Magic and the Texan

by Martha Hix

  Her fingers wrapping around the heel of his hand, Beth urged him to a stop. “Look at me, husband.”

  He did. And saw an artless face, silvered by moonlight. Beth, a magician who needed no magic lamp to work wonders. At least with outlaws, saloon dancers, and priests. Unless she was worked against, as Jon Marc had worked against her.

  She said, “Fitz hired a sleuth to track Mr. Johnson down. A lady from New Orleans, I understand. A well-known sleuth who had a fine record for unraveling mysteries. Fitz thinks if you know the whole story about your mother and her paramour, you’ll be more of a mind to . . . for family harmony.”

  “He wasted his time.”

  “Do you think it was easy for Fitz, to track down the man who caused his son’s death? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  In truth it did. Jon Marc had long known how deeply Fitz had been crushed by Daniel’s death, and despised Johnson.

  “Jon Marc, would you be terribly offended if I put my arms around you?”

  He tensed, not wanting her magic, yet his heart cried out for it at the same time. What would it hurt, one more hug? “As long as you know it’ll go no further.”

  She moved in front of him to slide her arms around his waist. Her cheek nestled at his shoulder. It felt right, having her here. His wife. The Kansas beauty who had traveled to Texas to become his wife. Right now it almost didn’t matter, the virginity business.

  He longed to lace his arms around her. Enclosing her in those arms, he rested his jaw against her sweet-smelling hair, admitting, “I need this.”

  “We need each other, darling.”

  “The world has gone to the devil around us.” He shouldn’t expose his heart, yet he somehow couldn’t stop. “Time like this, a man needs his wife.”

  “And vice-versa.” Beth pressed lips to his turbulent heart. “Jon Marc, you must know something. Before it’s sprung on you. Marcus Johnson isn’t your father.”

  Shock. It had to be shock that weakened his pulse. Everything he’d ever known in his life about his parentage—none of it had been real. Yet reason kicked his veins.

  “It’s a trick, Beth,” he muttered. “A dirty trick.”

  “I don’t think so. Fitz told me—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. It’s a trick. I won’t be tricked. If there’s anything worse than being lied to, it’s compounding it with another lie.”

  Jon Marc took his arms from Beth. And set off to saddle León and collect that rope.

  She kicked and screamed, howled to the night sky.

  Bethany, her heart heavy for her husband and his magnified problems, dashed after the mount that carried him and the screaming Sabrina away from the Caliente.

  While she must stop her niece’s terror, Bethany yearned to make everything right for her husband. Her husband, who thought it terrible to compound one lie with another. Her husband, who had known solace and heartache tonight. Her husband, who had married a fraud.

  “Uncle Jon Marc, you’re not very nice!”

  Pippin. Bethany glanced over her shoulder. Barefoot, running toward León, the youth flailed his arms.

  Jon Marc twisted in the saddle, shouting, “Beth, for God’s sake, calm the boy!”

  She hurried back to Pippin. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He rubbed a pajama sleeve beneath his watery nose. He was a troubled child. And, if Bethany was any judge, his troubles hadn’t started with Jon Marc taking his playmate away.

  “Shh.” Bethany tried to comfort by patting his shoulder. “Be patient, Pip. He’s not hurting Sabrina, I promise. There are many things you don’t understand about this situation. Your uncle is very nice. And you are quite important to him.”

  “He’s making my friend cry.”

  “You’ll see Sabrina again. Mark my words, she won’t cry.”

  “When will I see her?”

  “Soon.” Bethany squeezed his shoulders. “Trust me, Pip. I am good for my word.” Todds always are. “I’m going to ride after her, make certain she’s not crying when she reaches the church.”

  Pippin cocked his head, scrutinizing Bethany’s expression. On a sigh he relented. “Then go on. Don’t tarry.”

  She didn’t.

  Jon Marc wasn’t the least bit pleased when Bethany and Arlene caught up with him and his unhappy burden, since she’d promised to keep an eye on the house. They were now less than a mile from Fort Ewell. Grudgingly, he allowed her to follow him, once she calmed Sabrina.

