Texas Born

by Gould, Judith

  She compressed her lips tightly. The subject matter was uninteresting to begin with—four whitewashed fences, grazing land, distant windmills, and herds of faraway cattle, but the reality wasn't half as bad as she had sketched it.

  Don't make your lack of talent so visible! she warned herself. And don't be impatient. Draw and paint to the best of your ability. If somebody sees this picture, especially Tex Sexton, he'll know something is up if it's so obvious that you can't even draw a straight line. If that happens, all your best-laid plans are sunk.

  Angrily she snatched the paper off the easel, wadded it up, and started over again, this time more carefully.

  Jenny knew she was no artist. She knew, too, that she could never, under any circumstances, pass for one. She could only hope her lack of talent would be forgiven. She knew that Zaccheus was away on business somewhere.

  She sighed to herself. It seemed, suddenly, that everything she had planned was hanging by a slender thread indeed, a tenuous thread composed of one part careful planning and two parts chance.

  The afternoon crawled by with interminable slowness. She hated sketching and using watercolors. It was tedious and boring, but she applied herself all the same. After all, she had set out to accomplish something, and accomplish it she would. She wasn't about to let tedium or boredom spoil her well-laid plans.

  I'm getting closer to my goal all the time, she kept reminding herself, and that is all that matters.

  Still, she couldn't help but wonder how many hours—indeed, perhaps even days or weeks—it would be before she piqued Tex Sexton's interest.

  Jenny needn't have feared. By the time one of the ranch hands brought word to Tex that a woman was ensconced in the western fields beyond the house painting a picture, his interest was captured. He went out on the porch and looked over to where she was at work. He could not see much; she was too far away.

  He grinned to himself and shook his head. Ever since his wife, Yolanda, had died, women had been beating a path to his door. Some of them were blatantly forward, others staged elaborate 'accidental' meetings. In one way or another they were all full of intrigue, and they were all after the same thing. But this was the first time a woman had ever come here under the pretense of finding something to paint.

  'Original,' he murmured to himself. 'Very original.'

  He glanced up at the sky. He could tell it was around three-thirty. In another three hours sunset would come. She wouldn't be able to paint at night; it would be interesting to see how she would handle that.

  He sent for one of his ranch hands. 'Go see what she's up to,' he instructed, 'but don't tell her I'm here.'

  'Should I send her away?' the young cowhand asked.

  Tex looked at him in surprise. 'What for? She's here, isn't she? And a woman. I might as well make the best of it.'

  And as the ranch hand walked off, Tex thought: All women are the same. Stupid and transparent. They all want something from me, but none of them get anything, except the putas from Mexican Town. They, at least, are honest.

  Does this one think she's any different? If she does, she s in for a vast surprise.

  But it would be he who would be surprised, for he had no idea that he was dealing with someone as evilly clever as himself—someone on his very own level.

  As time crept by, Jenny was not so sure she would ever come face-to-face with Tex Sexton. She was beginning to realize just how skimpy her plan of action really was, and how it depended on so many variables she had absolutely no control over. For instance, any one of the ranch hands could have ordered her off the property. One came out to her, but she'd vaguely hinted something about having gotten permission. He grunted, looked at the sketch she was coloring in, scratched his head in bafflement, and ambled back to the house. To get Tex Sexton, she hoped.

  At a few minutes after five, Tex Sexton went back out on the porch and gazed across the fields. She was still there painting.

  He summoned one of his hands. 'Go over and invite her to dine with me,' he said. 'And before you go, have Carmen set another place for supper.'

  The hand nodded and did as he was told. Fifteen minutes later he knocked on the door to Tex's study. 'She 'declines,' ' he drawled.

  Tex rose to his feet, clasped his hands in the small of his back, and paced his study thoughtfully.

  An invitation to the house had always worked. Was it possible that she was different?

  It was six o'clock and nightfall was fast approaching when Tex went back outside. He looked up at the sky and nodded to himself. The light had already changed significantly. The edges of the clouds were tinged in a pinkish glow, and the shadows the setting sun cast were long.

