by Diana Palmer
“Are you sure he won’t poison you?” she asked, with faint humor.
“He’s my friend,” he said simply. “Friends don’t poison each other. If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you for looking after my father,” she said, with stiff pride.
“He needed looking after,” he said shortly. “My God, he’ll lose everything if he doesn’t toughen up.”
“It’s so brutal out here,” she said suddenly, her wide eyes expressive.
“Of course it is. It’s no place for lilies.”
She blanched. Her hands dovetailed on her waist as she lay there looking up at him from her pillow. She felt vulnerable with a man in her bedroom. He seemed to fill it, dominate it. He looked at her as if she were hopeless. Perhaps she was.
His dark eyes slid down her body to her slim ankles and back up again. She was slender and well made, and he ached thinking about how her mouth felt under his.
But she was looking at him as if he frightened her. Probably he did, he thought bitterly. He’d been antagonistic toward her from the very beginning; he’d insulted her, been roughly physical with her, and then he’d savaged her reputation. How could he expect her to trust him?
That was a pity, when she’d begun to appeal to him in a totally new way, he thought ironically. She’d been scared to death and sick while he fought the Mexican, but she was game! White in the face and shaking, she’d still had the nerve to doctor his wounds. He admired her. He’d admired her when she fought with him verbally, and she’d done that from the first time they’d met. He couldn’t remember one time when he’d ever admired his late wife—except in the very beginning of their relationship.
“I won’t let anything happen to your father, Trilby,” he said quietly. “To any of you.”
She swallowed down a bout of nausea and closed her eyes. “This terrible country,” she whispered. “I wish we’d never come.”
He hated the way she said that. “Listen, it’s not as bad as you’re making it out. Trilby, I’d like to show you my desert….”
Her eyes flew open and began to glitter with feeling. “The way you showed me last time?” she asked accusingly.
He muttered under his breath and stood up. He swept off his hat and wiped the sweat from under it with the long sleeve of his shirt. “You won’t see my side of it, will you?” he asked quietly. “I acted on what I believed to be the truth.”
“God sitting in judgment? Your opinion of me makes me sicker than your wounds, Mr. Vance,” she said huskily, her gray eyes wide and unblinking in a face like paper. “I have no use for a man who can jump to a conclusion and refuse to let go of it, even when all the evidence contradicts it.”
“Sally lied to me,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you,” he persisted. “I had no idea what kind of person you really were.”
“You might have given me the benefit of the doubt,” she said coldly. “As it happens, my father was able to undo the damage you did to my reputation. That is fortunate, because a beau of mine is coming out to stay very shortly. I should hate him to get a bad opinion of me from local gossip.”
He went very still. “A beau?” he asked.
She smiled haughtily. “Apparently you think my lack of beauty precludes me from having gentleman callers. It might interest you to know that not all men judge a woman by her face or form. Richard admires me for my intellect.”
“Richard who?” he shot at her.
“Richard Bates. We grew up together in Baton Rouge. His family and mine would very much like for us to marry,” she added deliberately. “And so would I. I’ve loved Richard half my life!”
He felt tight as a drawn cord. Her dislike and contempt for him were as tangible as his had once been for her. He felt small and mean, and because his guilt made him raw inside, he lashed out.
“He’s a city boy, I gather? One of those dandies with no brain or guts?”
“Richard is a gentleman, Mr. Vance,” she said, with faint hauteur. “Which is something no woman could ever accuse you of being. Certainly not if she’d ever had the misfortune to be alone with you!”
He flushed. His hand crushed the brim of his hat and his wounded face went livid. “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”
“I wish I could punch you, Mr. Vance,” she said fervently. “I wish I were a man for just five minutes. I’d do you more damage than that Mexican managed!”
He drew himself up to his full height. “I’ve apologized,” he said shortly.
“And you think that wipes out months of harsh treatment and contempt and insults.” She nodded.
Put that way, no, he didn’t. He let his eyes wander over her face for one long moment as he began to realize just how much he’d made her hate him. He was going to lose her and her father’s water rights in one fell swoop, and this Eastern dude she loved was going to waltz in and scoop her right out of his life. He felt sick right where he lived.
He didn’t say another word. He turned abruptly, slammed his hat back on his head, and walked out of the room.
Trilby closed her eyes. Let him go, she thought angrily. She certainly didn’t want him. She never had! She thought about Richard instead, and the tenseness left her face all at once. Richard was coming, at last! For once, her dreams seemed to be coming true. When Richard arrived, the vicious Mr. Vance would become nothing more than a bad memory.
Bad, like the events of the day. Trilby refused to think of the danger her father had been in. She wanted nothing to spoil the joyous time ahead.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN TRILBY GOT UP, minutes later, Mary Lang was still sick and faint from what she’d seen outside her window. The whole unpleasant episode had pointed out what was worst about their new home.
“I had no idea men fought like that,” Mary told her daughter later when they were sitting quietly together after putting out a meal for Jack. “I’d never seen men fight.”
“Neither had I. The Mexican said something about me. Mr. Vance wouldn’t tell me what it was, but it was why he hit him.”
