Texas Blonde

by Victoria Thompson

  "One of the rustlers is Candace's son," he explained.

  Candace made a choking sound at this, and Felicity patted her soothingly. "Her son? How…?"

  But Josh anticipated her questions. "He was born before my parents married and brought Candace out here. They wouldn't let her bring him along, so he stayed behind on my grandparents' plantation. When my mother left us and went back to Virginia, she wanted Candace to go along, but she refused. My father gave Candace her freedom so she could stay here and take care of me." Josh recited the story woodenly, but his mind was racing, remembering arguments two decades old. His mother's voice screaming, "You don't care anything about the boy! You just want to take care of his father!" and Candace's heated reply, "And you don't care about either one of them!"

  He shook off the memories and continued his story. "From what he said, my mother told him some ugly things about Candace, about how she didn't want him, that she preferred to stay here and raise me. He hates her. He hates both of us."

  Felicity listened, comprehending only pieces of the story. "How did he get mixed up with Ortega's gang?"

  Josh shrugged. "I guess he found out that Ortega robs me, and wanted to help." But he wasn't looking at Felicity. He was watching Candace. Her tremors had stilled. "Why didn't you tell me who he is?" he asked her again.

  Candace slowly raised her head, managing to salvage some semblance of her usual dignity. "I didn't think he would tell you. I thought… maybe… there was a chance that even he didn't know…" That was foolish, of course, she realized. Hadn't he said something about having Logan's blood? "Who would have told him?" she wondered aloud.

  Josh made a disgusted noise. "I don't suppose anybody had to tell him. His hair is as white as mine. As white as all the Logan men." Candace flinched and lowered her head again as a new sob shook her. "But as for telling him, I think my mother must have. She probably took great delight in it, too, from what he said."

  "Tell him what?" Felicity asked, afraid that she already knew and hoping someone would tell her she had misunderstood.

  Josh glanced back at her as if he were surprised to see her still standing there beside Candace. He gave that weary sigh again. "Candace's son is also my half-brother."

  Felicity gasped at the pain reflected in his gray eyes. Every instinct cried out that she go to him to help ease the suffering she knew he was experiencing, but Candace needed her, too. Josh's statement set Candace to weeping anew. Felicity thought her heart would break at the sight of the invincible Candace shattered into a thousand pieces.

  "But you said he's alive," Felicity remembered in an attempt at reassurance.

  "Yes," Josh confirmed, moving purposefully over to the cabinet Felicity knew held his liquor supply. To her surprise, he pulled out two glasses. "We were lucky to spot the rustlers this afternoon. They were changing the brands on some stolen cattle," he explained as he filled the two glasses with whiskey. "We surprised them. Two got away, Ortega and one other. I wounded Ortega, but I don't know how badly. One rustler was killed. Another was wounded and one was captured unharmed. Jeremiah got caught in the stampede. He came out with a broken arm, but he'll live. We took the three of them to jail. The town marshal is holding them for the county sheriff. They'll be tried for rustling."

  After taking a long swig from one of the glasses, he took the other over and handed it to Candace. "Here, drink this," he said, his voice gentle, all traces of his former anger gone. Felicity helped Candace's trembling hands carry the glass to her lips.

  "We set his arm as best we could," Josh continued in that same gentle voice. Now he was speaking as if he were comforting a child. "It was a bad break and his right arm. I doubt he'll ever use a gun again."

  Candace raised her head, her dark eyes intently studying his face. Then, as if she had read some secret message there, she nodded. "Thank God," she whispered.

  Felicity had many more questions to ask, but she did not want to burden Candace further. She should wait until she and Joshua were alone. First of all, she must make sure Candace would be all right. When her glass was empty, Felicity took it from her and handed it back to Josh. "I think you'd better go to bed now," she advised the black woman, adopting Josh's gentle tone.

  Candace rose willingly from the chair and followed Felicity obediently. "I think you ought to sleep here in the house tonight. Do you want me to stay with you for a while?" she asked, leading Candace into the yellow bedroom.

  But Candace balked in the doorway. "No!" she said, straightening abruptly and drawing back. "I won't sleep in there. That's her room."

