Texas Moon TH4

by Patricia Rice

  "I'm sorry about the school board, Jenny, but you've got to understand their thinking. You swore in a statement to a court that you let a man sleep in your house. A schoolteacher just can't do things like that. It don't look right. Their hands are tied, Jenny."

  He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know The starch that had held her back straight ever since Jason had appeared at her door began to seep out of her. She had hoped he'd come here to rescue her, to swear that he knew she was innocent, that he wanted her to be his wife. She had been prepared to accept him too, ever though she was terrified of what it meant. The idea of sleeping in a bed with a man twenty years older than her self didn't bother her so much as his size. Jason Harding was a large man. He could easily hurt her with his awkward clumsiness. But for Betsy's sake, she would have married him and escaped the horror of homelessness.

  But it didn't look as if she would be making the sacrifice. Harding was an old-fashioned man. He thought a woman should be sweet and pure and all that nonsense. She hadn't known how she would tell him about the impure part anyway. He would never understand. Maybe it was better this way.

  She hid a grimace as Jason generously offered to find her a job elsewhere. He didn't even mean to offer her a better position at the ranch or a place to stay. If Carmen had been here instead of in Natchez, she would have made the obtuse man see the necessity, but the only thing Jason understood was cattle.

  Cold fear crept around Janice's heart as she promised to consider his offer of help. She really and truly had to leave her home. That knowledge hadn't begun to sink in until now.

  With her heart in her throat and panic in her eyes, she watched Jason ride away.

  * * *

  The schoolteacher looked so startled at Peter's presence on her doorstep that he had time to study her, to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing. She hadn't bothered with those silly spectacles, and her hair was escaping from its prim knot as seemed to be its wont. She was much too pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed. That gave him an unwanted jolt. She'd been crying.

  Peter didn't bother to continue his inspection. He shoved open the door with one arm and caught her waist with the other, dragging her into the front room with him and slamming the door behind them. She went without protest, still staring at him. He'd heard about people succumbing to shock. He rather thought she suffered it now.

  "I've given this a lot of thought, so don't think I'm acting on impulse," he said. "I know your opinion of men. I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself."

  He pushed her into one of the straight-backed chairs that were the room's essential adornment. "But I hate taking care of myself. I'll never get used to it. I want a wife. I've put it off until I have the wealth to support one, but I've almost got it, Janice. All I need is that loan and I can buy a mountain of gold. I'll be rich. I'll be wealthy beyond all your dreams. Tell me you'll marry me now so we can go to New Mexico together. I don't want to go back alone."

  Damn, but he was making an impassioned fool of himself. Peter flung his hat to the nearest chair with disgust. He hadn't intended to reveal so much. He hadn't even known that much about himself until he'd said it. He winced at the way he must sound to this unflustered woman who could sit through a performance like that and keep her hands crossed in her lap. He felt like an idiot, but he didn't know how any man could ask a woman to marry him without sounding like a candidate for an asylum.

  Janice dropped her gaze from his face to her lap. "Don't you have to ask the permission of your family or something? I'm not exactly the type of woman they would expect you to marry."

  Peter didn't know if it was joy burning along the edges of his veins, but whatever it was, it was heady and frightening at the same time. He crouched at her feet and reached for her hands. "I'm thirty years old, Janice. 1 think I can make my own decisions by now. You're exactly the kind of woman I expect me to marry."

  Her lips trembled, and he had to bite back a tremble in his own. In a few minutes he ought to have the right to kiss those lips. That thought nearly undid him. He had difficulty focusing on her reply. She hadn't said no. She seemed to be saying yes. She just seemed to be as confused as he was.

  "Betsy is only ten," she murmured, biting her bottom lip and looking away from him. He could feel her stiffen as he squeezed her hands, but he didn't say anything. He waited for her to go on. "I can't leave her behind. She has to go with me."

  Betsy. The sister. In Natchez. Not good, but possible.

