Texas Bride

by Leigh Greenwood

  "We could be friends."

  At least he had the grace to hesitate before making such an outrageous statement. "That's impossible."

  "Why?"

  "It just would be."

  "Don't give me that. Either you have reasons, or you're afraid of me and don't want to admit it."

  "What could I be afraid of?"

  "Being seen with me, maybe having people think we're friends."

  "We never could be friends--we're too different--but if we were, I wouldn't be afraid of being seen with you anywhere."

  "I bet you wouldn't have dinner with me tonight because you think the community wouldn't approve."

  "You haven't asked me to have dinner with you. Which would be absurd, since I have to cook dinner for Ida."

  "You won't have to cook if she's not at home."

  "You aren't the least bit interested in having dinner with me. You only want to prove you're right and I'm wrong."

  "All I'm asking is that you have dinner with me if Ida's not home. It will save you hours of cooking and cleaning up. Why should you care why I ask?"

  "Because women do care about things like reasons and appearances and feelings, and--you'd never understand. Men don't."

  "Explain it to me over dinner."

  "Ida will be home."

  "If she's not."

  "She will be."

  "You're scared."

  "I'll have dinner with you," she nearly shouted, "on one condition."

  "What's that?"

  "That you stop pretending you care what I do or what happens to me."

  "You have to admit that a leisurely walk to the restaurant is much better than spending two hours over a hot stove," Owen said.

  "It was shorter."

  Hetta could have kicked herself for letting Owen goad her into having dinner with him just to prove a point. And she could have strangled Ida for not being at home. Things didn't get any better when the waitress came to take their order.

  Pearly Norris had never been a pleasant woman during the best of times, but the loss of her husband in the war had made her bitter. "What are you doing here with him?" she asked when she came to the table.

  "Having dinner," Hetta answered.

  "Why aren't you cooking it like you ought to?"

  "Miss Moody is out for the evening," Owen said. "I offered to buy Miss Gwynne dinner in appreciation of all the meals she's cooked for me."

  "It's not proper for a lady to accept gifts from strange men," Pearly said, giving Hetta what could only be described as an evil eye. "Especially when she's as much as engaged to marry somebody else."

  "William's father is ill," Hetta said. "He has to stay with his mother."

  "Which is where you ought to be," Pearly said. "A woman's first duty is to her family."

  "William's parents aren't my family," Hetta said. "I can't force myself on them."

  "When did showing Christian charity get to be forcing?"

  "I'm sure it hasn't," Owen said, "but it's not Christian charity to keep hungry people waiting for their dinner."

  "We only serve supper here," Pearly snapped. "If you want dinner, you'll have to have Hetta cook it for you." She looked very pleased with her snide remark.

  "I'd like the pork loin," Hetta said, determined to give Pearly no more opportunities to embarrass her, "with the baked apple and potatoes."

  "I'll have the same," Owen said, "with coffee and pie for dessert. Don't you want some pie?" he asked Hetta.

  "I don't know yet."

  "Decide now," Pearly said. "There won't be any later."

  "Then I'll have pie and coffee, too."

  "I thought you'd want beef," Pearly said to Owen. "Yankees always do."

  "He's from Virginia."

  "That's close enough." With that she turned and walked off.

  "I'm sorry," Hetta said, embarrassed.

  "Forget her and enjoy yourself. It's got to be more pleasant to eat a meal when you know you don't have to clean up afterwards."

  "You know it is, so stop crowing over your victory. It isn't gentlemanly of you."

  "You said I wasn't a gentleman."

  "No, you said it. I always thought you were."

  A flirt, maybe something of a con man, definitely untrustworthy, but he had all the manners and thoughtfulness of a gentleman. He behaved perfectly all evening. He was charming without being flirtatious. He listened to her when she spoke, without making silly comments about her lips or eyes or hair. There were moments when she felt they might truly become friends, but she knew these days were just a momentary digression in their lives. Tomorrow or the day after, things would get back to normal.

