The Texan

by Carolyn Davidson

  Her eyelids fluttered, and beside him Wilson squatted, glass of water in one hand, the damp towel in the other. Cleary took the towel and wiped her face, his touch tender as he strove to awaken her fully. She blinked, frowning, and then stared at him, her blue gaze blank for a moment, as if she tried to recall where she was.

  “Have a sip of water,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. He lifted her, one hand beneath her shoulders, and she sipped at the cool water from the glass. And then, with a single turning of her head from one side to the other, she refused any more. He slid his arm to her neck, supporting her as he lowered her to the sofa cushion. “Do you feel ill?” he asked.

  Her eyes swept open again and he caught a glimpse of hopeless, helpless sorrow in their depths. “I’ve never felt more sick at heart in my life,” she murmured. “Not even when Mama and Papa were buried.”

  “I’m here, sis,” Wilson said from beside her. “Let me help you up.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Cleary told him harshly. “She’s my wife.”

  “Yeah, so she is,” Wilson told him, his gaze raking over the man who had become his brother-in-law so recently. “More’s the pity.”

  “We need to talk,” Cleary told him. “But not now. I need to speak to Gussie. Alone.”

  “And then what?”

  “Go, Wilson. Leave us alone.” Augusta’s voice was quiet but firm, and she struggled to sit up on the couch. Pushing away the hands that would have helped her, she swung her legs to the floor and looked eye-to-eye into her brother’s face. “I’ll see you later,” she told him. “Go back to my house and keep an eye on things. Tell Bertha I’ll be by later.”

  “Not today,” Cleary said, denying her words. “For now you’ll stay here, till we get this hashed out, anyway.”

  Wilson’s mouth opened as if he summoned a retort, but Augusta’s reproving look silenced him as he rose. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “But I’ll be back.” Then he was gone, turning to leave the room and, seconds later, the house, the front door closing quietly behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you planning on holding me captive?”

  She stood before him, hands folded at her waist, and he was tempted to toss her over his shoulder and haul her up the stairs. Only the sure and certain knowledge that such a task was beyond his capabilities today stopped him from making a total idiot of himself. And yet, he could barely subdue the anger within him.

  Augusta blamed him. Blamed him for her brother’s problems, plus the ones even closer to home.

  “You know better than that.”

  “Do I? I’m not sure just what I can trust about you.”

  Her words stung and his jaw firmed. “I haven’t lied to you,” he said.

  “Really.”

  He wasn’t certain if bored or dubious described her tone of voice. No matter which, she looked down her nose as she denied his claim.

  “Really.” His own assertion was firm. “I’m not lying now. I just didn’t tell you everything. Before long I’ll come clean with you, and you’ll realize that I have good reason for what I’ve done.”

  Her fingers tightened their grip, her knuckles whitening as if she took pains to contain her anger. “I can hardly wait.”

  He sighed, frustrated by her stubborn behavior. “I love you, Gussie. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. When this is all over and done with, we’ll start a new life here together.”

  “Will we?” Her voice softened, just a bit, but enough to lend hope to his apprehension. “And what will you be doing to earn a living? Take on a new assignment chasing lawbreakers?”

  “I hope not. I’d like to think my days as a lawman are about at an end. I’ve already talked to Nicholas about another line of work.”

  She looked askance at his words. “I can’t see you at a banker’s desk.”

  “And you probably won’t,” he agreed. “When I get things worked out, you’ll be the first to know my plan, Gussie. You’re my wife. I won’t keep you in the dark. But for now, I need you to promise me something,” he said quietly. “I want you to stay here, let the ladies cope with things on their own for a couple of weeks.”

  “Why? Are you afraid my brother will let me in on more of your secrets?”

  “No, I’d just like you to recognize that those women can cope very nicely on their own. One of these days, this will be your home, full-time, after you’ve decided just how to designate someone there in charge. Will you do that for me?”

