Texas Bride

by Leigh Greenwood

  "Now." She heard herself say the word but had no idea what she meant. She only knew she wanted the delicious torture to end, to release her from its grip. But the intensity continued to grow until she thought she couldn't stand it. Then her body shuddered in release and liquid heat flowed from her like lava.

  She felt herself begin to cool, to relax, her breathing to become less ragged, her muscles to release their tension. Owen moved above her, and she felt something large and hot enter her, filling her until she thought her body could stretch no more.

  Her mouth formed into a round "0" as he began to move slowly inside her. Even as she adjusted to the knowledge that she was truly joined with Owen, the waves within her began to build and heat again. Everything that had happened before was happening again, only faster. Through the enveloping layers of sensation that surrounded her, she became aware that Owen's breath was coming in gulps, his movements faster and deeper. His body became taut, the muscles hard.

  She felt they were caught in the same waves, enveloped in the same steamy cloud. Her body rose to meet him, fell away, rose again, trying to force him deeper and deeper inside her toward the need that seemed to remain just out of reach. She heard herself calling his name over and over, pleading with him not to hold back, to plunge deep within her.

  She locked her arms around his neck, kissed him with all the urgency of the need that held her in its grip. His breath was coming faster, his body even more rigid, but his movements inside her had slowed to a deliberate rhythm. Contrary to her expectation, it increased the tension until it peaked and she threw herself against him.

  Owen made a few quick, hard thrusts and his body went rigid as tremors shook him from head to toe.

  For one splendid moment they melded, were as one. They began the gradual descent together, then into themselves.

  * * *

  Hetta lay awake, unable to sleep despite the comfort of Owen's regular breathing. He had been asleep for more than an hour, but she was still too keyed up to close her eyes.

  She tried to make sense of her feelings. She should have been angry that she'd just experienced something wonderful which she'd probably never have again, even angrier that the man she loved didn't love her or want to marry her. Yet she felt a kind of peace she'd never felt before. It was almost as though she'd found an answer to a question she hadn't asked.

  She decided to accept everything without question. She wouldn't have what she wanted, but this time she wouldn't go away empty-handed. She had a small part of Owen to keep with her.

  Always.

  Owen told himself not to take his anger out on the wood and nails. It wasn't their fault he was a fool. Why had he slept with Hetta? The question had nothing to do with physical gratification. Anybody but an idiot could have seen it. He had seen it. And he'd plunged ahead anyway.

  Would he always give in to his need for women without considering the consequences? Only this time the consequences appeared to be more serious for him. Hetta acted as though nothing had happened. She hadn't referred to that night since. She'd continued to work with him, be around him, relate to him as she always had. She hadn't remarked on the fact that he was keeping his distance, that when he went on rustler patrols he chose his shift so she would be asleep when he returned.

  He was supposed to enjoy making love to one woman after another, to feel no guilt, to look forward to the next time. Now he felt guilty as sin, called himself a selfish bastard at least a dozen times a day, and couldn't even think of touching Hetta again. She had asked him to make love to her, but she was an innocent. He wasn't. How could he call himself a friend when he'd taken advantage of her innocence? He was nothing but a selfish son of a bitch, just like Cade said, out for himself and never thinking of others.

  Well, that wasn't entirely true this time. He couldn't think of anybody but Hetta. He'd racked his brain for a way to repair the damage he'd done, but he could only come up with one answer. Two, really.

  He could marry her or leave Pinto Junction immediately and forever.

  The first was impossible. Just the thought of marriage made him begin to sweat. He would never allow himself to be put into a position like his father's. He'd do something violent.

  But as soon as he thought of leaving Pinto Junction, he thought of several reasons he had to stay. He hadn't finished Hetta's house. She would need someone to help her rebuild the other buildings, get the ranch running again, brand the spring calves, round up the steers, take them to market, protect her from rustlers. The longer he thought, the longer the list grew.

