Fire Brand

by Diana Palmer

  “Well, yes,” she faltered. “Why do you want to know?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, standing beside Bowie in front of a Mexican official, Gaby understood his question about the white dress. They were married almost before she realized what was going on. Bowie had bought her a bouquet of daisies from a Mexican vendor, and the ring he’d given her had been one he had taken from the safe. It had been his grandmother’s—a delicate little band of rubies and diamonds that was supposed to have come with the Spanish land grant that started Casa Río.

  “I can’t believe this,” Gaby faltered when he’d kissed her and signed the necessary documents and they were back in the car headed home.

  “You’d better believe it,” he murmured. “You certainly will when those photos hit the paper.”

  “Yes.” She went quiet. There had been an American photographer in the small Mexican town, doing a photo layout on weddings. When he found out who Bowie and Gaby were, he insisted on taking some shots of them for his article. Bowie seemed to enjoy it, but Gaby was all but frantic, trying not to let her face be photographed fully. Bowie was an important man, and naturally, their wedding would bring publicity. But she was afraid of wire services picking it up and splashing her picture in papers back east. She was, in fact, terrified of it.

  She clutched her wilted bouquet of flowers. “Bowie, is this what you really wanted?”

  “I made love to you,” he said quietly. “Not that it was the kind of love I wanted to express. But I do love you with all my heart. And yes, this is what I want. I want you, for the rest of my life.”

  “I don’t want you to feel forced...”

  “You and I go to church together on Sundays, don’t we?” he asked, glancing at her. “How would you like to go with me tomorrow if we hadn’t married today?”

  She colored and stared blindly out the window.

  “We’re both of us too old-fashioned and rigid in our beliefs to be intimate without a commitment. We were engaged. Now we’re married, and we’ll work things out, somehow.” He sighed. “I’m only sorry your first time had to be so brutal—especially after what was done to you when you were in your teens.”

  The pain in his deep voice made her feel guilty. She turned in her seat to look at him. “It had to happen eventually,” she replied. “I love you, too, Bowie,” she added shyly, averting her eyes. “I couldn’t have let anyone except you touch me, ever.”

  He glanced at her, a little less concerned when he saw the serenity of her face. But the guilt ate at him, all the same. He turned the radio on and sat back until they got home. They could talk then, he decided, and maybe iron out what was to become of them.

  But when he pulled up in front of Casa Río, the front door opened before he could open Gaby’s door for her, and Aggie came out into the courtyard to meet them.

  Gaby’s eyes lit up and she cried out with pure relief and joy as she ran to Aggie, laughing, arms wide.

  “Oh, you scoundrel!” she accused, hugging the older woman with delight. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you call or write, or something?!”

  Aggie hugged her back, her eyes dull and accusing as they met Bowie’s over her shoulder. “I’ve been busy,” she said. “Hello, Bowie.”

  “Hello, yourself,” he said. His black eyes searched hers. “You damned nuisance,” he said with soft laughter, “we’ve been out of our minds.”

  Aggie felt exceptionally pleased by that remark. She’d convinced herself that her son really hated her, and that he was his father all over again, with the same mercenary attitudes. But that looked like real concern in his face, and he sounded as if he’d been worried.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch with you,” she said. She let go of Gaby and allowed Bowie to hug her, too. “I didn’t think you’d be worried.”

  “You’re my mother,” he said firmly. “I may disagree with you—I may even stick my nose in where it isn’t wanted—but I love you. And when you vanish, I worry.”

  Aggie shifted restlessly. “I’m sorry. I’ve had some things to work through.” She looked up hopefully. “You haven’t heard from Ned?”

  Bowie shook his head.

  Aggie’s face fell. “Oh. I had hoped...” She sighed. “Well, that’s that, isn’t it?” She fought back tears, and Gaby grimaced at her expression. “Montoya said you and Gaby went to Mexico and got married today,” she said, as if she’d only just remembered it. Her gray slacks and red and gray top hung on her. She’d lost weight, although it only enhanced her very nice figure. “Did you just decide to annex her part of Casa Río anyway, or did you seduce her and feel guilty?” she asked levelly.

