idea to me," Lester said.

  "Well, it sounds like a bad idea to me," Newt said, whipping back around. "And I won't have it."

  "Seems like it's about time you boys decided who runs this town," Owen said to the men.

  "They know Newt will round up some of that wild bunch he runs with and shoot up their places," Myrl said.

  Newt turned to Myrl, but he stopped when he heard the click of a cocked hammer.

  "You touch that old man, and I'll put a bullet between your eyes," Owen said.

  "You're such a big man with that gun in your hand. How big are you without it?"

  Owen didn't know if he could beat Newt, but he could tell from the looks around him that the men didn't expect him to back down from this challenge. "Looks like it's about time somebody taught you some manners," Owen said.

  "You going to try?" Newt said with a sneer.

  "Looks like I'm the only one volunteering." He handed his gun to Myrl. "Make sure he stays off me until we get outside."

  Myrl pointed the gun at Newt. "I been itching for a chance to do this for nigh onto a year."

  Owen tossed his gun belt on the table. "Come on, before I get sick just thinking about fouling my hands on carrion like you."

  Owen figured Newt was used to winning his fights by intimidation. If he could get Newt really mad, he'd probably just charge in, depending on his size to carry him. Owen hoped so. Though he'd survived hundreds of fights--mountain boys fought just to keep from being bored--he could use every advantage.

  "Hurry up, fat boy," he called over his shoulder. "You're not hanging back because you're scared, are you?"

  He slammed the saloon door in Newt's face. The street was quiet, but he knew that as soon as the fight started, it would be thronged with people. Newt came charging into the street.

  "Hold up," Owen said. "I don't want to mess up my clothes. Do you think people would mind if I took off my shirt?"

  Newt's answer was colorful enough to make a barmaid blush.

  "What was your mother, some kind of cheap whore?" Owen asked. "She should have taught you better."

  Newt was so mad he charged Owen like an angry steer, head down, fists working like pile drivers.

  Owen stepped aside, whirled, and planted a fist in Newt's soft belly. A pain-filled grunt told him not even a hundred pounds of fat could protect Newt from a hard punch.

  The fight proceeded in the same manner, Newt charging furiously, Owen dodging and landing punches. Newt would yell obscenities and Owen would say something else to keep him so angry he couldn't control himself. After being staggered on the sixth charge, this time by a blow to the temple, Newt turned, stopped, and stared at Owen.

  His chest heaved as he gasped for air. He seemed unsteady on his feet. "Why don't you stand and fight like a man?"

  "Because you're a snake, Newt. And a thief. I think you're working with the rustlers. I think you ride away from this saloon and steal from the men you drink with."

  "You're a dirty liar," Newt howled, but he didn't charge Owen this time. He approached carefully as he looked for an opening that would allow him to get in close.

  "You're a lousy poker player, too."

  Newt charged but turned quickly this
time, almost catching Owen as his fist connected with Newt's neck. Owen had been landing solid blows, but Newt showed no sign of stopping. Deciding to take a chance, Owen charged Newt head down. The force of his attack knocked Newt down, but Newt was able to get a grip on Owen's arm.

  Newt caught Owen in a bear hug, apparently planning to squeeze the wind out of him. Owen brought his knee up into Newt's abdomen at the same time as he butted Newt's face with his head, smashing his nose and bloodying his mouth. The big man roared in pain and fury.

  Newt struggled for a grip that would enable him to keep Owen from pummeling him with his fists, head, and knees. The big man got Owen in a body hold, determined to crack his ribs against his own body. A sharp, vicious jab to Newt's throat sent the fat man to the ground gasping for air.

  "You want some more, or have you had enough?" Owen's body felt as if it had been in a vise. He was sure he had at least one broken rib, maybe several.

  "He's done for," Lester said.

  "I want him to promise he won't get his friends to come after us once we organize."

  Newt didn't answer.

  "Promise to leave these ranchers alone or stand up and fight," Owen said.

  Newt tried to get to his feet, but he fell back.