  And that didn't include the fact that he didn't want to leave.

  He was starting to like Pinto Junction, beginning to feel comfortable. He definitely liked working on the ranch, working with Hetta, with Ben and Myrl. He could even like Ida and William as long as they left Hetta alone.

  Then there was Hetta herself. He'd never found a woman he liked so much, enjoyed being around, felt so comfortable with until he let his lust get out of hand. How could he be comfortable with that between them? He'd finally been able to forge a relationship with a woman that wasn't purely physical, where there was no commitment, no danger of betrayal. They could each do what they wanted without hurting the other, and could still enjoy a relationship that was closer than that of most married couples.

  He wanted it back. He wanted to be able to brush against her, touch her, even kiss her without feeling she expected him to do more, without feeling the need to do more. There was a tension between them now that hadn't been there before. So many subjects were off limits. He didn't feel free to be himself. But that wasn't what bothered him the most.

  He was afraid he might be falling in love with Hetta.

  That would only make things worse. He had tried to deny it, but there were too many signs. He'd practically forgotten about Laveau. He's started to like Pinto Junction. He was helping Hetta rebuild her house and paying for the privilege! He hadn't even thought about what he'd do if she couldn't pay him back.

  He knew enough about falling in love to know that when a man starts doing all he can to stop a woman from marrying another man, there's a distinct possibility he's hoping she'll marry him. Could he have been foolish enough to fall into that trap without even knowing? Was he working so hard on this house because he wanted it to become his house?

  He was falling in love with Hetta. That was the only conclusion a sensible man could reach. And unless he was badly mistaken, she'd reached the same conclusion and wasn't thrilled about it, either.

  Hell! He'd better do something fast, or he'd lose the best friend he'd ever had.

  "That's it," Owen announced as he drove in the last nail on the porch roof. "The house is finished."

  Hetta stepped back to get a better view. It was hard to believe her three-room cabin had been replaced by an eight-room house with four bedrooms upstairs, a kitchen, parlor, and dining room downstairs. She had a porch on the back and one in front.

  "I'd see about getting some furniture," Myrl said. "That place is as empty as a barn."

  No one was more acutely aware of that than Hetta.

  She had intentionally put off getting furniture, fearing it would put even more distance between her and Owen. As it was, he'd stayed in the log room after she moved into one of the new bedrooms. She hadn't wanted to, but he'd said the mistress of the house had to have the best room. He had threatened to buy the furniture himself if she didn't.

  "I'll wait on the furniture," Hetta said to Myrl. "I don't have much money left."

  Mr. diViere hadn't sent anyone to replace Tom Manly. She didn't know if he meant to, but it might be better if he didn't.

  "I think we ought to have a party to celebrate finishing the house," Myrl said.

  Ben agreed. "Ma's been talking about one for nearly a month," he said. "She's offered to bring anything you want."

  Mrs. Logan gave Hetta all the credit for Ben's recovery from his depression. Hetta told her it was all Owen's doing, but Mrs. Logan said no man had ever had the
sensitivity to understand Ben, not even his own father and brothers. She even credited Hetta with the fact that a nice young woman had started to show an interest in Ben.

  "I have a better idea," Hetta said. "How about celebrating at the dance? I'll treat everybody to dinner. Afterwards we can go to the dance and not come home until dawn."

  "Will there be whiskey?" Myrl asked.

  "Has there ever been a dance in Pinto Junction without whiskey?"

  Myrl gave a shout and threw his hat into the air. "It's been six weeks since I had a drop. I'm going to enjoy myself."

  "How about you?" she asked Ben.

  "I'll go if you teach me how to dance," he said. "But I think we ought to make Owen stay here. If he gets all slicked up, the rest of us won't stand a chance."

  Owen hadn't come down from the porch roof. Hetta glanced up to find him looking unusually bleak. That surprised her. Owen's good humor and unflagging energy had kept them all going through the long days of hard work. She had expected he would be the first to welcome the notion of a celebratory dinner and dance. Except for taking his turn on the rustler watch and going into town for supplies, he hadn't left the ranch.