  He glanced thoughtfully toward where Jenny was painting. Initially it had been his plan to wait until dark to see exactly what she was going to do, but suddenly he felt the restless urge for the company of a woman. Her declining the supper invitation had meant either of two things—she was playing hard to get or else she really had no interest in meeting him—something he had trouble believing.

  Curiously, somehow the thought of her out there brought an aching excitement to his loins. It had been two whole weeks since he had last been with a woman. In fact, earlier in the day he had contemplated sending for one of the putas from Mexican Town, but when he'd heard that there was a woman practically outside his front door, he'd decided against it.

  His hands in his pockets, Tex strode across the front yard, skirted the pond, and headed out to where she stood painting, her spine erect, one hand resting on her hip. Even from this distance, with her back turned to him, he could tell that she had a lithe body which even the plain, severe cut of her riding outfit could do little to disguise.

  Jenny had decided not to play the flirtatious female; she knew that plenty of women had already tried that— and failed to win him. No, she would be feminine, but vigorous and proud too. And she would keep her back turned to him, showing her face only at the last possible moment—to dramatic advantage.

  When she heard someone approach her from behind, her heart skipped a beat. Was it him? Or was it another of his flunkies?

  She held her paintbrush between trembling fingers, quickly dabbed it in the jar of water, soaked the soft bristles in red paint, lifted it to the canvas, and—

  'You're trespassing,' a deep, deceptively lazy voice drawled behind her.

  'Oh!' Jenny gave a squeal of surprise, as though she had not heard his approach; simultaneously she artfully jerked her brush across the paper, leaving a thick bloodlike streak across the pale wash. 'Oh, no!' she wailed in dismay. She placed her hands on her hips and eyed her work morosely. 'Now look what you made me do! It's ruined!'

  'It's not very good anyway,' he said with a humorous chuckle.

  She whirled around, fighting to keep from showing her recognition. 'What do you know about art, anyway?' she snapped derisively with a toss of her head.

  'I think I should be the one asking the questions,' he said, raising his eyebrows with mild amusement. His eyes swept her from head to foot. On his way over, it had occurred to him that, unlikely though it was, she just might be a young woman out for an afternoon of painting: from the cut of her outfit, she had certainly tried to give that impression. But the face which now regarded him with flushed irritation was seen to its best advantage in the darkening reddish light of the sunset, and her robin's-egg-blue eyes, framed by thick long lashes, had never looked more enticing. Her figure was slender, but there was nothing boyish about it. The collar of her plaid shirt, although high-necked, was unbuttoned down to her bosom, which would have looked obscene had she not tucked a lace handkerchief strategically inside.

  His gaze lingered on her bosom. There was something decidedly feminine and overwhelmingly ripe about her, and at the same time she looked young and vulnerable. But it had been her snappish outburst, her taking the offensive, which appealed to him mightily. That, coupled with her flashing eyes, had done it. She was so startlingly different from the fawning, sloe-eyed women cons
tantly favoring him with their glances that he found himself instantly drawn to her like no woman he had ever met.

  She turned away suddenly, well aware of his smoldering gaze. Tilting her head, she regarded her ruined picture. 'Maybe you're right,' she conceded grudgingly. 'It isn't very good.' She tore the paper off the easel and crumpled it. 'I'm afraid I just don't have the talent it takes.'

  'Then why do you paint?'

  She turned to him slowly. 'What else is there to do around here?'

  He eyed her levelly. 'You'd be surprised.'

  'Oh ho.' She laughed hoarsely. 'That isn't what I meant at all.' She tightened her lips. 'Well, if it'll make you feel any better, I'm sorry for having trespassed. Now, I think I'd better be leaving. It's getting late.' Quickly she stooped over and began gathering up her things.

  Suddenly she felt strong fingers clamping around her wrist like a vise. Then he pulled her up and turned her around to face him.

  'Let me go!' she hissed, struggling fiercely.