  Still, she couldn't help wishing they wouldn't. She wasn't fool enough to fall in love with Owen, but her life had been more fun since he'd arrived. It was enjoyable to have such a handsome, charming man pay attention to her.

  She enjoyed the envious glances thrown her way, but wasn't so happy with the questioning and disapproving ones. This was her home. She hated to upset people.

  "No Wheeler is a gentleman," Owen said. "All you have to do is ask my cousin's grandmother-in-law. What she says about us would curl your hair."

  "I could use a little curl." Her ordinary brown hair had been as straight as a stick from birth. She'd always envied Ida's curls. "When can I meet her?"

  "She refuses to leave her room until Laveau comes for her. He's her grandson, and she adores him."

  "Mr. diViere is your cousin's wife's brother?"

  He nodded.

  "And you're planning to hang him."

  "Do you think that will make things a little awkward?"

  "You'll never be able to visit your cousin again."

  "Oh, he wants to hang him, too."

  Hetta wondered if madness was hereditary in the Wheeler family. Hoping to change the subject to something safe, she said, "Tell me about the kind of ranch you're looking for."

  But at that moment, Ida Moody entered the restaurant accompanied by William Tidwell.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Well, well, what do we have here?" Owen said.

  Ida turned slightly pale when she saw Hetta and Owen, nudged William, and headed straight for their table.

  "Don't say a word," Hetta said.

  "How can you be so blind?" Owen said.

  "They're my friends. I trust them."

  "I don't think the public does."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Look at the way people are staring."

  "They're coming over here. They have nothing to hide."

  "Fine. Make a doormat of yourself."

  "I'm not a doormat."

  "Then stand up to that woman."

  That was exactly what Hetta intended to do. It was time William got his mother to announce their engagement. But no sooner had Hetta opened her mouth than she realized she wasn't about to allow herself to be put in that position. If William really wanted to marry her, he'd speak to his parents without her prodding. Owen was proof that a man could like her for herself. And even if he was often obnoxious, he had given her confidence in herself in a way no one else had. If William let her get away, that was his loss.

  "I don't intend to fight over any man," she said to Owen. "If William wants to marry me, he'll have to go the rest of the way on his own."

  "Atta girl," Owen said. "Now you're showing some sense."

  Hetta wasn't so sure.

  "What are you doing here with him?" Ida asked as soon as she reached the table.

  "Why aren't you with your father?" Hetta asked William.

  "Mrs. Tidwell is too upset to think of dinner," Ida said. "She said she didn't have the heart to sit down to the table knowing her poor husband couldn't eat anything."

  "We'll take her a plate," William said. "I'll convince her to eat something later."

  "I'm sure you will," Ida said. "Though I can understand how she must feel, seeing her beloved husband so ill."

  Hetta knew Ida was being kind because of William, but she had an
almost uncontrollable urge to remind Ida of some of the things she'd said about Mrs. Tidwell a few days earlier.

  "We'll join you," Ida said. She sat down next to Owen, forcing William to sit next to her. "Hetta, you must be looking forward to eating a meal without having to cook it first."

  "I don't know, since the food hasn't come yet, but I'm told I'm a better cook than Mr. Robinson."

  "Who told you that?"

  "I did," Owen said.

  "I can't say that I agree," Ida said.

  "I didn't ask you to."

  Owen's gaze locked in on Ida in a way she clearly wasn't used to. "I am entitled to my opinion," she said.

  "We're all entitled to make mistakes."

  Ida wasn't good at verbal sparing. No one ever dared do it with her. She looked at William. Hetta could have told her she was on her own.

  "We need to order quickly," Ida said. "I'm sure Mrs. Tidwell would be delighted to have you sit with her for a while," she told Hetta.

  "Mama doesn't like anybody to sit with her when she's upset," William said. "She only puts up with Ida because she can talk business."

