Lone Star Loving

by Martha Hix

  “Will you let me represent you in court?” Hawk asked.

  She studied the ground; beneath her slippers were patches of grass parched by the relentless heat of late summer. Autumn would soon make its brief appearance in these surrounds. Without a friend in court, where would the dying season find Charity McLoughlin? She had few avenues. Broke, desperate, deceived, betrayed, possibly with child, she had to face facts. I am a criminal.

  If a seed grew within her, she must protect it.

  Yet . . .

  Her eyes leveled on Hawk’s high cheekbones and bronze visage. “I will not allow anyone whom I do not trust to serve as my advocate,” she said.

  “Without me, you will hang, Charity McLoughlin. You will swing from the rafters of some courthouse in Texas. Probably the one in Laredo. In full view of Senator Blyer and his son. Do you know what happens when a person dies by the noose? Their face turns purple from lack of air. The neck snaps. And their bowels loosen. Will you have that for yourself, Charity McLoughlin?”

  Cringing, she turned from Hawk. Her eyes surveyed the hilly wilderness, devoid of humans save for herself and the Osage lawyer—a couple torn asunder by lies but united by damnable passions. Where did they go from here? And she wasn’t thinking about the craggy hills of Texas.

  “How would you plan to represent me?” she asked.

  “By a plea of innocent. We would tell the truth and beg the jury’s mercy.”

  “Others have never been disposed to believe me.”

  “Trust your fate to my hands. I will free you.”

  Once more she turned to him, searching his eyes, seeing in them unshakable confidence. Yes, Hawk had infinite self-assurance, while she had none. “You aren’t a criminal lawyer. You are a lobbyist, a man of government.”

  “You have no idea what I am capable of.”

  She laughed nervously. “On the contrary. I know very well. Lies. Deceit. Cunning. Wiles. Molestation.”

  “All the qualities of a good attorney, angel mine. All the qualities.” He took a step forward. “I’ll serve you well.”

  A slick tongue had he, yet she would fight her weakening resolve. “What about your work in Washington? Surely that needs to be addressed.”

  “Washington is over and done with. I mean to become a Texas lawyer.”

  “You can’t be serious. Why?”

  “Like you, I have broken with my people.”

  For once, she was speechless. After a moment she realized she was staring at him open-mouthed. “How can that be?” she finally asked. “Mutti said you are your people’s most stalwart advocate, that you worked night and day, not only for the Osage nation but for other Indians as well.”

  “I did. But they have no more use for me. And I am through with them. They have settled for what the Great White Fathers have doled out. And I would never have settled for anything less than fair play.”

  Sadness laced his eyes as he squinted into the sun. “When you said I was born too late, you were right. The eighteenth century would have been the time for me.” He laughed ruefully. “Or better I should have been born an Apache. They are neither peaceful nor subdued. Unlike my people.”

  “But you aren’t an Apache and this is the nineteenth century. What do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”

  “After defending you, I’ll open an office in Austin. As your father advised.”

  “Papa gave you advice?”

  “You find that hard to believe?”

  “Well, I ...” She shuffled her feet. “P-papa does have his prejudices. Of course,” she rushed on, “you are mostly white; I’m sure he thinks of you as such.”

  “He doesn’t.” Curt were Hawk’s words. “Senator McLoughlin knows I am, and will always be, proud of my Indian blood.”

  “As well you should be,” she commented. “And please don’t take offense at my words. I know my father as a very obstinate man.”

  “He is that.”

  Thinking aloud, she said, “From what I’ve heard, you are–or were–a man of high ambition and dedication. I’m sure that appealed to him.”

  Charity recollected all her jabbering about Wild West shows. She had been asking a brilliant attorney to form a motley crew of entertainers. How ridiculous.

  Blood rushing to her cheeks, she swallowed the lump in her throat. Unable to meet his gaze, she pointed out, “Good lawyers expect compensation. I would never allow any McLoughlin to have a hand in it. And I have no money to pay you.”