  She nodded dubiously. “I suppose so, if that’s what you want.” Her mouth pressed together and then she spoke, repeating her fears aloud. “You’re sure it’s not because of my brother and what he might tell me about you?”

  Cleary shook his head, meeting her gaze head-on. “He doesn’t know any more than he’s already spilled into your ears. And if he did, it wouldn’t be anything I don’t want you to know anyway.”

  “What sort of lawman are you, Cleary? Surely not just an ordinary sheriff or constable.”

  “Your brother told you I was a lawman?” At her nod, he drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go sit down, Augusta.”

  “Do I need to be seated to hear this?” She turned obligingly toward the parlor and took a seat on the sofa.

  “Maybe.” Settling himself in a high-backed chair, he lifted his foot to rest on a tapestry footstool. “I’m a U.S. Marshal. I worked with the Cattlemen’s Association in Wyoming during my last assignment, and then I was asked to come here. Kinda killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. While I healed from a gunshot wound, I was to settle in and make a place for myself here, then wait to be contacted.”

  “By the sheriff?”

  He shook his head. “No, the banker.”

  “Nick Garvey? No wonder he asked such personal questions that day. He already knew all about you, didn’t he?”

  Cleary grinned, remembering. “He just likes to give me a bad time. Nick’s a sharp fella. He’d have made a good agent. In fact, it won’t surprise me if he heads in that direction one of these days.”

  “Leave him alone in his bank. He’ll be a safer bet for some unsuspecting woman right where he is.”

  “Like you?” His words sounded terse to his own ear, and he watched her with a half smile as she considered his query. “Don’t be looking at Garvey, sweetheart,” he said, admonishing her softly. “You’re already taken.”

  He watched as a rosy flush climbed her cheeks. “I didn’t mean me,” she said sharply. “I’m very well married, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Cleary shifted in the chair as he considered the import of those words. “Not a chance, honey. I won’t be forgetting our wedding night.” He lowered his foot to the floor and rose. “Or the afternoon I invited you into bed. Or that night either, now that I think about it.” His gaze took a lingering inventory of her, his reaction to her instinctive as he mentally drew her clothing aside to reveal the woman beneath the crisp percale dress she wore.

  She cast him a glance, apprehension painting her features. And with good reason, he decided. If Augusta thought for one minute she could put him off with her fit of temper, she had another think coming. He reached for her, drawing her unwilling body from the sofa to stand in the circle of his embrace. Brute force wasn’t his style, especially when it came to women. Most especially when it came to Gussie.

  But he was determined to keep her aware of his presence in her life. And if constant reminders served that purpose, he was not averse to using them to forge new links in their relationship. His arms held her close, and he bent to her, his mouth covering hers readily. She was acquiescent, only a faint trembling of her hands against his chest divulging her uncertainty.

  The kiss was soft, undemanding but most satisfactory, he decided. Taking her to bed would have been a bonus, but he was dead certain she’d put up a fuss should he instigate such a thing right now. His mouth touched her eyelids, closing them gently, and then he whispered soft words of praise for her beauty, for the elegance of her b
earing and the pleasure he found as he held her in his arms.

  She sighed, leaning closer, her hands clutching at his shirt, her head tilting to afford him access as he brushed numerous kisses across her throat. One hand lifted to her head, and experienced fingers slid pins from the twisted locks she’d arranged high on her crown. The silken length fell from its moorings, and his fingers clenched in the glory of golden curls. Pins fell silently to the carpet, and she pressed against his groin. Cleary felt his arousal answering the call of soft female flesh against its turgid length.

  “I’m trying to behave here, sweetheart, and you’re not helping matters.” His whisper was husky, his words bordering on a plea for her permission to take his loving a step closer to full-blown seduction. Her murmur was barely discernible, and he bent, the better to catch the broken words she spoke.

  “It’s full daylight,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “Someone may come to the door.”

  “Do we care?” His arousal was becoming a serious problem, and he shifted his stance. “Will you go upstairs with me, sweet?”