  "Promise?" Owen asked. When Newt didn't respond, Owen grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back. "Promise?"

  "Yeah." The sound was barely audible.

  "Everybody heard. If you go back on your word, I'll come after you with my gun."

  Owen turned to retrieve his clothes and found himself face to face with Hetta.

  Chapter Nine

  It disgusted Hetta to see men fighting in the middle of the street. She didn't see why they couldn't settle disagreements without fists or guns. She hated the way every man and boy in the town had gathered around the combatants, shouting and cheering. She felt less angry and more apprehensive when she saw that one of the combatants was Newt Howren. She'd like to think someone could take that bully down a notch, but he was too big, too mean, and the men who should have been the ones to stand up to him made a point of staying out of his way.

  Pinto Junction wasn't a big town, but there were enough people in the dusty street to block the fighters from her view. She walked up to a very tall man who lived on the street behind Ida and tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Who's Newt fighting?" she asked, not the least bit surprised when he didn't turn to look at her.

  "I don't know the fella's name. He's new in town."

  Owen? It couldn't be.

  "Never thought I'd see it, but the new fella's winning," the man said.

  The crowd shifted position, and Hetta got a brief glimpse of the fighters. Owen! There could be no mistake. She started elbowing her way through the crowd.

  She caught sight of Newt. Horrified by the amount of blood on his face, she expected to see Owen's handsome face battered nearly beyond recognition. Elbowing her way to the inner ring, she found herself next to Myrl. "Why didn't you stop him?"

  "Can't nobody stop that man once he makes up his mind to do something."

  Then she saw Owen, stripped to the waist, his face unbloodied and as handsome as ever. "Haven't they started to fight yet?"

  "How do you think Newt's face got to look like a piece of raw meat?"

  "Owen did that?" Nobody had ever bloodied Newt's face.

  The last climactic moments of the fight left Hetta with her mouth hanging open and her stomach feeling as if she was going to throw up. She had no business feeling proud of Owen, yet she was. He had managed to defeat a bully no one else in Pinto Junction dared challenge.

  Finding herself face to face with Owen surprised her as much as it surprised him.

  "Put your clothes on," she said. "You're making a spectacle of yourself."

  She had no idea why she'd said that. It was one thing to show up at her bedroom door naked to the waist asking for soap. It was quite another to be naked in the street. Not that either was acceptable, but ...

  She couldn't believe the thoughts going through her head. Maybe it was the fight that had caused her mind to cease functioning intelligently. She had to pull herself together, stop acting like a brainless female.

  She had plenty of time to regain her equilibrium as she watched every man and boy in the crowd shake Owen's hand and give him a hearty slap on the back.

  "I think I'd like a bath first," Owen said to Hetta when he'd accepted his last congratulations and had his hand wrung one last time.

  "A good, long soak will do you good," Myrl said. "You'll have aches and pains all over."

  "Not to mention a few broken ribs," Owen added.

  "You've got to see the doctor," Hetta said. "He doesn't live very far."

  "I spent the last year working next to one of the best doctors to survive the war," Owen said. "He'd tell me to wrap it tight and go back to work."

  Hetta couldn't imagine any doctor who would be so unfeeling.

  "Now if you're ready, I'll escort you home," Owen said to Hetta.

  She found it impossible to imagine herself walking through the middle of town accompanied by a man who was naked to the waist. Her face felt warm just thinking about it. "Put your shirt on."

  "It'll get sweaty."

  "I'll wash it."

  Owen's gaze narrowed. His smile grew. "You're embarrassed to be seen with me, aren't you? Don't deny it. I can see it in your face."

  "If you're so sure you know what I'm thinking, why bother asking me?"

  "I'm just surprised, that's all."

  "I have my reputation to worry about. Now put your shirt on and come with me." She turned and started home. She refused to bandy words with him in front of a dozen amused onlookers.

  "I can find my way," Owen said when he caught up with her. "I'm not a child."

  "All men act like children. That's why they get into fights."