  “I think something can be worked out.” His lips twitched into a lascivious grin. “Services for services.”

  She scowled at his brazen offer. If there was anything to be thankful for, it was that there had been no further talk between them of honorable intentions, marriage-wise. She would die before accepting any shotgun wedding!

  “If–if!–I agree to retain you as my defender, we must get something straight. You will be paid in cash alone.”

  “Really? Did you happen upon a pot of gold between Uvalde and here?” His teasing tone grated on her nerves, especially when he added, “Or did you fall in again with someone like Adriano Gonzáles?”

  She wouldn’t dignify his questions with an answer. “You will be paid in time. For now, though, understand that I will not allow what happened in that park in Uvalde and atop that stallion to happen again.”

  “You didn’t enjoy the sweetness of our flesh... together as one?”

  The leavings of him still painting her womb and thighs, she longed to answer the call of her desires. If she did, she would be powerless against any whisper he issued, any touch that he elected to give. Don’t let him! For too long she had been a pawn in the tournaments of others. No more. “I will have you for my attorney. If you agree to keep your distance.”

  “Charity ... in Uvalde, you said you loved me.”

  “I lied,” she lied.

  Hawk took a backward step to fold his arms over his chest. “Then you are a bigger liar than myself. You’ve tarnished your halo.”

  “Is this how you mean to start our client-attorney relationship, by questioning my word and degrading my character?”

  “A lawyer needn’t think his client is honest in order to give good representation.”

  His remark cut to her marrow. “We are not discussing my part in the Shafter debacle, are we?”

  “You’re absolutely right.” His eyes now as hard as brown bullets looked her up and down. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. We keep our distance, at least where the needs of our bodies are concerned.” He scanned the wilderness around them before he uttered another syllable. “Charity, I promised not to make you face your father. I won’t. We have alternatives. We can head back to Laredo. You must turn yourself in before word gets out that you were involved in the Gonzáles gang.”

  “Ian may have informed on me already.”

  “If that’s the case . . . well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Hawk rubbed his brow. “We’re nearly to Kerrville. Better we should go on to there before turning back. We need proper clothes and you need a horse of your own.”

  They reached Kerrville before dusk. Charity waited on the far side of the Guadalupe River while Hawk visited Schreiner’s store as well as the livery stable. Twilight was beginning to fall when he returned with the goods.

  “We’ve got trouble,” he announced without preamble. “There are wanted posters nailed all over the place. Your name is on them.”

  She shuddered and trembled, feeling as if the earth had opened to toss her into the pit of perdition.

  “Charity, we’ve got to get your family involved. You need their help as never before.”

  The Four Aces Ranch.

  Charity and Hawk reached the McLoughlin property three days after they had crossed the Guadalupe. She’d vowed never to approach the place again, but that vow she would have to break–for herself and for her child. If there was one. She couldn’t take any chances.

  Nevertheless, it took all her strength of will to ride, head h
eld high, up the carriageway leading to the mansion on the hill. The two-story limestone structure was encircled by roses, spreading oak trees, and close-clipped grass; it was to the untrained eyes, she supposed, a beckoning scene. But home had never seemed so forbidding. Papa was here.

  She slowed the mare Hawk had purchased for her in Kerrville and glanced at him. Gone was his Indian garb, left behind on the banks of the Guadalupe. Proud of his heritage he might be, but he meant to downplay it here for her benefit. No jury would be impressed by a breechclout and bare chest. And Papa remained to be faced.

  “We mustn’t tarry,” Hawk said, walking Firestorm close to Charity’s mount.

  Her courage failed. Her eyes closed. “I–I can’t do it. I can’t go on.”

  “Yes, you can. You can and you will. You’ve got to make peace. Your very life depends on it.”

  Would Papa back her, though?

