by Martha Hix
Charity imparted a look of irritation. “You’re taking the McLoughlins’ side.”
“I might not if I understood more about the situation.”
“Then I’d like to set you straight. When I was a baby, my father pegged me a defiant troublemaker. That’s why he named me Charity, so I might ‘think before I act.’ A strike against me from the beginning. He and my mother gravitated toward the darlings of their daughters. I was shuffled aside. It got worse after Angus came along. I am the unwanted McLoughlin.”
“And the more unwanted you felt, the more you tried for attention.”
“I ... I suppose by getting their attention by whatever means, even if it was the negative sort, I had what I wanted. Their attention. But I pushed them past their limits.”
Hawk touched her jaw, and he felt the shivers of hurt wracking her body. “No one ought to feel so estranged from family. There’s a chance your parents don’t understand you, but I bet they love you, crippled wing and all.”
“You are wrong.”
It was pitiable, the confidence she lacked. Hawk decided that if she ever learned to believe in her abilities and in her potential, then the sky would be her limit. “Beneath your prickly surface, there’s a spirit to you. It cries out for understanding. You’re an angel who’s fallen from grace and has broken a wing. Each time you try to spread your wings, you fall again. With each fall . . . the angel cries.”
Hawk saw a struggle in her eyes. When she dragged her gaze from his, she whispered, “You... you say these heavenly things, but you are a pagan.”
“No. Wah’Kon-Tah guides me. God is everywhere.”
“You believe in the spirit of angels?”
“Yes.”
Unnerved, and perhaps pleased, she labored to stand. “I–I need a moment alone. I think I’ll brush my hair.” She glided over to her valise and took out a brush. Her back to Hawk, she ran the bristles through those long, long locks. As she had from her family, as she had from Ian Blyer and from the crime she stood accused of committing, she was attempting to distance herself from simple truths.
I need to face life’s truths, she decided.
When she repacked the brush, Charity returned to the fire and lay down beside Hawk. He wondered what she would say. For several minutes, she said nothing. Hawk somewhat regretted trying to delve too deeply into her soul. And if the truth be known, he’d gotten out of the spiritualistic mood anyway. Upon watching her groom her hair, her entirely human presence had roused an altogether masculine reaction in Hawk.
Finally, looking over at him with eyes full of turquoise hardness, she announced, “You’re wrong about me. I’m no angel, fallen or otherwise. And I never cry.”
While he disagreed, Hawk kept his mouth shut.
“Will you promise I won’t have to see my father when you talk to him about the ransom?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to strike a deal, but Hawk collected his devious and lusty thoughts. “I promise not to make you face your father.”
This had never been Hawk’s plan anyway. His intent centered on returning her to the Old One, then letting the entire McLoughlin clan settle their differences in the way they saw fit. Which remained a sensible plan. But with all the bad medicine between them, what would the others think about that smuggling business? There would be another strike against Charity.
Concerned, Hawk mused aloud. “It seems strange, your tying in with one such as Adriano Gonzáles. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you on one condition. That you explain how you know about it.”
Hawk nodded. “When I got to Laredo, I asked around. A fellow across the border in Nuevo Laredo was in need of some money, so he had a lot to say. I followed up on it.”
“Who was he?”
“Senor Grande is all I know.”
“Big man,” she uttered with a twist of her lips. “Rufino Saldana. That evil worm had a nerve saying anything bad about me. He’s the one who introduced me to Adriano.”
“Charity, I’ve made good on my word, now make good on yours. How did you get mixed up with Gonzáles and his men?”
“I was hungry. I’d sold everything I owned that was worth selling, and I had no option but to find work. Adriano offered me employment, that’s all. Or at least I thought that was all. It turned out that I wasn’t bringing Cuban cigars into Texas, as I had been told. I was carrying cigar boxes of money to the silver-smuggling go-betweens in Shafter.”
“You didn’t know what you were doing?”
Earnestness in her voice as well as her expression, she riveted her gaze to his searching eyes. “I didn’t know until after the fact, when the rangers showed up in Shafter. God help me, Hawk, I was horrified, finding out I’d committed a felony.”
