The Texan

by Carolyn Davidson

  The soup suddenly lost its flavor. “Well, I may have to disappoint you a bit, Gussie,” he said. “I’ve got one more job to complete before I can settle down to being just a husband.”

  And I’m afraid your brother will show up and prove me right, and you’ll be angry enough to walk away from me. And that was the fear he would live with until he was proved wrong or right about the identity of the man he’d known as Gus.

  “You’re leaving again?” Her skin grew pale, and he rued the words he’d spoken. “When, Cleary?”

  Not Jonathan, he noted. It was a withdrawal of spirit, as though she must gird herself for the parting.

  “Not for a while, maybe in a week or two.”

  She rose from the bed and shot him a cool look. “Well, that should give your wound a chance to heal nicely before you get shot again.”

  “No one said I was heading for trouble. I have a job to do, and you know it.”

  “No, I don’t,” she said, her words succinct and as chilled as the icebox in the kitchen. “All I know is that I married a man who keeps secrets.”

  “So do you.” It was a challenge, and he knew it as such. Yet he cast it at her deliberately, waiting for her rebuttal.

  “You know about me,” she said, defending herself with a reserve he had to admire.

  “Yeah, I know your name, and I know you come from back East. But I don’t know what drives you, what made you take on the job of buying a house and filling it with women who need a future. There’s more to it than you’ve told me, and whether you’ll admit it or not, that’s just as hard for me to swallow as what you expect of me.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she said sharply, leaning to pick up the tray from his lap. “Your job involves something clandestine, and you know it. My work is only a reflection of my upbringing. My mother taught me to be kind to others. She called it being my brother’s keeper.” Her eyes gleamed as she looked down at him, watched as he slid down inside the sheets and tucked his hands beneath his head.

  Her lips twisted as she considered that thought and her words were quiet. “Maybe ‘my sister’s keeper’ is more appropriate.”

  “You’ve never been a loose woman in your whole lifetime, Gussie. It doesn’t apply.”

  “No, but I’ve—” She halted, her jaw tensing. “We all do what we have to. And this is my calling. Take it or leave it, Mr. Cleary.”

  “If I want you, I suspect I’m stuck with the shelter, and all it entails,” he said. “And trust me, Mrs. Cleary, I want you.” His eyes darkened as he scanned her figure from top to bottom, noting the whitening of her knuckles as she gripped the tray with a fierce strength.

  “I’ve got to walk to town and see if my catalogue order is in yet,” she said. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Don’t be too late, or I’ll come looking for you,” he warned. “And, Gussie…”

  Her lifted brow told him he had her attention. “Stop by the livery stable and get my buggy. Use it today in case you have a bundle waiting for you. I don’t want you carrying heavy packages all the way home. And tell Sam Ferguson at the livery stable to pick up the buggy here later tonight.”

  “Is that all, sir?” she asked, her mouth pressing in a straight line as she awaited his reply. “Do you have any other orders for me? Perhaps a special menu for your supper?”

  He stifled a chuckle. Augusta in a snit was a sight to behold. Tonight couldn’t come too soon to suit him. “No, just a simple request for a kiss to tide me over till you come back.” He did his best to look humble and contrite as she reflected on his words, tilting her head to one side. Looking humble wasn’t going to cut it, he decided, and he’d pushed her about as far as she’d go, so his voice was softer as he gave it his best shot.

  “Please, Gussie?”

  The tray met the table with a clunk and she sank down onto the mattress beside him, leaning to rest her head against his shoulder. “You don’t have to ask for what’s due you,” she mumbled. Her face turned to his throat and she kissed the skin that held a day’s worth of whiskers, up his cheek and across to his mouth.

  “You’re all scratchy,” she told him. “All but here.” Her mouth met his with a warmth he hadn’t expected.

  He sat upright, holding her close, his arms circling her as he lifted her to his lap. She was soft and pliant and he felt a surge of emotion he couldn’t name. Hovering somewhere between the need to protect and the urge to possess, his feelings for her meshed in a blend of warmth and appreciation as he clasped her to himself.