  He laughed, pulled her close, and kissed her. She pressed her lips tightly shut. When he let her go, she took a faltering step backward. 'Animal!' she hissed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 'You're an animal!'

  He chuckled with amusement. 'It's what you wanted, isn't it?'

  She said coldly, 'How would you know what I want?'

  'Simple. You came out here, didn't you?' He continued to regard her shrewdly. 'Don't tell me you didn't notice the sign warning off trespassers? I could have had you shot.'

  She raised her chin boldly. 'You wouldn't dare!'

  'I would dare. I happen to own this property. I'm Tex Sexton.'

  'And I'm Martha Washington!' she countered nastily.

  She watched him turn and start to walk off. She licked her lips with apprehension.

  Now was the moment, she knew. Now or never. An opportunity like this would never present itself again. If Sexton didn't catch her in the act of contriving the accident, then everything would turn out fine. She had aroused him, she sensed, and in no small way.

  Don't turn around, she willed him silently. Whatever you do, Tex Sexton, just keep on walking and don't look back.

  Slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she reached into her pocket for the prickly burs and slipped them under the saddle, and then mounted. The mare protested against the stabbing pain and kicked out with its hind legs. Then Jenny tightened her lips and viciously drove her steel spurs into the mare's sides.

  The rest happened so quickly, Jenny completely lost control. Later she would realize the mare had reared up and bolted. But that was later. Right now, it was all she could do to hang on for dear life.

  Everything happened in a blur. One moment she caught sight of Tex Sexton whirling around, and the next she was racing the devil to the far fence of the paddock, showers of earth and exploding tufts of grass flying up all around her.

  The approaching fence seemed to grow in size before Jenny's frightened eyes. For an instant she was frozen in genuine terror. Forgotten suddenly was her well-hatched plan. She only knew that somehow she had to stop the horse, and quickly.

  But the mare had a mind of its own. The burs tore into its flesh and Jenny's spurs added even more ferocious pain.

  The fence loomed larger and larger, and then the horse leapt. The ground was left behind as they began to sail over the white-painted slats.

  For a split second it looked as if they were going to make it.

  But Jenny's mare was no jumper. She was a utilitarian workhorse used to rutted roads and being harnessed to the buggy. As they flew through the air, its hind legs crashed into the fence and it lost its equilibrium. Jenny stifled her scream and tried to throw herself clear, but her left boot had become entangled with the stirrup and the horse hit the ground in a scrambling tangle. Jenny landed on her shoulders, was thrown free of the horse, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs. Her left leg was wrenched sideways and her entire body was shot through with pain.

  But she didn't utter a sound.

  The mare struggled to her feet, but collapsed with sounds of anguish.

  Tex had not wasted a moment. From the instant the mare had bolted, he had come chasing after them. Within seconds he was squatting beside Jenny. He lifted her skirt, took one look at her leg, and gently moved her foot.

  She averted her head and cringed as a thousand blinding arrows of pain shot through her, but she did not once cry out. She swallowed her moans.

  Still silent, Jenny felt Tex slip one arm under her back and another under her buttocks. 'Where are you taking me?' she asked in a white-faced whisper.

  'Damn-fool woman. What were you trying to do, kill yourself?'

  She shut her eyes.

  'That horse needs to be shot. Both its hind legs are broken. 'Least you don't have a broken leg.'

  She opened her eyes. 'It's not broken?' she whispered.

  He nodded and looked deep into her eyes. They were cloudy and fathomless, and try as he might, he was unable to read her thoughts. In fact, he could not even tell whether or not she was frightened.

  Somehow the fact that she hadn't once cried out appealed to him immensely.

  He knew then that he had met his match.

  12

  It was a few weeks later. The scraping of cutlery against china rang out noisily in the dining room; from one corner came the scratchy music issuing forth from the Victrola Elender had set up. It was dinner hour at the Good Eats Café, and every table was occupied.

  Elizabeth-Anne placed a plate in front of Sheriff Parker and looked up in surprise as Jenny came in through the door. Jenny ignored her, looking around the café disdainfully.

