Caress of Fire

by Martha Hix

  Maisie patted her hand. “I’m sorry, lass. Truly sorry.”

  “Oh, enough of this. Let’s discuss something positive.”

  “All right. How old are you, lass?”

  “Twenty-two. Twenty-three tomorrow.”

  “Is that so? We’ll have to have cake and coffee in celebration. Mebbe a wee dram or two. My treat.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Birthdays aren’t special to me.” She studied the barely wrinkled face. “How old are you?”

  “Seventy.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “You’re flattering me, lass. Don’t stop, though. I’m seventy, I can assure you. My poor departed Angus–Gilliegorm’s faither–would o’ been fifty-four.” Maisie finished her cup, ran a finger across the cookie plate to gather the last crumb. “Are you wondering what I’m doing here, lass?”

  “Actually, I am.”

  “The lad wrote me, said he’d married, would be bringing you up here, so I had t’ get a look at you for myself.”

  “I look a mess.”

  A sincere and pleasant smile lifted the beautiful old face. “You look fine t’ me, you do.”

  “You, Maisie McLoughlin, are doing the flattering now.”

  “Weel, I’ve got t’ get on your good side. I’m not getting any younger, I haven’t seen my grandson in years, and I’m wanting t’ be around for the great-grandson.”

  “It’s too bad your property is in Illinois, or you could be closer when little Hermann is growing up.”

  “Hermann?”

  “Yes, that’s the name I’ve chosen. After my father.”

  “What does Gilliegorm have t’ say about that?”

  “Nothing. Or he hasn’t in a long time.”

  “You wouldna give consideration t’ naming the wee lad after my Sandy, would you? Alexander.”

  “The wee lad doesn’t feel like an Alexander. He feels like a Hermann.”

  “Could I ...?” Maisie’s face turned pink. “Would you mind if I had a feel o’ the bairn?”

  “Of course not.” Lisette glanced around, confident of privacy. No diners, no sight of the waiter. She stood and walked to the other side of the table. “He’s moving now.”

  Maisie put her palm atop the mound of Lisette’s stomach. Hermann, disrespectful tyke, kicked his great-grandmother’s hand.

  Grinning broadly, she looked up, her eyes moist. “Oh, lass, he’ll be a fine Hermann.”

  Lisette’s throat closed. Maisie was mother personified–opinionated, concerned, open. “You remind me of my Mutti,” she whispered. “Not in every way–she was more reserved–but I think I’m going to love you, Maisie.”

  “I already love you.”

  And they belonged together. Several times Gil had said he wished his grandmother would settle in Fredericksburg, and Lisette agreed with those wishes.

  If only she didn’t have to go home to Illinois.

  “Maisie, would it be asking too much . . . Do you think you’ll ever make it down to Texas?”

  “Weel, yes, if you’re certain o’ the invitation.”

  “I’m certain.”

  “Good.” Gray eyes twinkled. “You see, I’ve sold the apple farm, and I intend t’ make your town my home. Don’t you be worrying, I won’t live at the ranch. I’ll buy my own cottage.”

  “You will not. You’ll live with us. Little, um wee Hermann will need you.”

  “Waiter! Bring champagne!” When he didn’t appear immediately, Maisie grumbled something about not being able to find good service. “He must be English.”

  “We’ll have champagne later, after Gil–Gil! Goodness, I forgot. I’m supposed to meet him at the blacksmith shop.”

  Maisie scoffed. “Abilene is a wee town. He’ll find you. Is the lad at the holding pen?”

  “He is.”

  “I thought so,” Maisie commented on a nod of head. “I was on my way there when I found you.”

  “Maisie, I must leave. I’ve some apologizing to do. I gave the church the advance money Gil intended for his cowboys. And I’ve got a lot of explaining–”

  “The kirk always has its hand out. Be careful of empty-handed ministers.”

  This was no time to discuss church stewardship. “Gil will be furious if I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”

  She was supposed to be here. She wasn’t. Nine thirsty, penniless cowpokes behind him, Gil hurried into the blacksmith shop. “Pete, have you seen my wife?”

  “Not since I started repairing this wagon wheel.”