  “Do you remember our wedding night? When I told you I loved you?” he asked. He felt her head nod against him, and his mouth was warmed as she lifted her face to touch his lips again with her own. She tasted sweet, and the surrender of her kiss sent triumph soaring through him.

  “I’ve never wanted to possess a woman before, Gussie, to keep her beside me as my own, for all the days of my life. And I’ve never said those words about loving to another woman.”

  Her palms against his cheeks, and her head resting against the support of his arm, she looked up at him with a sober countenance. “I didn’t think you had, Jon. I don’t think you give your love lightly. I only hope the time will come when you feel you can trust me with your secrets.”

  “And when will you whisper your confidences into my ear?” he asked, his smile softening the words. “I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you. There isn’t anything a lady like you can tell me that will change my mind and send me packing.”

  “Maybe not on a permanent basis, but you’re going to be packing before you know it to leave me, Jon,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, but I’ll be back before you know it, and then we can take up our life and make plans for the future.” He brushed his mouth across hers, teasing a bit as she opened her lips for his kiss. “You won’t let me undress you, I suppose,” he murmured.

  She relaxed in his arms and her eyes softened as she searched his face. “I don’t want you to hurt your wound and start it bleeding again.”

  “Find a towel to put beneath me so I won’t stain the sheet, just in case.” He heard a gruff note in his voice and noted the hesitation in her response. “I won’t ask you to do anything you—”

  “Hush.” The single word was quick and her retreat from his bed was even more rapid. She crossed to the washstand and found clean towels, then returned to where he sat in the middle of the bed. “If you’ll roll to one side, I’ll make sure you don’t soil the sheets.”

  He did as she bade him and she bent over him, opening two towels to spread under his wounded hip. “Just like that?” he asked, his heart pounding as he recognized her surrender to his need.

  Augusta stood beside him, undoing her dress, her eyes on his face, her cheeks rosy, her mouth trembling just a bit. “If you’d rather do this for me…” She slid from the dress, and snatched it from the floor to place it neatly over the nearby chair.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I think I’m enjoying this, sweetheart.” He waved a hand, a silent signal to continue the process she’d begun.

  Her vest and petticoat were next, and then she slid her drawers from her legs and, bending, removed her shoes. A pair of simple stockings, held in place with plain white garters were her only covering and he reached to touch the soft skin above them. “Leave those on,” he told her, his hand sliding to the back of her leg, drawing her closer.

  “Now, come here to me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  She was late getting back to the shelter, arriving with a flurry of dust as she drew the buggy to a halt before the front gate. Honey looked up from her weeding below the front porch and waved. “Hi. We thought you got lost.”

  “No. I just had to go to the livery stable and get the buggy, then on to pick up my catalogue order. Everything took longer than I thought it would.” She felt a flush rise to cover her cheeks as she made her excuses and climbed from the buggy seat.

  “That looks like too much for you to carry,” Honey said, r
ising quickly. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “I don’t want you carrying anything heavy,” Augusta told her. “Call out for Pearl. She’s strong enough to wrestle an ox, bare-handed.”

  “Is that so?” From behind the screened door, Pearl questioned Augusta’s statement, and received only a joyous laugh in return. “Leave it be, Honey,” the woman said, sauntering onto the porch and then down the steps. “I could wrestle two fellas at a time if I had to. A couple of bundles from Sears, Roebuck shouldn’t give me much trouble.”

  She joined Augusta at the buggy and her grin was knowing as she viewed the other woman’s appearance. “I’d have sworn you had on a different dress last time I saw you, ma’am. You get the blue one wrinkled?”

  Augusta felt the flush rise to cover her cheeks, and she shot a sharp glance at Pearl. “No, I just spilled something on it.”

  “Make sure you spot it right quick,” Pearl said blandly. “Some stains are hard to get rid of.” She picked up the largest package effortlessly, and Augusta was struck by the knowledge that, indeed, this woman could probably wrestle an ox and come out the winner, hands down.

