“He didn’t die. He came back. Then he disappeared again.”
Owen made a hmmmph sound in his throat. “That was a terrible story. I’m going to sleep.”
“It’s about damn time,” Bay said with a sigh.
Chapter 13
IN THE DEEPEST PART OF HER SOUL, DORA Coburn knew she’d made the wrong choice twenty-five years ago. But who would have believed that one mistake could cause so much pain for so many people?
Dora was waiting in the shade of a live oak, in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church, for Eve Blackthorne to bid the talkative preacher farewell and return to her shiny black Cadillac. Dora’s hands were shaking. Her knees felt like they were going to buckle at any moment. And her eyes kept filling with tears, which she swiped away with a balled-up Kleenex.
Dora had done a lot of soul-searching in church and had admitted that there was no way she could keep her son from seeing Summer Blackthorne. Billy was like a wild bronc with the bit in his teeth. He’d had a sniff of that little Blackthorne filly, and he would be back for more. Head bent, hands folded in fervent prayer, Dora had acknowledged that she had no choice except to appeal to Mrs. Blackthorne to marry off her daughter to some rancher who would take her far away from Bitter Creek.
Otherwise, both their children were going to commit the kind of sin for which there was no forgiveness.
Eve Blackthorne was coming. She looked incredibly beautiful, her blond hair cut short and styled in that windswept look Dora had seen on Meg Ryan in the Star magazine she’d picked up shopping for groceries in the H.E.B. Mrs. Blackthorne’s countenance was serene, as though she didn’t have a worry in the world—and never had. And her tailored, tiny-sized, off-white suit and snakeskin pointy-toed shoes must have cost at least a thousand dollars—each.
Dora stepped away from the base of the live oak and immediately squinted, putting a hand up to protect her eyes from the searing Texas sun. She took a step in Eve Blackthorne’s direction and said, “Mrs. Blackthorne, we need to talk.”
Dora saw the other woman looking her up and down and cringed inside. Over the past twenty-five years, hard work and unhappiness had etched Dora’s face with too many wrinkles. She knew she looked fifty-five, when in fact she was only forty-four. She wore a fraying print jersey dress she’d bought at Kmart in a woman’s size, to accommodate the extra pounds that had stuck to her waist and hips from too many cheap meals of tortillas and pinto beans and rice. She’d scraped her long, gray-streaked brown hair back from her face into a no-nonsense bun.
And she now wore black plastic-framed glasses that hid the entrancing brown eyes that Jackson Blackthorne had once said reminded him of rich, dark chocolate.
Whatever Eve Blackthorne thought of her now, once upon a time, Dora had been young and beautiful enough to catch Jackson Blackthorne’s eye. She’d worked part-time after school at the Lone Star Cafe in town as a waitress, and Blackjack had come in for a cup of coffee after school board meetings or hospital board meetings or bank board meetings before heading home.
Dora hadn’t meant to let things go so far. After all, Jackson Blackthorne was a married man. But she’d been flattered, because he’d been so rich and powerful. And she’d been moved to comfort him, because he’d seemed so sad and lonely.
She’d given him her virginity. And he’d gotten her pregnant.
Dora had gone straight to the Castle from the doctor’s office to tell Blackjack the awful news and ask for his help. Her parents were sure to throw her out when they discovered how she’d sinned. And she didn’t know what she’d do, if Blackjack refused to help her.
She hadn’t been at all sure he would.
He’d never said he loved her. He’d told her bitterly, after the first and only time they’d ever made love, that he could never divorce his wife.
But she’d gone to his house anyway, because she needed enough money to survive until she could have the child and give it up for adoption. So she’d knocked on the back door of the Castle and asked the maid who answered, if she could speak to Blackjack.
Eve Blackthorne had shown up instead.
Dora had been terrified, knowing Blackjack would be furious if his wife ever found out about them. She’d started to run, but Mrs. Blackthorne had called her back. “What do you want?”