  The bang of piano keys thundered through the air as they approached the church. Terecita was practicing.

  “She hates you,” Bethany pointed out, once they had dismounted and Sabrina had run into Padre Miguel’s beckoning arms.

  “Terecita will never tell you where to find Hoot. I’m in good stead with her at the moment. Let me talk to her alone. Please. I think she’ll tell me where to find Hoot.”

  “I don’t like this,” Jon Marc muttered.

  For the second time tonight, Bethany begged trust. “You’ve got to listen to me.”

  “If I agree, will you turn around and go home?”

  She could lie, but wouldn’t. “No. I won’t. You need a partner, if we’re to have harmony with Hoot Todd.”

  “Mine is man’s business.”

  “You’ve got several platesful of business.”

  “I’m going back to the Caliente. Get my men.”

  “No! It’s better if we speak with Hoot, just you and me.” She took Jon Marc’s hand, as she had before they left the Caliente. Again, he didn’t pull away, which elevated her hopes for the two of them. “Darling, you’re not going to stop me.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  The candlelit church was empty, save for a pianist whose fingers never seemed to hit the right keys.

  Bethany stopped for holy water, then strolled down the aisle. The big piano sat left of the rail where Bethany had pledged her heart to Jon Marc, even though God hadn’t been listening. Her lips moved in prayer, that someday she would become a bride in the eyes of the Almighty.

  If that day were to dawn, then accord must come to La Salle County. Terecita López might not hit the proper ivories, but she could hold the key to peace.

  The dancer wore a cotton skirt, as scarlet as a painted lady’s lips, and a white peasant blouse. Her long hair flowed down her back. She stopped striking keys.

  Whirling around on the piano bench, she said, “Ah. It is the bride of Señor O’Brien. Wearing britches. Did you not know ladies should wear skirts?”

  “Don’t accuse me of being a lady,” Bethany returned lightly. “I’d like to think of myself as simply a ranch-wife.”

  “I would like to think of myself as a lady. Or at least a good piano player.” Terecita sighed. “What brings you to Santa Maria tonight?”

  “We—I’ve returned Sabrina. She’ll be safer here.”

  “Yes, safer.”

  Bethany approached the fledgling musician, then gestured to the bench. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sit down.”

  Scooting next to Terecita, Bethany touched an ivory, but not hard enough to make a sound. “When a woman is in love, it’s peace she seeks. I love Jon Marc. Do you love Hoot Todd?”

  “Sometimes.”

  That brought a chuckle. “Men can be aggravating, can’t they? Occasionally they’re lovable. Other times, we could pinch their heads off, couldn’t we?”

  “A stiletto slicing their throats is what they deserve.”

  “Would you kill Hoot?”

  Terecita shook her head. “I wish mi viejo calm. It pleases me that you gave Chico pause to think about his deeds.”

  Bethany tried not to snicker at Terecita mixing “old man” with boy. Yet the import of that statement sunk in. “How much did he tell you?”

  Terecita patted her hand. “Do not worry, amiga. I will tell no one.”

  Bethany would have to take her at her word, since she had no other choice. Terecita’s promise didn’t evoke a great deal of confidence, nevertheless.
This visit isn’t about you.

  “Would you kill Jon Marc?” she asked.

  “Many times I considered it. He embarrassed me in front of the other whores in Laredo. He shamed me so much that I couldn’t stay there. I had nowhere else to go but here, where I am always reminded of my shame.”

  “I feel in my heart Jon Marc didn’t mean to shame you. He did not share his body—” not much, anyhow “—before marriage.”

  Terecita’s eyes rounded. “You mean it wasn’t just me?”

  “He thinks you’re quite lovely.”

  A smile brighter than candlelight lit Terecita’s round face. “Since he is married now, do you think he might be interested in a threesome?”

  “He believes in fidelity of marriage.”

  “Oh.”

  “Terecita ... do you know about Peña?”

  “Yes. He is dead. At Señor O’Brien’s hand.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. But my husband wants no more bullets to fly. That’s why we must speak with Hoot. Where is he, Terecita? Where can we find him?”