  "Maybe we can bundle him off to San Antonio," Ben said.

  "I say we get him drunk and lock him in his room," Myrl said.

  "You don't have to worry about me," Owen said. "I'm not going."

  "Why not?" Hetta asked. "You've been tied up here for ages. You deserve some fun."

  "My friends were counting on me to find Laveau, and I've let them down. It's about time I got back to the job that brought me here."

  He'd been mentioning Laveau more and more often recently. Hetta had an uneasy feeling he was getting ready to leave.

  "It won't be the same without you," Ben said.

  "What'll be the fun of bragging about what we've done if you're not there?" Myrl asked. "You know we couldn't have done it without you."

  "It's been the four of us from the beginning," Hetta said. "It ought to be the four of us celebrating, too."

  "I need to talk to my cousin. I never did ask him about taking your steers with him. And I owe my friends an explanation about why I didn't do what I set out to do."

  In the two months they'd lived at the ranch, it had become inextricably identified with him in her mind. The new house belonged to her, but it was his creation. He was responsible for the ranch being in operating shape again. He had decided which of the outbuildings to repair and which to tear down.

  Now he was threatening to leave. She had the terrible feeling that if he left, he'd never come back.

  She knew he was afraid of marriage because his parents' relationship had been so horrible. She knew he didn't think much of women because he despised his mother. She also knew he didn't think much of himself because he believed he was like his mother--fickle, irresponsible, valuing beauty above substance, and avoiding any relationship that might require anything of him.

  But in the last month she'd watched him change into a completely different man. No one could question his sense of responsibility or fairness. He'd shouldered responsibility for the rustler watch and had helped Myrl and Ben find reasons to feel like men again. But more importantly to her, he'd taught her to believe in herself, in her own worth.

  At first she hadn't understood his insistence that she have such a big house. She didn't need a home that Pinto Junction's wealthiest citizens would have been proud to own. She had watched the hours he'd spent making sure every detail was right, pulling things apart and doing them over again until he was satisfied. She'd listened to him argue with William when he wasn't satisfied with the quality of the materials. It had puzzled her until she realized Owen wasn't building this house just for her. He was building the house he would have wanted for himself.

  She wouldn't let him leave before she forced him to admit what he'd tried to hide even from himself. He might never get married, might never have a family, but she didn't want it to be because he had been afraid to try. Even worse, she didn't want it to be because he'd convinced himself he didn't deserve it.

  "You are going to the dance, Owen Wheeler," Hetta said. "We're going to get dressed in our fanciest clothes and have the time of our lives. Don't argue. This is my ranch, and I'm the boss. You will be at that dance and you will have a good time. Understand?"

  Owen flashed a wintry smile that wrung her heart. "Yes, boss. I understand."

  Only she knew he didn't understand at all.

  "You can't wear that dress," Ida said.

  "What's wrong with it?" Hetta asked. It was a brown gingham she'd just bought.

  "You've got to make yourself as pretty as you can to convince William to talk his mother into announcing your engagement."

  Hetta had planned to stay at the hotel, but Ida had descended on her before she'd dismounted. She insisted she wouldn't be able to hold her head up if Hetta stayed anywhere but at her house.

  "I'm not going to marry William. I don't love him and he doesn't love me."

  "Of course he does," Ida said, more tense than Hetta had ever seen her. "I told you he talks about you every time he comes here."

  "I don't know why. He disapproves of everything I do."

  That was a wonderful thing about Owen. Nothing she did upset him. She could ride astride, handle a rope, even climb on the roof to bring him more nails, and he only encouraged her to be even more adventurous.

  "He's just worried about you trying to work your own cattle and build your own house," Ida said. "As for staying out there with Owen, well ..."

  "Owen is helping me with the ranch."

