Texas Blonde

by Victoria Thompson

  From his hiding place, Josh could see Candace, gagged and tied hand and foot, but perfectly still. No one was paying any attention to her, but Josh could not tell if that was because they had lost interest or because she was dead.

  The outlaws were arguing, their shouts liberally sprinkled with Spanish curses, and Josh understood enough to know they were angry because they had gotten the wrong woman.

  At that moment, Jeremiah stepped casually into the firelight. "You fellows having a problem?" he inquired.

  The argument instantly ceased as everyone turned to face the black man. Ortega broke into a new spate of cursing. "How did you get here?" he demanded.

  Jeremiah shrugged with unconcern. "Your guards were asleep. Lucky for you I wasn't Logan. You'd all be dead now." He glanced with apparent nonchalance around the camp until his gaze lighted on the captive. "That's not Logan's wife," he pointed out impudently.

  To Josh's great relief, Candace's eyes opened at this, and Josh saw them widen in recognition. No one else seemed to notice, however. They were too concerned with Jeremiah's presence.

  "You can't expect Logan to pay a ransom for that," Jeremiah said, making a contemptuous gesture toward his mother.

  Ortega grew defensive, unwilling to admit he had made a mistake in kidnapping the old woman. "She raised him. He will have loyalty."

  "For a darky? And an old one, at that?" Jeremiah sneered.

  "If a nigger dies, you just go find another one. That's the way it works now that we're free. 'Free' means we don't cost the whites nothing. Some colored folks say we were better off as slaves. At least the whites took care of us then, but those days are gone. She's worthless now. Logan won't give you a cent for her."

  This started a new argument in which the other men reminded Ortega of his promises. Now they had no money and no woman, since they considered Candace unfit for their attentions.

  Suddenly, Ortega silenced them all by drawing his pistol and waving it wildly, sending them all racing for cover. His black eyes glittered furiously as they searched the camp for any hints of further rebellion. At last his gaze settled on Candace. "I will kill the bitch, then," he said, taking aim.

  "NO!" Jeremiah cried, just as Josh prepared to shoot the Mexican down. Ortega whirled to face the black man.

  "No?" Ortega repeated suspiciously. "Why do you care what I do with her?"

  "She's harmless. Let her go," Jeremiah urged as Josh debated shooting Ortega in the back. Every instinct deplored such an act, but he could not let the bandit shoot Candace or Jeremiah.

  "Why did you come back?" Ortega asked, his suspicions growing. "To plead for the life of an old woman?"

  "No!" Josh shouted from his hiding place. "He brought Logan here!"

  Ortega turned, firing blindly at the sound of Josh's voice. Josh felt something strike his chest, but he fired back, and a splotch of red appeared on the bandit's shirtfront. Then the night exploded as guns roared everywhere at once.

  In the confusion, Josh caught sight of Jeremiah, his pistol still holstered, dragging Candace off into the shadows and out of the line of fire. Josh aimed carefully, keeping his half-brother covered as the black man shielded Candace with his own body.

  Josh kept shooting, switching to his spare gun when the first one clicked empty. His shirt was clinging, soaking wet, and some distant part of his brain registered that fact, but he took no time to analyze it. Then he thought he heard familiar voices shouting his name, but he could not be certain. A mysterious fog had settled over the clearing, distorting sights and sounds.

  His spare gun clicked empty, too, but when he tried to open the cylinder to reload, his fingers fumbled and the gun slipped from his grasp. He reached to pick it up, but it was just too far away.

  "Josh! Josh, are you all right?" Grady's voice asked through the fog. Josh opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. "Oh, my God," Grady's voice said, and then the fog closed in, dark and silent.

  Felicity stared bleakly out the window as the train pulled into the Philadelphia station. Self-consciously, she smoothed the fabric of her homemade Mother Hubbard over the obvious mound of her stomach. All the beautiful clothes she had gotten during her last visit to the city were now packed away, too small for her burgeoning figure.

