“C’mon, sweetheart, your father will kill me if we’re not back before him.”
Angel rose reluctantly, pulled on her stockings, then searched for her shoes. Chase brought them to her, then stooped beside her and slid one over her slender ankle. He did the same with the other, forcing her to hold onto his shoulders for balance. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, and he rose slowly. When his eyes were level with hers, she drew in a deep breath, shocked at the hot passion she saw there.
“My God, Angel, you’re enough to make a man forget his good intentions.”
“Forget then,” she whispered recklessly. “I want you to forget.”
“…unfortunately, we didn’t get there in time.” Sheriff Mendez ignored Luke’s frown and shrugged apologetically. “We did all that we could. But this man Haskwell must have been expecting to be tracked. He left Dallas as quickly as he came.”
“Goddammit!” Luke swore, slamming his hand down on the sheriff’s desk. He held up two fingers with less than a quarter inch between. “We were this close to catching the bastard, and he slips away like some schoolgirl at a prom!”
“That isn’t fair, Luke,” Jake said calmly. “The sheriff’s done what he could. He sent the telegrams to Dallas as soon as we got word, and dispatched the deputy. Haskwell isn’t an easy man to nail. If he was, he’d be dead by now.”
Jake spoke pragmatically, but Luke was in no mood to listen to reason. “I don’t want excuses! It isn’t your damned wife he’s trying to kill!” he shouted.
“Maybe not, but I have feelings for Amanda, too,” Jake said, visibly hurt. “I don’t want to see anything happen to her. And I’m more than willing to help track him down.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.” Luke extended a hand, which the older ranchman readily took. After a moment, Luke turned back to the sheriff, forcing himself to remain calm and rational, for Amanda’s sake.
“Do you have any other news? Anything that would help us?” Luke asked.
Mendez hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain of how much to trust these two men. His eyes shifted from Luke’s passionate expression to Jake’s calm concern. Whatever he saw there apparently reassured him, for after lighting a thin cigar, he spoke much more freely.
“We think he has a woman with him. The reports all say he’s been dragging her from state to state. The girl tried to escape from him once, in a crowded saloon. Haskwell found out about her plan and put a stop to it. The man who was to help her was severely beaten.”
“Who is she?” Luke asked, impressed by the results of the investigation.
“Her name is Honey Bee,” Mendez reported. “She’s a showgirl, once considered very beautiful. She last performed in a saloon just fifty miles north of here. They say she was so bad the bartender threw her out, yet she once won praise for her voice. I fear it is Haskwell’s influence, and like the other girl you spoke of, Jake, she isn’t long for this world.”
“Unless we stop him,” Luke said thoughtfully. He looked at the sheriff with new respect. “What plans have you made?”
“My deputy is on his way back now. I’m putting together a group of men to try and follow Haskwell’s trail. The fact that he is not traveling alone is good for us. He will need to stop, and will be more easily seen with the woman.”
“Do you need volunteers?” Jake asked, and Mendez shook his head.
“I would prefer if you both stay in town, just in case Haskwell slips through our net. If you need to be gone for any length of time, I would appreciate it if you let me know. And Mrs. Parker should notify you of her whereabouts at all times. It’s important now that we can find both of you easily, should we hear that Haskwell is in Waco.”
“I agree,” Luke said evenly. “My wife and I have already discussed this. She understands the danger, and will keep me informed of where she goes and what she does. Amanda will not make a move that I am not aware of.”
“Are you certain of this, dear?” Grace Brockelman stared at the mound of corsets that lay in the center of the street like the webbed bones of a slaughtered dragon. Laces lay everywhere, some of satin, some of cotton, all of them tossed gaily by the giggling and blushing women as the pile mounted higher. Steel hooped underskirts joined the mountain, collapsing under pressure like medieval torture garments. Next came bustles and tufts of cotton padding, that sank down amid the corsets and hoops like stones dropped into a pond.
“I am not at all sure this is right,” Elvira Brannigan whispered, appalled at the sight of the feminine undergarments fluttering in the breeze.