  "People in town know how much that ranch means to you, but they didn't like the idea of you staying out there alone with Owen. So they asked Ben and Myrl to keep an eye on you."

  "Who are they?" Hetta asked.

  "Well, everybody. Goodness, they've known you ever since you were born, Henrietta Gwynne. Everybody wanted to make sure nothing happened to you."

  "Everybody?"

  "Yes. Even William's mother asked about you. Twice."

  Hetta found it hard to believe that anyone in Pinto Junction had been worried about her. She'd never felt that anybody paid her any attention.

  "I can take care of myself," Hetta said, surprised to hear a catch in her voice.

  "We know, but we still worry."

  Hetta had known Ida her whole life, but she'd never felt truly her equal until now. She walked over and gave her friend a big hug.

  "Thank you," she said. "It's nice to know somebody cares about me."

  "We always have," Ida said, hugging her back. "That's why I'm determined you should look beautiful for William."

  Hetta stood back from her friend. "You know I can't look beautiful."

  "Wait until you see the party dress I got for you."

  "You shouldn't be buying dresses for me."

  But even as the words left Hetta's mouth, she felt excitement begin to build inside her. Was it possible she could actually look pretty? Was there something she could do that would make Owen see her as something other than his tall, hardworking, plain female friend? She wasn't a beauty, but if she could cause Owen to set aside his plans for several months, then there had to be something more to her than a plain face and a plain way of speaking. She didn't have the least idea what it was, but Owen liked it. The question was, did he like it enough to stay in Pinto Junction?

  She wished she had Ida's ability to flirt. Still, Owen didn't go in for pretense. He'd been ruthless in pulling down her defenses. She didn't know if she believed Ben's assertion that lots of men would have talked to her if she hadn't been so brusque and standoffish, but she did know she hadn't given any man a chance.

  "What does the dress look like?" Hetta asked.

  "Close your eyes," Ida said, her own eyes sparkling with excitement. "It'll only take a minute."

  Hetta closed her eyes and tried not to drive herself nuts trying to understand all the little sounds Ida was making.

  "Okay, you can open your
eyes," Ida said.

  Hetta opened her eyes, and shock ripped through her from head to toe. "I can't wear that! It's red." The dress had a tight-fitting bodice, full skirt, and puffed sleeves trimmed with a blood-red floss fringe.

  "Nobody else could wear it, but it will look fabulous with your almond skin and dark hair."

  "Not with this face."

  "Wait until you see what else I have." Ida reached for a case on her dresser and opened it.

  "That's face paint!" Hetta exclaimed.

  "It's called cosmetics," Ida said, "and women everywhere use it to make themselves more attractive. When I get through with you, William won't even know you."

  But Hetta wasn't thinking about William. She was wondering what Owen would say if he saw her in this dress and Ida's cosmetics. Under normal circumstances she would never have considered the dress or the cosmetics, but she had to convince Owen to stay until she had a chance to make him believe he deserved love. If this dress would do that, she'd wear it.

  "What are you going to wear?" Hetta asked Ida.

  "I don't know," Ida said, suddenly turning away. "I haven't made up my mind."

  Hetta knew Ida never stepped out of the house without spending half an hour deciding what to wear. For a dance, she normally couldn't think of anything else for at least a week. Hetta realized Ida hadn't been acting like herself for some time. She'd put it down to Ida's worry that she might lose her money, but Ida was proud. She'd wear her best dress to a dance even if it cost her her last dime.

  "Ida, what's bothering you?"

  "Nothing. I'm just worried about you and William."

  "No, you're not." She didn't know why she was suddenly so sure that something more serious was wrong. "Have you lost your money? Owen said times are bad."

  "I haven't lost my money," Ida said.

  "Then what is it?"

  "I'm just worried about you and William. He's pining away for you. He's--"

  "He wasn't pining the last time he was at the ranch. He hardly paid me any attention."