“Thank you for taking care of his wounds, Trilby,” Mary said. “I just couldn’t!”
For the first time, Trilby felt older than her mother. It was not to be the last time she felt that way.
The idea of Thorn fighting for her was surprising. Of course, he had sworn that he’d changed his mind about her. But it didn’t wipe away the damaging things he’d said.
He came visiting late one afternoon at the end of the week, after Jack Lang had come in from checking his line riders. The sun was going down and the sunset, always spectacular, had brought Trilby onto the darkened front porch steps to watch. She was sitting there, alone, while her family talked around the kitchen table, when Thorn rode up.
Her heart raced as he swung lithely out of the saddle and tied his mount to the post. Fear, she supposed, had to be responsible for that reaction. Or anger, perhaps. She noticed that he was still wearing working garb.
Her innate sense of courtesy wouldn’t let her be deliberately rude to a visitor, in spite of the hostility he kindled in her. “You usually ride a horse when you come to visit, Mr. Vance,” she commented politely from her perch on the top step. “I thought you liked automobiles.”
“I don’t. Not particularly.” He sat down beside her, a lighted cigarette in his hand, and he didn’t remove his wide-brimmed hat. He smelled of leather and tobacco and dust and sweat, but Trilby didn’t find him in the least offensive. That reaction puzzled her. Since she didn’t like him, shouldn’t she find his nearness unpleasant?
“Father is in the kitchen with Mother and Teddy—” she began.
“I won’t accost you, Trilby,” he said quietly. “Not this time. Talk to me.”
“Why, about—about what?” she faltered.
“I’ve had a difference of opinion with my daughter on the subject of school,” he said. “I’ve been trying to help her do her lessons, but she refu
ses to cooperate. She’s so withdrawn that I can’t seem to reach her at all.”
The child interested her, despite her resentment of Thorn. “Doesn’t she go to school?”
“She did. The school closed when the schoolteacher went back East to get married. Sally was teaching her. Now there’s no one to do it anymore, except me. The only alternative is to take a house in Douglas and send her to school there, as some other married ranchers have done.”
“Does she learn easily?”
“Easily enough, when she wants to. But she’s not been the same since her mother died. I’ve arranged to spend more time with her. Perhaps I can encourage her to learn if I work with her myself. I’ve neglected her, I suppose. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure you have. The Mexicans are closer to you than to us. I suppose the revolution worries you.”
“It worries everyone who lives on the border,” he said flatly. “Each side thinks we’re supporting the other, when we’re doing our best to stay neutral. It causes difficulties.”
“There was something in the paper about an anti-American riot in Mexico City,” she said. “And there are rumors that Madero and his followers are planning an all-out attack.”
“The signs point to it.” His eyes were quietly appreciative of her pretty, blue-checked gingham dress with white rickrack around the square collar. Her hair was long and loose, and Thorn was aroused by it. Suddenly, violently aroused.
His lean hand speared into the thick waves gently, lifting them so that her head was tugged back, her face uplifted at a very intimate angle.
“Please, don’t,” she said stiffly. She pulled angrily at his wrist.
“I have ears like a fox,” he said. His voice was quiet, soft. “And we’re in the dark here.” He leaned closer, his smoky breath on her lips, making her weak, making her want his mouth on hers again. Her own reaction made her angry and she pushed at his chest.
“There’s no need to fight me,” he said irritably. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Of course not,” she agreed, her eyes furious. “You’re only going to force your attentions on me and then say that I tempted you!”
He let her go at once. “My God,” he said heavily. “You won’t forget, will you?”
She straightened her hair and her skirts with trembling hands, averting her gaze from his hard face. “I don’t want your attentions, Mr. Vance. I thought I’d already made that quite clear to you.”
“I’m wealthy—” he began.
“And you think that matters to me?” she asked harshly. “I would not sell myself to the richest man on earth if I did not love him. I would love my Richard if he were a poet, with no income to speak of. It isn’t for his station in life that I yearn.”
“I thought you were a grown woman,” he said curtly. “You speak like a schoolgirl in the throes of calf love!”
Her chin went up and her gray eyes kindled with temper. “You have no right to make light of my feelings! You know nothing about me.”
He searched her thin, pale face. “That’s true enough,” he said, his voice deep in the hush of evening. “I’ve assumed a great deal, but I’ve never sought to know you.”
She turned her face toward the horizon, with its thin streak of color. Fiesta colors, she thought absently. The sunset had a Mexican flavor tonight.
“You don’t approve of me, do you, Trilby?” he asked easily, lounging back against one of the square wooden columns to roll another cigarette. “I’m neither civilized nor safe, like your dude from back East.”
“A civilized man treats a woman like a lady.”
“You sound like a well-brought-up Spanish girl,” he said, amused. “Very correct, helpless without her duenna.”
“No duenna in her right mind would allow you within a mile of her charge,” she said bluntly, glaring at him as she remembered the vicious pain of his kiss when he’d taken her for that ride in the desert.
“I hurt you, didn’t I?” he asked quietly. He stared at the tip of his cigarette. “You aren’t going to forgive what happened.”
“I have forgiven you, Mr. Vance. It’s simply that friendship is all I have to offer you,” she added.
