The Texan

by Carolyn Davidson

  Thank you, God. Cleary was right. She needed him and, selfishly, she couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving, never to return. And if Cleary said he wasn’t walking out the door, she could bet her bottom dollar he’d be back tomorrow. She just couldn’t face the thought of what marrying him would entail. Of what she must tell him before she accepted his suit.

  Oh, yes, by the way. My mother made her living in a house of ill repute until my father bought her freedom and married her. I’m the daughter of a whore. And wouldn’t he disappear like a late April snowstorm in New York when the sun comes out?

  “Are you listening? Did you hear me?” he asked, bending to peer into her face. His brow was furrowed, his words emphatic, and she nodded quickly.

  “I hear you,” she said sharply. “And if you want to hang around, I’m not about to send you on your way. You’ve come in right handy, as you very well know. And I’m wondering if that wasn’t your intention from the beginning. To make me dependent on you. To make me need you.”

  “And do you?” he asked.

  “You know very well I do. I wouldn’t have known where to begin with all the projects you’ve had a hand in, right from the first day you came to call.” She made a subtle attempt to move away, but his grip on her waist only tightened.

  “Please remove your hands from me,” she said quietly, biting her lip as he shook his head and drew her closer to himself.

  “No, Gussie. I want you to admit that you have feelings for me. And I don’t know any other way to do it than force the issue.”

  “Of course I have feelings for you,” she said politely, turning her face to the side as he would have touched her lips with his. “I like you, and I admire your skills. I appreciate the help you’ve been to my shelter, and I’ve decided that, even though you’re involved in something that frightens me, I’ll leave it alone for now.”

  “Now that,” he said flatly, “is about the worst recommendation I’ve ever had from anyone, man or woman. You could say all those things about the handyman at the hotel, and I know for a fact he’s involved in messin’ around with half the women at the Pink Palace.”

  “You know what I mean,” she told him. Her face flushed at his reference to Joey Waters’s predilection for the women who filled Lula Belle’s place.

  “You mean, you’ll allow me to lend a hand here, so long as I don’t expect you to consider my suit for your hand in marriage.”

  Put that way, in blunt language she could not misinterpret, she could only feel shame wash over her. “Do you think I’ve taken advantage of you?”

  “I’ve allowed it,” he said quietly. “But then, I’ve taken advantage of you a time or two. Like I’m going to right now.”

  “Now?”

  He nodded, and she held her breath, anticipation rising with every beat of her heart. One long arm slid to rest just below her waist and she bent her upper body back a bit, as if she would escape. He laughed, a dark sound, and his other hand lifted to her throat, where white mother-of-pearl buttons began a line that ended several inches below her waist.

  A long finger flipped the first button from the neatly stitched hole that contained it, and she caught her breath, looking down at his tanned, scarred hand against her pale skin.

  He repeated the action on the next button, and a triangle of flesh was exposed. “I don’t think—” she whispered, and then her voice halted abruptly as a third button met that marauding finger, only to lose the battle.

  “Don’t think, Gussie,” he said quietly. “Just feel. Feel my hand holding you against my body. Feel the warmth of my fingertips against you, here at your throat.”

  Warm? They were hot, surely burning her flesh where they touched the edge of her collarbone. She bent her head to watch as he smoothed the front opening of her dress to either side, setting loose another button in the process. The chemise was edged with fine lace, and he lingered there, as if he tested the dainty ruffle and found it engrossing.

  “You shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  Glancing up, she met his gaze, and realized he was watching her face. “I won’t be seduced, Cleary,” she said, her voice not quite as firm as she’d have liked. “Especially not in broad daylight, right in front of the parlor window.”

  “No?” His hand left her back and he pulled the heavy drape over the window behind her. “Is that better?”

  “There are women in the kitchen,” she said. “Don’t shame me in front of them.”

  “The door is locked, Gussie.”

  “You locked it?”

