Velvet Thunder

by Teresa Howard

  When Heath released his brother, he turned immediately to the tiny woman standing at Chap’s side. Kinsey Turner was perhaps the most beautiful woman Stevie had ever seen; less than five feet tall, one hundred pounds of delicate female, rich mahogany hair, big emerald eyes, and a compact, curvaceous figure that the rest of the female species would gladly kill for.

  And the tears in her eyes made it obvious that she loved Heath dearly.

  His strong feelings for her were equally evident when he enveloped her in his strong arms. Actually, he held her closer and longer than Stevie thought necessary, but Chap didn’t seem unduly concerned.

  What Stevie didn’t know was that Kinsey, the infamous Vixen in Gray, had saved Heath’s life during the war. The small, frilly package of courage that he cradled close to his heart had broken him out of a Confederate prison at great risk to her own personal safety . . . not to mention going against her people—fellow Southerners like herself who were zealous believers in the Glorious Cause.

  Kinsey’s emotion overflowed as she pulled away. Heath touched her cheek and brushed away a tear. He glanced down at her exquisite silver gray watered silk gown. “Still wearing gray, I see.”

  “Kinsey’s convinced the South will rise again,” Chap put in, circling his wife’s wasplike waist with his arm and pulling her back to his side.

  Though the love between Chap and his wife was apparent, she elbowed him in the ribs with a good deal of force. “It would rise if we could get rid of you damn Yankees.” Without missing a beat she turned on the man she had just squeezed to within an inch of his life. “Harrington Heath Turner, I swear and declare you have the manners of a warthog.” She popped his chest with her reticule. “Are you going to introduce your friend, or not?”

  Her heavy drawl oozed like thick molasses in January, quite unlike the western twang to which Stevie’s ears were accustomed. Drawn to Kinsey instinctively, Stevie presented the southern belle her hand. She doubted gently reared ladies shook hands, but it was too late. “I’m Stevie Johns, Mrs. Turner.”

  Kinsey didn’t seem to be offended in the least as she accepted Stevie’s hand, then covered it with both of her own. “I’m pleased to meet you, Stevie. But you mustn’t call me Mrs. Turner. When we’re up north, Ginny and I reserve that exhalted title for our mother-in-law.” She actually rolled her eyes heavenward.

  Chap smiled at his incorrigible wife.

  “You must call me Kinsey.”

  Introductions complete, Heath asked the question that he could put off no longer. “How’s the general?”

  Before their very eyes, Chap turned into the professional picture of a physician. His dimples disappeared, and, if possible, he stood even taller. “He’s greatly improved, I’m pleased to report. But if he were to suffer a setback . . .” He trailed off, looking about, locating the Turner carriages. “Rad’s with him now. But I’d like to hurry back.” He squeezed his baby brother’s shoulder. “Everyone’s eager to see you.” Taking his wife’s arm, he turned. “The carriages are this way.”

  Kinsey fell into place beside her husband, Stevie and Heath close on their heels. Stevie couldn’t help but feel ill at ease. Everyone they passed nodded respectfully to the elegantly attired couple ahead of them. Then, when she and Heath drew alongside them, they looked at him with the respect wealth demands. As for her, they just gaped.

  Heath saw the unguarded desire in the men’s eyes as they took in Stevie’s incredible beauty, skimming her with their gaze, lingering on her snugly clad derriere. He glared at them and reminded himself to purchase a suitable wardrobe for her posthaste. That firm little derriere belonged to him, and it wasn’t for public view.

  All Stevie noted was the disdainful way the fashionably clad ladies regarded her. Though she felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny, she was determined to hide it. She carried herself as if she were Queen Victoria decked out in royal splendor.

  When they reached the carriage, Kinsey was already inside.

  “May I?” Chap held his hand out to Stevie.

  Heath dipped his head and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Chap, I forgot to instruct Jeevers. Would you accompany me?”

  Chap lifted Stevie aboard. “Certainly. We’ll be right back, hon,” he told Kinsey.

