He'd half risen out of the water, exposing his muscled abdomen. Hetta was certain that if God had ever created perfect men, one of them had to be Owen.
"I believe you'll protect me," she said, returning his gaze, "but guns and muscles can't protect me against the most dangerous risks."
"Friendship can, and people who care."
"Are you my friend? Do you really care about me?"
Chapter Twenty-one
Hetta was horrified that her thoughts had turned into words, but she had to know. "What have you done because of me?"
"I've stayed in Pinto Junction. I've moved out here to protect you."
"You stayed because you want to hang Mr. diViere. You want to protect me because you feel guilty for causing me to have to leave Ida's house."
"Did your father belittle you so much you can't believe that anyone except a man as desperate as yourself could possibly be interested in you?"
Hetta turned away. "I'm not desperate. I'm realistic."
"Who told you that all a man sees in a woman is her face?"
She was angry now. Not only had he belittled her by saying she was desperate, he was now trying to convince her that a man's interest in a woman could extend beyond her physical appearance.
"Haven't you ever seen a handsome man or woman take a spouse who wasn't nearly as attractive?"
"Only my parents." She dipped her cloth in the water and started washing his back again.
"And?"
"I don't know why my father married my mother," she began. "He certainly didn't love or respect her. It may have been because she had a little money. At times he reduced my mother to quivering, sobbing incoherence. I once asked him why he bothered to come back if we disgusted him so much."
"What did he say?"
"Only that we were his responsibility, and he couldn't abandon us even though we deserved it."
"Why did he say that?"
"Do you want me to wash your hair?"
He grasped her wrist. "Tell me what he did to you to make you think no one could ever love you."
She didn't want to tell him. She didn't even want to remember. She jerked her wrist from his grip, threw the washcloth into the water, and moved away from him. "He told me I was ugly." She started to shake just remembering how much her father had enjoyed saying it, enjoyed seeing it hurt her. "He told me no man could look at me without feeling queasy."
"He was lying."
Even his death hadn't taken the sting out of his words. She felt tears gathering at the back of her eyes, but she refused to cry. He wasn't worth it. She was never again going to cry because of him. "I asked my mother a hundred times how she could adore a man who treated her worse than he would a slave. She would only say she would die if he ever left her. And she did."
Hetta would never have believed that a person could make herself die, but her mother had virtually stopped eating. Starvation may have killed her, but she'd died of a broken heart. Hetta had taken an oath that same day that no man would ever have such a hold over her.
"My father was cruel, but what he said was true."
"Then how do you explain that nearly every woman alive, plain or ugly, gets married?"
"They marry out of necessity, not love or caring. I'm not in such need."
"Why would you refuse to believe that anyone could love you?"
"Because it's true."
This was an intellectual discussion to Owen, an effort to prove a point in a debate. It had nothing to do with the reality of her life. Sure, somebody somewhere might fall in love with her--if she could be introduced to every man in the country, she might find one or two--but her choices were confined to a small part of Texas.
"I like you. Ben and Myrl like you as well."
"I'm not talking about friendship."
"Neither am I."
She whirled around to face him. If he wasn't talking about friendship, what was he talking about? "You're not in love with me," she said, her voice not sounding quite like itself. "Don't pretend that you are."
"I've never been in love. Don't know that I can be. In any case, I'd make a lousy husband. Any woman I married would be miserable."
She thought that any woman he married would probably get down on her knees to give thanks at least once a day.
"The water is getting cold. Is there any soap left on my back?"
She pulled herself together. "A little." She hurried to rinse his back. She wanted this evening to end.
"You think you've got everything figured out," he said as he worked lather into his scalp, "all the answers written down so you have only to look at the list and you'll know exactly what to say and do." Some soap lather rolled down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and onto his upper lip. He blew it off, sending tiny bubbles into the air. "Not everybody sees you as you see yourself. You're a very attractive woman. I wish you'd stop trying to look as plain as possible. With those eyes--"
"You've told me about my eyes. They're round and gray. What's beautiful about that?"
"--your skin, and that magnificent head of hair, you could be the most striking woman in Pinto Junction. And with the right dress to set off your figure, you'd have men lining up at Ida's front door."
"Which would be pointless, because I'm not living with Ida anymore."
Owen got up on his knees to rinse his hair in the bath-water, his entire back and half his bottom exposed to Hetta's view. She wondered how he could stand to expose so much of his body, then realized it wouldn't be difficult if you were certain that everyone would admire what they saw.
"You've made up your mind that nobody can find you attractive enough to fall in love with you," Owen said as he ran his hands though his hair to get rid of the excess water. "You refuse to listen to anything to the contrary."
"When somebody actually does fall in love with me, maybe I'll change my mind."
"They won't, because you won't let anybody get close enough to find out what a wonderful person you are."
"For God's sake, Owen, what's so wonderful about me?"
"Lots of things. And as soon as I dry off, I'll tell you."
Before he could stand up, she turned and fled.