He believed her.
All along he’d thought her halo tarnished.
His respect for her gave it an extra polishing.
Moreover, he worried about her. It was a damned good thing the Old One had sent for her. No telling what would have happened if her kinswoman hadn’t loved her enough to send a kidnapper to Laredo. An angel like this needed a lot of protection. Not to mention top-caliber legal aid. You could take care of her, in and out of court.
He could protect her forever, perhaps, if she ever wanted him in the ever-after sort of way. But even if he made her understand that he wasn’t interested in extortion, and certainly not in “Papa’s money,” David Fierce Hawk was in no position to take a wife.
There was that law practice in Austin yet to be settled on. And he had his own dragons to slay. Of course, he was hot for Charity, but a man shouldn’t let his future rise from something that had risen in lust. Forever was a long, long time.
“Let me get those manacles off you,” Hawk said. “Then I’d best see after the horses.”
Hawk returned to the campfire shortly thereafter. Charity lay asleep on her side, her freed hands making a pillow for her head. Easing down on the pallet of blankets, Hawk placed a gentlemanly kiss on her forehead.
With no intention of sleeping–he had to make certain her word was good–he let his mind drift. His chest heaved as he stifled a chuckle, recalling her words about black-haired warriors. Reared in Texas, where prejudice flowed thick and wide, she didn’t hold his race against him. You’re one remarkable woman, Charity McLoughlin. Remarkable and adorable–in a mind-boggling sort of way. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible, a lifetime with her.
He patted her arm, brushed a strand of long hair over her shoulder. His heart thudded, for her womanly being was all over and through him. And he wanted more. He reached for the hem of her calico, his palms working up a curvaceous leg to stop at her unclothed, womanly mound. Wah’Kon-Tah, she felt good! Better than anything he had ever touched before. And she grew wet beneath his questing fingers.
She fidgeted in her sleep, issuing a mew of approval.
His lips played across hers. He moved his breechclout aside, his shaft rearing and demanding surcease. Behave.
What was he thinking of? He didn’t know for certain if he wanted her for a lifetime. Matters needed sorting. Once they reached Uvalde, after she’d learned he was no ransom-minded rogue, then they could go from there; he hoped the place they were led to had a future to it. In that light he needed to treat her with all respect, which meant–for now!–he must leave her virginity intact.
Pitching away from her, exhaling in need and frustration, he willed himself not to think of the warm, sweet, voluptuous body lying so near yet so far. It must have been a good ten minutes before he got control. He yawned. And his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
He awoke to sunlight.
His angel had flown the coop.
Chapter Ten
With all haste she reached the Four Aces Ranch.
It had been a tiring trip by train and stagecoach for Maria Sara Montana and her son. On this sweltering morning–as she toted the exhausted, irritable Jaime up the steep rosebush-lined carriage-way that led to the two-story limestone mansion with it
s tall columns–she hoped against hope that Charity would meet her at the door.
She also hoped to be forgiven for not having been honest about where the money she had lent Charity had come from. She had taken it from Ian Blyer because she had felt it her due; she had parted with it because Charity was a friend in need.
She prayed the gringa had somehow escaped from whatever danger had befallen her. If that hadn’t happened, Maria Sara could at least alert the family that one of their own was in peril.
In the beginning Maria Sara had viewed Charity McLoughlin as nothing but a threat. The green-eyed monster had swept through her, for Ian was Charity’s for the taking. She brushed away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. Ian had been the one to demand she ingratiate herself with his new love; she’d fought against offering the woman friendship. But in spite of her jealousy, she’d come to like the willful girl. And Charity was the only person in her life ever to prove loyal and true.
Jaime whined, drawing her attention to the burden in her arms. “Silence, chico.” She dug in her pocket for a piece of candy, then popped it into her young child’s mouth. “You are much like your father. Greedy. Let us hope you don’t become even more like him, avid for blood.”
She shuddered. For years she’d clung to the belief that Ianito would return to her and give her the respectability she craved. But after his threat of murder, she realized there was no chance for her. It was then she had vowed revenge.