“Oh, bosh Elvira. And if you’re going to have another one of your fainting spells, do it inside. This is important.” Mrs. Meade puffed up like an adder, her round face puckered and threatening, and her sharp eyes narrow beneath her bonnet.
“We have to make a statement,” Amanda said, tossing her own corset onto the pile, then standing nearby on a platform with a box of matches. “As women, we no longer wish to be bound to the past, either by our undergarments or by tradition. It is time we were free! These clothes were designed to change our bodies, to hide our normal curves and womanly figures, to conform to an unnatural ideal that is physically unhealthy and emotionally appalling! No wonder we’ve suffered for years with vapors and the blues! Our underwear is a direct physical cause for distress!”
The women applauded, the sound filling the air in the town center, competing with the piano at the Pecos Saloon. Men began to drift into the square, out of curiosity at first, then horror as they saw the indecent display of bloomers, leggings, corsets, and petticoats.
Amanda stood above it all, brandishing her matches like Joan of Arc and her sword. Her hair gleamed a brilliant chestnut, worn disgustingly loose and falling around her shoulders. Her face, burned by the sun, had an attractive stain of pink across the bridge of her nose where indentations remained from her glasses. Her dress, a simple cotton affair that looked well-worn from her trail days, was loose and moved softly as she lifted a match. Although her pregnancy was not far advanced, her body had become rounder and her corset tighter, giving her the idea to banish the garment. One thing was apparent to every man there:
She wasn’t wearing a damned thing beneath her dress.
The women cheered, and Amanda continued her speech. “Not only are these garments physically destructive, but think of the mental and emotional complexities they create. We are told every time we put these on that we are nothing more than chattel, toys to be dressed and displayed for a man’s benefit. What is the purpose of a corset, if not to enhance the breasts and reduce the waist! Surely, it is not for our stimulation, since the very donning of these garments is uncomfortable, even painful. We wear them to please men, to make our breasts more noticeable, our waists smaller, and bustles to make our backsides more apparent! No longer shall we be slaves to fashion! From now on, we shall use our minds to think, wear what is practical and comfortable, and let corsets be damned!”
The cheers were deafening. Even little Elvira, who was normally the color of snow and as fragile as Italian crystal, clapped her hands and cried out, Amanda! The other women joined suit, until the streets were filled with the name Amanda! Amanda Edison!
“Luke, I think you’d better come out here.” The deputy stepped into the shaded interior of the office, and gestured to the street. “There seems to be a ruckus going on.”
Puzzled, Luke donned his Stetson, then strode outside while Jake and the sheriff exchanged a worried glance. They followed, and all three men stood on the outside of the feminine crowd, as the women shouted:
“Amanda!”
Luke stared in disbelief as his wife struck a flaming match, then dropped it into a pile of feminine undergarments. The flimsy cotton and batiste slowly caught fire, the flames encouraged by the wind and the structure of the bustles and hoops. Lace burned. Cotton ignited. Rosettes smoldered. Whalebone collapsed. A sudden gust of wind from the north set the whole pile to blazing, and the women laughed and cheered like bare-breasted natives
around a campfire.
The men looked soberly on, then one by one turned to Luke, their expressions anything but friendly. Simon Ledden, the postman, clucked his tongue. Mr. Meade shook his head and glared. Jake looked embarrassed but not surprised. Jed Brannigan, Elvira’s husband and the mayor, had turned an interesting shade of red. Clearing his throat, he turned to Luke and spoke for all the men.
“I believe Amanda Edison is your wife, is she not? I think you’d best straighten her out now.”