  Elizabeth-Anne walked up to her. 'Hello, Jenny,' she said quietly.

  Jenny finally fixed her with a stolid look. 'Is Auntie here?'

  'Yes.' Elizabeth-Anne nodded. 'She's in the kitchen.'

  'Go get her for me, will you?' Jenny looked around again, folded her arms across her chest, and tapped one foot impatiently on the floor.

  Elizabeth-Anne stared at her. Then she shrugged her shoulders and wiped her hands on her apron. 'Very well.' She turned and headed to the swinging doors into the kitchen. She pushed them open and they flapped shut behind her.

  Rosa was standing in front of the big hot stove, ladling spicy hot chili over plates of yellow saffron rice. Elender was stooped over the table, beating a bowl of egg whites with a whisk. 'How many more to serve?' she called over her shoulder when she heard Elizabeth-Anne come back in.

  'Seven or eight.' Elizabeth-Anne paused. 'Auntie,' she said softly.

  'Yes, dear?'

  'Jenny's in the dining room.'

  'Jenny's . . .' Elender laid down the whisk and turned around. She smiled. 'Good. I've never seen this place quite so busy. We can use the extra help tonight.' She sighed, placed her hands in the small of her back, and stretched wearily.

  Elizabeth-Anne looked at her expressionlessly. 'I don't think she came to help.'

  'Oh.' Elender froze in the midst of arching her back.

  'She wants to talk to you.'

  'Well, here I am.'

  'She wanted me to come and get you,' Elizabeth-Anne said pointedly.

  Rosa turned around from the stove and rolled her dark eyes expressively. She set down the plate she was holding with a bang. 'As if there isn't enough to do 'round here without having to drop everything when her highness say 'jump'?'

  Auntie ignored her. 'Very well,' she told Elizabeth-Anne, and smoothed her dress with her hands. 'Tell her I'll be right out.'

  'If the young lady wants to see you, why she don' come in here?' Rosa demanded, emphasizing each word with shakes of the ladle.

  Elizabeth-Anne smiled, reached past Rosa, and picked up three steaming plates. She balanced one on her forearm and carried one in each hand. With a sideways thrust of her hips, she pushed her way back out through the swinging doors.

  'Well?' Jenny demanded.

  'She'll be right out.'

  'Good.' Jenny smiled. 'I would
appreciate it if you joined us. I want you to hear what I have to say too.'

  Elizabeth-Anne nodded absently and carried the plates across the room. She set one down in front of Mr. McElwee, then turned and placed the others in front of the Byrd sisters. She glanced across the dining room: Elender was coming out of the kitchen.

  Elizabeth-Anne felt a jolt of pain. She could sense that Auntie's arthritis was exceptionally bad today, and it hurt her to see it. It worried her, too, that she was so thin. Elender's clothes, of which she had always been so proud, and which had always looked so elegant on her, were hanging off her as if from a scarecrow, and she walked painfully on flat slippers, taking careful little steps.

  Elizabeth-Anne smiled automatically. 'Enjoy it,' she told the Byrd sisters quickly, and then went over to join Elender and Jenny.

  'Can we talk in private?' Jenny was saying.

  Elender glanced around the dining room. 'We're really terribly busy right now, Jenny. Can't it keep until a little later?'

  'It's important,' Jenny said emphatically. 'It'll only take a minute.'

  'Very well.' Elender led the way out the side door into the hall. Jenny followed her and motioned for Elizabeth-Anne to tag along. Elizabeth-Anne fell into step behind them. It tugged her heart to see how slowly Elender had to climb the stairs.

  When they got to the upstairs parlor, Elender closed the door softly and looked at Jenny questioningly.

  Jenny's face was outwardly calm, but an excited gleam danced deep in her eyes. She reached out and took both Elender's hands in her own, something she hadn't done for many years. Overcome, Elender looked at her with speechless surprise. Her lips trembled and tears gathered in her eyes as Jenny leaned close and blew a cold kiss past her cheek.