"And all you had to do was appear to be interested in William again. I did break rather badly, didn't I?"
"Right in front of everybody, so you'll never be able to deny it."
"I don't want to deny it."
"What do you want to do?"
"I'd rather show you you're right."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Hetta didn't have any way to compare Owen's kisses, but she didn't need to kiss anybody else to know he was special. He had to be because he made her feel special.
His kisses were gentle, like butterflies brushing her lips. Yet his kisses were satisfying. Clearly, kisses could vary with the mood or what you wanted your partner to feel. It was an entirely new and exciting language, one that had an unlimited number of wonderful messages to whisper as soon as she learned to understand what it meant.
But just now she didn't need to know much more than that Owen was holding her, kissing her, running his hands up and down her arms, causing goose bumps to pop out all over her. How could she have guessed the touch of the man she loved could cause such a reaction? Was this the reason her mother had said she couldn't turn against her husband, no matter what he did? Hetta tried to put her parents out of her mind, but she couldn't stop wondering if she would feel the same way about Owen as her mother had felt about her husband.
As important as that question was, Hetta was losing her ability to think logically. The feel of Owen's lips on her mouth, neck, and shoulders, the feel of his hands as they caressed her from shoulder to wrist, the feeling of his body shifting and swelling under her as she sat in his lap--it was all acting on her like an electric charge. She remembered one night after a terrible electric storm when she was a child, the air had seemed so charged with energy the small hairs on her body stood on end.
That was how she felt now, as if every part of her was waking up, beginning to tingle with excitement, to hum with contentment, to warm with desire.
"You ... taste ... so ... good," Owen said.
His words were disjointed because he was planting kisses all over her, but it wasn't important. They were communicating on a level where words were unnecessary, maybe even unwanted, certainly inadequate. She marveled that things could have changed so quickly for her, that she had asked Owen to make love to her when just a few weeks ago she wouldn't have let a man touch her, much less kiss her.
But Owen could do anything to her he wanted.
She hoped he would.
Owen woke to find Hetta lying beside him and a guilty conscience working overtime. He'd taken his pleasure of her without promising anything for the future. Again. She didn't ask it of him, but he knew he ought to give something.
He wanted to give something, but the old fear wouldn't go away. Marriage wouldn't work if you were really in love. It would only hurt you. Hetta didn't trust love any more than he did, probably less, but knowing that still didn't satisfy him. And this morning he finally knew why.
He was in love with Hetta.
A few months ago that thought would have scared him so badly, he'd have jumped into his pants and ridden out as soon as he could saddle his horse. Now he felt a great sense of relief. He was in love, truly, honestly, completely in love, and he was happy about it. He knew it made him vulnerable. He'd never had a serious or sustained relationship in his life. He looked for the worst in people and didn't believe in the best. Settling down in one place had always been something he couldn't do.
But now he wanted to be in one place. He wanted to put down roots, to become part of a community, to have a family, to build a life that had meaning rather than being filled only with moments of satisfaction masquerading as happiness.
He looked at Hetta lying beside him and wondered again how anyone could think she was plain. Hers wasn't the kind of beauty that would fade with age or be compromised by children and hard work. It would only grow more lustrous through the years. After so many misspent years, he didn't deserve such a wife.
But would she marry him?
He'd behaved like a fool at the dance. Even though she loved him, she wouldn't be able to forget how quick he'd been to think the worst.
It might take a little time to learn to think and behave differently, but he could do it. He had to do it if he was to achieve the happiness he wanted.
He slipped out of bed without waking her. He dressed and left the log room. He liked the early morning. The air always felt cool and crisp. It looked clear, undisturbed by the activity of the day. Even the industrious birds didn't spoil the peacefulness. But the two riders coming up the trail did. It took just a moment to realize that even though the riders looked familiar, they weren't Ben and Myrl. A smile began to spread slowly over his face.
Broc and Nate. It would be good to see his old friends after so many months.
The smile vanished abruptly. Broc and Nate wouldn't be interested in anything except the whereabouts of Laveau. Owen hadn't done his part. Even worse, he had spent last night in Hetta's arms rather than going to town to chase down Laveau. She had told him about Laveau after they'd made love. Broc wasn't going to like that. Nate would hate it.
But the two men rode up with smiles on their faces. "I told you," Broc said to Nate. "Now pay up."
"Not until I make sure you're right."
"What are you two doing here?" Owen asked as the men dismounted.
"Coming to see what you've been up to," Broc said. "You've been suspiciously quiet for a long time."
"Broc said you'd probably found yourself a comfortable nest with a pretty young widow and forgotten all about us."
Broc gave the house an appreciative look. "Looks like a real good nest to me."
"A really good nest," Nate echoed. "What does the owner look like?"
"She looks like me."
Hetta had heard what they'd said.
"I tried to get away from these brutes," Owen said, determined to put the best face he could on a terrible situation, "but they followed me."