  Richard would lift his elegant eyebrows when he saw her gown, but then he would discern the reason for it. Heaven only knew what his reaction would be then. Felicity sighed wearily at the thought. After her long trip, she simply did not feel up to dealing with him at all. Unfortunately, she was afraid she would not have a choice. Knowing Richard, he was bound to be meeting her train.

  As Simon Duvalier bustled about the car, moving her luggage so it could be easily unloaded, Felicity was reminded of her first visit here and how Joshua had stood by her side. Thoughts of Joshua caused an unpleasant throb in the general region of her heart, which she would have thought was past feeling any pain at all.

  What was she going to tell Richard and her grandfather? How could she admit to them that Joshua had sent her away when she couldn't even admit it to herself quite yet? But she didn't have to tell them, not at first. She could tell them Joshua's lie. He had sent her here for expert medical attention. He would be joining her before the baby's birth.

  And maybe he really would come, she found herself thinking. Maybe all her fears and suspicions were ridiculous notions caused by her delicate condition. Hadn't she once thought that Joshua and Blanche were having an affair and wanted her to die so they could be together? Pregnant women were not always completely rational, as she knew from experience. And he had promised, several times during the past month and again at the station just before she left.

  But then she recalled the way he had treated her all during that month. He had been polite and solicitous of her, but aloof and cold, too, never touching her if he could help it. Only in the dark of night had they come together at all, and although her body had responded to his touch, her heart had recoiled at the cautious way he held himself back, as if unwilling to give too much.

  The memory brought tears to her eyes, and she was wiping them away when Simon announced, "We're here, Mrs. Logan. I believe that's Mr. Winthrop coming for you."

  "Oh, perfect," Felicity muttered, rising from her seat just as Richard burst into the car parlor.

  "Felicity!" Richard exclaimed. He looked just as elegant as she remembered, every raven lock combed to perfection, his suit uncreased and exquisitely tailored, his face flawlessly handsome. He spread his arms wide as if to embrace her, and Felicity noticed he was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

  The way his welcoming smile gradually changed into a look of stunned surprise was almost comical. The flowers slipped unheeded from his hand and tumbled to the floor. His arms dropped to his sides.

  "Felicity," he whispered, aghast. "What has he done to you?"

  Felicity experienced a quick flash of fury at his reaction, but before she could give Richard the edge of her tongue, her grandfather spoke from behind them.

  "That's fairly obvious, isn't it?" Maxwell asked, stepping around his nephew into the car.

  "Grandfather!" Felicity cried in delight, rushing to kiss him. "I didn't expect you to come to the station."

  "And why not?" he asked, feigning offense. Indeed, when he stepped away again and she got a good look at him, she realized he was now completely recovered from the malaise he had previously suffered. Before her stood the same Henry Maxwell who had built a legendary financial empire.

  "You look wonderful," she said with a smile.

  "And you look… different," he said with a significant glance at her protruding stomach. Almost overnight, several weeks ago, her figure had changed. Suddenly she looked pregnant, and her long-kept secret was now public knowledge.

  "Yes, I-" she began, placing one hand defensively on her belly, but her grandfather didn't wait for her to explain.

  "When do you expect it?" he asked, his canny eyes narrowing speculatively.

  "Around Christmas."

>   "Well," he said, growing cheerful again, "at least one good thing happened to you when you were here last spring."

  Ignoring the strangled noise that Richard made behind him, Maxwell led Felicity back to the settee where she had been sitting. "But why has Joshua sent you back here?" he asked as they sat down. "Should you be traveling in your condition?"

  Felicity felt herself blanch at her grandfather's unintentional choice of words, but she recovered quickly. "You remember I told you that our first child died?" she began, looking down at where her hands were clenched in her lap so he would not see her eyes as she told this half-truth. "We want this child to have every chance. Joshua thought… we both thought that the doctors here would be better."

  "Yes, of course, I understand completely," Maxwell said, patting her hands reassuringly. "But why didn't young Joshua come with you? I thought it odd when you said he wasn't coming, and now that I know the reason for your visit, it seems doubly so."