  She sighed and levered herself from him, meeting his gaze with stubborn blue eyes. “If I’m not allowed to leave here, I may as well make myself useful, Cleary. This room is a shambles,” she said primly, looking over his shoulder to where he knew cobwebs continued to hang in the far corner of the parlor. “And besides, you’re still healing from a bullet wound.”

  “And you well know that in a couple of days I’ll be leaving the bandage off, Gussie. I’m a fast healer.” He released her, reluctantly but with good grace, and then grinned as a knock sounded from the front of the house.

  “You were right, Gussie. We have company.”

  She backed from him and blinked, as if her own state of disarray had only just come to her notice. Her hands lifted to her hair, and a look of astonishment colored her features. “How did you manage that?” she asked, her fingers busy as she twisted and coiled the heavy length atop her head. “Where are my pins?” She bent her head, one hand holding the arrangement in place, the other searching the surface of the end table.

  “On the floor, I’m afraid,” Cleary said, bending to pick them up and place them in her outstretched palm. “I’ll get the door,” he said, grinning widely as she grumbled beneath her breath.

  “I came to help Miss Augusta.” Standing on the other side of the screen, Pearl was a formidable opponent, he decided. The door opened beneath her touch and he stepped back as she crossed the threshold into his house. “Where is she?”

  With a great show of deference, he ushered her into the parlor and took note of Gussie’s flushed cheeks as she tucked the last pin in place. “There she is, safe and sound,” he told Pearl, smug in his success. Another few minutes and he’d have had her up the stairs and beyond the reach of any intruder. He’d give Pearl a few hours to make certain that her chick was unharmed. And then she’d be gone, and he’d have Gussie to himself again. At that thought, his smile widened into a grin.

  He could wait.

  Within thirty minutes Glory showed up, bucket and rags in hand. “Bertha said you probably had soap aplenty, but she wasn’t sure Cleary owned more than one bucket to tote water in. Where do you want me to start?”

  “The kitchen floor is a mess,” Augusta told her. “And so are the windows. Maybe we could just work on the kitchen and parlor today. I’d be happy to have two clean rooms. And if we have time for the front entryway, that’d be a bonus.”

  Glory went off cheerfully to the kitchen, and Augusta saw Pearl’s backside tilted upward behind the sofa as she wiped down the woodwork with gusto. On hands and knees, she was making her way around the room. “No sense in starting in on the carpet till the mop boards are clean,” she muttered, wringing out her rag in soapy water.

  She’d settle for the corners, Augusta decided, wrapping a rag on the end of a broom handle. Reminded of the night she’d salvaged cobwebs for Cleary’s wound, she was industrious with her weapon, as if she would erase that memory from her mind.

  She’d been so worried, so afraid she wouldn’t be able to halt the bleeding. Lying beside him throughout the long, dark hours had been an awakening for her, a night during which she’d found herself responding to the call of masculine flesh and his need for her.

  She’d known then, recognized in her secret heart that Cleary possessed her. Not in the physical sense, but with an invisible chain he’d forged over the past weeks, tying her with unbreakable bonds. Her body aching for his presence, her mind aware of him during each waking moment, she’d become a slave to her own emotions.

  And once their marriage had been consummated, once she’d known the touch of his hands and mouth and body against her own, her whole life had changed.

  Now she recognized the attachment as permanent. No matter his lifestyle, she was committed to the man. Lawman or not, secrets notwithstanding, she was his wife. Even the love she bore her brother lessened significantly when compared to the overwhelming magnificence of Cleary’s impact on her life.

  She was saddened by the thought of losing Wilson; yet, his flight from prison haunted his every step. Surely Cleary would find it necessary to report his appearance in Collins Creek. As a lawman, he was obligated to do such a thing.