  He nodded. “When I followed you in here.” His mouth twitched, and then he whispered a suggestion she shuddered to hear. “If you scream, the ladies will come running to your rescue.”

  “You know I won’t do that.” And she wouldn’t. Not for the world would she put herself into such a situation. Augusta McBride’s reputation had been unblemished for her entire life. Not until she’d bought this house and filled it with women who needed a haven had she faced anything but smiles and approving glances from the people surrounding her. Her ladies thought she was without fault. All but Pearl, she amended silently.

  His hand moved, jarring her from her thoughts, and she looked to where long fingers slid inside the opening of her dress. An opening that had expanded to include seven buttons, exposing the sheer batiste of her chemise and revealing a good share of the pink circle that adorned the crest of her right breast.

  She gasped, her shock doubled as his fingers proceeded to loose the buttons on her chemise. They were small and dainty, yet he seemed to have no problem with them, his fingers agile at the task. If she knew anything at all about it, this appeared to be the seduction he’d threatened.

  “Are you going to scream, Gussie?” he asked, his low and husky voice coming from deep inside his chest.

  “No.” The single syllable was whispered on an indrawn breath, and she found herself holding the air within her lungs as his fingertips slid inside the soft fabric. They touched her skin, and a hum of satisfaction escaped his lips.

  “Please, Cleary,” she said softly.

  “Please don’t?” he asked. “Or please touch me. Which is it, Gussie?”

  “Yes. I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of me?” His fingertips pressed against the soft curve of her breast and as she watched, the pink crest grew taut and firm.

  “Yes.”

  His hand was still, his fingers unmoving. “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. “I’ll never hurt you, Gussie.”

  And if she pulled away, he’d let her go. In the depths of her heart, she knew she need only draw away and his hand would drop to his side. He would allow her to button herself together, and…and what?

  Never know the touch of a man? Not just the tempting, gentle movement of callused fingertips against her maiden flesh, but the knowledge that for once in her life a man desired her. Her. Augusta McBride, spinster.

  His head bent and his mustache brushed the skin just beneath her collarbone, his hand holding the chemise aside to make way for the pressure of his lips as they moved in a slow dance to where puckered flesh throbbed with every beat of her heart.

  And then he paused, and his hand cupped the weight of her breast, his breath hot against her. He kissed her there, less than an inch from the small nub, and she felt her breath leave her lungs in an audible sound.

  “I’m sorry, Gussie,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into her eyes. “I took advantage of you, and I apologize. I had no right to touch you.” His fingers were skillful as they redid the series of buttons, both on her chemise and the bodice of her dress.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, smoothing the fabric of her collar and brushing the back of his fingers the length of her cheek and jaw. “Forgive me.” His mouth touched hers, and she felt his lips move to enclose hers, suckling gently for just a moment before he released her lower lip reluctantly. Warm and damp, his kiss felt more of a rea
ssurance than the promised seduction he’d put into effect.

  And the only thought in her mind was that he had stopped too soon. That now she would never know the pleasure of a man’s mouth there, where even now her breast was swollen with desire.

  Chapter Seven

  “Beth Ann got a letter.” Pearl waved the envelope in the air, and the women assembled around the dinner table greeted it with a certain amount of apprehension. If Beth Ann’s parents would accept her back into the fold, it might be the best thing for her; and yet, the opposite reply might be contained in the missive Pearl held in her hand.

  “Would you read it to me, Miss Augusta?” Her eyes wide and woebegone, Beth Ann seemed breathless, and Honey reached to place her arm across the girl’s narrow shoulders.

  “No matter what it says, you’ll not be without a home,” Augusta told her firmly. “And if your parents can’t find it in their hearts to welcome you…well, you know you’re at home here with us.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Beth Ann said, nodding politely. “But it surely would be nice to see my ma again.” She looked down at her lap where her hands rested, and her voice was a murmur in the silence surrounding the table. “Could you read it now, please?”