“I … uh … Is Jackson—I mean, Mr. Blackthorne here?” Dora had stuttered.
“Why do you want to see my husband?”
Dora had flushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m … uh…” She couldn’t get it out.
“I can guess why you’re here,” Eve had said, standing in the doorway holding the screen door open.
Dora didn’t see how Mrs. Blackthorne could have guessed her secret. She’d only found out an hour before that she was pregnant.
“I need to talk to Jacks—I mean Mr. Blackthorne,” Dora said, deciding to bluff it out.
“I ask myself, what problem could a very beautiful—and very young—girl have that would cause her to seek out my husband?” Mrs. Blackthorne said. “Only one answer comes to mind.”
Dora swallowed hard. “What is that?”
“Jackson’s been distracted lately. I thought it was work. Now I see it was you.” Her nose pinched tight, like she’d whiffed something putrid. “I presume you’ve gotten yourself pregnant.”
“I had some help!” Dora shot back. Her face flamed as she realized what she’d admitted. “We only did it once.” As if that made it better.
“Come inside,” Mrs. Blackthorne said. “We need to talk.”
“I’d rather see Jackson,” Dora said, not liking the shrewd look in Mrs. Blackthorne’s ice-blue eyes.
“Come inside, girl. I insist.”
Dora balked.
“I know you need money. I’ll make sure you get it.”
Dora was surprised that a betrayed wife would be the one offering her money, but the ways of the rich were a mystery to her. Eve Blackthorne had apparently suspected her husband was cheating on her, which meant Blackjack must not have been sleeping with his wife. Or had done something else to convince her he was having an affair with another woman. Only, it hadn’t been an affair. Just a one-night stand.
“Come on in. I won’t bite,” Mrs. Blackthorne said with a smile meant to allay her fears.
Dora shivered. Eve Blackthorne was like the snake in the Garden of Eden. Tempting where Dora knew better. She stepped inside and heard the screen door slam behind her, as she followed Mrs. Blackthorne through an amazingly large and modern kitchen and down a high-ceilinged central hallway to a room with a large oak desk.
The walls of the room were lined with more books than any human being could read in a lifetime. Mrs. Blackthorne closed the door behind them, then crossed and sat in the big swivel chair behind an enormous oak desk and gestured Dora into one of the two horn-and-rawhide chairs in front of her.
“I just need enough money to support myself until I can give the baby up for adoption,” Dora said quickly.
“I’m surprised at you, Dora. You aren’t being very clever about this. You could earn a great deal more by keeping the baby.”
Dora gaped at her. “But…” She’d never even considered the possibility. “It would be a bastard.”
“Not if you got married.”
“I would never trick a man by doing that to him,” Dora said scathingly.
“What if your husband knew when he married you that it was another man’s child?”
“I don’t understand why you’re talking like this,” Dora said. “I don’t know anyone I’d consider marrying. And anyway, I’m too young to get married. I’m still in high school.”
“What if I promised you a stipend every month to support the child, if you got married?”
“A stipend? What’s that?”
“A monthly allotment, a monthly check to support the child … for as long as the child remains a secret from my husband.”
Dora couldn’t understand why Mrs. Blackthorne wanted the child kept a secret from her
husband. Dora could have told her that Blackjack wasn’t going to divorce his wife and marry some girl he’d had sex with once. Maybe Eve Blackthorne was afraid that if Blackjack knew about the child, he’d want to adopt it himself. Dora could understand why a woman wouldn’t want her husband’s bastard living under her own roof. People would know. People would talk. It would be humiliating for her.
For the first time, Dora considered the idea of keeping the baby. She’d done her share of baby-sitting, and she liked babies. If she had enough money to support it, she wouldn’t even mind having this one. But she didn’t think there was much chance of her finding a husband. And she said so.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t see where I’m going to find a husband who’d want to marry me.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Mrs. Blackthorne said.
“How are you going to talk some man into marrying me that I’ve never even met?”
“The cowboy I have in mind won’t just be getting a pregnant wife, he’ll be getting a ranch in the bargain.”