  Once they were out of earshot of the ladies, Chap broke the silence. “This must be serious. I’ve never seen you kiss a woman like that.” He grinned over at his brother. “Such a proper gentleman.” He shook his head in astonishment. “Even Mother would be impressed.”

  Heath stepped inside the depot and turned toward Chap. “I have my doubts that anything about Stevie would impress Mother. But you’re right. This is serious. I plan to make the lady my wife.”

  Chap realized then that Heath did not want to tell Jeevers anything. He wanted to talk to him, away from Stevie. Though she had platinum hair, Chap doubted her dark skin was the result of the hot sun of New Mexico. With those cheekbones and slightly tilted eyes, her Indian ancestry was unmistakable.

  Heath read his brother’s expression, if not his mind. “That’s right. Stevie’s part Comanche. And nobody better say one damn word against her.”

  Chap was astonished. His devil-may-care brother had found someone to care for, someone to fight for. Well, it was about time Heath settled down, he reckoned. Maybe if he and the lovely Miss Johns married, they would live east of the Mississippi, where they would be safe. He sure as hell hoped so. “Whoa, brother. I’m not the enemy.”

  Heath had the grace to appear chagrined. “Sorry. It’s just that she’s sure the family will send her packing without giving us a chance.” Before Chap could offer assurance, Heath addressed the real reason he had detained him. “I want you and Rad to examine her first thing. She’s been sick ever since we left Kansas City.”

  Chap frowned. “Symptoms?”

  “Vomiting, fatigue, irritability. She’s hardly eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive. And she seems close to tears most of the time. It’s a complete reversal of the woman I first met.” He smiled with remembrance. “She tried to shoot me before I even reached town.”

  Chap was pretty sure he knew what ailed Miss Johns. If Heath weren’t acting so strange, so protective of the girl, he would have asked if the twosome were lovers. But he didn’t want to get his head bitten off again.

  Still, he was pretty sure that the Comanche maid who held his brother’s heart was not sick but pregnant. He found the prospect of being an uncle again eminently pleasing.

  “I’ll check her out.”

  Inside the carriage, Kinsey came to the same conclusion as Chap. She and Stevie were talking softly about nothing in particular. Kinsey noticed the dark circles under Stevie’s eyes and the slightly nauseous look that crossed her face every now and again.

  Remembering her own passionate courtship with Chap, a knowing smile crept across her face. She’d bet the plantation that the Turner brothers were alike in more than physical appearance. In less than nine months, her heartthrob brother-in-law would be a papa.

  Furtively, she glanced at Stevie’s left hand. The girl had not so much as an engagement ring on her finger, much less a wedding band. Kinsey stifled an indignant huff. She would have to take Heath in hand. It was time he made an honest woman of the beautiful blonde sitting across from her, the poor child who was obviously carrying his baby. Overcome with sisterhood, she reached over and patted Stevie’s hand.

  Stevie smiled hesitantly. Just then the men joined them. Heath’s brow furrowed when Kinsey regarded him as if he were a bug under a glass.

  Stevie found the ride from the depot pleasant. She didn’t have a clue that Kinsey was put out with Heath. She was put totally at ease by the gregarious southern belle, which was Kinsey’s intention.

  When they pulled up in front of the mansion, however, Stevie’s sense of well-being disappeared like brittle leaves in the midst of blue-hot flames. The carriage passed through ornate wrought iron gates that had to be fifteen feet tall if they were an inch, she decided. A host o
f servants dressed in blue and white livery awaited them at the foot of twelve marble stairs that led up to the most ornate mansion she could have imagined.

  Sensing her tension, Heath began describing the mansion as if she were a potential buyer and he were a real estate agent. Turner House was an exceptional example of Gothic Revival architecture, he explained. The layout was cruciform. The steep-pitched roof was broken by sharp gabled windows. Their colored panes were diamond-shaped. The siding was board and batten, the porch roof arches on clustered piers. The overall form was asymmetrical.

  Stevie didn’t understand his description. It just looked like a very ornate church to her, not at all like a home.