  Damn.

  Gil did an about-face. On the porch, he met the eager stares of his men. While he had made Lisette believe she’d have to do the talking, he had figured simply to shock her into thinking before acting. Whatever his motives and intentions, he had expected her to be here.

  “We’ve got problems,” he said, his words slow. “I can’t pay you until after I’ve signed a deal with McCoy and Brothers.”

  “We didn’t figure on all of it, just drinking and womaning money,” Attitude said.

  “I can’t make good on my promise.”

  Mouths dropped, then the men began to shout.

  Oscar didn’t shout, but he frowned and said, “It don’t be fair, expectin’ us to do wit’out.”

  “That’s the way things turned out. But, I assure you, I’ll be talking with Joseph McCoy as soon as I leave here. I’ll have your money as soon as possible.”

  “How soon is possible?” Attitude asked.

  Never had Gil McLoughlin had to grovel over money before. I could shake her. “As soon as I can get it.”

  One man climbed the three steps. Deep Eddy stuck his hands in his empty pockets before turning to the others. “Cool down. This isn’t McLoughlin’s fault. You see, Lisette–”

  “Ed!” Gil wouldn’t have the men turning against their adored Lisette.

  “Wait!”

  The assemblage turned.

  A reticule in her hand, Lisette waddled across the street. “Here’s the money.”

  Where had she gotten it? Knowing Lisette, there was no telling. But she made the men happy, turning over a fair share to each, so Gil wouldn’t pitch a fit. Soon, though, she would explain herself.

  Like longhorns on stampede, the cowboys rushed the saloon.

  She beamed. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “I’ll just bet you do.” His upper lip twitched. “Where did you get that money?”

  “I borrowed it.”

  “Who from? And what did you have to promise in return?”

  “Gil McLoughlin, you are really a cynical person. You should work on your attitude. Children learn from their parents, after all, and I don’t want little Hermann forming bad habits.”

  Shaking his head, he groaned, “God help me.”

  “God has your money. I’ll tell you who did help us, though. In a few minutes.” She looped her arm with his. “Come on. We’re going to the hotel. Your surprise awaits.”

  Dragging him along, she swept by the desk clerk and entered the dining room. There was no one in here, except for an elderly woman, her back to the door. Wait. That wasn’t just any elderly woman.

  “Maisie!”

  “ ’Bout time you showed up.” She scooted the chair from the table, got to her feet, and spun around. Mirth in her features, she said, “Lad, you owe me five hundred dollars.”

  “You loaned my wife money?”

  “I dinna stutter.”

  He threw back his head, opened his arms, and laughed. “C’m’ere and give me a hug,” he said in the accents of his homeland. She did, and he held her closely, kissing the crown of her silver head. “How much interest will ye be charging?”

  “Hundred percent.”

  “Oh, Maisie, me love, you never change.”

  “Aye, I do not. And that’s a hundred percent per day.”

  “Whew.” He reared back, loving the teasing. “Then I’d better get to McCoy and Brothers, post-haste.”

  “Good. Afterward, you can buy dinner.
”

  “Fine. But I’ve got business to take care of first.”

  Bussing his grandmother, then lingering a bit over a kiss with Lisette, he left. He called on Joseph McCoy. It took some cajoling, but the cattle broker offered for all two thousand nine hundred longhorns. A bank draft rested in Gil’s breast pocket. The amount came to almost six figures. It would have been more, if not for the delays and losing a hundred head.

  Well, he couldn’t complain.

  Gil walked to the stockyard to take a last look at the herd.

  Tecumseh Billy was sulking.

  “Just a few more days, old boy,” Gil called out from the other side of the fence, “and you’ll be back on the trail.”

  The lead steer backed away, unimpressed.

  Gil spied Deep Eddy Roland walking toward him.

  “Thought you’d be at Ma Pinter’s Saloon,” he said to the New Englander.

  “A little of that place goes a long way.”

  “You got something on your mind, Ed?”

  “I heard a rumor Matt Gruene is quitting on the outfit.”

  That would be fine with Gil.

  “If Matt quits,” Deep Eddy said, “I want his job.”