  She lowered her broomstick, noting with satisfaction the gray gathering of dirt she’d accumulated on her journey around the parlor walls. Enough of this woolgathering, she decided, scolding herself silently. Tonight would find this house in decent condition, given the efforts of the two women who were working with her. She would concentrate on that for now.

  “Your brother was downright upset when he got back to the house,” Pearl muttered as they put together a slap-dash meal. “Me and Glory decided we’d come on over and keep an eye on things.”

  “I was fine,” Augusta told her, her brow lifting in surprise.

  “Yeah?” Pearl grinned. “Looked to me like he was about to haul you up those stairs and take you to bed.”

  Augusta bent her head, unwilling to meet the other woman’s gaze. And that, in itself, she realized, was a dead giveaway. “He wouldn’t hurt me,” she said finally.

  “No, I suspect you’re right,” Pearl agreed. “Wilson thought old Cleary was pretty hot under the collar, though. He doesn’t know the man as well as we do.”

  “He knew him in Wyoming,” Augusta told her. “Cleary’s a lawman.”

  Pearl was silent, her spoon moving slowly as she stirred the beans lest they stick. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” she said finally. “How’d your brother happen to meet up with him?”

  Augusta told her briefly, not making excuses for Wilson, busy slicing the cold roast beef Bertha had sent along for their dinner as she spoke. She watched as Pearl nodded her head in understanding.

  “No wonder he got sent off to prison. Rustling’s about the worst crime a man can commit. It rates right up there with stealin’ a man’s horse, I reckon. And Cleary was the one to catch him?”

  “There were some extenuating circumstances, I think.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Cleary said from the kitchen doorway. He sauntered closer, one hand in his pocket, peering over Augusta’s shoulder to see what his dinner would consist of. “Your brother probably saved my life, Gussie.” She turned her head quickly, her voice sharp as she uttered a reply. “How? What happened?”

  “I was sent in to rescue a woman rancher and found that your brother had been watching out for her, trying to keep her safe from the rest of the gang. When we headed out of the canyon, he cut her loose and covered us while she rode hell-bent for election, with me stickin’ like a burr behind her. She rode that stallion like a circus rider. Between them, they kept me from being trampled under the herd, or bleeding to death from a gunshot wound.”

  “Who is she?” A surge of jealousy struck Augusta like a rushing wind, and she felt the blood drain from her face as she wondered how Cleary could so easily leave such a woman behind.

  “Th
e wife of a rancher. Chloe was…” His pause was long. “I thought she was my ideal woman for a while.”

  “And now?” The question left her lips before she thought to hold it to herself.

  He took the knife from her hand, placing it on the table. Then with firm fingers on her shoulders, he turned her to face him.

  “I believe I’ll go get Glory and tell her dinner’s about ready,” Pearl said, sliding quietly through the doorway into the hall.

  “Now, sweetheart,” he began. “Now, there’s you. And once I saw you there on my porch that day, once I lost my heart to blue eyes and golden curls and the innocence that shone from your face, I forgot that Chloe ever existed. I’ve never been one to poach on another man’s woman to begin with, so she was out of bounds from the beginning.

  “And after I caught sight of you, with the sunshine makin’ you look like an angel from heaven, all fresh and new, and as pretty as a picture…well, there wasn’t any other woman on the face of the earth that could have held a candle to you.”

  “You liked me right away?” she asked, unaware that her voice and eyes begged for assurance.

  “You betcha,” he said softly, bending to kiss her with a heated blending of lips. “I knew you were the woman I wanted.”

  “You wanted to marry me so soon?” She cocked her head, doubting his word.

  “I knew by the second time we met that it would have to be marriage,” he told her. “There wasn’t any way I was gonna get past Bertha and Pearl with anything less than a wedding ring on your finger.”

  The days passed in a flurry of activity. Augusta cleaned and cooked, her efforts aided by the presence of Glory and Pearl on several occasions. When her ladies were in residence, Cleary retreated to a room he’d designated as his office, scanning reams of paper as if his life depended on the plans he formed. As indeed it might.