Texas Blonde

by Victoria Thompson

"I'd better go now so you can get some rest," she said, eager to escape her grandfather's perceptive gaze. He was watching her as if he could read her thoughts.

  He made an impatient noise. "There'll be time enough for rest when I'm dead. Right now I have a chance to look at the prettiest young woman in this city, and I'm going to take it. Sit down and we'll talk for a while."

  Felicity frowned at the reference to his death, a reference he made rather too frequently for her peace of mind. "Dr. Lowell said that if you take care of yourself, you can live a long time," she reminded him.

  "Pshaw, a few months one way or the other won't make that much difference to a man my age. I say, enjoy the time you've got. Better to live a short while and have fun than a long time and die of boredom," he told her with a wink that brought a grudging smile back to her mouth. She had come to love him very much in the few weeks she had known him, and the thought of his death disturbed her greatly, although she knew he did not want her to show it.

  "In fact," he continued thoughtfully, adjusting the bedclothes with the air of one who has an important announcement to make, "I've been thinking about having a party."

  "A party!" Felicity echoed, thoroughly shocked. How did he think he could host a party from his bed?

  "Well, I wouldn't attend, of course, but Richard could serve as host," he explained, anticipating her objections. "And Isabel can muddle through as hostess if you stand beside her and make sure she doesn't faint," he added with a wink. "I want you to be introduced into Philadelphia society properly."

  "But there's no need to introduce me into society," Felicity assured him quickly, once again fighting the sudden fear that she might indeed find herself a permanent resident of this fair city.

  He frowned at that but decided not to pursue the argument. Instead he offered one against which she could make no protest. "And I'd like to hear music in this old house once more before I die."

  Felicity frowned again at the mention of his death, but she could not object to his request. "If you want to have a party, I'm sure Richard would be glad to host it for you." Of that much she was certain. "And I'll help Isabel any way I can."

  "Good," he said, grinning slyly. "And we can use the occasion to announce that your pictures will be displayed at the Exposition."

  "You wouldn't dare!" Felicity cried, horrified at the very thought of having such a fuss made over her. Having the party in her honor was already more than she should allow.

  "We'll talk about it later," he conceded, wisely not pressing her. She had already given him more than he had expected today. If he did not mention this again, she would think he had forgotten. "Now, why don't you read to me awhile?" he suggested with an innocent smile.

  Felicity gave him a reproving glance and picked up the book lying on the bedside table. She took her customary chair beside the bed, but before she could begin reading, a discreet knock at the door interrupted her. It was Bellwood, who announced that Dr. Strong was here to see Mr. Maxwell.

  "Well, send him right in," Henry exclaimed with a pleased smile.

  "A new doctor?" Felicity inquired when Bellwood stepped out to summon the guest.

  "An old friend," Henry said, still smiling.

  A moment later, a stocky, middle-aged man with graying hair and muttonchop whiskers burst into the room and greeted Henry boisterously.

  "How did you find Paris, Ezra?" Henry asked when he had returned the greeting.

  "With very little difficulty," Ezra Strong replied, grinning slyly. "The trains stop there now, you know."

  "Humph, thanks to me," Henry replied huffily.

  Ezra chuckled, but he had lost interest in the banter. Instead, he was looking intently at Henry's face. "You're looking awfully chipper for a man who's supposed to be at death's door, Henry," he remarked after a moment. "How have you been feeling lately?"

  "Always the doctor," Henry muttered in good-natured complaint. "I've been very well indeed, and it's because I've had such good nursing care." He gestured toward Felicity, who had risen from her chair and now stood beside the bed.

  "By heaven," Dr. Strong exclaimed, noticing Felicity for the first time. "I'd look a lot better, too, if I got to see that face every day. Where'd you ever find her?"

  "She's my granddaughter, you old fool," Henry said.

  Dr. Strong's eyes widened in amazement. "Not little Felicity? You found her? By God, no wonder you look so much better." Dr. Strong hurried around to the other side of the bed and took Felicity's hand. "Ezra Strong, at your service, Miss Storm. It does my heart good to see you here at last, and I know this old coot feels exactly the same way."