  “It’s yours, if it becomes available.” Gil bent an eye. “If you’re up on gossip, do you know if the other men are threatening to quit?”

  “They aren’t. They’ll all ride for your brand.”

  “That’s good, since I’ll need all the help I can get for herding the saddle horses and T-Bill back to Texas. And Big Red. He’s going back, too. When I return to Texas, it’ll be with a wife and a newborn. Maybe with my grandmother, too. I won’t be needing the sorrel.”

  “Rest assured, I’ll look out for him.”

  “I know you will, Ed. I know you will.”

  Whether or not Matthias bailed out, Deep Eddy was a man to count on.

  That evening, dinner was champagne, fine food, and family togetherness. Gil enjoyed watching Maisie and Lisette act as if they had been kin forever. And they all celebrated success.

  He glanced at Lisette. We’re rich, honey. We’re rich.

  That was not the sort of thing he’d say in front of Maisie–or she’d hold him to the interest rate. By now the dining room had cleared out, the only occupant besides the McLoughlins was the waiter, who dozed on the straight-backed chair in the far corner.

  Maisie finished off a slice of cherry pie. “Would it be time t’ be thinking about plans for our trip to Texas?”

  “I’ve got it all figured out.” Gil pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Looks like we’ll be here in Abilene for several months. I’ve decided the best course for us is . . .” He smiled at his wife. “Soon as Hermann is big enough, we’re going to take a train to Chicago. My wife and I have honeymoon plans.”

  “I’ll take care of the wee one. You two can enjoy yourselves that way.”

  “Maisie, you are a jewel,” Lisette said.

  “Now listen closely, ladies. We’re going to take a paddlewheeler down the Mississippi, then catch a ship for Corpus Christi. Which means we’ll have the least amount of time riding in wagons. Sound agreeable, honey?”

  “More than agreeable.” Lisette wiggled on her chair. “If I never sit on another spring seat again, it’ll be too soon. By sea is the only way to travel.”

  “Nay, lass. The only way t’ travel is in your man’s arms. All the way upstairs.” She gave her grandson an arch look. “Better keep those muscles built up.”

  Figuring all this frank talk would embarrass his wife, Gil told Maisie to hush. Lisette, though, didn’t appear uncomfortable with the conversation; in fact, she was taking an overlong gander at his arms.

  “Would you like a drink, honey?”

  “No thanks. Better not.” She yawned and patted her mouth with her fingers. “I think I’ll retire to our room.”

  “I’ll have another, lad.”

  He pushed back his chair. “Help yourself. I’m carrying my wife upstairs.”

  “You will not,” Lisette protested. “You stay right here and visit with Maisie. I made over a thousand miles in a chuck wagon. I can make it to the third floor under my own steam.”

  There was no arguing with her, but he did walk her to the stairs and take a kiss before returning to the dining room. Maisie had poured herself a couple of fingers of brandy.

  He settled opposite to her again. Rocking the chair back on two of its legs, he said, “I’m pleased you and Lisette are tight as ticks.”

  “You couldna done better.”

  “Glad to hear that, since you’ll be living with us.”

  “Got another one of those cigars, lad?”

  “Maisie,” he drawled. “I thought you gave them up.”

  “Don’t you be chiding me, sitting there with that stogie stuck in your mouth, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Gimme a smoke, lad.”

  He reached into his pocket and did as ordered.

  Maisie squinted past a trailing ribbon of gray. “Your letter was dated seven months ago, in February.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Frae the looks o’ your wife, you dinna give the right story. You said she was a reluctant bride. That you’d be having t’ coax her into your bed.”

  “It took a lot of coaxing.”

  “You’re not too old t’ take a switch t’ your ankles for lying. I’d say you jumped the gun on the wedding ceremony.”

  There was no accusation in his grandmother’s words, but Gil took umbrage; they confirmed suspicions he’d had for weeks. Lisette was just too big to be two months from term. Shock waves jolting through him, he defended his wife. “There was no gun-jumping. The child is due in November.”

  Maisie reached across the table and took his hand. “Frae where I sit, I don’t mind when the wedding took place. Or the month the wee one starts squalling. You need someone like Lisette t’ heal your pain . . . if you’ll let her.”