He glared at her. “What can an Eastern man give you that a Western man can’t?” he demanded.
“Civilized behavior!” she returned. “Decent treatment. Tenderness. Things you know nothing about.”
He laughed without humor. “I guess it must seem like that to you. You’re a game girl, Trilby. Sick to death of violence, but you still had nerve enough to doctor me. I won’t forget that. You’ve got grit.”
“I don’t imagine many people who associate with you can manage without it,” she muttered.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he told her.
The screen door banged as her father walked onto the porch. “Thorn, isn’t it?” Jack Lang welcomed him, extending a hand as Thorn got lazily to his feet. His enmity for Vance had been forgotten after the other man had saved his cattle. Apparently Vance and Trilby were back on speaking terms, too, which boded well for everyone. “Good to see you. Come in and have coffee with us.”
“Thanks. I stopped by to ask you if you’d like to come to a fiesta tomorrow evening.”
“A fiesta?”
“Down at Maladora. It’s a saint’s day celebration. Music and dancing and food. I think you might like it. It’s only about an hour away and we can take the car.”
“That would be fun,” Jack said. “I’m sure Mary and Teddy and Trilby would enjoy it.”
Trilby had no interest in fiestas or Thorn Vance’s company. But her father was so enthusiastic that she would have felt very mean indeed to have refused. “I like music,” she said.
“So does Samantha,” he replied. “She’ll be with me, of course. It’s her birthday.”
He smiled at Trilby, and she felt something incredible happening to her. She didn’t know whether or not to trust the awkward, disturbing emotions he kindled. She had to remember her beloved Richard, who was coming in only a few days to see her.
Thorn Vance was untamed, untamable. He wasn’t safe to flirt with or make love with. He was hardly the sort of man she’d ever want to end up marrying, even if he was exciting to be with. That being the case, she simply had to keep her wits about her.
“Thank you,” Jack replied, with a smile. “We’d be delighted.”
“Fine. I’ll come by for you around four tomorrow afternoon. Good night.” He smiled down at Trilby. “I’ll look forward to it.”
She watched him ride off with a frown on her face. She wondered why he’d decided to take her family to the fiesta. Perhaps he was simply trying to make amends, she told herself, and went back to daydreaming about Richard.
COL. DAVID MORRIS hung up his telephone at Fort Huachuca and a frown appeared on his handsome face. More trouble on the border, and once again he was going to dispatch another troop down the border to keep watch on the situation. Skirmishes had mounted daily since the outbreak of insurrection in Mexico. He might as well go with Captain Bell this time, he thought with resignation, and talk to the rancher who’d had cattle run off. It wasn’t going to do any good. He had no authority to cross the border; God knew, it would probably lead to war if any of his men so much as stepped over the line. Even if he did have authority, Mexico was a big country. God alone knew who’d taken the cattle. He could hardly round up citizens of another sovereign nation and search them for woolly longhorns.
The thought amused him. He smiled, his high-cheek-boned face less severe than usual. He got up from his desk, running a hand through his thick blond hair. It had been light brown before he’d been sent out here to command his troops, but the Arizona sun had bleached it blond. He glanced at himself in the blemished looking glass on his wall and pursed his lips. For a man of thirty-six, he wasn’t too bad-looking, he thought with faint sarcasm. Selina seemed to think he was a figure from Greek mythology. Especially without his clothes.
His wife, Lis
a, never looked at him. She’d grown broody and morose since the death of their baby earlier in the year. She had never enjoyed him in bed, even when they first married. That was mutual. He found her passable, but she’d never stirred him. He knew she’d loved him at first. But he’d married her only because of her father, who had been a very influential general. Once she found out, it had killed all her feelings for him. Then he’d started straying to other women’s beds.
She hadn’t said anything about his amours lately. She’d been oddly secretive. She was so reclusive that he hardly knew she was in his quarters at all. He really must speak to her, he thought as he called in his adjutant. But it would have to wait. As usual, military business took precedence.
He was saluted by members of his black 9th cavalry on the way to his car. The 9th and 10th were the famous “Buffalo soldiers,” whose proud history gave him no cause for regret at being commandant here.
All the long drive to Douglas, he thought about seeing Selina again. She was proprietress of a hotel on the small town’s notorious Sixth Street. It was more a bawdy house than a hotel, but Selina had a voluptuous body and the gift of making a man feel like a conqueror.
Lisa was quiet and shy and not very much to look at. But Selina…ah, she appealed to parts of him that were far removed from his heart. Her exquisite body could arouse him even in memory. He gave her expensive gifts, sent her flowers, doted on her. Thank God Douglas was a good ride from the fort, so there was little danger of Lisa finding out about her. These days, Selina was the only recreation he had.
His driver sped the big touring car past the small complement of troops stationed at the Douglas fair-grounds, and David saluted its officers as he rode past. This small garrison was hardly a threat to the Maderistas, but it boasted some brave men and would do in a pinch. In times of real danger, troops from Fort Huachuca and other posts could be quickly dispatched to any trouble points. There had been some incidents just lately, and David was worried about the future. Things would surely get worse before they got better, here on the border.