  She was annoyed with herself. If he wanted to get into fights and walk down the street naked, it shouldn't bother her. Just the thought of Owen naked sent chills up and down her spine.

  "You don't know why I had to fight Newt," he said, the smile gone from his eyes.

  "Nobody has to fight."

  "Newt challenged him," Myrl said, working hard to keep up with them. "He had to fight or pack up and leave town."

  "That might be a good thing," Hetta said. "Nothing's been the same since you arrived."

  Owen's mesmerizing smile was back. "You can't know how pleased I am to hear that."

  "I wasn't talking about myself. Not even Ida's the same, and she disapproves of you tremendously. She thinks you might be a spy."

  What was it about this man that made her say things she didn't want to say? His grin was wider than ever, his chest just as bare. Why was it that handsome men never did what you wanted them to do?

  "Tell me about myself. I sound terribly interesting."

  "Ida doesn't think you're here to buy a ranch. She thinks a man who gambles and dresses so well has no place in a town like Pinto Junction."

  "I dress well because I gamble."

  "She thinks you're spying for Mexico, that there's an army across the border ready to invade."

  "What am I doing, helping them capture Pinto Junction? What a strategic victory that would be."

  "She was just stating a possibility. We can't know the real reason you're here."

  "To buy a ranch."

  "He's going to organize the ranchers to stop the rustling," Myrl put in.

  "How are you going to do that?"

  "Organize the ranch crews to work together to watch each other's land and each other."

  Hetta stopped abruptly, turned to face Owen. "You think one of us is doing the rustling?"

  "It's not Cortina's bandits. They can find a lot more cows in east Texas."

  "They'll kill you."

  "A million Yankees spent four years trying. I figure I'll survive a few rustlers."

  She searched his face for any sign of foolish bravado but saw nothing but calm confide
nce. After his having proved himself with his fists as well as his gun, she expected most of the ranchers would fall in with his plans. She started walking again. "I hope you're right. I'd hate to have to write your family."

  "The only one who cares is my cousin, and he'd find out on his own."

  She stopped and turned again. "I'm sorry."

  "My father headed west after the war. I don't know where he is. My mother wouldn't care." They neared the house. "You going to tend my wounds?"

  "I'll help bandage your chest. Myrl can help you with your bath."

  She nearly burst out laughing at the old man's sputtered reaction. She was relieved to see Owen's smile break through. She liked it better when he smiled.

  The house was empty when she entered. She'd hoped Ida would be home. Anything to take her mind off Owen. It didn't matter that she kept thinking of ways to get him to leave town. She shouldn't be thinking of him at all. It was too soon to start preparations for dinner, and she'd washed and put everything away after breakfast. She had nothing to do but gather material to bandage Owen's chest.

  That made things even worse. She couldn't touch a pin or unfold strips of cloth to go around Owen's chest without seeing a vivid image of Owen, his broad chest heaving, his face alive with excitement, his body far more imposing than William's.

  There was no physical side to her relationship with William. They'd never so much as held hands. They'd known each other all their lives, so their relationship had progressed almost imperceptibly from lifelong friends to something much warmer. They'd gone to a couple of parties together and a dance in the spring. She'd enjoyed being with William, but he hadn't tried to kiss her good night, and she hadn't planned to let him. After her father's exploits, she didn't intend for sex to be part of their relationship except to have children.

  She knew instinctively that wouldn't be the case with Owen. No matter who he married, whether he loved her or married her because she was beautiful, sex would be a vital part of the relationship. Maybe that was why she was acutely aware of him at all times. She was horrified to find herself thinking about Owen's relationship with his future wife. It made no sense, especially since she disapproved of him in almost every way.

  Well, maybe not in that many ways. He traded on his looks, but it hadn't bothered him that she wasn't impressed. She had to give him credit for not being afraid to face danger. She didn't know what he could do about the rustlers, but she felt certain he would organize the ranchers as he'd said he would. And he'd stood up for Myrl and Ben, people who weren't able to stand up for themselves.