By now she had topped the steps leading up to the vast McLoughlin home. Her knuckles rapped on the mahogany door.
Charity didn’t answer the summons, as she had hoped. A servant escorted Maria Sara and her toddler into an expansive and cool salon, where but one McLoughlin received them.
“Sit down, lass,” Charity’s great-grandmother ordered after Maria Sara had introduced herself. “Take the settee.” She motioned to a sofa in the latest Victorian style. “It will be comfortable for ye and yer wee lad.”
Taking a seat and settling the now quiet Jaime to her shoulder, Maria Sara eyed the lovely room, all velvets and rich woods with a fireplace dominating one wall that rose two stories in height. Her eyes settled on Maisie McLoughlin. The elderly lady–spry for seventy, much less ninety–sat straight and tall in an old-fashioned rocker out of place amidst the manse’s splendor.
Not wanting to appear overly awed by the surroundings, Maria Sara launched into her story of Charity’s abduction by dark of night, the treacherousness of Ian Blyer, and of an offer of employment gone awry.
“I feared she’d come t’ no good with Blyer.” The rocker squeaked as the matriarch leaned forward. “Always, Charity has tried t’ set herself apart from her sisters by willfulness and impetuousness.”
“She thinks none of you care for her.”
“Considering the hell that was aboot when she left this house, it wouldna be hard for that impression t’ stay with her.” The Scotswoman clicked her tongue. “But what’s done is done.”
“We’ve got to find her,” Maria Sara implored. “She needs help. Right away. Senor Blyer—”
“Is no threat.” A thin hand waved dismissively, and an amused gleam replaced the melancholy cast of the old woman’s Wedgwood-hued eyes. “That peacock will be getting his tail feathers plucked if he keeps scratching round our Charity. Doona be worrying aboot an abduction. She’s in good hands. I sent the Indian after her.”
Indian? Maria Sara blanched. When she found her voice, she said, “Far be it from me to question your reasons.”
“Ye’ve every right. Not many wooud put herself out t’ make a journey such as yours, just t’ see after a friend’s well-being.” The vieja paused. “Let me answer the query I see in yer eyes–pretty, they are, by the way.”
But Charity’s great-grandmother had no desire to expound upon Maria Sara’s attributes. “For four months,” she explained, “I have been waiting for my stubborn grandson t’ come t’ his senses, but he hasna. So, I decided t’ take matters int’ my own hands. Trouble was, I couldna think of a way. Charity left here angry with me as well as with her maither and faither. I dinna figure she’d be too happy if I went after her. Besides, I’m not as young as I used t’ be, and ’tis, as ye know, quite a trip betwixt Fredericksburg and Laredo.”
Maria Sara glanced at her squirming son. How well she knew the ardors of travel.
“He looks t’ be a lively one,” the elderly woman commented when Jaime twisted in his mother’s arms and emitted a scream of protest at the bonds of her fingers. A smug look on her wrinkled face, the McLoughlin matriarch put the rocker in motion. “Our Charity may be presenting us with a babe in the course of time. Through wedlock, of course! That Fierce Hawk looks as if he’s virile enough.”
“I take it you sent him after her with matchmaking in mind.”
“Aye. He is a good catch. Fierce Hawk is more white than red. He’s educated. His grandmaither in Maryland left him a sizable estate, which he doesna even need, since he’s a lawyer by profession.”
Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea, Maria Sara decided, the vieja sending a lawyer to Laredo.
By now Jaime had squirmed out of his mother’s arms. He grabbed for a candy dish that his mother impatiently pushed out of his reach. He lunged; she swatted his hand. Naturally, he filled the rafters of the high-ceilinged room with his protests.
“Come here, lad. Granny has something for ye.”
The vieja dug in her pocket, pulled out a brass ring of keys, and dangled them. Jaime took the bait, was across the room in no time, and was rattling the keys himself. He smiled at the old lady and received a rustle to his tawny head of hair.
“There’s a good lad.”