  "Old coot!" Henry protested in mock outrage.

  "Thank you, Dr. Strong. But my name is Felicity Logan now. I'm married," Felicity told him, smiling politely even though mention of her marriage caused her a slight pang. Her grandfather's explanation caused her another.

  "Her husband went back to Texas, but she's spending some time here with me, brightening my last days," Henry said.

  "Well, whatever, we're glad you're here," Dr. Strong said before turning his shrewd glance back to Henry. "And speaking of 'last days,' how have you been feeling lately?"

  "Too good to be stuck in this bed all the time," Henry grumbled.

  Dr. Strong reached over and took Henry's wrist in one hand while he pulled a large gold pocket watch from his vest with the other. Felicity watched in fascination as the doctor took her grandfather's pulse. "Hmmmm," he said, examining Henry's fingertips before dropping his wrist and replacing the watch. Then he pulled down one of Henry's lower eyelids and studied the color of the skin revealed there. "Hmmmm," he said again.

  "Quit playing doctor and tell me about your trip to France, Ezra," Henry ordered, jerking away from the doctor's grasp. "He went over there for his daughter's wedding," he explained to Felicity. "She married a count."

  "How exciting," Felicity exclaimed, glad for something to turn her thoughts away from her grandfather's health and her troubled marriage. "Do tell us all about it."

  "In a while. First I think I'll examine your grandfather," Dr, Strong said, moving toward the door.

  "Examine me? Whatever for?" Henry shot Felicity a puzzled look, but she was as puzzled as he.

  "Because I think you may have gone and gotten well while I was out of the country," Ezra announced as he opened the bedroom door and stuck his head out into the hall. "Bellwood! Run next door and tell them to give you my black bag, will you? There's a good fellow." Then he turned and walked back over to the bed. Seeing Felicity's confusion, he explained, "I live right next door. Henry built this house so he'd have a doctor at his beck and call."

  "What a liar you are, Strong," Henry chided him. "You came here after I did and only so you'd have a rich patient close by whenever you needed money."

  Dr. Strong found that remark hilarious, and while he was laughing, the import of his earlier words finally registered with Felicity. "Do you really think Grandfather is getting better?" she asked.

  The doctor sobered immediately. "I won't know until I examine him, of course, but I can say for sure that your presence has improved his disposition. Why, he used to be downright nasty!"

  That, Felicity realized, was another joke, but when she smiled, her smile was in appreciation for the small hope he had given her. In a few minutes the doctor's bag arrived, and Felicity went out into the hall to await the verdict.

  "Well, how much longer do I have, Ezra?" Henry asked resignedly when his friend had completed his examination.

  Dr. Strong finished putting his instruments back in his case before he replied. "What does Lowell say?"

  "Not much, but I don't think he holds out any hope for me. He as much as told me that if I got out of bed again, I'd be signing my own death warrant," Henry grumbled.

  Dr. Strong shook his head. "I hate to contradict a colleague, but I think the best thing you could do is get out of this bed."

  "Trying to get rid of me, Ezra?" Henry asked with a sardonic grin.

>   "No, I just happen to think that, in your case at least, Lowell has made a mistake in his diagnosis."

  "But you said he was the best!" Henry protested.

  "He is the best, in his field. That's why I recommended him when I thought your problem was with your heart. Now I think we both made a mistake. I'm starting to think that spell you had wasn't your heart at all, or if it was, you've made a complete recovery. I think you had a much more serious problem in your mind."

  "In my brain?" Henry asked in alarm.

  "No, of course not," Ezra assured him hastily. "I said your 'mind.' I think you made yourself sick because you couldn't find that little girl out there," he said, gesturing toward the hallway, where Felicity waited. "Now that she's here, you aren't sick anymore… or at least you won't be if you get out of that bed before you waste away to nothing."