  Bowie had to fight not to give the show away, schooling his features not to so much as blink. “I love Gaby,” he said, and meant it. His eyes went past Aggie to Gaby’s soft face and searched it hungrily. “I’d give up Casa Río in a minute before I’d give her up,” he added, his voice husky with emotion.

  Gaby blushed at the soft hunger, and smiled at him.

  “Well, well,” Aggie sighed. “So now you understand, do you?” she added, searching his face.

  He looked at her. “Oh, yes. I understand better than you realize. I’m sorry I ran your Teton man off,” he added with reluctant apology. “If he feels this way about you, I imagine he’s loaded a gun and is thinking about blowing his head off by now. I’ll have him on my conscience for a long time, along with you.”

  Aggie hugged him, her eyes flooding with tears. “I can’t find him,” she wailed. “I thought I could find his address on the passenger manifest, but they said there was no Ned Courtland on the cruise! And I’ve spent all this time down in Del Río, Texas, learning how to milk cows!” she sobbed.

  Bowie stared at Gaby over the older woman’s head, his shocked expression mirroring hers.

  “Milking cows?” they burst out in unison.

  Aggie pulled away. “Yes, milking!” she said irritably. “I was staying with Cousin Agnes—you do remember her, Bowie? She has a small farm. I’ve learned how to toss hay and weed a garden and do all sorts of unpleasant and some frankly disgusting things since I’ve been away. I can cope with a small ranch, and I don’t even mind the work.” Her lower lip trembled. “And now that I’ve put myself through the tortures of the damned to settle for what Ned can give me, I can’t find him!”

  “I’ve got a private detective working on it,” Bowie said. “Any day, he’ll come through. He’s been looking for you, too,” he added ruefully. “We were worried.”

  “I would have called, but I was just too tired,” Aggie said with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t know that hard work was so hard. But after your father died, I guess I just drifted into social get-togethers without realizing how empty my life had become. I’m on the right track now.”

  “Of course you are,” Gaby murmured, hugging her warmly. “He’ll turn up. We’ll find him, honest we will.”

  Aggie studied the wan face. “You look terrible.”

  “I was kissing her, out at Cochise Stronghold, and she scratched her shoulder on the rocks,” Bowie said with a regretful glance at Gaby, who’d gone scarlet.

  “Shame on you,” Aggie muttered. “Kissing people on rocks, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Sofas are in short supply in the desert.”

  “That’s no excuse. And you’re married,” she sighed, smiling warmly at Gaby. “What a delightful surprise. Are you going to have lots of children?”

  “Oh, yes,” Gaby said dreamily.

  But Bowie turned away, still distressed by the way it had all come about. “I’ve got to make some phone calls,” he said. “I’ll check with the detective first.”

  “He’s very solemn,” Aggie remarked.

  “He’s never been married before,” Gaby reminded her, trying not to notice the coldness in Bowi
e’s face, the lack of affection. He probably hadn’t wanted to get married just yet, but he’d felt obliged to. She hated that. She should never have let things go so far. But now that they had, she was less afraid of intimacy than she’d ever been before. In fact, just remembering the tenderness Bowie had shown her before he lost control made her go hot all over with pleasure. Could it be like that for her? she wondered. Perhaps it was his lack of women that had made him so hungry for her and so impatient. If she could satisfy him, then next time, things might be very different. She blushed just at the thought.

  She and Aggie sat and talked for a long time and ate supper together. Bowie didn’t come out of the study. Finally, Aggie discreetly excused herself and left Gaby to go and find her new husband.

  He was sitting in his swivel chair behind the big oak desk with his booted feet propped on it. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his blond hair, usually so immaculately combed, was disheveled and down in his eyes. He gave her a blank smile when she opened the door.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked hesitantly.