Owen asked himself for the hundredth time why he felt he had a right to interfere in Hetta's life, and for the hundredth time he couldn't come up with a good answer. He couldn't let her waste herself on a man like William. In all fairness, he guessed he ought to say William would be wasting himself on Hetta, too. Neither would be able to understand or appreciate the true value of the other.
Owen rubbed his shoulders vigorously. The night chill made it uncomfortable to be damp. He pulled a shirt out of his saddlebag and began to dry his hair.
He couldn't give Hetta a man who would cause her to break every vow she'd ever made about letting a man into her heart, but he could make sure she got her ranch back in working order.
But that wasn't the reason he was here. The fact was he liked Hetta more than he'd ever liked any woman; he wanted to do things for her. He'd already promised to help her sell her steers in the spring. Now he was thinking he should do something about the house.
But he shouldn't stay. If he did, he would raise expectations he couldn't fulfill. She might even think he'd fallen in love with her. He'd never managed to remain interested in any woman for more than a few weeks. He couldn't even use the excuse that, like his mother, he wanted to marry somebody rich. He was simply incapable of falling in love.
So how was he going to stay here until next spring, help Hetta gain enough self-confidence that she could believe someone could truly love her, and not cause her to think he was falling in love with her?
Maybe he ought to find a husband for her. A quick run-through of the men in Pinto Junction turned up no one he could trust to take care of Hetta.
What the hell was he thinking about? He didn't know anything about husbands, certainly not for a woman like Hetta. She was intelligent, spirited, and aggressively independent. At the same time, her self-esteem had
been destroyed. She would never be able to forget her father's words unless she found a husband who understood what it was like to be rejected by a parent, who loved Hetta enough to spend the rest of his life making her feel loved and valued.
He didn't know where she might find such a man. Those weren't exactly the character traits of a successful rancher. And Hetta's husband would have to be a rancher. Owen picked a blossom from a Mexican olive tree. On first sight he would have said the fragile white blossom had nothing to do with Hetta, that a woman of such robust health, height, and aggressiveness could never be compared to a blossom that exploded into great beauty, then faded quickly.
But Owen knew that inside she was as fragile as this blossom, as susceptible to bruising. She wouldn't give her trust easily. But once she gave it, it would be total.
He sat down before the fire and put on a shirt. He didn't know why he should think of it tonight, but he had to decide what to do with his life after he hanged Laveau. He'd spent so much time pursuing that goal, he hadn't given any thought to himself. He didn't want to continue floating through life. He needed to find a purpose, something to do.
He didn't intend to go back to Virginia. Except for his cousin, Cade, nobody in his family cared about him. He might as well stay in Texas.
He looked at the dark hulk of the ruined house. He looked up at a sky filled with millions of stars and a big, bright moon. The glow of the dying embers seemed like a metaphor for the end of a good day. He liked the quiet, the solitude, the feeling of openness. Maybe he ought to buy a spread, become a rancher for real.
The idea appealed to him. He'd learned a lot working for Cade, but he'd thought of it as just something to do until they could find and hang Laveau. He'd especially enjoyed working with Hetta. It was hot, hard, and occasionally dangerous, but he liked the feeling of accomplishment. He also liked the camaraderie that had developed among the four of them. He felt that he belonged here even more than at Cade's ranch. Maybe it was because no one knew him here. He could start over without any baggage from the past.
"Why are you still up?"
Hetta stood in the doorway of the log room.
"Thinking about my future." He'd never shared that kind of information with anyone, not even Cade.
"I thought you'd already figured that out."
"So did I."
It was too dark for him to see her expression, but he sensed that she had tensed.
"Did you come to any conclusions?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Does that mean you're leaving?"
"Do you want me to stay?" Another question he hadn't meant to ask, an answer he didn't want to hear. "Don't answer that. It was unfair."
"Would what I want make any difference?"
Now she was asking the unfair question. "I've already promised to stay until you sell your steers."
"That's not what I asked."
He didn't really have to be here. He could hire Myrl and Ben to stay at the ranch. She couldn't object to an old man and a cripple she'd known all her life. She probably wouldn't think twice about having them around. Besides, it would help keep Myrl out of the saloons and give Ben something to do besides think about his crippled leg. It would be good for all three of them.
But if she asked him to leave town, what would he do then?
"It would make a difference," he said.
She was silent a moment before going back inside the log room. Her voice came out of the dark interior. "Then I want you to stay."
Hetta stared at the pile of lumber before her. It looked like far more than she needed, far more than she could pay for. She recognized the boards that would be used for the roof, sides, and flooring. She could even tell which would be used to frame the house and which were the joists for the floor and roof. But some of the pieces looked like beams for a foundation. None of the old support beams had been damaged. Why would she need new ones? Then there were the mortar, nails, and tin for the roof. And windows and doors.
"Did I order all this?" she asked William. "Are you sure you didn't mix my order up with someone else's?"
"There's nobody else around here who can afford to build a wood-frame house. If you have any questions, ask Owen. He's the one you asked to make out the list of materials."