  "Does she often talk business with Ida?" Owen asked.

  "She says Ida's got too much money sitting idle. She thinks I ought to talk her into putting it to work."

  "And what to you think?" Owen asked him.

  "I told Ida the same thing weeks ago. I even thought up a plan, but she won't let me tell her about it."

  He looked more animated than Hetta had seen him in weeks.

  "I don't like business," Ida said. "I told him to talk to Hetta. She gets excited about running that ranch of hers."

  "This is nothing like running a ranch," William said. "This takes brains, not brawn."

  "And you think Hetta has only brawn?" Owen asked.

  "She has both," William said. "I'm going to try to get her to sell that ranch so she can come in with Ida and me."

  Pearly, her eyes alive with curiosity, chose that moment to come over to the table to get the new orders. Hetta had to swallow her response. William had never said anything to her about investing with him and Ida. Everybody knew she meant to rebuild her house and start ranching again.

  She was also upset that he'd been talking to Ida about an investment before mentioning it to her. She, not Ida, was going to be his wife. He should have talked to her first.

  "How's your father's store doing?" Owen asked William as soon as Pearly left.

  If there was anything William loved almost as much as his parents, it was the store. He could talk about it for hours.

  "I don't consider business a proper subject for conversation during dinner," Ida said.

  "If I'm going to buy a ranch around here, I would like to know about the local business climate," Owen said

  "Then you ought to ask William's father or my uncle."

  "William represents the future, and that's what I'm interested in."

  "I don't approve of change."

  "Why don't we ask William what he thinks?"

  "There has to be a lot of change soon if we're going to survive," William said. "My father and Ida's uncle don't understand that."

  They didn't leave the restaurant until more than an hour later. William had talked almost the entire time about reestablishing supply lines after the war, finding markets in the North for Texas beef, and the need to bring Reconstruction to an end.

  "You did that intentionally," Hetta said to Owen. She had sent Ida back with William. She knew Mrs. Tidwell didn't like her very much, and she wasn't in any mood to put up with Mrs. Tidwell's whining self-pity. The woman was as weak and clinging at home as she was hard and miserly in the store.

  "I wanted his opinion," Owen said. "He's going to be a rich man."

  "You think he's that smart?"

  "About business, but he doesn't know the first thing about people. He didn't even notice Ida was listening to him."

  "That surprised me."

  "Ida's scared. I think she knows her uncle has made some serious miscalculations. She's reevaluating William."

  "William will be happy to give her all the advice she wants."

  "I doubt it would suit Ida's sense of propriety to put her affairs in the hands of a man who isn't her husband."

  "If Ida married him, she would change him."

  "She would try. But when she realized he didn't see or hear her half the time, she'd give up and enjoy her wealth."

  "That's all beside the point. He still prefers me."

  "He may prefer you, but he'll marry Ida. He doesn't have the will to resist his parents."

  "What have his parents got to do with it?"

  "Don't be naive. The Tidwells and Moodys are the only families with money in this town. One has a son, the other a daughter. What's more natural than that they should join forces, especially since things aren't going well for either of them now?"

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "Why do you think Uncle Fred has been wanting to see William so much recently? The rustling has hit everyone hard, and Reconstruction is taking business out of the hands of people who fought for the South and giving it to carpetbaggers."

  "But Mr. diViere promised that wouldn't happen."

  "Laveau couldn't stop it even if he wanted. Now, I'm tired of talking about William. Do you know what I like about Texas?"

  "No." She never knew what was in his mind.

  "The sky. Especially at night. It seems endless."

  Hetta wasn't used to looking at the sky. Stars twinkled, the moon shone, the night air was cool. There was nothing especially worth noticing.

  "When I was working for my cousin, I used to lie in my bedroll at night and stare at the sky. It taught me to never put limits on myself. No matter when we think we've reached a boundary, there're always more places to see, more things to do. There's no end to it."