  "Her?" Felicity asked, turning to Josh for explanation.

  "My mother slept in there," he replied.

  Another mystery. Another question to ask when they were alone. "Well, then…"

  "I don't need any help, Miss Felicity. I can manage fine now," Candace said, and when Felicity looked back at her, she saw that it was true. The old Candace was back, her dignity slightly tattered but firmly in place. "I'll sleep in my own bed. You see to your husband." Her dark eyes sought Josh one last time. "I'm sorry," she whispered just before she whirled and left the room.

  "Oh, Joshua!" Felicity cried in an agony of indecision. For all her bravado, Candace really did need her, but one look at her husband told her he needed her, too.

  "Come here," he commanded hoarsely. He opened his arms and she obeyed, gathering him to her as if she could absorb his anguish.

  "There's so much I don't understand," she said against his shirtfront.

  "I know," he breathed into the silken cloud of her hair. "I'll explain it all to you… tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow?" she asked, but his strong arms reached down and lifted her high against his chest.

  "Yes, tomorrow," he affirmed, carrying her into their bedroom. "Tonight I want to forget it all."

  She tried to protest, but his mouth on hers silenced her for the second time that night. Much later, when they lay in sated exhaustion, she had forgotten all her questions.

  True to his word, Josh told her everything the next day, or at least as much as he knew, reciting the story about his mother with the same emotionless detachment he had used the night before. Felicity's heart ached for the boy he had been and for the pain he still endured because of the way his mother had abandoned him. Of course he gave no outward indication that he still felt any pain, but that revealed more to Felicity than outward anger would have. Her love for him grew until she thought she might burst from holding it in. Silently, she vowed to do everything within her power to make the rest of his life happy.

  In the morning, Candace appeared and went about her duties as if nothing untoward had occurred. If her eyes were haunted, neither Josh nor Felicity acknowledged the fact, not to her and not even to each other.

  The three of them tiptoed around each other all day, and by the next day life had resumed its normal routine. It was Sunday, and Josh and Felicity had just sat down on the front porch swing to enjoy the pleasant spring day when they saw a lone rider approaching. The rider was the town marshal, and he was coming fast.

  "Afternoon, Josh," he called, slowing his horse to a lope as he approached the house.

  "Afternoon, Henry," Josh replied warily, rising from the swing and moving toward the steps to meet him. "What brings you out this way on a Sunday?"

  From the marshal's expression, Felicity knew he was not paying a social call. He nodded to her and wished her good afternoon also. She returned his greeting apprehensively.

  "I got some bad news for you folks," he explained unnecessarily. Felicity saw Josh stiffen. "Those rustlers got away late last night."

  Josh swore under his breath. "Come on inside. Felicity, get the marshal some coffee. He looks like he could use a cup."

  Felicity nodded and hurried off toward the kitchen. When she returned, the two men were seated in the front room and the marshal was speaking.

  "… I didn't even know they were gone until this morning. Thank you, Mrs. Logan," he said, accepting the cup she offer
ed and taking a large swallow before continuing. "The two who got away sneaked back and broke them out. They tied up my deputy and locked him in a cell. When Billy from the hotel brought over their breakfast this morning, he found Mike trussed up like a Christmas turkey. I sent word to the sheriff and put a couple men to work tracking them. Then I came on out here. Figured you'd want to go after them yourself."

  Josh nodded, and Felicity could see he was already making plans. The thought of him going after the rustlers again, especially now that they had good reason to want revenge, sent the blood rushing from her head. She sank down heavily on the settee next to the marshal.

  "I'll get my men together," Josh said. He started to rise, but the marshal stopped him.

  "Josh, there's one more thing you should know. The colored man? The one named Jeremiah? Well, he calls himself Jeremiah Logan, and he's wanted. He had some… uh, trouble with a white woman back East," the marshal explained discreetly, giving Josh a significant look.

  "Why in the hell didn't you tell me that?" Josh exploded. "I would have left some men in town to guard him."

  "I just found the Wanted poster late last night," the marshal said defensively. "I guess I should have put on some extra guards, but I didn't want to tell anybody about it. You know how folks are. I was afraid of a lynching."