  Felicity managed a smile and forced herself to meet her grandfather's eyes. "He couldn't be away from the ranch that long, but hell be here before the baby is born," she said, reciting her carefully prepared speech. For one horrible second she thought her grandfather was going to challenge her statement, but then he, too, smiled.

  "Of course," he said, so blandly that Felicity could not tell whether he believed her or not. Then he turned to where Richard still stood. "Are you going to stand there gaping all day, boy?" he inquired. "You act as if you had never seen a lady who was enceinte before."

  Richard visibly shook himself, flushing at the rebuke. "I'm sorry," he said tightly. "I didn't mean to be rude. It was just such a… a shock." He made a great show of picking up the flowers he had dropped and rearranging them. By the time he had them orderly again, he had recovered his poise. "Welcome home, Cousin Felicity," he said quite formally, presenting her with the bouquet.

  "Thank you," Felicity replied through stiff lips. Although she managed to maintain her own poise, inside she was seething over Richard's reaction to her condition. He had no right to be angry. He was acting as if she had somehow betrayed him. Their mutual fury seemed to amuse her grandfather, who coughed to cover a chuckle.

  "The carriage is waiting if you're ready," Maxwell said after a long moment of silence during which Richard and Felicity glared at each other.

  To Felicity's annoyance, Richard lingered at her grandfather's house long after their arrival, and she soon discerned that he was waiting for a chance to speak with her alone. When she recalled their last meeting and the strained goodby after he had escorted her to the Maxwell family railroad car for her departure two short days after he had proposed marriage to her, she dreaded having another private conversation with him again. Unfortunately, she could not avoid it.

  After some less than subtle maneuvering by her grandfather, Felicity found herself closeted with Richard in the front parlor.

  "How have you been, Richard?" she asked perfunctorily.

  To his credit, Richard had apparently come to terms with her pregnancy, and he seemed determined to put their relationship on some kind of normal footing. "Considering that I fell in love with the wrong woman, I've been doing very well," he said with a self-mocking grin.

  "Richard, please," Felicity begged him.

  But Richard shook his head. "There's no use pretending that I'm not in love with you. That's something we're both going to have to live with, but I promise not to make a nuisance of myself."

  "I never wanted to hurt you," Felicity said, instantly contrite. She had forgotten that Richard had been hurt by all of this, too. "You knew I was married the moment you met me, and I never gave you any reason to believe-"

  "Ah, but I loved you even before we met, my dear cousin," Richard confessed with a wan smile. "Haven't you figured it out yet? I wanted the Maxwell millions. Uncle Henry is planning to leave you everything he owns."

  "Not everything, surely!" she protested. "There's Isabel and you're his nephew…"

  "A pittance." Richard dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "I wanted everything. I was determined to win my cousin Felicity's hand, even if she turned out to be a homely drab. And when she turned out to be the loveliest of creatures…" He shrugged eloquently. But when she would have protested again, he held up his slender hand to stop her. "I promised not to be a nuisance, and I won't be. You will never hear another confession of undying devotion from these lips," he vowed dramatically. Then his expression changed to one of infinite sadness. "I would, however, like to be your friend. If you can find it in your heart…"

  She studied his face for any trace of chicanery, but she found none. Her heart was touched by his sincerity and his pain. How much it must have cost him to make such a confession, she thought as she saw him reach out a hand toward her beseechingly. How could she refuse to forgive him? And she really would need a friend in the days ahead. "Of course," she said, placing her hand in his.

  His beautiful face contorted for a moment in mingled joy and relief. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a chastely worshipful kiss on it. But before she could be offended, he released it, grinning boyishly.

  "We'll have such fun," he said. "Friendly fun. The first thing we'll do is go to the Exposition so you can finally see your photographs, and there's a new play in town…"

  Felicity could not help but smile at his enthusiasm. She really had no desire to see her photographs, not when she knew the painful memories they would stir, but how could she offend Richard when he had humbled himself so to win her friendship? Then she recalled a legitimate excuse.