  “He and his discipulos gather at Salado Creek, at the cabin once used by Luis de la Garza.” Terecita chewed her bottom lip. “Señora . . . Chico is a bad man in many ways, but he is good in others. He does not believe children should be touched by wicked hands. Tell him . . . tell him Peña wanted to buy Sabrina for a night.”

  Shocked—sickened!—Bethany murmured, “Surely you didn’t.”

  “I would never give my daughter into wicked hands. I want the best for her. That is why she lives here at the church. That is why I decided to allow you to sew clothes for her. And to let my child visit the nice lady who smiles at her. I was wrong that day, when I ordered you not to help her.”

  “No hard feelings.”

  “Thank you, señora. I hope you understand why I must send her away with the orphans. For her own good.” Tears glistened in Terecita’s black eyes. “Someday, my Sabrina will be a lady.”

  “You needn’t send her to the orphanage. Jon Marc and I will educate her, Terecita. We’ll find a good school. There’s no need for us to lose her.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “With all my heart. And with my husband’s approval.”

  “My prayers are answered.” The mother hugged the aunt, saying, “Mil gracias, señora. You are a fine lady.”

  Complimented to the core, Bethany smiled.

  “Go, señora. Do good for Sabrina. And for us all.”

  There was no chance that Jon Marc would allow Bethany to confront Hoot on her own. She hoped whatever powers she’d used on her brother would hold, at least once more. She shoved up from the piano bench. “Good-bye, Terecita.”

  “Vaya con Dios.”

  “You, too, amiga. Go with God.” Lifting her eyes, Bethany added a silent prayer. That He wouldn’t turn his back, wouldn’t make her husband pay for his wife’s many sins.

  If You guide us through this, I will repay you. In whatever way You require.

  They found Hoot Todd and his desperadoes at a line shack on the Salado that rightly belonged to Rancho Caliente.

  “We come in peace,” Jon Marc said when a mean-faced brigand opened the cabin door; he and Beth stared at the business ends of a dozen or so six-shooters, including the leader’s.

  This was not the smartest undertaking Jon Marc had ever delved in. He didn’t like the idea, especially with Beth at his side. Hoot Todd couldn’t be trusted.

  Nonetheless, Jon Marc had known if he hadn’t agreed to find this lowly gang, she would have done it on her own.

  “Raise your arms, O’Brien.” Hoot did his showpiece trick, twirling both revolvers on forefingers, then leveling them at Jon Marc. “Xavier, get his gun. Beth, you packin’ a weapon?”

  “None but my sharp tongue.”

  “Ain’t she great?” Hoot grinned so big that his eye patch lifted a fraction of an inch.

  “Yeah, my wife is great,” Jon Marc answered, as Todd’s minion divested him of pistol.

  Bandits inched forward, a trio sidewinding behind Jon Marc and Beth. He stepped backward, but not soon enough.

  Todd stirred one gun barrel. “Tie ’em up, boys.”

  Damn. I should’ve gathered my men to back this up. Jon Marc’s fists flew; they did no good. The bandits descended like locusts, had him and Beth in strangleholds in no time.

  Magic went only so far.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Hoot Todd, order your men to untie me and my husband. This instant!”

  “Can’t do that, Beth. O’Brien done us wrong, killing Peña. Can’t let that go unpunished.”

  Hemp rope ate into Bethany’s arms and legs, as she knew it must burn her husband. She turned a frosted glare on the bandidos, who jeered and laughed, while sucking down tequila and smoking cigars. Her cool eyes settled on Hoot Todd. One of those revolting stogies clamped between his teeth, he tilted a straight chair back on its rear legs, resting pistols and hands on his thighs, his forefingers not moving from triggers.

  She and Jon Marc might be outnumbered, might be tied up like animals on their way to slaughter, but she still had her tongue. “Hoot? Would that be your given name?”

  His chair snapped to four legs. “Now, Beth . . .”

  “Tell someone to open a shutter.” If only she’d listened to Jon Marc, Caliente men would have been outside, ready to make things right, in case they continued to go wrong. Every once in a while, a wife ought to listen to her husband.