  Josh lunged to his feet and began to pace the room. "Better a lynching than letting them get away," he pointed out caustically.

  Marshal Watkins shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "We'd better get going if you intend to catch them," he said to change the subject.

  A very short time later, Josh and the men rode away with the marshal. Felicity stood on the porch watching them and trying not to cry. Joshua had barely had time to give her a quick kiss. Heaven only knew how long he would be gone and what might happen to him while he was away.

  "It's all my fault," Candace murmured from behind her.

  Felidty turned to find the black woman standing in the doorway, staring bleakly at the departing horsemen. "It's not your fault," Felicity assured her. "You didn't know this would happen." Moving to Candace's side, she laid a comforting hand on the older woman's arm, but Candace did not even seem to feel it. She just continued to stare.

  "It is my fault," she repeated. "I made Joshua promise not to kill him. If he was dead, then you'd be safe."

  "Me?" Felicity said, a little puzzled. "I'm perfectly safe. It's Joshua and the men who are in danger."

  At last Candace's troubled gaze turned to Felicity. "But if they don't catch him this time, he'll come back. Next time, he'll go after you. He told me he would. He said when he'd taken everything Joshua had, he'd come back after his woman."

  Felicity shuddered involuntarily as Candace described her worst fear. Now someone really was chasing her, and this time he had a name.

  That night she had the nightmare again, the nightmare that had haunted her dreams in the weeks after her father's death. She was running and running, but she couldn't run fast enough. He was right behind her, calling her name. She didn't dare look back for fear he would catch her. But he was getting closer and closer until she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. Then he called her name and his huge hands grabbed at her. That was when she would awaken with an anguished cry and find herself safe in a tangle of bedclothes, soaked with a cold sweat and panting in terror.

  When she awakened alone in the big bed she usually shared with Joshua, she felt more bereft than she had ever felt when she had been totally alone on the prairie. Hugging his pillow to her for comfort, she prayed for his safety and waited for morning.

  One day stretched into another to form the longest week of Felicity's life, and then Josh came home again. Saddle-sore and weary, he reported their failure. Ortega and Jeremiah and the others had escaped back across the border.

  Asa Gordon walked slowly down the street toward the small house. He could see a woman hanging clothes in the side yard. The place was neat and tidy and the sheets spanking clean in the bright May sunlight. He paused at the edge of the yard, a respectful distance away. "Excuse me. Are you Mrs. Daniels?" he inquired.

  The woman turned, her head cocked warily. After a second, she reached up and removed several clothespins from her mouth and smiled. "Yes, I am," she said, coming closer. "What can I do for you?"

  Mrs. Daniels had the cheerful, contented look of a happily married woman. Asa knew from experience that such women did not take kindly to an easy, flirtatious manner, nor would she appreciate a personal remark. If she had been a widow or even if she had the pinched look of a woman starved for attention, he would have turned on the charm. Instead, he removed his hat and maintained his respectful pose. "My name is Asa Gordon, and your neighbor, Mrs. Samuels, said you might be able to help me," he began. Mrs. Samuels, poor woman, fell into the "pinched" category. Some outrageous flattery had garnered him Mrs. Daniels's address. "You see, I'm looking for my…" He let his voice trail off as something on her front porch caught his eye. "Good heavens, is that a geranium in that pot?" he asked in amazement.

  Mrs. Daniels let her gaze follow his to her front porch. "Yes, it is. I brought it here all the way from Tennessee. I've been nursing it along for ten years now. It blooms every year," she told him proudly.

  "That's quite an accomplishment," he said with a reminiscent smile. "It reminds me of my mother. She used to grow them back in Pennsylvania." That was a lie, of course. The only thing his mother had grown back in Pennsylvania had been him, and she'd done a poor job of it. Between her gin and her "gentleman callers," she had paid scant attention to her son. But Asa took no time to dwell on bitter memories. Instead he embellished the lie. "She had red ones and white ones and sometimes even pink ones." His gaze seemed focused on the distant past, but he was really studying Mrs. Daniels to gauge her reaction. He had won her confidence. A happy housewife might have been put off by a comment on her nonexistent beauty, but she was easily swayed by compliments on her flowers.