  Henry stared at him for a long moment as he digested this last piece of advice. "Ezra, hand me my pants," he ordered, throwing back the bedclothes.

  A few minutes later Dr. Strong found Felicity out in the hall and escorted her to the downstairs parlor, where they could talk in privacy. He explained his theory for her grandfather's illness.

  "It's hard to believe that a person could get so sick just from being sad," she said when he had finished.

  "The human mind is a powerful force, Mrs. Logan. Any doctor will tell you that," Dr. Strong said. "I'll have two patients, both with the same problem. I treat them both exactly the same way. One dies and one recovers to live an active, healthy life. What makes the difference?' He shrugged. "Some call it 'the will to live." That's as good a name as any. I think Henry lost his will to live when he couldn't find you, and I fully believe that if you hadn't shown up when you did, he'd be dead by now."

  Breathing a silent prayer of thanks, Felicity sniffed back the tears of relief that flooded her eyes. "How did you get so smart, Dr. Strong?" she asked with a wavering smile.

  He smiled back. "There was a doctor here in Philadelphia who did research on the subject. He's dead now, but I was lucky enough to have studied under him. He was convinced that you could actually talk patients into getting well. In fact, he used to tell a story about a female patient of his who refused to get up out of bed even after she was completely well. I guess she decided she liked being an invalid. The doctor warned her that if she didn't get out of that bed, he was going to get in there with her. She didn't believe him until he started to get undressed. By the time he removed his trousers, she was fully recovered and out of bed!"

  Knowing she should have been shocked by such a story, Felicity still could not help the laughter that bubbled out of her.

  Watching her appreciatively, Dr. Strong said, "You really are a lovely girl. Henry is lucky to have found you."

  "I'm lucky to have found him, too," she replied. "And he's lucky to have such a good doctor for a friend."

  "Well, remember, this is only a theory. I've told him to take it very easy at first. He'll be weak from having been in bed all these months. He's not to leave his room for at least a week. I'll watch him closely for signs of a relapse, and you'll have to make sure he doesn't overdo."

  "I will," she promised.

  "And he said something about having a party for you. I told him he could attend for a little while, but no dancing!"

  "No dancing," Felicity repeated obediently, but her thoughts were already faraway, on the letter she would write to Joshua. She would tell him the good news about her grandfather, and about her pictures being displayed at the Centennial, and she would tell him about the party, too. Surely the news that a fully recovered Henry Maxwell was formally introducing his granddaughter to Philadelphia society would inspire him to action. If not, the news about her photographs would at least salvage her pride.

  Josh opened his eyes and stared into the darkness, cursing softly at his inability to sleep. Here it was, the middle of the night, hours until dawn, and he was wide awake. As the weeks had passed with no sign of Ortega, Josh had found himself sleepless more nights than he cared to remember. And, of course, he was worried about Felicity, too.

  Their separation had now lasted over six weeks, and he had not heard from her in the last two, not since the letter that had informed him of her grandfather's recovery. Although she and Josh had set no specific time for her return, Josh had always expected her to insist on staying as long as her grandfather stayed alive. Now it seemed he might live for a good long time.

  Not only was Maxwell recovered, but he was having some sort of shindig for her, too, a party in her honor, to introduce her to all the right people. She made it sound like she had decided to settle in for life. When Maxwell's friends saw her pictures and realized how talented she was, they'd probably make her Queen of the May, too. She would certainly have no reason to even want to come home.

  She hadn't mentioned anything about coming home, either, and to make matters worse, she had not written since. Letters sometimes got lost, never reaching their destinations, of course, but two weeks had passed without a word. For the first month of their separation, he had heard from her several times a week. The silence could mean only one thing: She had stopped writing.

  Josh rolled over in disgust, punching his pillow into what he hoped would be a more comfortable shape, but nothing could ease his frustration. The fact that she had stopped writing was a danger sign, he knew, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn't leave the ranch, not with Ortega and Jeremiah lurking out there somewhere just waiting for the right opportunity to strike. And he couldn't summon her home for the very same reasons. All he could do was wait.