  He raised a whiskey glass. “I’ve had mine, thanks.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Bowie hardly ever touched liquor. He might have a brandy from time to time, but whiskey and other hard forms of spirits were something he studiously avoided. And she didn’t have to look very hard for the reason he was putting it away. She didn’t have to look past that morning.

  She closed the door and went to him, her face quiet and concerned. “How much have you had?” she asked gently.

  He sighed. “Not enough.”

  She touched the lean hand that was holding the glass. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

  His jaw firmed and hardened. “That’s just what you need now, isn’t it?” he asked. “Another painful experience with a selfish man to scar your mind even more.”

  “You stop that,” she said. She took the glass away from him. “I was a virgin. Of course you hurt me—it was unavoidable. Now come to bed, Bowie.”

  She tugged at his hand until he let himself be pulled to his feet, but he was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked softly.

  “I’m afraid you may fall on me, yes,” she muttered, getting under one big arm to help support him when he swayed slightly. “My gosh, how much do you weigh?”

  “About two hundred and twenty-five pounds, I think,” he said. “You aren’t afraid of me—even after this morning?”

  She was guiding him toward the door. “Maybe we have different memories of this morning,” she said, flushing.

  He stared down at her until her face lifted, and his black eyes slid over her features like searching hands. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Gaby,” he whispered.

  “I knew that, even then,” she said, smiling tenderly. “You aren’t superhuman. You just keep expecting more of yourself than the rest of us do. I know it had been a long time. It wasn’t that bad, either,” she added shyly. “It wasn’t horrible at all. Just...very intimate.”

  He framed her face in his big hands and bent to brush his whiskey-scented mouth over hers. “I wish I hadn’t opened that bottle, you know. But I got to thinking about what I’d done to you, and I couldn’t live with it.”

  “You’re the only one heaping coals of fire on your head,” she said, smiling. “I’m not. You’ve been terribly patient and gentle. One lapse isn’t going to make me forget the pain I’ve caused you since the first time you kissed me.”

  “I didn’t think you’d stay with me,” he said, his voice only faintly slurred. “I thought you’d want to leave.”

  “Oh, no,” she said gently. “I want you. Maybe not quite in the way you want me—not just yet—but I didn’t fight you, and I didn’t scream.” She smiled lovingly. “Bowie, didn’t you even notice that I wasn’t afraid?”

  “No,” he murmured ruefully. “I was too far gone. Then, afterwards, I couldn’t look at you for the shame of what I’d done.”

  She slid her arms around him and hugged him close. “You love me,” she sighed, nestling her cheek on his hard, bare chest. “You said so, several times.”

  His hands touched her shoulders experimentally. “I don’t remember that,” he said.

  “I do.” She lifted her face. “First times are always uncomfortable, or so I’ve been told. The most important thing is that I’ve overcome the fear, and the memories of the past, Bowie. I’m...still a little uncomfortable right now, but in a few days, we could...” She cleared her throat. “That is, if you want to...?”

  His lean hands closed around her waist and he lifted her up on a level with his eyes. “Are you offering me a second chance?”

  “I’m offering you a beginning,” she whispered. “I want to live with you, always, and have your babies and take care of you.” She leaned forward and brushed her mouth gently over his eyes, closing them. “I love you so much, my darling—more than anything in the world.”

  He groaned, as if he were in pain, and gathered her close, his body shuddering as he held her, his face buried in her warm, softly scented neck. “You’re my whole world,” he breathed. “All I want—everything.”

  She held him fiercely, drowning in the shared need, in the pleasure of his firm hold and the knowledge that he was just as hopelessly in love as she was.

  But he’d gone altogether too far into the whiskey bottle and he began to sway again.

  “My God, I’m drunk,” he murmured dazedly.

  “I did notice that you were a bit tipsy. I really think we’d better get you upstairs,” she remarked when he set her back on her feet.

