by Martha Hix
“You’re putting it bluntly.”
She read “but truthfully” in his eyes. If he loved her, he would want her within sight. Nothing would keep him from being with her when their child drew his first breath.
But he had never said anything about love. Never.
Tears burned her eyes; her throat tightened; her stomach knotted . . . and threatened to roil. I’m not going to be sick again. I’ve shown too much weakness already.
He offered his hand. “Come on, honey. Let me help you up Big Red. We need to catch the herd.”
“And get on to Fort Worth.”
“And get on to Fort Worth,” he echoed.
“I have no say in it?”
“Lisette, will you stay there of your own accord?”
“I’ll do whatever is best. For you, for the child.”
“It’s best for you, too.”
This wasn’t what she wanted. They were nowhere near Fort Worth, yet the ache of her lonely prospects doubled. She wouldn’t beg, though. She would not. Settled behind him on the saddle, she let him lead her toward Fort Worth.
Nonetheless, she wasn’t above having the last word. “If you don’t return in time for my lying-in, should I have Hermann Gilliegorm McLoughlin christened?”
“Don’t you dare name him that.”
“Guess there’s not much you can do about it. You’ll be on the trail, and I’ll be in Fort Worth.”
“Damn you.” His words were profane, yet he laughed and reached behind him to pat her thigh. “You’re a spiteful lass.”
“Agreed.”
“Lisette,” he said quietly, “I guess I ought to tell you something. I wouldn’t have left you here. Not for over five minutes or so.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Her faith wasn’t misplaced. She wrapped her arms around him, leaning her cheek against his back. Gruff and dogmatic he might be, but Gil McLoughlin was a good man.
“Liebster, thanks for letting that baby calf ride in the hoodlum.”
“Damn it, don’t remind me.”
Matthias Gruene was away from camp, rounding up cattle that had strayed during the night, when the set-to about the bullock occurred, but he heard about it the same day. Attitude Powell enlightened him. Dinky Peele added his two cents. At a rest stop, Jackson Bell had a few words to say on the subject. Wink Tannington spoke floridly on a woman “knowing her place.”
Setting his spur rowels to spinning, Matthias headed his mount toward the chuck wagon. Lisette needed help.
The Indian woman was wandering around the wagon, Lisette nowhere in sight.
“Where is Mrs. McLoughlin?” he shouted.
“Shhh.” Cactus Blossom brought a finger to her lip. On quiet feet, she walked to Matthias. Tossing a braid over her shoulder, she looked up with wide-set black eyes. “Albino sleeps in the wagon.”
“Is she all right?”
“As fine as a woman can be at a time like hers.”
Suspicious, Matthias asked, “What ‘time like hers?’ ”
“She needs her rest. She’s going to have a papoose.”
The announcement hit Matthias with the force of grapeshot. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head dropping almost to his chest. Lisette, a mother. No! Not darling Lise, sweet as a peach, tart as a lemon. He pounded the heel of his fist on the pommel. He accepted that Lisette belonged to her husband, but the trail boss getting a baby on her added a finality to the marriage Matthias was loath to embrace.
Since the night she’d shown up and wanted to be part of the outfit, he’d had fantasies about the girl he loved with a purity of spirit. Those fantasies, his new feelings–they were sinful. Sinful!
And she loved her husband. Any fool could see it.
She’ll never be yours. Accept it, Gruene. Accept it.
He couldn’t. He yearned for her love, for her passions, and for him to fulfill her every want and desire.
“You’re in love with Albino.”
His head shot up to meet the beautiful Indian’s wise eyes. “Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“You need a woman, Mouth That Beckons.”
“Not just any woman.”
Cactus Blossom laughed. “You speak with a forked tongue.”
“I didn’t lie. I spoke a simple truth.”
He turned his mount and rode away. Rode away as if demons were chasing him. Matthias Gruene had always been a loner, and he clutched solitude around him. He was glad for the loneliness of the trail with only cows for company. That evening he avoided the campfire, took supper on a piece of jerky and deep quaffs of the schnapps he kept in his saddlebag. That night he laid his head on his saddle, with grasses and twigs his mattress. He closed his eyes to blank out the stars above, but mostly the vision of Lisette.