"I'm sorry for anything I said, ma'am," Nate said, having the decency to look abashed. "Just giving Owen a hard time. We didn't mean anything by it."
"He's a good man." Broc's seconding of Nate's opinion was feeble.
Hetta just smiled. "I don't know your names, but since you appear to be his friends, I'll invite you in for breakfast."
"We don't want to put you out, ma'am," Nate said.
"You won't if you stop calling me ma'am. My name's Hetta Gwynne."
"I'm Nate Dolan from Arkansas," Nate said.
"Broc Kincaid from Tennessee," Broc said.
"We were in the same troop during the war," Owen explained. "The army didn't care what kind of riffraff they let in."
"They must be very good," Hetta said. "They kept you alive."
Broc and Nate looked at each other, smirks on their faces. "I think he's met his match," Broc said.
"I hope so," Nate said.
"Owen will show you where to put your horses." Hetta smiled prettily, a smile Owen knew meant trouble. "What caused you boys to turn up just now? It couldn't be you've been pining for Owen's company."
Nate's expression changed immediately. "We've been following Laveau," he said to Owen. "He's brought a herd of rustled cattle down this way."
"Where is he?" Owen asked.
"We don't know. We were late getting the news. Then a couple of rains washed out any trace of him. We were hoping you could tell us."
"You can discuss it over breakfast," Hetta said. "Then we can go into town. Laveau is supposed to be back sometime tonight."
Hetta disappeared into the house.
"Is she ... ? Are you--" Nate started.
"Don't ask," Broc said.
"If you're asking if I'm in love with her, the answer is yes," Owen said. "If you're asking is she in love with me, I want her to be."
"Well, I'll be damned," Nate said.
"Me, too," Broc added.
"I never thought you'd fall for anybody who wasn't ..." Nate's voice died away.
"Beaut
iful?" Owen added for him.
"Well, yeah. You always were so damned particular."
"A lot of things have changed since I took the road south," Owen said.
"That's obvious," Broc said. "I want to hear every detail."
So while they unsaddled their horses, rubbed them down, and staked them out to graze, Owen related the events of the past few months.
"Are you going to marry her?" Nate asked.
"I don't know if she'll agree after this morning."
"Hey, we're sorry about that," Broc said.
"At least she's still talking to you," Nate said.
"Women always talk to him," Broc said. "How can we help?"
"Catch Laveau. At least she'll know I was telling the truth about something. Now when we go inside, see if you can say something good about me."
"I don't remember anything," Broc said, "but I'll make up something."
"You don't remember because there isn't anything," Nate said.
"I should have taken a shotgun to you two the minute I recognized you," Owen said.
"And have to capture Laveau all by yourself?"
"It would be easier than putting up with you two."
Owen hadn't realized how much he'd missed his friends. He must be getting sentimental.
Hetta had prepared a large breakfast. "I know how men eat," she said.
The men helped themselves to seconds.
"We had to take care of ourselves during the war," Broc explained.
"Your wife will appreciate it," Hetta said.
"I'm not likely to get one with this face."
Broc usually mentioned his face to set people at ease. The scars were impossible to ignore.
"Very often external scars are easier to live with than internal ones," Hetta said.
"She's just the woman you need," Nate said to Broc. "Want me to help you steal her away from Owen?"
"She's not anybody's woman," Owen said. "But if you think you're getting in line ahead of me, you've been eating loco weed."
"Go ahead and fight over me," Hetta said with a teasing smile. "Nobody's ever done that."
"Are all the men in this town blind?" Broc asked.
"They see all too well," Hetta said, "but it was sweet of you to say that."
"That's Broc for you," Owen said, feeling an unaccustomed twinge of jealousy, "sweet as can be."
Hetta got up. "While I wash up, you can decide what to do about Mr. diViere. But you'll do well to remember he's practically a hero in Pinto Junction. Convincing people he's a deserter and a rustler won't be easy."
For the next twenty minutes the men discussed possible courses of action. In the end they came to the conclusion they'd have to play it by ear. As long as the Union army remained in Texas, Laveau had a formidable protector. If they took things into their own hands, they would immediately become outlaws.
"I think you ought to let me help," Hetta said.
"Why?" Nate asked.
"He has forged papers which make it look like I've been rustling. He thinks he's got me backed into a corner, and he won't be on his guard with me."
"I don't like it," Owen said.
"What do you have in mind?" Nate asked Hetta.
"Send him a message saying I want to talk to him. When he comes to the house, you can be here."
"No," Owen said.
"It sounds perfect," Nate said.
"I don't want Hetta in the same room with Laveau."
"She can make an excuse to leave before we move in," Broc said.
Owen still didn't like it.
"Let's head for town," Hetta said.
"It's not decided," Owen said.
"We had an understanding, remember? I have no control over you, and you have none over me."
"I was a fool to agree to that," Owen said.
"Amen," Broc said.