"He's not here. It's his turn to be on the rustler patrol."
"Do you mean he left you here by yourself?"
She bridled immediately. "I can take care of myself."
"No woman can take care of herself," William said. "A woman's nature is too gentle, too trusting, too unworldly to know the terrible things that can happen."
"Then it's a good thing she's got us to protect her."
William turned to see Ben appear from the log room. "Us?"
"Myrl's asleep," Ben said. "We was on the rustler patrol last night."
"A cripple and a drunk," William said scornfully. "How much protection can you be?"
"My trigger finger ain't crippled," Ben said. "And Myrl ain't been this sober since before he was weaned. Owen'll be back in an hour or two."
Hetta was flattered that Ben would take protecting her so seriously, but she didn't need protecting from William. She did need to find out how much she owed him.
"Go wake Myrl," she said to Ben. "Tell him it's his turn to collect wood."
"You shouldn't be cooking over an open fire," William said. "Ida told me to beg you to come back. She--"
"I'm not cooking over an open fire," she told William. "The stove survived the fire."
"Myrl and me fixed it up just fine," Ben said, pointing with pride to the stove, which now looked remarkably like Hetta remembered it.
"You still shouldn't be out here," William said. "Never a day passes that Ida doesn't beg me to bring you back to town."
"Tell Ida I'm fine and happy to be back in my home." She drew William away from the house. "You haven't said anything about how much I owe you," she said in a half whisper. "I don't know that I can pay you everything now, but--"
"You already paid for it."
Hetta knew she wasn't losing her mind, but she had to wonder if maybe William was.
"I wouldn't order that much stuff unless it was paid for. Though if you'd asked me, I wouldn't have advised you to turn all your money over to Owen."
It was obvious that William thought she was a gullible female without enough sense to know how to take care of herself.
"I know he's been helping you," William said, "but you ought to give your money to Ida's uncle."
Except for the little bit she'd been forced to spend for food, Ida's uncle already had her money. Neighbors had been leaving fresh vegetables and an occasional chunk of bacon. She hadn't even had to buy seed for the garden she'd planted.
"I guess I just forgot how much I ordered."
"You forgot?"
"We've been really busy. I've got more stock than I thought."
"I thought the rustlers had cleaned you out."
"So did I, but I was wrong. Owen's going to get his cousin to take my steers to St. Louis."
"That's crazy! There are bands of thieves all along the Shawnee trail just waiting to steal whole herds. Then there are farmers who'll shoot any cow before they let it cross the border. You'd be better advised to sell any steers you have to the tallow factories."
"Owen says his cousin can get me ten times what I'll get from the tallow factories."
"Ida thinks you're putting too much trust in that man. We don't really know him. He could be a criminal out to gain your confidence. We don't--"
"How can you say that?" she demanded. She had been feeling mortified and angry that Owen had paid for the building materials without letting her know. But she forgot everything in the face of William's attack on Owen's character. "He's done more for Pinto Junction in the short time he's been here than anybody else. He stopped Newt Howren and his friends from terrorizing people. He organized a patrol that's kept the rustlers at bay ever since. Neither of which anybody else could do. And h
e hasn't asked for as much as a thank you."
"I don't say he hasn't done some good things, but that doesn't mean you ought to go trusting him like you do. Ida says--"
"I'm sick of Ida says!" Hetta snapped.
William looked hurt. "She worries about you."
"Tell her to stop. From now on, when she starts to tell you how worried she is about me, talk to her about money. She pretends she's not interested, but she's petrified she'll go broke. She wouldn't know what to do without it."
"That's her uncle's business."
"Owen says he and your father are behind the times, that you're the only one with enough foresight to know what to do and enough gumption to do it."
"Mr. Wheeler said that about me?" William said after a moment of shocked surprise.
"Yes, so I do hope you'll talk to Ida about her money."
"As a matter of fact, I have been," William confessed a bit sheepishly. "I've spent several evenings assuring her that her investments are perfectly safe. In fact," he said in a confidential manner, "I've been trying to talk her into making new ones. With everything changing so quickly, I don't think it's wise to--"
"You shouldn't tell me anything you've discussed with Ida. You'd better head back to town or you'll be late for dinner. I see Owen coming. I've got some things I have to discuss with him immediately."
Chapter Twenty-two
Even before he dismounted, Owen knew he was in real trouble. When Hetta talked to him about morals or proper behavior, she got that prim, schoolmarm look. Now she looked just plain mad.
"I see the lumber got here." He walked over to see if he'd gotten everything he'd ordered. Hetta followed.
"It's a bit more than I expected," she said.
"We'll need all of it."
"I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
She had no intention of telling him what was bothering her. She was waiting for him to walk into her trap. Okay, he'd play her game. She was going to get him anyway. "Did William bring it himself?"
"He came with two men to deliver it. Maybe I'll hire them to do the work."
"Better to hire me, Ben, and Myrl."
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