Then it came to him, a slight whiff of lilac water, Lisette’s cologne. Fingers touched his cheek. Lisette? He grabbed the hand. This wasn’t the woman of his dreams . . . but there was nothing wrong with the way she looked or smelled.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to warm your night and chase away the bad spirits.”
“What are you doing, wearing her cologne?”
“Don’t question too deeply, Mouth That Beckons.”
Her scent enveloped him, and challenging her statement became impossible. Yet Matthias mustered a modicum of reason.
“Where’s Hatch?”
“He sleeps.”
“Won’t he miss you?”
“As I said, he sleeps.” The woman unfastened the buttons of Matthias’s britches. “And you agonize. I saw it in your face. I like your face. Much is written there.” Fingers wrapped around his manhood; a thumb played with the tip of him. “Don’t suffer over what you do not have, Mouth That Beckons. It is not practical.”
He tried to push her fingers from him. “You’d better go back to Hatch.”
“You do not listen. I told you, he sleeps.”
“And he’ll wake up wondering where you are.”
“He knows I pleasure other men. Tonight I give you pleasure, Mouth That Beckons.”
Her lips replaced her fingers. Matthias shuddered with need. His fingers combed through the Indian’s coarse black hair, then canvassed her back. She felt so tiny against his big Teutonic frame, and the feeling was more than good.
He didn’t give a damn whose woman she was. He was tired of stepping aside for other men.
“Give me pleasure, pretty lady,” he moaned as Cactus Blossom’s tongue stroked him.
She raised her head. “I am not Albino.”
“I know.”
He ripped the laces of her dress to clamp a big hand on her breast. He felt the crest swell beneath his finger. His männliches Glied hardened even more, and he shoved the woman to her back. His mouth descended as he positioned himself between her beckoning and spread legs. Lunging into her warmth, he seized her lips in a bruising kiss. Quivering, she clamped her knees on his hips. And her words encouraged him to plunge again and again.
“So gut, so good,” he groaned at the end.
The woman’s palms made a chalice around his jaw. “And you know I am not Long Legs’ woman?”
“Ja, I know. You are Cactus Blossom.”
The agony had vanished. Lisette was lost to him, but this woman filled a need. From the moment he’d first seen Cactus Blossom, Matthias had admired her spirit and serenity. Now he had more to admire about the black-haired, bronze-skinned beauty. Maybe all he’d needed was attention such as he’d craved from McLoughlin’s wife.
“Come here,” he murmured.
“I am here already.”
“Ja, you are,” he conceded and smiled. “Stay with me.”
She did.
And each night, past midnight, Cactus Blossom found him. It was no longer Lisette he coveted. The petite Comanche woman was the one he wanted to roll in the grass with.
One dark midnight, as the pads of his fingers skimmed over her belly, he asked, “What happened to you? Why do you hav
e scars?”
“Don’t question too deeply, Mouth That Beckons.”
“I am. Tell me.”
An owl hooted from a nearby tree, a cloud covered the moon, and Cactus Blossom was gathering her thoughts. At last she replied, “From mourning my daughter. The spirits were not kind to my Weeping Willow. When she came into the world, there was no hope for her to grow tall and strong. When she died, I mourned her in the way of my people.” She rose and pulled the buckskin sheath over her head. “I took a knife to my flesh.”
Before he could say anything, she started away.
“Don’t go.”
“I will be back.” There was a tear in her voice. “Tomorrow night.”
The poor woman, he thought. Obviously she still mourned her dead babe. And Matthias adored her all the more for her sensitivity.
Five nights after their first coupling, Matthias had a visitor and it wasn’t Cactus Blossom. McLoughlin sought him out.
“We haven’t seen you around camp,” the Scotsman said as Matthias set his saddle to the ground for the night. “Are you sick or something?”