  Peter clasped her hands tighter, realizing they were ungloved. He began to explore them with his fingertips. Her hands weren't soft, but they weren't callused either. She had firm hands, with neat nails. Carefully he phrased his reply. "Your sister is welcome to stay with us. I haven't sold my ranch yet. The two of you could stay there until the mine is producing and I have time to move you up the mountain. It would probably be good for you to have company. But I have to get back there quickly. There may not be time to bring your sister back from Natchez just yet."

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "She's with Kyle's family and Evie and Tyler. I could wire them, ask them to keep her a little while longer." She frowned. "I just hope the journey out there won't be too difficult for her."

  That was when he knew he had her. Peter didn't think he'd ever felt true elation before. He didn't know if he felt it now. He didn't see how it could be. It was too surrounded by doubt. But just for one wild moment, he felt the exultation of freedom.

  He threw his arms around her, dragged her up against him as she stood, and kissed her soundly.

  She stiffened harder than a maple board. Peter didn't care. She was in his arms. He had won. She was going to be his. He felt triumphant enough to grin down at her. Gray eyes returned his stare with uncertainty.

  "It's going to be all right... Janice. May I call you Janice now?" She didn't answer, but Peter took her silence for consent. Wonderingly he touched a strand of golden hair gleaming in the sun from the window. In a few short hours he would have the right to touch her anytime he wanted. She would be his. He felt a sense of satisfaction at that knowledge.

  "I know this is sudden, Janice. I hate rushing you like this. But I only have six weeks to get back and claim the option on that land. We could marry today, and I could leave you here to pack, but I can't promise to be back real soon. I'd rather you came with me, but I'll leave the choice to you."

  He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. It could be months before he got back here again. The town would have found another teacher. They would want her out of this house. She would have to endure the whispers and stares and the speculative glances. He didn't know how much that meant to her, but he had guessed it meant a lot. He could see the decision in her eyes when she looked up at him.

  "How soon will we have to leave?" she whispered hoarsely.

  "As soon as I talk to the Hardings. Tomorrow, or the next day." He felt her shiver in his arms, but he didn't try to hold her closer. She was resisting his touch as it was.

  She nodded. "I can pack my clothes by then. What will happen to the rest of our things?" She glanced around at the neat front room, the sewing machine that she apparently treasured, the carefully accumulated pillows and crocheted doilies and other accessories that made this house a home.

  Peter didn't know. He couldn't promise her anything until he'd had time to talk to the Hardings. He'd been a fool to come here before he had the money in his hand. But for her, he smiled and spoke reassuringly. "We'll hire someone to pack everything and store it for us until we can claim them. I'll have to build you a respectable house to put them in. They'll look too grand for my cabin."

  She almost smiled then—a teary, wavery smile, but it was more than she'd offered before. Peter felt something within him clench oddly at that look. She was trusting him. He didn't think this woman had ever trusted anyone in her life. He didn't know why she consented to this madness, but he wouldn't disappoint her. He would do everything within his power to keep his
promises.

  "I never thought my poor things would ever be considered grand, Mr. Mulloney. You must lead a very Spartan life."

  He dared to touch her hair. "Peter. You must learn to call me Peter. And yes, my life has been positively barren these last years. I'm enjoying the idea of having someone to decorate it. Do you think your sister will like me?"

  A shadow of uncertainty passed over her face. Peter felt the cold draft of it before it dissipated. Her face was closed and calm when she turned her gaze up to him.

  "Betsy has never met a soul she didn't like, sir. She will be thrilled to meet you."

  He didn't know why those felt like fatal last words. He dropped his hold on her and progressed to the detailed planning of his wedding day. Planning was what he did best.

  Chapter 12

  Janice watched Peter Mulloney stride off down the street as if he owned it. His broad shoulders filled the seams of his perfectly tailored frock coat. His Stetson sat on his head at just the right angle to indicate wealth and position and authority. Somehow, even his boots managed to gleam in the late afternoon sunlight. No one would doubt he was just exactly who he said he was: a rich man about to become richer.