  "But I can't go out like this," she reminded him, indicating the mound of her stomach. No lady would parade her delicate condition before an unsuspecting populace.

  Richard waved away her objection. "We'll call in the dressmaker first thing tomorrow. When she's finished, no one will even suspect."

  With the last of her excuses overruled, Felicity had no choice but to agree.

  * * *

  "It's a lucky thing for you that Miz Blanche is a respectable married lady now, so she can stay here, Mr. Josh. I'd never be able to take care of you myself," Candace said with forced cheerfulness as she changed the bandage covering the bullet wound on his chest.

  Josh looked up from his bed and gave her a weak smile. "What makes you think I want either one of you taking care of me?" he rasped.

  Blanche accepted the pile of soiled bandages from Candace and gave Josh a disapproving look. "I'm sure you don't want either one of us here, not when you've got a perfectly good wife who would love to have the job if only she knew about it."

  "Blanche," Josh said in warning, but his voice was so soft that she almost didn't hear him.

  "Miz Blanche, please don't," Candace chastened gently, and Blanche turned away from the bed to dispose of the bandages, wagging her head in disapproval. As soon as she had heard the news about Candace's kidnapping, she and Asa had ridden to the Rocking L, making themselves available to help in any way. Mostly they had simply waited until the bedraggled but victorious Rocking L crew had ridden in late the next morning.

  Blanche did not think she would ever forget the sight of that black man cradling Josh's limp body as gently as if he had been a sleeping child. The men told her that after the fight, Jeremiah had carried his wounded brother down the steep trail and all the long ride home, permitting no one to relieve him of his burden.

  Jeremiah now waited out in the parlor, refusing to leave even though every minute he spent at the ranch increased his chances of being recognized and arrested. He would not go until he was certain Josh would recover his wound. Unfortunately, Blanche could not yet give him such an assurance.

  She slipped quietly out of the sickroom into the parlor, where Jeremiah, Asa, and several of the other men waited anxiously.

  "How is he?" Asa asked as soon as she appeared.

  "The wound is festering. He's running a high fever, and he's lost a lot of blood. He's so weak…" She let her voice trail off, unwilling to
speak aloud of the danger they all understood too well.

  "We ought to send for Felicity," Asa insisted, but Blanche quickly shushed him.

  "Not so loud! He'll hear you. The last time I mentioned it, he almost got up out of the bed to stop me. He's so worried about that girl that if he even thinks we've sent for her, I don't know what he'll do. Besides, if he…" Her voice caught and she turned away, discreetly wiping the moisture from her eyes. "Felicity might not be able to get here in time anyway."

  Her husband came and put his arm around her shoulders in a comforting gesture.

  Back in the bedroom, Candace tenderly adjusted the covers over her patient, reminding Josh of the many times she had performed that task for him when he was a young child. He managed another weak smile before his feverish thoughts returned to his main concern. "Don't let them send for her," he murmured.

  "I won't," Candace promised, smoothing the silver hair from his burning brow.

  "It's too dangerous for her to travel, and I don't want her upset…" he continued.

  "Shhh, don't talk," Candace soothed, but he could not hear her. He had slipped into delirium.

  "She can't lose the baby," he muttered. "She'll never forgive me…"

  "She won't lose it," Candace crooned. "Be quiet now." She stayed with him until he settled into a deep sleep, and then she joined the others in the parlor.

  Everyone's gaze immediately flew to her as she came out of the bedroom. "He's sleeping now," she reported reassuringly.

  "Candace, you'd better get some rest yourself," Blanche urged, wondering at the older woman's stamina. In spite of the fact that Candace had been kidnapped, carried off into wild country, held prisoner by men intent on killing her, and then had ridden back home again without one moment's sleep, she still looked as dauntless as ever.

  Candace was shaking her head to Blanche's suggestion. "I've got to make some soup for when Mr. Josh wakes up again…"

  "I can make soup, and you won't be able to do anything if you keel over dead of exhaustion," Blanche warned. "Jeremiah, take your mother out to her cabin and see that she goes to bed."