“No.”
“Lisette’s been wondering about you.”
“You hired me to be strawboss.” Matthias frowned at McLoughlin. “I’ve been earning my keep.”
“Your keep includes meals.”
“I eat jerky.”
“When you could be eating from Lisette’s table? Seems peculiar to me.” The trail boss slapped at a firefly that landed on his jaw. “She’s learned how to make chili. I think you’d like it.”
“Too spicy.”
“How do you know if you haven’t tried it?”
“I hear it’s too spicy.”
“Matt, what’s bothering you?”
“I’m tired and I’m wanting to sleep.” Sleep was his last consideration. Cactus Blossom would be here. After midnight.
“I did have another purpose in seeking you out,” McLoughlin said. “I want you to double back to Cleburne, buy a couple more hoodlum wagons, then meet up with us, pronto.”
“What for?”
“You know what for. To carry calves in.” McLoughlin cleared his throat. “I don’t have to tell you, when we cart the new calves, the mother cows are following along agreeably. We’re spending a lot less time keeping those cows in line.”
Matthias laughed. “You’ve finally seen the reward in Lise’s idea, I take it.”
“I have.” McLoughlin spoke in a sheepish tone. “Hers was a smart plan. I told her so, but she’s too kind to be vindictive about it. Says she didn’t have any idea of the positive outcome. Good woman, that wife of mine.”
“You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know.” Matthias’s thoughts turned to another woman. He didn’t want to be separated from Cactus Blossom, and he said, “Send Hatch after the wagons.”
The night got quiet. Crickets and cattle made noises, and Sadie Lou barked in the distance, but nothing else. He knew the boss didn’t like his decisions questioned, but he’d done it and wouldn’t back down.
McLoughlin asked, “Why would I want to send Hatch?”
“He’s new. Let him take the menial tasks.”
“No task is menial if it benefits the drive.”
“Send him anyway.”
“Matt, you got something against Frank Hatch?”
“No. He does a day’s work.” Matthias pulled the flask he hadn’t touched in five days from its hiding place. “Want a drink?”
“You know I don’t allow liquor on the trail.”
“Rules about liquor are for the other men. I’m not just one of them. Which is why I resent your sending me on a petty errand.”
“You may be strawboss, but I’m in charge, and I’m tempted to fire you over that remark.”
While Matthias had great respect for McLoughlin’s abilities to get cattle up the trail, and while his loyalty was to none but the Four Aces and its owner, he wasn’t going to be threatened. “If that’s what you’re wanting to do, do it.”
Another stretch of silence.
“All right. I’ll send Hatch.”
“Thank you.”
McLoughlin started to walk away, but he stopped a half-dozen paces in the distance and turned around. “I need your advice on something.”
After their difference of opinion, it cheered Matthias, the Scotsman’s show of confidence. His loyalty to the brand wasn’t misplaced.
“Matt, I get a peculiar feeling about Hatch. Sometimes I think he’s trying to chouse me. Other times, I get the inkling I’ve seen him somewhere before. It’s craziness, I know.”
“Have you asked if he knows you?”
“You know the unwritten law. If a man doesn’t offer anything about himself, another man doesn’t ask.”
“Then forget your suspicions.”
“No, I don’t think that’d be smart. Better send Tannington with him to Cleburne, just in case he can’t be trusted.” McLoughlin slipped a thumb behind his gunbelt. “I can tell you one thing I’m not only suspicious about. Cactus Blossom is sneaking off at night, and if she’s not letting one of the men at her, my name’s not McLoughlin.” His eyes hardened, visible even in the moonlight. “Wouldn’t be you, would it, Matt?”
Matthias took a swig of schnapps, then reminded the trail boss of his own words. “You know the code of the West. If a man doesn’t confide, another man shouldn’t pry.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Gil had a dilemma. Matthias might have told him to mind his own business, but the answer spoke for itself. He was poking Hatch’s woman. Watching Matthias take another plug from the flask, Gil shook his head in disgust, then studied the stars above. Matt was drinking and poking; no telling how Hatch would react to the latter; and if he sent the troublemakers packing, Lisette would throw one of her tantrums.
