The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  "Not that much of a child!" Ollie retorted darkly, his resentment at this turn of events obvious.

  Smiling fondly at him, Sabrina coaxed, "Come now, do not look so surly. Tomorrow, after you have rested and you and Lupe have had more time to talk, you will feel much better. You'll see."

  Ollie grumbled something under his breath, but he seemed willing enough to concede the point. "Very well, miss, ril do as you say." Changing the subject abruptly, he went on, "Clemente said I was to have the room I used when I was here before, and if you have no objections, I'd like to start settling in." His face gloomy, he ended with, "It appears I'm going to be here longer than I figured."

  Amusement dancing in her eyes, Sabrina asked demurely, "Did you really expect to arrive one day, after a six-year absence, marry Lupe, and depart by the next?"

  A sheepish grin curved his long mouth. "Not really," he admitted reluctantly. "But guvnor said . . ." He stopped, his face almost comical with dismay.

  "What is it?" Sabrina demanded.

  "Afore God, miss, I plain forgot!" Ollie burst out, embarrassed. Excusingly, he added, "In the excitement I just fair forgot to give you his letter."

  Sabrina's face paled, but she said calmly enough, "I'm certain that it's understandable."

  "Always knew you were a bang-up article, miss!" Ollie said admiringly as he fumbled under his shirt for the letter. Finding it, he handed it to Sabrina, a troubled expression on his face.

  "Miss," he began hesitantly, "I don't know what went wrong between you two, but it hit the guvnor hard. He's never quite been the same since, and these past years . . . well," he went on more strongly, "these past years have marked him, changed him. He was always a hard man, but now, except with damn few people, he's like cold steel. Now I don't know what's in that letter he's written to you, but I will tell you this: he wasn't best pleased when he found out about your father's will." Ollie stopped, his face filled with a sort of reluctant awe. "When he heard about being your guardian and everything, he swore like nothing I've never heard before. Right off he declared he would have nothing to do with it. That someone else could be your damned duenna, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be him!" Ollie shook his head. "But then, after he thought about it a bit, he said he owed it to your father. Said for Alejandro's sake he'd do his duty by you." Ollie pulled on his ear, distinctly uneasy with the situation and Sabrina's increasingly frigid expression. Aware that he had overstepped himself, he scowled unhappily. "I just thought you ought to know."

  "Thank you," Sabrina replied with icy politeness. "Now if you will leave me alone with my letter . . . ?"

  "That I will, miss!" Ollie answered swiftly. But then, as if noticing her black garb for the first time, he added quietly, "Miss? I'm sorry about your father—I meant to say something just as soon as I saw you." His brown eyes full of sympathy, he added, "Don Alejandro was a good man; I'm certain you miss him badly." He hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue, but then, taking a deep breath, he said, "Miss, the guvnor took your father's death real hard. He was angrier than I've ever seen him, and he swore that someday he'd find your father's killer. He was damn grim and silent for days afterward, and then, just all of a sudden, he disappears, left me in New Orleans with orders to mind my manners and stay put!" Ollie shook his head. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd gone looking for your father's killer, but then, just as sudden as he went, he shows back up, acting as if nothing had happened. I figure he had to take himself off somewhere private-like to work out his grief. He doesn't let much show, but I know he grieved for your father."

  Ollie's words rang in her ears long after he had left the room. The letter in her hand, Sabrina sat down behind her father's old pine desk and stared blindly into space for several minutes. Sighing, she pushed aside the sad thoughts and looked at the sealed envelope in her hand.

  Her face set in grim lines, she opened the letter and read it. Ollie had, she realized, tried to warn her, and she supposed she was thankful to him. But nothing could have controlled the fury that suddenly erupted up through her when the full import of Brett's letter hit her. Dios! What an arrogant swine!

  There was no salutation, no mention of condolences, not one personal word. Just hard facts and cold, unfeeling commands. He would, Brett had written, in the following weeks be taking complete control of every facet of her fortune. Decisions concerning where she would live and how would be made soon. The same held true of who she would be allowed to associate with and when. Alejandro's business agent in New Orleans had already informed him of the current state of finances, and the family agent in Mexico City would be sending along his report just as soon as possible. In the meantime, she was to remain precisely where she was. . . .

  There was such an insulting tone to the letter, such a haughty assumption that she would meekly obey his every whim, that Sabrina choked with fury. Did he really believe that he could treat her this way? She would show him!

  Gone was the lethargy of the past months. Gone was the feeling of helplessness. Furiously she ripped his letter to bits. She glared at the scraps of paper, wishing she could destroy Brett Dangermond as easily.

  In that mood, it was difficult to remember that once she had loved him, that once she had lain in his arms and had known the ecstasy of his lovemaking. That, she thought with a scornful toss of her bright head, was all in the past.

  When she announced to her startled household a few minutes later that she intended to leave for New Orleans within the week, there was a stunned silence. Then a babble of voices rose, some full of objections, some expressing excitement. Whatever their opinion, from the set of her jaw and the look in her eyes, it was abundantly clear that the Senorita would not be swayed—she was going to New Orleans!