  "But that's the sky."

  "But it's like life, isn't it? There are no limits to what we might accomplish as long as we believe in ourselves."

  "You never say anything serious unless you're trying to tell me something I don't want to hear."

  "You've limited yourself by thinking the best you can do is William. He's a choice, not a limit."

  "I don't understand you," she said. "If you were an ordinary man, I'd say you were trying to get me to marry you. But since I know--"

  "You should never marry me. I'm the worst possible choice."

  "Since you haven't asked me, I don't have that choice."

  "I'll never get married."

  "Why?"

  She couldn't be sure--she couldn't see well in the dark--but something had penetrated the armor he kept around himself.

  "Why settle for one woman when there's a whole world full of them."

  "Is this part of your theory of not limiting yourself?"

  "Why shouldn't it be?"

  "Because there's no point in having growth without a foundation, morals, a set of beliefs that are fundamental. Without a foundation, anything you accomplish will fall apart."

  "What a weighty conversation we're having for a moonlit night."

  "We don't really know each other. What other kind of conversation can we have without talking nonsense?"

  "I guess we're lucky to be talking at all," he said, then started talking about the sky again.

  Thoughts kept revolving in her mind. They didn't know each other. They didn't like each other. He'd probably disappear soon. She found herself wishing he wouldn't, and didn't understand because they really didn't have a thought in common. What was it about him that she would miss?

  His belief in her. He thought more of her than she did of herself, more than anybody else had in her whole life. Yes, that's what she'd miss.

  "I don't know why you don't ask Hetta to marry you," Ida said to William as they walked back to his home.

  "Ma says I can't afford to get married now. I'll have to live at home unless I marry a rich wife."

  Ida hadn't been friends with Hetta all their lives without
realizing Hetta could never live in the same house as Mrs. Tidwell.

  "Hetta's rebuilding her ranch house. You can live there."

  William turned so quickly he almost knocked the covered plate Ida was carrying out of her hands. "I was hoping you could talk her into selling the ranch. Your uncle says Mr. diViere will buy it. Then she could invest with us."

  Ida had always considered William quiet, boring, unattractive. She had come to realize he was quiet because he was thoughtful, boring because he was preoccupied with the store. He wasn't handsome, but he was tall and strong. He would make Hetta a good husband if he could overcome his dependence on his parents.

  "But you could live on the ranch," she suggested.

  "I don't know anything about ranching."

  "Hetta knows plenty."

  "I can't have my wife running a ranch," he said. "It wouldn't be proper."

  "I don't think Hetta would like working in a store."

  "My wife won't do that, either. I want her to be a lady like you."

  Ida was flattered, but she didn't think Hetta would care for that kind of life.

  "Ma doesn't like Hetta," William said.

  "Why?" That did surprise Ida. Everybody liked Hetta.

  "She says she's not good enough for me."

  "No mother thinks any woman is good enough for her son."

  "She says you are. I keep telling her that Hetta's as good as you because you've been best friends forever."

  "Let me talk to your mother." Ida hoped she hadn't taken on too much. Trying to throw Hetta and William together was one thing. Acting as a mediator between her friend and Mrs. Tidwell was quite another.

  "If you really want to help, talk Hetta into selling that ranch. Ranching is not a good way to make money. If I had the cash from the sale, I could double and triple it in a couple of years."

  Ida felt her pulse quicken. "That fast? Are you sure?"

  Her uncle had said business would rebound after the war, but the war had been over for more than a year and her income was still shrinking. Her world of wealth and privilege was threatening to collapse around her, and it was scaring her badly.

  "Things don't look good right now, but they'll improve. Soon ranchers are going to figure out how to get their cattle to Northern markets. When that happens, places like Pinto Junction will be knee-deep in cash money. You watch Owen Wheeler. If he decides to buy a ranch here, it means he thinks he can turn a profit even with the rustlers."