She didn’t need to get upset, not with the babe on the way.
“Put the sauce away, Matt. You’re not above rules just because you’re second in charge.”
The strawboss imparted a dirty look.
“Something else,” Gil said. “If you don’t keep your hands off that woman as well as the corn, you’re out of a job.”
“I’ll quit the drinking, but as for Cactus, no, I won’t stay away from her. If it means you and I part ways, then so be it.”
“This late in the season, you’ll have a hard time finding another strawboss job. If she’s worth starving for, go to her.”
“She’s worth it. And you’re nothing but an–” Matthias lowered the flask. “You’ve got Lise, but to hell with anyone else who wants their own woman.”
“Lisette is my wife, not my whore,” Gil replied. “And I am the boss. What I say goes.”
“Look, you said you’re sending Hatch for the wagons. That means he’ll be out of the way for days on end. Cactus and I will be discreet. And it won’t be long after Hatch returns that we’ll be in Fort Worth. I can find some sort of work there. Let me stay on till we reach town.”
“I’m not running a brothel, Matt. Not now, and not between here and Fort Worth.”
“This has nothing to do with whores. This has everything to do with me and my woman.”
Gil shoved his thumbs behind Thelma’s belt and stared at the ground. What was the most important issue here? Matt Gruene was the best cowpuncher he’d ever met, and he kept the cowboys in line, which freed Gil to be the trail boss. The drive would suffer if Matt left. And Gil decided the Cactus Blossom situation would run its course between here and Fort Worth. Then Matthias would see the light.
“All right,” Gil said. “You can stay on. But you better have meant what you said about discretion, or you’re out once we hit town.”
He stomped to Big Red. Climbing into the saddle, he muttered a “damn.” During his previous drives up to Abilene, all he’d had to worry about were Indians, the elements, and keeping the cattle from stampeding. This drive had been snakebitten from the beginning. He might lose Matt Gruene. And he’d lost control of the outfit.
Ten days had passed since Wink and Mister Hatch had returned to camp with a pair of extra hoodlum wagons, and Lisette was thrilled at the success of carting the newborn calves along. She was not thrilled about Cactus Blossom. Something was wrong, very wrong.
And now, as she put the finishing touches on the midday meal with the Comanche woman’s assistance, Lisette was more worried than ever. The usually conversant Cactus Blossom hadn’t uttered a word all day, her stoic face set in an unreadable mask.
Pouring coffee into the grinder, Lisette asked, “Are you not happy?”
“I am happy.”
“But you could be happier.”
“Everyone could be happier, Albino.”
Lisette agreed on that score; she’d be much happier without the prospect of reaching Fort Worth and saying good-bye to her husband. They expected to reach the cowtown by late afternoon.
She just couldn’t think about it, especially not now, when Cactus Blossom was in need of a friend.
“Are you having problems with Mister Hatch?” Lisette placed her hand on Cactus Blossom’s arm; it was much too cold for this warm noon of mid-May. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” Cactus Blossom took knives, forks, and spoons from the chuck box drawer. “But I do admit . . . I have found a man to give me the love I missed with Dung Eyes.”
Gott in Himmel. It would be stupid even to ask if she’d been sleeping with one of the men. Reading the meaning between the lines and the smile now brightening that bronzed face, Lisette knew it was true as the blue sky above.
“Who is the man?” Lisette asked.
“Mouth That Beckons.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Albino . . . how do you feel about Matthias?”
Lisette should have known he was the Mouth in question. She’d seen his eyes on Cactus Blossom, and she’d fretted over the attentions that could rain trouble on the entire trail drive. At last she answered, “He’s been my friend for many years.”
“If you did not have your man, would you want Matthias for your own?”
“Blossom, that is a question which is ridiculous to address. Gil and I do have each other, and we’ll stay that way until death parts us. He is my heart, my soul . . . my breath, my life.”