  They hauled Augusta’s booty into the house and Honey followed close behind, her curiosity aroused by the shipment of goods. In moments the strings were cut and the individually wrapped contents exposed. New curtains for the kitchen and two bedrooms were first, then heavy draperies for the parlor. At the bottom of the last bundle a brightly colored calico dress was folded neatly inside a brown paper sack.

  “This is for you, I believe, Honey.” Augusta handed the open package to the girl, and felt anticipation rise within her. The purchase of a dress designed specifically for a woman in Honey’s condition had been an impulse, one which Augusta, who was far from being an impulsive creature, had kept as a secret.

  Now, the look on Honey’s face as she viewed the creation, was worth every penny spent on the garment. “Oh, Miss Augusta.” It seemed for a moment that those words would be accompanied by tears, and then Honey held the dress up before herself and looked down, preening just a bit. “It’s so pretty,” she managed to whisper, and the joy filling her soft eyes was payment enough, Augusta decided.

  “About time you had something that fit decent,” Pearl grumbled, reaching to smooth out a wrinkle in the colorful skirt. “Go put it on, girl.”

  “I’m weeding.” As if that were enough reason to postpone the wearing of a new dress, Honey’s words were shocked, her expression dubious.

  “Forget the weeds for now,” Augusta told her. “We’re almost ready to put supper on the table, and you need to look pretty.”

  So it was that when the knock came from the front of the house, just as the food was being served up, Honey sashayed from the kitchen and down the corridor to answer the summons. The women in the kitchen heard her voice, then the sound of the screened door opening. A male voice responded, and Augusta looked up quickly from the basket she was packing, preparatory to leaving for the night.

  “Ma’am?” Honey’s eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed as she returned to the kitchen, her gaze fastened to Augusta. “There’s a gentleman who says he’s come calling on you.” She half covered her mouth with one hand, and her whisper was almost inaudible. “Do you suppose it’s your brother?”

  Footsteps as silent as the night carried Augusta past the girl and toward the front of the house. Hat in hand, a tall young man stood near the parlor door, and Augusta came to a halt a good ten feet from him. Her eyes scanned the weary features, the whiskered face and the blue eyes of her brother.

  “Wilson.” Tears flowed freely as she held out her arms, and the young man stepped forward, hesitantly, to be sure, but with a half smile reeking of affection on his lips. “Is it really you?” Augusta asked foolishly, her arms around his shoulders finally, her head bending to place her forehead against his shirtfront.

  “I’d say so, sis,” he murmured. “Not that I thought you’d recognize me under the layers of dust and whiskers.”

  “I’d know you anywhere.” The words were fervent as she drew him with her to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten supper, yet?”

  “Yes and no,” he answered, his chuckle dry, as if his throat held a generous portion of trail dust in its depths. “I’d take a drink of water first, and then whatever leftovers you can spare.”

  The women standing around the table were silent, their eyes alert, Honey still blushing and Bertha holding a wooden spoon in her hand. Wilson halted in the doorway and took their measure.

  “A man in town told me there was a houseful of women here,” he said. “Warned me I’d be taking my life in my hands if I came nosing around.” His grin appeared again and Honey shifted to stand behind a chair, as if it might hide her. “You don’t look too threatening to me,” he told them.

  “If you’re Miss Augusta’s brother, we’ll welcome you,” Pearl said bluntly. “If you’re a stranger lookin’ for a handout or a woman, we’ll chase you out faster than a dog can tree a possum.”

  “I’m Gussie’s brother,” he said. “And I’ll work for my supper, if that’ll make you happy.” His gaze touched each woman, sliding from one to another with a cheerful grin. Until he got to Honey, and then, as if he must reacquaint himself with her, he nodded and spoke.

  “Ma’am? I didn’t catch your name.”

  “She didn’t throw it,” Pearl said, her eyes narrowing at the young man.

  “I’m Honey.”

  “I can see that,” Wilson said quietly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

  With a flurry of movement and uplifted voices, the kitchen came to life, as if Wilson’s words had somehow set loose a small tornado amongst them. Augusta directed him to a chair, the ladies all sat down, and Bertha finished serving the food.