  “Isn’t it awful?” Kinsey exclaimed. “The first time Chap brought me here, I thought I had slipped back in time. But the gardens are exceptional and the inside of the mansion is really quite lovely.”

  “If there’s one thing Mother knows how to do, it’s spend money,” Chap added.

  Kinsey nodded agreement. “The furnishings are beautiful.”

  The carriage halted. Chap and Heath alighted. An imperious-looking gentleman separated himself from the other servants. “Master Heath, may I be the first to say welcome home?”

  “Thank you, Smithers.”

  Chap addressed the family butler, “Where is everyone?”

  “General Turner is napping, sir. Dr. Turner has taken the opportunity to see about Miss Ginny. Mrs. Turner insisted that your sisters accompany her shopping.”

  Kinsey uttered something that was less than complimentary about her mother-in-law. Heath’s telegram had informed them that he was bringing a female friend with him. Obviously India Turner wanted him to know she was displeased from the onset.

  The snub was not lost on Stevie. But it just made her all the more determined to win the old bat over.

  “It’s all right, Smithers. I wasn’t expecting a brass band,” she heard Heath say. As an aside, he asked Chap, “What’s wrong with Ginny?”

  Chap lifted Kinsey down first.

  “She’s pregnant again.” Kinsey’s happiness for her sister-in-law was palpable in her voice.

  As Heath helped her from the carriage, Stevie wondered if Kinsey would be happy for her.

  There was a smile in Heath’s voice when he said for Chap’s ears only, “Sounds like he’s already seen to her, to me.”

  Hiding his laugh behind a discreet cough, Chap waved the servants away. He and Heath led the women inside.

  The foyer was so large that Stevie was certain it would hold the Rocking J’s lower forty. Heath stood close at her side. Noticing the purple smudges beneath her eyes, he frowned down at her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Heath was clearly skeptical. But he didn’t challenge her. “I think I’ll run up and look in on the general. Chap, do be charming and entertain Stevie. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Pointedly, Chap looked at Kinsey. “Honey, why don’t you look in on the hellions.”

  Kinsey knew that Nanna had their two children under control, but she took the hint that he wanted a moment alone with Stevie. “Certainly, dear. How kind of you to remind me.”

  Stevie thought she detected a note of sarcasm in Kinsey’s voice, but perhaps it was her imagination. Before she knew how it happened, she found herself alone in the foyer with Chap. It was then that she remembered his profession. And she knew that she had been ambushed.

  Chivalrously, he offered her his arm. “May I escort you into the parlor?”

  Sighing, she placed her hand on his arm. They entered yet another exquisite room. She was very sure that she had never seen so much beauty in her life. She felt like a fish out of water. Gently, as if her slight weight would somehow damage the fragile rose damask, she allowed Chap to seat her in a Queen Anne chair. All the while she watched him warily.

  Dropping down onto the hassock in front of her, he didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Heath said you’ve not been feeling well.”

  She tensed visibly. “Just a little stomach upset is all. He worries too much.”

  “Does he?”

  Chap’s piercing gaze made her squirm. He appeared to move closer without changing position. Was that challenge, mocking, or simply knowing she detected in his voice? Finally, she smiled. “If I were a betting woman, I’d wager that you’re a very perceptive doctor.”

  He chuckled lightly. “And if I were a gamester, I’d wager that you’re not sick.” His silent invitation for a confession was louder than his verbal declaration.

  She considered her options. Lie, run, spill her guts. “You’d be right,” she said at last.

  “You know Heath wants me to examine you.”

  “Just you? I thought he wanted both of his doctor brothers to check me from head to toe.”

  “I have no doubt that after I’m finished with you, he’ll drag Rad in for a second opinion. So what shall I tell him?”

  “If I tell you the truth, will you reassure him?” She widened her eyes. “And get him off my back?”

  “Guess that depends on the truth.”

  “I’m pregnant with your brother’s baby.”

  The uncle in Chap smiled hugely. The doctor maintained his professional air. “And do you intend to tell him?”