  "Oh, but you're not here to talk about my flowers," she chided him playfully. "You said you were looking for something."

  "Oh yes," he said sadly, as if reluctant to recall his true mission. "Not something, but someone. My brother…half-brother, really. His name is Caleb Storm. I understand he and his daughter were through here several months ago. He's a traveling photographer and-"

  "Yes, I remember," Mrs. Daniels said. "We had our picture made, our whole family."

  Asa nodded encouragingly. "That's what Mrs. Samuels told me. She said you'd spoken with the girl, my niece, at some length."

  "Yes, I did," Mrs. Daniels said, but her helpful smile was fading into suspicion.

  Asa gave her his sad grin again. "I know you're wondering why a man has to inquire strangers to find his own brother," he said, voicing the doubts he could easily read on her face. "The unfortunate truth is that my brother and I had a falling out several years ago. It was over a young lady, the young lady whom he eventually married, Felicity's mother," he explained, surprising even himself. Every time he told this story, he invented a new detail. This one was the best yet, giving the tale a poignancy that was bound to touch Mrs. Daniels's heart.

  "A few months ago his father, my stepfather, passed away," Asa continued, acknowledging Mrs. Daniels's murmur of sympathy with a distressed glance. "He left my brother a legacy, and I'm anxious to see him claim it. Not for himself, of course, but for the girl. She's all that's left of poor Claire…" He let his voice trail off and reached up to rub his eyes, as if the memory of poor Claire were more than he could bear.

  "Of course. I understand completely," Mrs. Daniels hastily assured him.

  Asa cleared his throat and made a visible effort to get control of his emotions. "I've heard the girl looks just like her mother, the same blond hair and blue eyes…" he ventured, hoping to verify the description he had of Felicity Storm.

  "Oh yes," Mrs. Daniels said enthusiastically. "She's a lovely little thing, or at least she would be if she had some decent clothes. The poor child w
as dressed in rags, if you'll pardon my saying so," she reported indignantly.

  Looking pained, Asa said, "You see why I'm so anxious to find her. Did she say anything that might give me a clue as to where they were heading next?"

  Mrs. Daniels thought this over. "I don't think so. In fact, I got the impression they would be staying around here for a while. I was mighty surprised when they just up and left. They shouldn't be too hard to find, though. Nobody would ever forget seeing that wagon."

  Asa was hard-pressed not to groan at that ingenuous remark. The fact was that nobody had seen that wagon at all, not for at least five months. Instead he smiled gratefully. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Daniels. Take good care of that geranium."

  "I will. I'm only sorry I couldn't have told you something. Good luck!" she called after him.

  Luck, Asa reflected bitterly, would not be nearly enough. If he was ever to find Felicity Storm and her father, he would need a damn miracle.

  Chapter Eight

  "Joshua, when are you going to start feeding this girl?" Blanche inquired cheerfully as she glided past him into his house. "You've had her here for three months now, and she's still nothing but skin and bones."

  Josh frowned, noticing Felicity's drawn face over Blanche's shoulder as the two women embraced in greeting. Blanche was right. Although Felicity had gained a little weight in the months since their marriage, of late she had been alarmingly pale and sickly. "I try, but she doesn't eat much," Josh replied only half-jokingly as he pictured the way Felicity had been picking at her food the past few weeks.

  Felicity almost groaned aloud at Joshua's remark. Lately it seemed as if everything she did displeased him-eating, not eating, sleeping, not sleeping. And now he had stirred Blanche's considerable interest in her unusual behavior. The older woman pulled back, carefully examining Felicity's face for signs of undernourishment, and Felicity wanted to groan again. "I've been off my feed a little, that's all," Felicity explained lightly. "Is that a new dress?" she asked to change the subject, stepping back to examine Blanche's outfit. Her guest was wearing a scarlet gown of lightweight lawn in deference to the warmer weather of early summer. Froths of white lace adorned her throat and wrists and trimmed the jaunty bustle of her skirt.