For the first time in days, his mother thought, he was being a “good lad.” The old lady worked magic on the tired chico. When he plopped down at her feet to play with the ersatz toy, she rang a bell that rested atop the marble-topped table beside her rocking chair. Almost immediately, a servant appeared and was ordered to “bring the wee lad a nice cup of cocoa.”
“You aren’t worried about the smuggling trouble?” Maria Sara asked, eager to get back to Charity’s predicament.
On a shake of her silvered head, the vieja swept Jaime into her arms and began to rock him. The servant reappeared with the cocoa mug, and the elderly lady deftly put the lip to his eager mouth. “We will be getting our Charity out of trouble. Money talks. And she’ll have Fierce Hawk on her side too.”
“You seem quite certain they’ll make a match.”
“I am. I doona have t’ be telling ye Charity is headstrong. She needs a man who’ll not quail at her tongue. They’ll be making a match, or I’m not Maisie McLoughlin.”
“And you’re certain her parents will approve?”
“My grandchildren will be approving.” Such confidence defied the old woman’s disquieted expression. “Lisette right away. My grandson, eventually.”
“Where are they, by the way?”
“On their way home from Washington. Senate is in session, ye see, but I’ve sent a telegram. ‘Trouble with Angus.’ Angus is Charity’s braither, but ye probably know that,” she explained. “Lisette and Gilliegorm will be here in a matter of days.”
These calm guarantees eased Maria Sara’s anxiety over Charity’s dilemma. Now she could think about her own. Survival and security. And she must find a lover. Soon.
She didn’t worry that Ian Blyer would come after her. She knew his mind was on Charity; he didn’t care enough about “greaser trash” to waste his time on her and Jaime.
But his time would come, and he’d pay for his transgressions. Someway, somehow, he would be punished for his victimization of both her and Charity. In her own case the victim had turned from an innocent girl into a woman with an unquenchable need for sexual gratification. Maria Sara realized she was a lost soul. Her only chance for redemption was to help Charity.
“This is a fine, bonny lad ye have.”
“You wouldn’t think him thus if you’d traveled with the scamp,”
Maria Sara replied in exasperation. “He tripped the conductor, kept passengers from their naps, and yanked feathers from a matron’s hat. All within an hour of our boarding.”
She met the vieja’s amused laughter with a grimace; she didn’t see anything humorous about her son’s behavior.
The old woman’s eyes sparkled. “I remember a train trip from Chicago with three wee lasses. Younger than yer Jaime, they were. And under my care, so their parents might enjoy a belated honeymoon in their own private car. The lasses cried and cried–’twas lucky we dinna get put off the train!”
Money did have its privileges.
Maria Sara quit the settee. “We must take our leave now,” she said.
“Ye dinna arrive by conveyance, so I’ll be assuming ye’ll be needing the loan of a carriage.”
“A ride into town would be very much appreciated. Our things are at the stage stop, and–”
“What will ye be doing after ye get t’ Fredericksburg? Are ye off t’ Laredo again?”
“Actually, I had hoped to find employment in town.”
“Señora–”
“S-señorita,” Maria Sara corrected instinctively, then could have bitten her tongue, for undoubtedly condemnation would meet her slip of the tongue. It did not. While she now lived a sordid existence, Maria Sara was adamant about keeping up appearances.
“Senorita Montana, wooud ye be of a mind t’ stand an old woman’s company? And can ye sew a straight seam? I want t’ hire ye. There’s no one round here t’ chat with–the grandchildren and their bairns are away more than they’re here–and me wardrobe could use some improvement. Will ye stay here at the Four Aces?”
“I would be honored and pleased. Thank you for offering.” Maria Sara dropped a curtsy. “You’ll find me a hard worker.”
“Ye’d better be, ‘cause I doona waste coin on laggards. ”Charity’s great-grandmother gave one firm nod to her head to punctuate her statement. “Lisette bought me bolt after bolt of material for new frocks, but that wasna all she bought. Ye’ll be finding a new treadle Singer in the solarium. Do ye think ye can be learning t’ peddle that contraption?”