  August took the missive from Pearl and slid a fingernail beneath the flap, then took the single piece of paper from within. She unfolded it and perused the first line silently, then began to read aloud.

  “‘Daughter,’” it began. “‘Your mother and I have decided to allow you a second chance at making some sort of success of your life. If you will agree to obey the rules of this house, we will take you in.”’

  A concerted gasp from Janine and Glory drew Augusta’s attention and she frowned forbiddingly in their direction, then looked at Beth Ann’s flushed cheeks. “It’s signed simply with your father’s name. He is Gunther Jacobson, I take it?”

  Beth Ann nodded and looked up, her eyes damp with tears. “It doesn’t sound very welcoming, does it?”

  “Under what circumstances did you leave?” Augusta asked.

  Beth Ann’s cheeks turned even rosier than before. “My pa caught me out behind the barn with a neighbor boy. We were kissing, and Pa whipped me. He said I was only good for one thing, but as long as I lived under his roof, I wasn’t gonna be doing it on his property.”

  “So you left?” Honey asked, patting Beth Ann’s shoulder as if she would give what comfort she could.

  “I left the next day, soon as I could gather up my things. I thought Doyle Webster, the fella who wanted to kiss me so bad, might be interested in marrying me, so I walked to his pa’s farm and asked Doyle right out, did he want to.” She inhaled deeply and looked up directly into Augusta’s eyes. “He told me he was just practicing on me. He’d decided to marry one of the town girls, and he wanted to be real good at all the kissing and loving stuff before he set out to court her.”

  “Did you consider going back home?” Augusta asked.

  “Oh, no, ma’am. Pa woulda killed me, had he found out I’d left and then come back. I just went into town and bought a ticket on the train and headed west till my money ran out.” She frowned as she remembered her jaunt. “That was right here in Collins Creek, and when I walked down the street and asked for work, nobody needed any help. One man said to go to the Pink Palace. So I did.”

  “Do you want to go back home now?” Honey asked softly. “Will your pa hurt you, do you think?”

  “Maybe I’ve changed enough to make a difference,” Beth Ann said hopefully. “I can read pretty good now, and my hair looks better and my cooking is comin’ along somewhat. I’d like to give it a try. I miss my ma.”

  “We’ll buy you a train ticket,” Augusta told her. “You decide when you want to leave, and I’ll take care of the rest.” She spoke with confidence, but her heart ached for what the girl would face when she returned to the man who had fathered her.

  “Now,” Augusta said brightly, “what else do we have to talk about today before we begin our lessons and chores?”

  “Who’s gonna clean the chicken coop when I’m gone?” Beth Ann asked, slanting a sympathetic look at Honey’s stricken features.

  “I will.” Glory spoke quietly but firmly. “I’ll do anything y’all need for me to do. I don’t have any family waitin’ to take me in. I’m afraid the bunch of you are it for me.” Her smile was sudden, and Augusta was cheered by the change in the girl since her arrival. “I don’t mind dirty chores. I just won’t lay on my back for a man ever again. That’s worse than cleanin’ chicken poop any day of the week.”

  “Depends,” Pearl drawled. “Some men make it downright worth your while.”

  “That’ll be enough,” Augusta said quickly.

  “How about your Mr. Cleary?” Pearl asked with a grin. “I’ll bet he was mighty persuasive behind that locked parlor door the other day.”

  “This is not a matter for discussion,” Augusta said firmly, rising from the table. She felt her legs tremble as she walked to the sink with her empty plate, and in an instant her mind drew her back to those moments when Jonathan Cleary had stripped away her inhibitions and drawn her into a web of seduction she’d been unable…perhaps unwilling, she amended silently, to escape.

  As if the mention of his name was enough to summon him, a rap at the screened door next to the pantry drew the eyes of the women in that direction. Cleary stood on the porch, hat in hand, and Augusta knew a moment of anxiety as he peered through the screen toward the sink where she stood. The sun overhead caused his dark hair to glisten with a sheen that brought to mind those moments they’d shared in the parlor, when her fingers had slid so readily against his head. Augusta propped herself on the edge of the sink, fearing her legs would not hold her erect as she felt her stuttering heart slam against her ribs.