Luke grimaced, then crossed the crowd of women to the podium, where Amanda was removing her hosiery. One slender cotton stocking was rolled down, revealing a shapely white calf, then the delicate structure of her foot. Gaily, she tossed the stocking onto the bonfire, watching it ignite then disappear into the hot flames. Amanda reached for the second stocking as the women clapped. The cheers suddenly died, and a strange hush fell upon the crowd. Puzzled, Amanda glanced up, her dress pulled up high, her fingers slipping beneath the pink satin garter. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an open O as she saw Luke towering over her.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The wrath of God was in his blue eyes. Amanda had never seen him so angry, not even the time she sent his clothing downriver. He looked immeasurably tall and overwhelmingly masculine as he dwarfed her slight figure, his hands resting on his hips as if to keep himself from strangling her.
Amanda gulped, and the dress hem slipped from her fingers. She hadn’t thought of this in her eagerness to pursue the rally. The emotional encouragement of the women had seduced her, and the once in a lifetime feeling of power had been heady. But now she was faced with the consequences of this act of public defiance, and from the look in Luke’s eyes, he wasn’t about to be very understanding.
“I was leading the rally,” Amanda squeaked. “You see, I had trouble breathing in my corset, and it occurred to me that feminine clothes were simply the reflection of male dominance. We should be using our minds, and not our bodies, simply to please the male species—”
“Goddammit, Amanda! I told you explicitly that I wanted to know your whereabouts. The first time I turn my back, you’re out here, burning your underwear!” He glanced at the flaming corsets, as if unable to believe his own eyes, then turned back to her, his anger barely under control. “Do you realize the danger you were in? Suppose I needed to find you, quickly?”
She gave him a disparaging look. “I believe you found me quickly enough,” she pointed out logically, though her mind dimly registered the thought that he seemed more concerned for her safety than angry at her public defiance. She still couldn’t totally believe that, so she continued coldly. “I think what you’re really upset about is that the male species is always threatened by a feminine show of power. We women have been treated as chattel for far too long! I mean to make a change, and if our corsets represent—”
That was as far as she got. Cursing under his breath, Luke lost the last vestige of control he possessed and hiked her over his shoulder, her bottom in the air, one bare leg kicking up, one stockinged leg down. The men cheered as Luke strode past the fire, past the awestruck women, past Elvira Brannigan and Mrs. Meade, to the wagon where Juan waited. Luke plopped Amanda into the back amid the hay, ignoring her protests, then joined Juan at the front.
“Take us home. Now!”
Juan didn’t hesitate, but whipped up the horses. The wagon sped away from the town hall, leaving the smoldering corsets and the slender grey column of smoke far behind them. Amanda slid upright, plucking hay from her hair and gazing at the back of the furious man in front of her.
Maybe, this time she had pushed him too far. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
The wagon thundered into the stables, and Luke leaped out almost before it stopped. The short ride had done nothing to appease his anger, Amanda realized. The thought was reinforced a moment later when he physically removed her from the cart, his hands holding her waist tightly. His face darkened as her skirt pulled up to reveal her one stocking-less leg, then he took her hand and half-dragged her toward the house.
“Let go of me…” she demanded, pulling at the fingers that held her. Whatever he intended, she couldn’t let him hurt the baby, even if she had to tell him. And that was the last thing she wanted to do, especially now.
“Like hell,” Luke muttered, heading determinedly toward the estate. He forcibly escorted her to the columned porch, ignoring Pedro’s look of astonishment as he kicked open the front door and dragged her into the parlor. After slamming the door shut, he turned to her, his fists clenched as if he had to physically restrain himself from attacking her. Amanda stepped backward until the wall met her spine and she was forced to stop. Luke had progressed toward her at the same rate, so she had to look straight up at him, her eyes as wide as gold dollars, and she swallowed hard.
“I take it you aren’t too pleased with me,” she said.
“You’re lucky I don’t strangle you! What in the hell were you thinking about, burning your corset? No, don’t tell me your theories. I’m angry enough now that I don’t think I could stand it.” He glared at her, even as she stared back, meeting his eyes with open defiance. “It seems I have several interesting alternatives here, none of them pleasant.” He continued in the same, cold rational voice. “You do realize that everything I’ve worked to build, to start a new life and live a clean, respectable existence, is in jeopardy? Have you given no thought to the possible repercussions of all this?”