  She shuddered a little and clasped her hands as she turned from the window. She didn't know what she had done, but she had done it. In the days and weeks to come, he might come to despise her for consenting to his proposal, but he was the one who had offered. She hadn't tricked him into it.

  She just hadn't told him the whole truth.

  Nervously she brushed back a straying strand of hair and tried to apply her usually calm mind to the tasks ahead. Her thoughts swirled instead of lining up in progressive order. She had to get dressed. Peter was going to fetch the preacher. They would be married in few short hours. She had to find something to wear. She had to put clean sheets on the bed.

  She considered her small bed with a frown and brushed that thought aside. She didn't have anything for a wedding dinner. She needed to decide what to pack in her trunk. How would they get to New Mexico? She couldn't remember if trains ran in that direction.

  Why hadn't she told him about Betsy?

  That thought ran under and around all the others as she tried to concentrate on one task at a time. She heated water for a bath while searching through her wardrobe. She found one of Betsy's hair ribbons in the pocket of one of the gowns she considered.

  She poured water into her tin tub and stripped to her bare skin, and her fingers scraped along the pale stretch line left from carrying Betsy. She soaped hastily, but nothing could wash away the lie she had left in the mind of the man she was about to marry.

  It shouldn't matter, she told herself throughout her bath and as she settled on the royal-blue gown with the extravagant lace on the sleeves. She donned her best linen and eyelet drawers and the matching chemise, but the refrain still danced in her mind. She should have told him. It shouldn't matter.

  She would be his wife. He would take these clothes off of her and lay her down in that bed and put himself inside her, and he was going to know.

  She couldn't bear to think about it, and it wasn't just her lie that she couldn't bear to consider. She had just agreed to be a man's wife, to give him full possession of her body, to allow him to do that to her. She didn't know how she would endure it. Other women did, so she supposed she would learn, but all she could think of now was the pain and humiliation.

  She briefly entertained the thought that he wouldn't be interested in that way in an old-maid spinster. He was just rescuing her out of gratitude and he would be satisfied with the best secretary his money could buy.

  Even her mind wasn't strong enough to buy that reasoning for more than a minute. She'd seen the lust in his eyes and knew it for what it was. Somehow, he had seen through her disguise to the sinner she was. He wasn't marrying her for any reason other than the one men usually married for. She would get his money and he would have the use of her bed and body.

  She would just have to concentrate on his money and let the rest come as it would. Betsy would be taken care of for life. After what the Mulloneys had done to her family, she deserved that much. Betsy could go to the best doctors, go to private schools, have her own art teacher if she wanted. She would never have to suffer the horrors her mother had known. She would never have to suffer a man in her bed, either, if she didn't want. Betsy wasn't strong, but Janice was. She could carry the burden of life's troubles and let her daughter be free.

  That knowledge helped her through the rest of the afternoon. She had told Peter she would meet him at the church at five. She didn't want to excite the interest of the town any more than necessary until the deed was done. Then they could gossip and whisper as they wished, but she would be the respectable wife of the wealthy Peter Mulloney and none of it would matter anymore. She would never lack for a roof over her head again.

  Janice knew the dress she wore was too elegant to go without notice as she started down the street, but she was determined to make her wedding day all that it should be. Irish point embroidery tumbled from her collar and adorned the edges of her fitted elbow-length sleeves and the fashionable Marie Antoinette overskirt. The lace embroidery had been a gift from Georgina for her birthday last year. She'd never had a place to wear the gown before. She had made it for the sheer satisfaction of owning something beautiful. Janice wore it carefully now, holding it up out of the dirt as she entered town.

  She wished she had a parasol or one of those English bonnets with roses on it to cover her hair, but she couldn't make those things herself. She had changed the ribbons on her straw hat to ones of blue to match her gown. That would have to suffice.