  Francisca's objections couldn't be dismissed as effortlessly as those of the servants, but they had as little effect. Her face implacable, Sabrina said decisively, "I'm sorry, Tia, that you don't like the idea, but I am going. I'm determined to fight Dangermond. The money doesn't even matter that much; it is his arrogant treatment of me that I will not tolerate!"

  Further argument by Francisca proved fruitless, and seeing that nothing would sway her niece, Francisca proposed angrily, "At least wait until Carlos returns from Mexico City. He is due back any day. You cannot travel to New Orleans without a duenna—it would be unseemly!"

  Her amber-gold eyes unnaturally bright, Sabrina replied grimly, "If you like and if it will make you feel better, you may come with me to New Orleans." A hint of irony in her voice, she murmured, "I doubt I could find a stricter duenna."

  Uncertain whether to take offense or not, Francisca stared hard at her for a moment. But then she nodded her head. ''Si! I shall come with you. Until Carlos returns and follows us to New Orleans, I shall protect you!"

  Sabrina's decision to travel to New Orleans only strengthened Ollie's insistence that he and Lupe be married immediately. At first Lupe stubbornly resisted, maintaining that he was being unfair, but she loved him, she knew, and she allowed herself to banish her doubts.

  Their marriage was hastily arranged, but Sabrina thought on Wednesday afternoon, as she watched them recite their vows before the priest in Nacogdoches, that it was wonderful. There was such an air of happiness, such warmth and good wishes enveloping the newly married young couple, that she felt tears sting her eyes.

  Much to Francisca's disgust, the departure for New Orleans was delayed a few days because of the wedding. The delay didn't trouble her, but the reason for it did. "They are just servants," she had sniffed, and at Sabrina's look of surprise, had added, "You pamper them far too much. Why, at the Rancho de la Vega I would never have allowed a mere servant to disrupt my plans!"

  Wisely Sabrina bit her tongue, wondering how she was going to endure the long, uncomfortable journey to New Orleans. It will teach me patience, she told herself virtuously the night before they were to leave. Patience and control and restraint and forbearance and . . .

  The journey proved to be almost enjoyable. The
weather was good, there were no mishaps or accidents, and they were left unmolested by bandits and robbers who lurked along the trail.

  For Ollie and Lupe, the trip to New Orleans was a unique adventure. Newly married, falling more and more in love with each other by the hour, they found the long days spent riding slowly through the untracked, almost tropical wilderness a lovers' delight. And the nights . . .

  Sabrina tried to still the faint twinge of envy that she felt, watching moodily as Lupe moved blissfully about, helping to repack the items that had been taken from the wagon for the night. Ashamed of her unworthy emotions, Sabrina turned away, wondering if her face would ever wear such a contented, ecstatic expression. Probably not, she decided coldly, particularly if Brett Dangermond remained in control of her future!

  The closer they came to New Orleans, the more highstrung Sabrina became. She snapped at Lupe, was curt with her aunt, and made Ollie stare at her in surprise on more than one occasion. She was always instantly contrite, mortified that she had so little control over herself, but nothing seemed to be able to still the inexorable tension that built within her. She was a mass of taut nerves, anger and resentment battling with a queer, insistent feeling of excitement and anticipation. That the thought of seeing Brett again could arouse such violent, contradictory emotions only increased Sabrina's feeling of helpless rage.

  What am I to do? she wondered savagely a few days later, just as the travelers began to cross the last deep bayou that barred their way into New Orleans. In a matter of hours, perhaps less, she would be face to face with a man she had once loved passionately, a man who had showed himself to be a scoundrel and a liar, and a man who had no reason to think kindly of her—a man full of wrath. Well, she was prepared to take the battle right into his camp, she thought with a grim sort of pleasure.

  But it wasn't the idea of war with Brett that disturbed her so, it was the bitter knowledge that in spite of everything, he still held a sinister fascination for her. She feared that fascination, and yet she was powerless against it, wanting to see him, eager for the sight of that once-beloved face, and yet knowing full well that those handsome features hid a selfish and ruthless nature.

  And how was he going to react to her sudden, unexpected appearance in his life? With anger and fury? Or would he attempt to charm her again? To woo her into blind, loving obedience as he had almost done six years ago? Sabrina's mouth tightened, the amber-gold eyes glittering angrily. Never! He would never be able to make her forget the past, never again dupe her as he had then. Never!

  She had his measure now, and she was prepared to fight him, fight him for what was rightfully hers. But could she win? her mind asked slyly. Could she win when confronted with that dark charm of his? Remembering the way he had kissed her by the lake that moonlit night, remembering how it had felt to lie in his arms, she trembled, suddenly wishing that she had remained safely at the ranch, safely away from the danger he represented to her foolish heart. But then angrily she pushed the traitorous thoughts aside—she was no coward. She would never run from a fight, and she would face the future proudly, defiantly. Besides, she reminded herself harshly, he is far more likely to greet me with open warfare than open arms!

  Brett's town house in New Orleans was in the more settled area of the city east of Dauphine Street, not far from the Mississippi River. Taking the lead, Ollie guided them directly to the rather elegant three-storied house that from its envied position on Condi Street, commanded, for the present, a glimpse of the powerful river that had brought the French here to settle in 1718.