  The pain of Betty was nothing compared to this blow.

  “Did I say something wrong, lad?” Maisie brought her fingers to her lips. “I dinna mean to. Gilliegorm?”

  He drained his snifter. “Let’s call it a night.”

  “A wee bit early, isn’t it?”

  It was about seven months too late–for the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Who the hell was Hermann’s father?

  Determined to find out, Gil took the hotel stairs two at a time, rushed down the corridor, and jammed the key in the lock. The door reverberated on its hinges as he pushed it open.

  A single lamp provided low light. In her sleep, moaning, Lisette turned from side to side. Gil crossed the rug, stopped at the edge of the bed. She wore nothing; he didn’t figure it a repeat of last night’s invitation.

  She was nude out of necessity, didn’t have any clothes; how could she dress in night gear? A man ought to keep his wife properly attired. There had been a time when Gil had wanted to bedeck her in the best. Furthermore, he’d promised himself to buy her baubles and beads.

  What was the matter with him?

  Let her lover drape her in finery and frippery.

  Who was the man?

  His hands moved to shake her awake, but the nearby lamp illuminated the shadows under her eyes. No matter whose child she carried, she was his wife. And his conscience wouldn’t let him disturb her. She needed rest.

  He retreated to a small settee, sat down, and pushed off his boots. Within a couple of minutes, he wore nothing but britches. Now what was he going to do?

  He didn’t particularly want to sleep with her. He couldn’t rent an extra room, since the hotel was filled, owing to the three Texas outfits in town. And if he left, there was sure to be talk. Gossip didn’t bother him, but he wouldn’t put a Kansas mark on the McLoughlin name, not with his grandmother in town. There had been enough of that over Betty.

  Be honest. You don’t want to shame Lisette, either. Who gave a hell–? You do. He refused to heed his conscience . . . or was it his heart?


  He got in bed, turned away from Lisette. Pulling the sheet up, Gil tried to sleep. He couldn’t. Minutes that seemed like hours passed. He felt the mattress move, heard her as she rolled over. She sighed and put an arm around him; her stomach pressed against his back. He tried to deflect her touch, but something thumped his spine. Gil clenched his teeth against the feel of her bulk.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Reaching to the rear, he pressed his palm against her flesh, meaning to push her away. Her stomach felt lumpy. What was that? A village idiot’s question, he supposed, but he’d never put an examining hand to a pregnant woman’s stomach before.

  He jiggled the lump. It moved with him. That was an arm, maybe a leg. Wonder upon wonder, that was a real babe in there. Not a concept. Not a monster. Not solely a less-than-appealing Teutonic name. And Hermann was a rowdy little tyke.

  No wonder Lisette had circles under her eyes, what with lugging her son around all the day and night long. Last night . . . Old Son had invaded Hermann’s realm.

  Last night.

  Gil swallowed, recalling the pleasure he had taken and the realm he had invaded. Her son tumbled.

  “Behave,” she mumbled in her sleep.

  Hermann answered with more thumps.

  A short snort of laughter escaped Gil’s nose. If you were here already, lad, I’d box your ears for not giving your mother her proper rest.

  He wished he could rejoice in the new life. How wonderful it would be, someday holding Hermann in his arms and making the boy understand right from wrong. Gil yearned to see something in that small face: a likeness to the McLoughlin clan, a resemblance mingled with the Germanic race.

  There was no accounting for sense.

  Gil eased onto his back, his arm falling off the side of the bed. Lisette edged closer. If he left his arm like this, it would be numb in no time.

  “You and I need to talk, Hermann.” Placing his palm on Lisette’s stomach, he whispered, “Go to sleep.”

  The motions stopped. Yet Gil didn’t remove his hand. He closed his scratching and burning eyes, but tears escaped anyway. He wasn’t a man to cry. He couldn’t recall ever crying, not since he left childhood.

  Tonight he cried.

  A rooster crowed, light streamed into the room, yet Lisette didn’t leave the bed. Who in their right mind could leave this heaven of soft mattress, softer pillows, and real sheets?