  She didn't see Peter waiting for her at the church door, but he was no doubt being discreet. The preacher wasn't, however. The church bell rang out just as Janice stepped up on the wooden porch. The bell only rang for services. Everyone would know something was happening.

  But it would be too late for anyone to do anything about it. Janice opened the heavy oak door and stepped into the dim twilight of the small wooden church.

  When her eyes adjusted to the dusk, she distinguished the figures of the preacher and Peter standing by the altar. To one side waited the preacher's wife. To the other side stood Sheriff Powell shifting nervously from foot to foot. Janice almost smiled at the irony of Peter's choice of best man.

  She approached unhurriedly, enjoying the rustle of her satin skirt and stiff petticoat in the still hush of the church interior. Everyone turned to watch her approach. She would milk this moment of pure pleasure for the short while it lasted. For the one and only time in her life, she was the object of attention, and she allowed herself to believe she was beautiful. She allowed herself to believe the lust she saw in her groom's eyes was all she needed. And she gave herself up to the fantasy of wealth.

  The last echoes of the bell outside were dying by the time she reached the altar. Peter held out his hand, and she laid her gloved one in it. His grasp was firm and reassuring as the preacher greeted her.

  She scarcely paid attention to the words of the ceremony. Love and honor were only words. They had little to do with scrubbing floors and working to dawn to put bread on the table. She was quite willing to do anything her husband wanted her to do as long as he kept her family fed and clothed. She gave her vows calmly, without inflection.

  She was somewhat surprised when Peter didn't have a ring for her but pried off the one on his smallest finger to use when the preacher called for it. It was merely a thin gold band with some worn decorations on it, but she supposed there hadn't been time for him to look for anything suitable. Jewelry wasn't important to her. She'd never owned any.

  When the service ended and Peter bent to kiss her chastely, she felt a smidgen of relief. His earlier kiss had nearly paralyzed her. It had been hot and demanding and more than possessive, and she hadn't known how to respond. But she could deal with this polite caress. She held his hand and pressed her lips to his and managed a rather crooked smile when he p
ulled away at the sheriff's nervous cough.

  They turned to face their audience and accept congratulations. Several people had trickled in to see the cause for the bell, and they hurried forward to pick up any tidbits to be used as gossip.

  As Mr. and Mrs. Mulloney, they signed the register and the license along with the witnesses. The preacher's wife hugged Janice while the sheriff shook Peter's hand. It almost seemed a perfectly normal, respectable wedding as they descended the aisle through the small crowd of well-wishers. Janice just wished Betsy could be here.

  The feeling of isolation didn't surround them until they reached the street. People turned and stared at the sight of the schoolteacher and the recent prisoner dressed in their best clothes walking up the dusty street. Peter hastened past anyone appearing to want to talk to them. Janice was in full agreement. She simply didn't have anything to say to any of them.

  But there didn't seem to be anything she could say to her husband, either. They remained silent until they reached the house and Janice remembered she didn't have a special dinner waiting. Her first night as wife and already she felt her inadequacy.

  Unfastening her bonnet ribbons, she turned and met her husband's gaze steadily. "I didn't have time to prepare anything for dinner. I'm sorry. Will eggs and potatoes be enough?"

  He seemed almost as nervous as she was. They had eaten together in this house the better part of a week. There shouldn't be anything strange about it. But he was wearing a fancy black frock coat and black tie and looked at her from beneath the broad brim of his gray hat, and she suddenly realized she had married a total stranger. The uneasiness of earlier returned with a vengeance.

  "Eggs will be just fine. Whoever did the cooking for me this past week wasn't nearly as good as you."

  Janice nearly jumped out of her skin at the low rumble of Peter's voice so close to her, even though she was looking right at him. Why hadn't she noticed before how his voice licked across her skin like that? She hurriedly pulled off her gloves.