“Social change is bought at the price of stability,” Amanda stated defensively. “Those within the establishment are always threatened—”
“That’s bullshit,” Luke snapped. “What about your safety? Suppose Haskwell showed up?”
“There is no reason my activities should have any direct bearing on you—”
“You’re my wife, goddammit!” Luke swore, his blue eyes blazing.
Amanda looked at him thoughtfully, her expression hiding her true feelings and in the process, betraying everything. “I am aware that we are legally married,” she said quietly, “even though it is not your intention to honor that vow. I am just the bait you are using to get Haskwell. Therefore, I find your argument lacking a constructive premise.”
“Amanda, if you dare to say that one more time, I will forget all my good intentions,” Luke continued, satisfied to see her startled into silence. “I have come to several conclusions today, and I want you to listen to them carefully. I refuse to let you destroy everything, simply for some thesis on the battle of the sexes. And don’t even try to tell me that isn’t what your rally was all about.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, truly puzzled.
“You’re bringing our fights out in public,” he explained. “Which doesn’t do a damned thing to solve our misunderstandings, and you’ve put a lot of other wives into a tight spot with their husbands tonight. I could forgive that, knowing the way that you think, as mixed up as it is. What I can’t forgive is what you’re doing to us.”
She stared at him doubtfully, already coming up with a rebuttal. Luke headed it off before she could present it. “I know you think that I’m simply using you to get to Haskwell,” he continued. “I admit it started out that way, but everything changed long ago. Somewhere along the way, I started to care about you, as you did me.”
She shook her head, and Luke cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “It’s true and you know it. Don’t you think it would have been far easier for me to get Haskwell alone, without a woman and a bird trailing me everywhere? Christ, I could have gone a few days ago and gotten him in Dallas, if that was my prime motivation. But I would have had to leave you, alone and unprotected, and I couldn’t do that. As much as I hate Haskwell, I love you more.”
Her arguments dissipated as a stark silence fell between them. Amanda stared at him, stunned by his words. Joy flowed through her, warm and overwhelming, coupled with reserve.
“That’s right, I love you,” Luke continued, as if
startled himself. “But I have to admit, Amanda, I don’t know how much more I’m willing to put up with. You defy me at every turn, test me constantly, and try to make me as miserable as possible when we both know you don’t have to. I want a good normal life together, I want to have children— maybe a little girl like you, with a mind that Socrates would admire. But I don’t want it at the price of my sanity. You have a decision to make. Either you want the same things I do, and commit to this relationship, or you don’t. It’s that simple.”
That simple and that hard. Amanda said nothing as he left her alone, slamming the door behind him. Her unstockinged leg got goosebumps in the chill and she sat down on one of the elegant chairs, absently rubbing it. The ache in her limb was nothing compared to her heart.
His patience was at an end, she could sense that. All she had to do was let go of the logic, of all the compelling reasons that held her back, and give into the feelings she revealed in her book. A thousand thoughts crowded her mind, many of which she never entertained before.
He loved her. He actually loved her. He wanted them to live together as a real husband and wife, wanted children…she thought of the baby inside of her and the possibility seemed far more real than it ever had before. She couldn’t prevent the fleeting smile that came to her face, or the delicious giggle that welled up inside of her. She felt like soaring, like the wood doves who ambled so clumsily on the ground—but once they took off!…Then her eye caught her reflection in the simple hall mirror, and her smile faded.
Her hair, loosened in the rally, tumbled wildly around her shoulders. Her glasses were askew, her dress, without the foundation of a corset, sagged on her slender body. She thought of all the lovely women Luke must have known, women with flaxen hair and perfect complexions, women without ink on their hands or bird droppings on their shoes. These were the kind of women Luke would love. And yet…
She was being ridiculous, yet a part of her, small and as yet seldom nurtured, dared to hope. Even if tomorrow it all turned out to be just a dream, it was one she would live in.
Wild Is the Night Page 27