  Cleary was the one. The one her mother had told her she would recognize one day. The man who could steal her heart or break it. Who might walk away and never look back, leaving her empty and forlorn.

  Yet, he’d said he wanted to marry her. And he was back today, obviously seeking her company. If only—

  “Miss Augusta?” he said quietly. “Would you mind coming out into the yard? I have something for you.”

  “Go ahead, ma’am,” Glory urged her, rising to gather the empty plates. “I’ll tend to this.” Her eyes glowed as she considered the man beyond the portal, then she winked as she met Augusta’s gaze. “You just visit with your…your friend,” she finished nicely.

  “Yes, all right.” Her legs moved rather well, after all, she thought, walking to the door, her gaze on Cleary’s hand as he drew it open, her ears aware of the spring as it stretched. And then she was on the porch, the door having closed behind her, and all was quiet in the kitchen, where six women were amazingly silent.

  Cleary took her elbow and placed his hat atop his head. He escorted her from the stoop, then across the yard to where a small stack of lumber awaited her inspection. It appeared to be leftovers from the chicken coop project, with only three or four new boards added to the pile.

  “What are you planning?” she asked, aware of his grasp against her arm, where long fingers held her firmly, as though he feared she might attempt to escape. And then, as they paused to inspect the pile of wood, his hand released her and his arm slid to circle her waist.

  She shivered and looked up at him. “The women can see us,” she whispered. Yet, if he moved that bit of support she might crumple where she stood, she thought, her legs once more unsteady beneath her.

  “Naw. The chicken coop’s in the way,” he told her, his eyes touching her face, then roving lower to rest approvingly on her bosom. “I haven’t been able to sleep,” he admitted quietly. “I keep thinking about you, Gussie.”

  She had to clear her throat, finding herself unable to speak as his words brought to mind the feel of callused flesh against her skin. “I can’t imagine why,” she said sharply, ruing the quiver in her voice. “I would think you’ve had your way with more women than I can count. I don’t
know why my…” She looked down at herself and her shoulders drew forward as if she would hide the effect his attention brought into being.

  “I know why,” he whispered. “Because you’re very special to me. You’re the woman I want to marry, Gussie.”

  He lifted her chin, and her mouth trembled as she spoke. “You must think I’m loose to allow you such liberties,” she murmured, feeling the painful blush cover her face.

  “As I recall, I didn’t give you a lot of choice,” he reminded her. “I was not a gentleman that day.”

  “No, you weren’t,” she agreed, a bit more firmly. “But I must accept my share of the blame, since I didn’t fight off your advances.”

  “There’s no blame to be assumed,” he told her. “What two people do in their private moments is just a part of the process of loving. I meant you no harm, sweetheart. I only wanted to show you that your body is a part of what draws me to you.”

  “What’s the other part?” She tilted her head and lifted her hands to rest against the broad expanse of his chest.

  His grin was wide and he shook his head. “Ah, Gussie. You don’t mince words, do you?” He bent to place a quick kiss against her forehead, then brushed his lips to the tip of her nose and just a bit lower to press them warmly to hers. “That’s what I like about you, sweetheart. I know where I stand. You’re quick-witted, your tongue is a bit like a two-edged sword sometimes, and you sure don’t pull your punches.”

  He leaned back to look her over approvingly. “I like that about you. Not just your curves and the way you hold your head so high and your back so straight, but the way you shoot from the hip.” Then he grinned again. “So to speak, ma’am.”

  She blinked in astonishment at his words, and then her modesty forced her to change the subject. “What’s my surprise?” she asked, wondering that her head didn’t expand as he listed the long list of attributes he’d blessed her with. She’d feared that shame would possess her in his presence, but it had not come to pass. Instead, for the first time in her life she felt a degree of confidence in her own person.