  Recalling that six years ago Brett had been on the edge of ruin after the hurricane destroyed his plantation, Sabrina stared disbelievingly at the size and grandeur of the stuccoed, slate-roofed house. Escorting them efficiently to the side of the house, Ollie quickly herded the straggling party through a pair of delicate wrought-iron gates that guarded the carriageway.

  Following Ollie through the gates, Sabrina discovered that she was inside a wide, covered passageway that would bring them, she suspected, to the stables and garden area at the rear of the house. About halfway down the carriageway, Ollie reined in his horse, and turning around to her, he said simply, "You ladies can dismount here." Nodding toward another, smaller gate set in the walls that enclosed the carriageway, he added, "Go on through there. A servant is bound to be about and will show you into the house."

  Her legs suddenly weak, her heart beating at a frantic rate, Sabrina slowly slid out of her saddle. Why had it seemed so important to bring herself face to face with Brett Dangermond?

  Furious with herself, the moment her booted feet hit the ground she squared her slim shoulders. She would not allow herself to be intimidated by the mere thought of seeing him again! She was strong, strong and wise enough not to be affected by his disturbing presence. And besides, she reminded herself spiritedly, he should never, never have written her such a cold, arrogant, insulting, overbearing . . . contemptuous letter! He was going to discover that by law, and for the moment, she might be his ward, but she was not going to let the matter rest there for long!

  A faint hint of color staining her high cheek bones, with a determined step, she pushed through the gates, stopping in sheer appreciation of the beauty that met her gaze.

  She found herself at the edge of a spacious courtyard. The house formed three sides of it, the walls of the carriageway making the fourth. Square in shape, the flagstoned courtyard was attractively decorated with massive pottery tubs of gorgeous flowers and exotic foliage: scarlet and white geraniums, orange hibiscus, pink azaleas, sprawling feathery ferns, and small palmettos all vied for the visitor's eye. Two large magnolia trees, their leathery dark green leaves contrasting wonderfully with the creamy white cup-shaped blossoms, provided spreading pools of welcome shade.

  There was an air of repose, of graciousness, in this enchanting place. Several balconies overlooked the courtyard from the second and third stories of the house, and their lacy, wrought-iron railings were festooned with more subtropical vines and flowers. Fanlight windows and graceful arched doorways all faced the courtyard; the soft ocher of the walls of the house was exceptionally pleasing to the eye. It was, Sabrina thought with astonishment, a lovely place. An elegant place.

  Even Francisca was impressed. "Well!" she said sourly from behind Sabrina, "it would appear that the gringo was not the fortune hunter that we believed. Unless, of course, it is your money that has provided him with all of this."

  Slowly Sabrina walked across the courtyard toward a pair of French doors set in the main part of the house. Her stomach was fluttering uncomfortably, an odd sense of dread and anticipation driving her forward.

  As she drew nearer, she became aware of a flight of wide wooden stairs that were situated a little distance from the French doors and that seemed to disappear as they angled upward into the second story of the wing to her right. A few feet from them she stopped, uncertain whether to knock on the French doors or go up the stairs.

  At her side, Francisca sniffed contemptuously. "How rude of the gringo! No one is here to meet us! He may have the trappings of a gentleman, but it is apparent he hasn't the manners! Someone should have greeted us before now!"

  Defensively Sabrina replied, "We are unexpected, Tia! It is possible that none of the house servants are aware of our arrival."

  "After the racket we made riding through the carriage-way?" Francisca inquired acidly. "Don't delude yourself! This is just another insult!" Her shoulders rigid, Francisca marched angrily forward and rapped imperiously on one of the French doors.

  Except for the lazy drone of the bees and the occasional cry of a bird, there was silence. Francisca's lips thinned, and she turned to Sabrina, but in that instant they both heard the opening and shutting of a door somewhere near the top of the stairs. Francisca stepped back from the French doors and craned her neck upward.

  The upper portion of the angling staircase was hidden from view, but hearing the firm tread coming downward, Sabrina suddenly felt her mou
th go dry. She was conscious of a clamminess in the palms of her hands, and again she wished she had stayed in Nacogdoches—it was far better to meet the enemy on familiar ground, and she realized that she had inadvertently given him an advantage by coming to New Orleans. Now the battle would be fought on his ground.

  Her eyes were fixed painfully on that flight of stairs, every nerve in her body frozen as the sound of the footsteps came closer. A booted foot appeared first, then another. The gleaming russet boots were of fine Spanish leather, the workmanship exceptional, and Sabrina swallowed with difficulty. No servant would wear boots like those.

  Almost as if he were deliberately prolonging the suspense, the man on the stairs continued to move down the steps with an infuriating lack of speed, one booted foot after the other. More of his body came into view, the buff pantaloons clinging like a second skin to the powerful calves and thighs, a wide brown leather belt encircling the lean waist. His upper body still hidden in the shadows of the house, the man stopped, one strong, tanned hand resting lightly on the railing. The faint hint of tobacco teased Sabrina's nose, and she glimpsed a smoking cheroot in his other hand before he raised it to his mouth.