  Her gaze settling on Hawk, she saw that he was assessing the house as if he had never seen it before. Pulled out of her melancholy, she said, “You seem to be looking at the place in a whole new light.”

  His brown eyes welded to the blue of hers. One palm flattened on his thigh, the other clutching Firestorm’s reins, he winked at Charity. “You’re very perceptive. In a way, I haven’t seen it before. When I was visiting, it was merely a mansion on a hill, a place that showcased great wealth. Now I see it as the home where you were reared.

  “I see a small girl, growing up amidst horses and privilege. Alone in a large family. Misunderstood and mistreated. Perhaps not intentionally. But what does it matter, the intent? It hurt you, living in this palace.”

  Charity found herself taken aback at his insight. And at that moment she felt a certain oneness. She wanted to make peace with Hawk. That didn’t mean going hog wild for the love of him, or revealing to him that she still carried a torch. They needed to settle a few differences, it was true. But it seemed important that she understand the man she had once taken to friend.

  “Will you tell me about your childhood?” she asked impulsively.

  A hint of a smile played over Hawk’s chiseled lips. “I’m pleased to hear you’re still interested in me.”

  “Don’t make too much of it. I’m curious, that’s all.”

  “So you say,” he murmured. “I’m flattered by your curiosity. But you do have more pressing business at the moment.”

  Her regard turned to the house on the hill. “Yes. Papa.” She put her heel to the mare’s flank. “I’d better talk to him by myself.”

  “Agreed.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Lisette McLoughlin had never been so happy nor so troubled in her life. How wonderful it was, having Charity home, right here in the solarium. And how awful it was, the noose hanging over that dark head. Gott in Himmel. What was to be done about the girl?

  For twenty years she’d been frustrated over her defiant triplet’s actions. Charity had caused a world of problems throughout that time. Why couldn’t the girl realize that she was doing nothing but destroying herself with willfulness and impetuous behavior?

  In spite of everything, though, Lisette loved her daughter. Always had, always would. And her conscience gave a reminder: she, too, had been guilty of willful acts. If Lisette had always done as expected, she wouldn’t be married to Gil.

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  Lisette listened to her daughter’s words. Charity stood with her chin up, her shoulders squared, ardently defiant.

  “It must be difficult, coming home after our row of last May,” Lisette said. “But you are here, and we must face . . . what we must face. How can I help you?”

  “Hadn’t you better get Papa’s approval before you ask that question?”

  “Your father is a levelheaded man, Charity, and I have long depended on his wise counsel. But I make my own decisions.”

  “Levelheaded? You never see his faults, do you? He’s a hothead if there ever was one.”

  “Did you come home simply to criticize him?”

  “No.” Charity glanced out the window before studying the floor. “I’m here because I ...” Her words trailed off. Why was she here?

  “I am glad you’re home. Every night I have lost sleep, worrying about you.”

  “You could have written to me. You could have sent a telegram to Laredo, at least on my birthday. You could have done a lot of things.”

  “You could have, too.”

  Turning on the ball of her shoe, Charity faced the window. She said not a word. Lisette reminded herself of the futility of trying to reason with her daughter, for her words had always fallen on deaf ears.

  She decided to hone in on the positive. “I am happy you’re home,” she repeated.

  “Are you? Are you really?”

  “I am.”

  “I ... it’s good to see you, Mutti.” Charity closed her eyes. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t realize how much until I saw you.”

  Her heart aching with pain and love, Lisette extended her arms, then pulled them back when Charity made no motion to reciprocate.

  Chuckling hoarsely, Charity said, “A while back I remembered something. I remembered that Christmas I broke your mother’s crystal bowl. It was one of many times that I disappointed you. I’m sorry for each of them.”

  “The bowl was merely a possession.” Fate had given them one more chance for closeness. Lisette had to put aside her doubts and misgivings–or there might not be another opportunity. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t more understanding of you.”