Dora’s eyes goggled. “You can’t buy a man like that!”
“Of course I can. You’d be amazed what money can buy.”
Dora felt queasy, and she didn’t think it was her pregnancy causing the problem. “I don’t think I’d want to marry anyone who’d agree to a bargain like that.”
“You can take the deal I’m offering you, or find some other way to survive. You won’t be getting a penny from my husband. I’ll see to that.”
“I can’t marry a stranger.”
“You had sex with one.”
Dora opened her mouth to say Jackson Blackthorne hadn’t been a stranger and shut it again. The truth was, she hadn’t known Blackjack that long before she’d had sex with him.
“Think of what I’m offering you,” Mrs. Blackthorne said. She ticked off each item on her fingers. “First, you’ll have a steady income, so long as the child remains a secret from my husband. Second, you’ll have a home of your own—I’ll see the ranch is put in both your names, so your husband can’t divorce you and take it all.”
Dora hadn’t even thought of that!
“Third,” Mrs. Blackthorne continued, “you’ll have a father for your baby, so no one need ever know he’s a bastard. Fourth, you’ll be able to stay right here in Bitter Creek, instead of moving away to some big city and having to give your baby away to strangers to raise. And fifth, you’ll be working for yourself on your own ranch, instead of working for someone else the rest of your life.”
Dora felt overwhelmed. “I can’t think. I don’t know what to do.”
Mrs. Blackthorne’s offer sounded so reasonable. And it would settle a future that had been cloudy at best. The only problem was, Dora would have to spend her life married to some man she didn’t love. Some man she hadn’t even met.
On the other hand, on TV she’d seen how parents in foreign countries arranged marriages for their children to strangers. They learned to love one another. She supposed that if you worked hard enough, anything was possible.
She imagined a scene where she held her child, and her adoring husband had his arms securely around both of them. It was the sort of dream she’d never allowed herself to dream, when she’d first feared she might be pregnant. Maybe it was possible. Maybe it could happen.
“Who did you have in mind for me to marry?” she asked.
Dora saw from the cat-in-the-cream smile that spread on Mrs. Blackthorne’s face that she knew she had won, that all she had to do was provide a proper groom and the marriage was inevitable.
“His name is Johnny Ray Coburn.”
Dora hadn’t known what a devil’s bargain she was making that day. Hadn’t realized how it would eat at Johnny Ray to know he was raising a rich man’s son—and being paid to do it. Hadn’t known what a mean drunk he would be. Hadn’t known how envy and hate could eat at a man, until he beat an innocent child … and the wife he realized too late that he’d paid too high a price to marry. Hadn’t known how shiftless and lazy a man could get, knowing a Blackthorne check was on its way each and every month to put food on his table.
Dora knew Eve Blackthorne would be as anxious as she was to end the relationship between Billy Coburn and Summer Blackthorne.
Because the two of them were related by blood.
Dora took the few steps necessary to bring her close enough to be heard by Mrs. Blackthorne without her voice carrying to those few people still searching out their cars in the church parking lot. “We have a problem,” Dora began.
“What is it you want now?” Mrs. Blackthorne demanded.
Dora flushed at the insinuation that she’d come to beg for more money and quickly said, “I caught your daughter kissing my son.”
“I see. What is it you expect me to do?”
Dora stared wide-eyed at Mrs. Blackthorne. “It must be obvious what I want. I want the two of them separated.”
“Then send your son away.”
Dora was aghast. “I can’t do that. His income is all that’s keeping the ranch afloat since Johnny Ray died in that accident.”
“We had an agreement. I’m not paying more. That’s blackmail.”
Dora felt like she’d entered the Twilight Zone. “It’s not money I’m after,” she said through clenched teeth. “You must see the danger in my son and your daughter getting too close, being more than friends. We’ve got to separate them.”
Eve grimaced. “Very well. I’ll take care of it.”