  “I’d like to ask a blessing,” Augusta said quietly, reaching her hands to those on either side of her. Wilson grasped her fingers, offering his free hand to Janine, who sat next. Augusta’s head bowed and she spoke simple words, directing her thanks to heaven for the food and the safe arrival of her brother.

  “Amen,” Honey said, echoing Augusta’s final word, drawing Wilson’s attention. He seemed unable to take his eyes from her, and her fingers trembled as she picked up her fork to stab a piece of meat from the platter.

  “How did you—” Augusta began.

  “I’ve been—” Wilson said in unison with her. And then waved a hand, urging her to continue.

  “I just wondered how you found us.”

  “It wasn’t hard. I asked where a yellow-haired gal with the prettiest eyes in Texas lived, and everyone seemed to know who I was referring to.” His voice teased her, even as his words were spoken in a solemn cadence.

  Augusta rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You haven’t improved a bit. Still the silver-tongued rogue.”

  He sobered, bending to fill his fork with potatoes and gravy. “Oh, I’ve changed, sis. More than you can imagine.” And then he smiled quickly. “But for now, I want to hear how you ladies came together here, and what I can do to earn my keep.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” Cleary said, aware that his words smacked of petulance. He’d missed her, and for a moment there, just as the sun sank below the horizon, he’d wondered if his impulsive lovemaking after dinner had put her off. Maybe she wouldn’t be back tonight. Perhaps he’d offended her sense of dignity by his wanton behavior in the middle of the afternoon.

  “The most wonderful thing happened,” Augusta said, settling herself on the edge of the mattress. “Wilson showed up just at suppertime, and I had to stay long enough to get him settled.”

  “Get him settled.” Three simple words had never held such dire portent, Cleary decided. “What do you mean?”

  Augusta waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, you know. Deciding where he’d sleep and sending his horse back to the livery stable when Sam came to collect your buggy.”

  “He’s sleeping in your house?” He surveyed the food she was taking from t
he basket on the floor, and found his appetite taken by the picture of Augusta making room for a criminal in her house. No matter that the man in question was her brother, she was putting her reputation on the line.

  “Yes, he is,” she said quietly. “And it is my house, Cleary. I’ll take the responsibility for sheltering him. You’re off the hook.”

  “On the contrary,” he said quietly. “You’re my wife, and I’m responsible for whatever you choose to do, whether you like it or not.” He looked down at the plate of food she’d somehow managed to settle on his lap and his hand gripped the fork she provided.

  “Please eat,” she said, lifting anguished eyes to meet his gaze. “I want you back on your feet, with your wound healed. It won’t happen unless you keep your strength up.” She watched as he nodded, digging into the generous helping of beans she’d provided. A sigh escaped her lips and she reached for a slice of bread, spread thickly with butter.

  “Bertha sent jam along.”

  “That’s fine, just the way it is,” he told her, knowing his words were stilted yet unable to retreat from the stance he’d taken.

  Augusta watched him and he found her expressive eyes to be a fount of information. At first she pleaded mutely for his understanding; then, as he remained silent, the blue appeared to darken, and her mouth tightened as anger touched her pale features.

  “He’s my brother. I can’t turn him away. No one needs to know he’s there, at least not for now.”

  “And when the sheriff comes to call—what then?”

  “There’s no need for him to visit. He never has yet, and I doubt he will now.” Her chin tilted in a stubborn gesture, and Cleary felt the urge to haul her across his lap and kiss the bejabbers out of her. The foolish woman was putting herself at risk, and…

  No, he admitted to himself. He was the one at risk. Jonathan Cleary, U.S. Marshal, a man with a badge. A hidden badge, to be sure, but a lawman, nonetheless. And once Augusta found out what he suspected she would, should her Gus and his be one and the same man…

  He felt a chill travel the length of his spine. He could not, he would not, lose this woman. No matter the price he must pay, Augusta was his. She’d been his wife for five days, and already he was immersed in her so deeply he could not imagine his life without her presence in it.