  “I did give you a heck of a time, didn’t I?” Charity flashed her mother a scamp’s grin. “I meant to, you know. I did everything I could to get your attention.”

  Lisette rolled her eyes. “You certainly were a handful. I tried to be patient with you. I wanted you to know that you were special to me. Are special. You have a very special place in my heart, Charity.”

  “But you prefer Olga and Margaret and Angus.”

  “That is not true. I love each of you equally. Each of my children has a private spot in my heart.” Again she opened her arms to her daughter. “Don’t stay away from me.”

  Charity faltered; she stared at the floor, shuffled her feet. She refused to take the first step of the ten that distanced her from her mother.

  Lisette approached her. “Come here, Liebchen.”

  Charity’s dark head elevated. Blue eyes—shaped so much like her father’s blue-gray ones–went from defiant to hopeful, and she sailed into her mother’s arms.

  “I have missed you,” Lisette whispered, cradling her willful triplet in her embrace. It felt indescribably splendid, touching her daughter and knowing that Charity had returned. Here, the family could protect her, both from herself and from her crime. Lisette patted the waves of near-black hair. “Ich liebe Dich.”

  “Oh, Mutti . . .” Charity seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Moments later, a victor was declared. “I love you, too.”

  It was a poignant reunion for Lisette; her child who was no longer a child in years but so much so in spirit returned her love. Maybe there was hope for them.

  When at last they drew apart, Lisette suggested they sit awhile, and led her daughter to the solarium’s wing chairs.

  “I was told Maria Sara and her son are hereabouts. Are they?” Charity inquired.

  “Ja. They are in town this afternoon. With your cousin Karl. He should have them back by late evening.”

  “Karl would be wonderful for her.”

  Lisette didn’t wish to discuss either her nephew or Maisie’s paid companion, either singularly or as a couple. Especially since there was something about Maria Sara Montaña that troubled her. What it was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

  Eager to tell Charity all the news of the household, yet unsure how it would be received, she pushed Maria Sara and Karl from her thoughts. Her fingers as jittery as her nerves, she touched the diamond pendant suspended from her neck; Gil had given her the jeweled heart back in Kansas, back in the darkest days o
f their married life. Since then she had touched it a thousand times, as if the heart were a talisman.

  Lisette McLoughlin had always been a woman of steel nerves, yet at this moment, how she needed her husband.

  Try to keep your words light. “We have a surprise for you. Margaret is expected home in a couple of weeks.”

  “Margaret? All the way from university?” Suspicion marked Charity’s features. “She was sent for, wasn’t she?”

  “Ja.”

  “I see.” But it didn’t appear as if Charity saw anything at all. “What about Angus? Where is my brother?”

  “Your father sent him away.”

  “Sent him away? Has he done something wrong?”

  “No. Gil thought it would be best if Angus wasn’t around for a while. Until the, uh, the scandal dies down.”

  “Oh.”

  Lisette noticed that no question had been posed about Gil’s whereabouts. Well, are you surprised, considering the hurts each wreaked on the other?

  “Enough about other people.” Anxious for her daughter to broach the subject of the smuggling charge, Lisette said, “I want to know what has been happening with you.”

  In short, terse sentences, Charity told so much yet so very little. Her flight to Laredo; the unveiling of Ian Blyer’s true character; the desperation that had driven her into being an unwitting accomplice to smuggling. “I am not guilty, Mutti. I promise you, I’m not.”

  “I never thought you were.”

  “You never questioned ... ?”

  “Never.”

  Charity’s expression softened. “Thank you.”

  Lisette picked at a piece of lint that adhered to the chair arm. “Liebchen, you haven’t mentioned David Fierce Hawk.”

  Charity’s mouth tightened into an expression her mother knew well: aggravation. “I guess Maisie blabbed everything.”

  “No,” Lisette replied honestly, “I didn’t know there was an everything. I only knew that he was sent to Laredo to fetch you.”