  “You’re going to choke us to death with cigar smoke. Really, Mor- ... Hoot, you don’t want that on your conscience.”

  “Crack a shutter,” he ordered one of the men, who didn’t look much different from the rest, outside missing an arm.

  “Thank you,” she said primly, while Jon Marc cautioned her in a low voice to be careful. “Hoot, I’m going to ask again. Would you please have these ropes dispensed with?”

  “Xavier, Morales, take off the ropes.”

  Jon Marc uttered, “Amazing.”

  When Bethany shook free of the bonds, she said to her brother, “We’re here to talk peace, Hoot Todd. Just you, me, and my husband. May we have some privacy?”

  A pistol waved. Hoot motioned his head toward the door. “Wait outside, amigos.”

  The desperadoes cried foul, yet they eventually took their leave.

  “You want a drink, Beth?” Hoot asked, once the associates were out of the shack.

  “Yes, I believe I do. Pour my husband one, too.”

  “I’m not interested in his liq—”

  “We’re just going to have a nice neighborly drink, husband,” she interrupted, wishing she could thump Jon Marc’s antagonistic head.

  Hoot blew dust out of two glasses—Bethany cringed to think what might have roamed the bottoms—then poured generous shots of tequila. He handed them over.

  She looked into the glass, not to check for small varmints. She recalled her wedding picnic, when last she’d tasted the potent juice of cactus. Would this night turn out better than that one? If her prayers were answered.

  Jon Marc spoke. “Todd, my wife wants peace. I want it, too. What can we do to stop our feud?”

  She was proud of Jon Marc for asking. It hadn’t been easy, swallowing pride to beg his enemy.

  “Peña weren’t the smartest hombre to come down the pike,” Hoot replied, “but he was ours.”

  “Your men would back down,” Jon Marc mentioned, “if you gave the word.”

  “Nope. Won’t do it. Did talk ’em outta skinnin’ you. You can be thankful for that.”

  A shiver raked Bethany.

  “What if I give that corral of horses, down the creek?” Jon Marc took a sip of tequila. “Would that call it even?”

  “Nope.”

  “Look, Todd. I know you’ve had a bone to pick, ever since Wilson ran you off the Caliente. But you got the better of him, burning him out like you did. When is enough, enough?”

  “Fires are such cowardly things,” Bethany interjected. “
Hoot, you’re way too noble for fires.”

  Jon Marc slanted a look that asked if she’d lost her mind. “That fire wasn’t my idea,” Hoot said slowly.

  “Then whose was it?” Jon Marc wanted to know.

  “That don’t make you no never-mind.”

  “It’s not too late for a showdown,” Jon Marc challenged.

  Bethany’s heart tripped. “No more showdowns. The last one wasn’t even a fair duel. Hoot, Peña ambushed my husband, not the other way around. The law of the West says a man has a right to defend himself. But that’s not important right now. You ordered your underling to run Jon Marc ragged, but Peña ambushed him instead. Simply didn’t listen to you, did he?”

  “Peña was a mite hotheaded.”

  “Unruly minions can sure make a legend look bad.”

  Hoot rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You reckon?”

  “I most certainly do. By the way, did you know Terecita says Peña was downright evil?”

  Hoot took a thought-filled drag. “What did Terecita say?”

  “Peña had a habit of buying young children for illicit purposes.” That was an exaggeration. But if he’d procured Sabrina, he could have very well done other children wrong. “I understand this sort of worm isn’t even respected in prisons.”

  “Peña never did nothin’ like that,” Hoot objected.

  Jon Marc looked as sickened as his wife had been at the church.

  “Terecita swears he offered money for Sabrina.” Bethany roused a suspicious mien in her brother. “You figure she lied?”

  “Naw.” Hoot’s face went ashen. “Terecita wouldn’t lie.”

  Jon Marc spoke. Quietly. “Seems to me, a man like Peña doesn’t deserve to be mourned.”

  “Or to have his death avenged,” Bethany appended.

  Hoot shook his head. “I don’t rightly know what to think.”

  “What time is it?” Bethany asked, the Peña ploy having gone awry.

  Now both men looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, then Hoot got a knowing gleam in that single eye.