  Out in her cabin, Candace, too, was having trouble sleeping. Lately, her nights had been plagued by nightmares that included Joshua and her son, nightmares that involved blood and death and left her gasping, drenched in a cold sweat.

  Another of these nightmares had awakened her tonight, and as she lay shivering in the darkness, a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the scream that rose in her throat.

  "Not a sound, old woman," her son's voice rasped in her ear. "Not one sound," he repeated, pressing the barrel of a pistol to her head. "Get up now, real slow," he said, removing his hand from her mouth and using it to urge her out of the bed and onto her feet.

  He was using his bad hand to help her, she realized in some distant part of her brain. "What do you want this time?" she asked, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't anger him.

  "Tonight's the night," he said grimly. "The night I pay the Logans back for what I owe them."

  "What are you going to do?" she demanded, trembling in terror and thanking God that Felicity, at least, was out of danger.

  "Don't worry, you'll see it all," he assured her, propelling her toward the cabin door. "I want you with me so you'll see everything."

  Josh had been staring at the ceiling for a long time when he noticed the peculiar light. Could it be dawn already? he wondered, glancing toward the window. But it wasn't the steady light of dawn. It was the flickering glow of flames that brightened the room.

  In an instant he was at the window, just in time to see the interior of the barn explode into flames. Instinct told him to call for help, and almost before the thought formed in his mind, his hands jerked up the partially opened sash. He was just about to holler to waken his cowboys when he saw the silhouette of a man moving furtively away from the burning barn.

  Not toward the barn, as one of his own men would do, and not toward the bunkhouse to summon the rest of the men, but away and quickly, so as not to be seen. Someone had set the fire, and Josh had a pretty good idea who it was.

  "Grady!" he called, his voice echoing across the empty ranch yard. "Grady! Wake up!" In a few seconds he heard men shouting as those awakened by his call noticed the light from the fire and aroused the others. The instant the first figure appeared at the bunkhouse door, however, Josh called out again.

  "Don't come out! Stay where you are! It's a trap!" No sooner had his warning stopped the flow of men which had bottlenecke
d at the bunkhouse door than a shot rang out. Josh heard it thunk into the wood beside the window where he stood. He ducked instinctively and moved away from the window.

  Snatching his pants and hastily pulling them on, he ran into the parlor and pulled a rifle off the gun rack. Checking the loads, he raced to the front window and hauled it open as the whine of more bullets echoed outside. He took a minute to survey the situation before taking aim.

  From the flashes of gunpowder, he could tell that his men had heeded his advice and remained inside the bunkhouse. Thank God he had seen the arsonist. Under normal circumstances, the first person to notice the fire would have summoned every man on the place to fight it. Within a minute or two, all his men would have been standing in the yard, highlighted by the flames into perfect targets for Ortega's men to shoot down at will.

  Now it was Ortega's men who made good targets as they moved around the eerily lit yard to positions of safety from which they could shoot into the bunkhouse. Josh took careful aim and fired at one stealthily moving figure. The figure cried out and dropped, but scrambled away before Josh had a second chance at him.

  From his isolated position, Josh attracted very few shots himself, and he managed to get off several of his own before a noise behind him alerted him to a very present danger.

  "Josh! Look out!" Candace cried, but as Josh jerked around to discover the source of the danger, all he saw was Candace flying toward him. He had just enough time to drop his rifle and raise his hands to catch her as she collided with him. In the next instant her weight had carried them both to the floor, but almost as soon as they hit, Candace was frantically fighting free of him so he could rise again. "He's here! He wants to kill you!" she was saying, her voice shrill with hysteria.

  "Damn you, old woman!" Jeremiah shouted.

  Josh struggled for a moment with Candace's clinging hands before he realized she did not want to let him go. She was shielding him with her own body. "Stop it, Candace," he ordered, using his superior strength to break her grip and set her aside. What he saw when he did made his blood run cold.