  “Eventually.”

  That was good enough for Chap. He had meddled in this little lady’s private affairs sufficiently for one day. “Well, everything that passes between a patient and her physician is confidential.” He patted her hand in a familial gesture. “But a man can reassure his brother that the woman he loves is healthy.”

  “Thank you, Chap.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Charm was an inborn trait in the Turner men, Stevie decided.

  Forty-nine

  Heath stood just inside the general’s door. The suite was cast in semidarkness, the early morning sun barely penetrating the closed potierres.

  At the far end of the large room, his father’s bed was curtained off. Though he couldn’t see the general, familiar scents that he associated with him alone filled his nostrils: fine tobacco, expensive leather, spicy cologne.

  A myriad of emotions flowed over him. Weak in the knees, he gripped the knob at his back. The memories of a lifetime flashed before his mind’s eye. He and the general hunting, fishing, talking. Most of all, talking. Whenever he’d had an important decision to make, the general was always there, always understanding, always interested, and always able to help him find his way.

  He hadn’t known how much he depended on his father until now. Like most children, he’d taken his father for granted, expected him to be there when he needed him, thought him invincible. Even now he couldn’t imagine life without him.

  Heath was closer to his father than to his brothers and sisters. They had dubbed him “the little general” as soon as he was old enough to toddle around after their patriarch.

  “Well, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna come over here and say hello?” a deep, familiar voice called to him out of the dark. “And open those damn drapes. This place looks like a tomb.”

  “Yes, sir.” Heath smiled and did his father’s bidding. When he reached the bedside, it took great effort to keep his pleasant expression in place. His usually larger-than-life father looked thin and pale propped against a half dozen pillows. Not thin for a normal person, but certainly frail for the general.

  “Good to see you, son.” The old man’s voice was husky, his once-snapping eyes sunken and faded.

  “It’s good to be home, Dad.” As long as Heath could remember, none of the general’s children had ever called him “Dad.” But the emotion welling in his heart overflowed. Somehow “General” was too impersonal. He bent and wrapped his arms around his father’s shoulders. They were thinner than Heath remembered. But the strength of his returning embrace belied his frail appearance.

  The general’s voice was gruff with emotion, his eyes unusually bright when Heath finall
y released him. “Hell, am I dying?”

  “Sir?”

  “You hugged me like you were saying good-bye for the last time.”

  “No, sir. I wasn’t saying good-bye.” He blessed his father with an off-center grin. “I just got home. You running me off?”

  “No, son.” The general straightened as much as he was able. “Fact is, I need you.”

  Supposing that he spoke of emotional support, Heath declared fervently, “I’m here, sir.”

  “Good.” The general adopted a business-as-usual air. As much as he was able, sitting in bed, dressed in a nightshirt, he assumed control. “We’ll talk specifics later, but I want you to take over our businesses. Soon the twins will head back to Richmond.” He coughed until Heath thought he would choke.

  After a long draw of water, he continued where he left off. “Which is as it should be. They have their medical practice to think of. And the girls”—Heath surmised his father referred to Ginny and Kinsey—“have family who need your brothers’ help. But there are families here that depend on us. More than you know. The Turners employ a large number of people, and I want a Turner looking out for their interests—as well as our own.”

  The general noted the incredulous look on Heath’s face. “Your mother has found some pantywaist she’s bound and determined to marry Ann off to. You know the kind, impeccable breeding, rich as Croesus. But the man couldn’t blast his way out of a wet paper bag with a twenty-pounder cannon. He’ll be no help to me at all. And Emily’s still grieving for Ross. I have my doubts she’ll ever marry again. Though her children need a father.” He waved the thought away and faced Heath seriously. “Son, I know you enjoy your marshaling. But your family needs you. It’s time you took your rightful place as head of Turner Incorporated.”

  Heath was stunned. He’d had no idea he was walking into this. Truth to tell, the prospect of wheeling and dealing on Wall Street appealed to him. His days of roaming the Wild West were beginning to wear thin, the bloodletting nightmarish.