  “How had you planned to accomplish that?” he asked with a vague smile. “Throw me over your shoulder and carry me up?”

  Her eyes measured all six foot three of him and she whistled through pursed lips. “I’d need a crane,” she murmured.

  “I can make it. Just guide me in the right direction.”

  “I remember a scene in a movie,” she said. “A John Wayne movie. He was trying to help the housekeeper up the staircase, but they were both sauced, and they fell down it several times.”

  He chuckled. “I remember. Not to worry, little one, I won’t fall.”

  He didn’t, but by the skin of his teeth. Gaby managed to get him into his bedroom, and he sprawled on his back in the king-sized bed with a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” she said. “You have to help me get you out of these things.”

  One eye opened and he studied her amusedly. “No, I don’t. Undress me, Gaby.” His voice dropped an octave. “Come on, I dare you,” he prodded, liking her red face and hunted expression.

  “I can’t undress you,” she faltered.

  “Why not? You’re my wife.”

  She stared at him. Yes, she was. She lifted her hand and stared at the dainty ring on her wedding finger, then began to smile. “Well, yes, I am.”

  “I undressed you this morning,” he murmured. “And last night.” He frowned. “Didn’t I undress you one other time?”

  “No. Hold still.”

  She had the shirt off, and then she fumbled and fussed with his big boots until she got them off. But when it came to that big belt buckle and the snap and zipper of his pants, she stood looking down at him as if she were trying to undo a double combination lock.

  “You’ve seen me,” he reminded her. “All of me, without a stitch.”

  “Yes, but getting you that way is...unnerving,” she murmured. “I can’t!”

  He laughed through his haze and sat up, pulling her across him to lie on her back beside him. “Coward,” he teased. “What’s so hard about pulling down a zipper?”

  He guided her hands and made her do it, enjoying her shy reticence. “I’ll teach you to do this a different way when I’m more sober and you’re less un
comfortable,” he said when his trousers were on the floor and he was stretched out in his dark briefs. “You’ll lose that shyness one day. But not too soon, I hope—I enjoy it.”

  “So I see,” she mumbled with a glare that quickly turned into a laugh at his expression.

  “Go get your nightgown and come back.” He grinned at her expression. “It’s all right. We’re married. You can sleep with me all night, and we don’t have to worry about what the household will say about it.”

  She grinned back. “They didn’t say anything the only time we did,” she reminded him. “Okay. I’ll get my gown.”

  He watched her go, amazed at the change in her—at the new tenderness, the acceptance, the lack of fear. He was sorry for the way he’d treated her, but he wasn’t sorry that he’d let it go too far. She was his wife now. She loved him, and very soon he’d show her the ecstasy that she’d only sampled in his arms. He’d prove his love, in the best way of all.

  She slept in his arms, drowsy with pleasure, stiffening when the telephone rang very early and roused them. He lifted his aching head with a groan to answer it.

  “Where’s Montoya?” he muttered, glaring at the clock. But it was after nine already, and whoever was on the phone had him sitting straight up in bed. “Who?” he asked. “Where? Just a minute.”

  “Who is it?” Gaby murmured sleepily.

  He got up, searching through his drawer for a pen and paper. He jerked up the receiver. “Give me that name and address again. Yes. Yes. No, never mind about Aggie, she came home all by herself. Send the bill to my home. Casa Río, that’s right. And thanks!”

  He hung up. He sat down heavily on the bed and stared at the paper with eyes that mirrored his shock and fascination.

  “What is it?” Gaby demanded, punching his bare shoulder.

  “Mr. Courtland,” he replied absently. “Only he isn’t Mr. Courtland. Do you know the name Ted Kingman?”

  “My gosh, yes,” she replied, a rodeo fan from way back. “He was world’s champion calf roper, and world’s champion saddle bronc rider a couple of years running, and best all around cowboy for another two years. He always took top money, but then, that was expected. The Kingman family is one of the oldest and most respected ranching families in Texas.”