"I don't want you to do this," Owen said after Nate and Broc left the room. "I don't trust Laveau."
"You'll be in the house before he arrives. What could go wrong?"
"Anything. Everything."
"Okay, Owen, what is it you're not saying?"
He guessed it was now or never. He had to tell her at this moment, or she'd never believe him. "I love you. I couldn't stand it if you got hurt."
She looked at him as if he'd started speaking a foreign language and she didn't understand a word.
"I've never felt this way about anyone, and it scares me to death."
"When did you fall in love with me?" Her voice was almost disembodied.
"I don't know, but I realized it this morning when I was sitting on the bed watching you sleep."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was afraid you'd say you didn't love me."
"I told you I did a long time ago."
"I don't mean it like that. I mean I love you like I want us to build a life together, have children, become part of the community."
"You're saying you want to marry me?"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"I didn't think you wanted to marry anybody."
"I didn't until I met you."
"What changed your mind?"
"You did. I was determined to uncover the wonderful, vital person that's the real you. I liked what I found so much I fell in love with you."
Hetta just stared at him.
"Say something," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"Say something else."
"I've got to do a lot of thinking. In the meantime, we have to catch Mr. diViere."
"I'm not letting you go."
Hetta had started toward the door, but she turned. "You don't control me. Not now, not ever. We ride as equals or we don't ride at all."
"Hell, you sound like Cade. He was always ordering me around, too."
"Neither of us will give orders. We come up with them together. You think that's possible?"
"No, but I'm willing to give it a try."
"You can't go downtown," Ida said to Hetta. "The sheriff says he's going to lock you up."
"Nobody's locking her up," Owen said. They had planned to keep out of sight in Ida's house until they captured Laveau.
"He's looking for you, too," William said. "He figures Hetta couldn't have done this by herself."
"Everybody knows my own stock was rustled, my house struck by lightning and burned, and that I lived with you while Mr. diViere used my ranch."
"He says it was a ruse, that you fooled him, too," William said.
"People are asking where you got the money to build that big house," William said. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I didn't tell them Owen paid for it."
"That's not important now," Hetta said. "What can I do to prove my innocence?"
"Produce Laveau with the stolen cattle," Owen said.
"I agree," Broc said.
"I'll get Myrl," Owen said. "He knows this area better than anyone."
"You can't," William said. "The sheriff's got Myrl and Ben down at the jail. He thinks they have been helping you and Hetta."
"We have to get them out," Hetta said. "I won't have two innocent men in jail just because they worked for me."
"What should we do?" Broc asked.
Owen didn't like the plan they settled on, but Hetta was insistent.
"They're in jail because of me. It's only fair that I take a small risk to get them out."
"I don't call being put in jail a small risk."
"You just make sure you get Myrl and Ben out."
The plan was to have Hetta go to Fred Moody's office. She would go through the middle of town, telling people she would explain everything at the bank. With luck, that would draw the people off the street, the sheriff out of his office, and give them a chance to break Myrl and Ben out of jail.
"You make sure nothing happens to her," Owen said to William.
"Nothing will happen to Hetta," Ida said, her eyes filling with moisture. "I owe her everything."
Owen was afraid he was going to be forced to endu
re one of those tearful displays females indulged in which so completely mystified him.
"Don't you start crying," Hetta said to Ida. "You've got to look indignant, even fierce, and that's hard with tears running down your face. Now let's get going. The sooner we get Ben and Myrl out of jail, the sooner we can go after the rustled herd."
"You aren't planning to go, are you?" William asked Hetta.
"Of course I am. It's my reputation that's on the line."
Poor William. He never would have understood Hetta even if he'd been married to her twenty years. Owen wasn't sure he understood her, but he sure as hell approved of her. She was the most woman God had ever put into one skin. He had made up his mind he wouldn't be satisfied until she agreed to marry him.
"I think you're actually enjoying this," Ida said to Hetta.
"In a way I am." They had already encountered about a dozen people, who were amazed Hetta would appear in public. Curious to hear what she had to say, the crowd following her grew until it seemed the entire population of Pinto Junction was on its way to the bank.
"I don't understand you," Ida said.
"I didn't understand myself until recently."
"Until Owen showed up."
"Yes. It was about then."
"Are you going to marry him?" William asked.
"Has he asked you to marry him?" Ida asked, astonished.
"Yes."
"What did you say?"
"She probably said she would," one woman snapped.
"I'd marry him if he asked me," a young woman walking nearby said.
"But he's a rustler!" the first woman exclaimed.
"He's too handsome to be a rustler," the young woman replied.
"Straw," the first woman declared. "That's what you've got for brains."
"How many cows did you rustle?" an angry man asked Hetta.
"Are you going to believe a stranger over a woman you've known all your life?" Ida demanded.
"But diViere's got proof."
"Have you seen it?" Hetta asked.
"No, but--"
"Then you don't know what he has."
"Then where did you get the money for that big house?" the man asked.
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