Dora breathed an inward sigh of relief. Disaster had been averted. She blamed herself for letting things go as far as they had. She should have nipped the friendship between her son and Eve Blackthorne’s daughter in the bud. Well, it was taken care of now. And the dark, ugly secret she’d held clasped to her bosom for twenty-five years was still safe.
JACKSON BLACKTHORNE HADN’T DARKENED A CHURCH DOORway since he’d married his wife thirty-three years ago. He welcomed the respite from his wife’s company that her Sunday morning absence provided. They hadn’t stopped fighting since he’d come home from Three Oaks the previous Sunday and found her sitting at his desk going through his papers.
He felt his body tense as he heard the front door open. He knew she’d come looking for him, because they hadn’t finished their most recent argument before she’d left for church.
As Eve entered the room, she gently tugged off her gloves, one finger at a time, and set them on the wet bar.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
Blackjack could have used one, but he didn’t want to be obliged to her even for that. “No, thanks. There’s been no word about Owen or the Creed girl.”
She poured herself a scotch and drank it like a man, neat, without ice. “Too bad. So sad.”
“You’re a damned cold bitch,” Blackjack said.
“Are you just now noticing?” she said with an icy smile.
The sad truth was he’d blinded himself to her faults because that was easier than divorcing her.
“Owen put me in that sanitarium,” she said. “I will never forgive him for that.”
“He was doing his job.”
She caressed the crystal glass with her thumb and peered down into it, as though debating whether to have another. Then she set the glass aside. “I won’t miss him. But I’ll be sure to grieve publicly, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
Blackjack felt physically sick to his stomach. Once upon a time he’d admired her stoicism. Now he saw it for what it was. Self-denial. She was a woman with empty spaces that she refused to fill with the things she wanted—especially love. She hadn’t been happy for a long time, and he didn’t see how staying married to her was going to do either of them any good. But she didn’t want a divorce. And she knew all the right things to say to make him think twice about demanding one.
“Well, I’ll miss Owen if he’s gone,” Blackjack said. “He was—is—a good man.”
“We still have Clay,” his wife said. “He’s the twin who’s always showed th
e most promise, anyway.”
“What makes you say things like that?” he asked, furious at her cruel dismissal of Owen.
She lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “You can’t choose your children any more than they can choose their parents. I never liked Owen much. He always lacked the courage to face the realities of life.”
“Don’t talk about him as though he were already dead,” Blackjack snapped.
Eve pursed her lips. “He’s been missing for a week in the desert. What makes you think he’s still alive?”
“He’s a Texas Ranger, for God’s sake. Only the best get chosen for that honor. And he knows the Big Bend. He’ll find a way to get out and bring the girl with him.”
“Would you like to make a bet on that?” Eve asked.
“I can’t imagine why I ever married you,” Blackjack said. “What kind of mother are you?”
“I’m what you’ve made of me,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “A little crazy. A little vengeful. A little sad. Thanks to you, I have no illusions left. I see things as they really are. The world is not a nice place, Jackson. People disappoint you. People live despicable lives. People die for foolish reasons. The way Owen and that Creed girl will probably die.”
Blackjack tensed as Eve crossed and stood behind him to look over his shoulder at the papers in front of him.
He didn’t hide the contract with Lauren Creed, in which she agreed to train a half dozen cutting horses for him. He braced himself, expecting his wife to object to it, and was surprised when she brought up another woman entirely.
“I had an interesting conversation with Dora Coburn after church,” she said.
Blackjack tensed and swiveled the chair around to face her. “Oh?” His one indiscretion in his marriage had occurred twenty-five years ago. But he’d never ceased to worry that his wife would discover it—and use it against him.
“It seems Dora caught Summer kissing her son Billy. She wanted me to do something about it. Can you imagine the gall of the woman? Suggesting I do something about it? I’m not responsible for the situation. I haven’t been home for the past eighteen months. You’re the one who’s been looking after our daughter. How could you let her throw herself away on a piece of trash like that boy?”
The Texan Page 20
