Texas Bride

by Leigh Greenwood

  She wanted her ranch.

  But this was no time to start thinking about William. The coffee ready, she poured it into Ida's china coffee pot. She put everything on a tray and started toward the parlor.

  It was a shame that Owen had to be like her father. She didn't know why she was attracted to him when other men had left her cold, but there was something about him that made him different. He was just a little taller, better looking, a little more confident, a little more intelligent.... He seemed to have more of everything than anybody Hetta had ever met. And Hetta was honest enough to admit that that extra made a difference.

  But there was something else about Owen that attracted her. There was a kindness about him that was unexpected. Courage, too. No one in Pinto Junction would have risked his own safety to protect Ben from Newt. Certainly not a man like her father.

  "I was starting to think I'd have to come after you," Owen said when she entered the parlor. He held the door for her, cleared a place for the tray on the table, waited for her to settle herself on the sofa before he took a seat.

  She tried not to think his courtesy was anything special. Everybody knew that Virginia men grew up knowing how to make a woman feel special, probably even men from the mountains. He was just too handsome. She expected that Ida's cousin Jonas would soon be ordering a suit exactly like Owen's. Jonas considered himself the best-dressed man in Pinto Junction, but he couldn't begin to compare with Owen.

  "I never like to rush coffee," Hetta said. "It sometimes comes out tasting burned."

  "I spent four years in the war and one working as a cowhand. My only requirements are that it be wet, hot, and black."

  "I take it you don't want sugar."

  "I couldn't call myself a man if I did."

  Hetta smiled as she bent forward to pour the coffee. Despite his fancy clothes, Owen wanted to be considered as rough and tough as the next guy. She looked up to hand him his coffee and nearly dropped the cup. He'd gotten up from his chair and come across the room. Their faces were only inches apart.

  She had never before let herself get this close to a man who was so handsome. His good looks nearly made her stop breathing. She was aware that a smile was merely the result of muscle movement, that it had nothing to do with the heart, mind, or soul, but surely a smile as wonderful as his couldn't be entirely false.

  Hetta forced herself to look away. The man was merely being polite. His smile didn't mean anything one way or the other. She received another shock when he sat down on the sofa next to her.

  "You don't mind, do you?" he asked. "This way I won't have to get up when I want a second cup."

  He left plenty of room between them, but she felt as though they were practically touching.

  "You're not still afraid of me, are you?"

  "I was never afraid of you."

  "Good. So what do you do for entertainment around here?"

  Chapter Three

  Hetta wasn't quite sure how to answer him. Except for the July picnic and an occasional dance, the women of Pinto Junction spent their evenings finishing up all the tasks they hadn't completed during the day. The men spent theirs in the saloon.

  "I don't suppose we have much of what you'd call entertainment," she said.

  "Not even after cattle drives or when the branding is done?"

  "We've never had a cattle drive," she said.

  "Don't you take your cows to market?"

  "What market?" She'd heard of some people taking their cattle to St. Louis or New Orleans, but she didn't know anybody who'd done it.

  "How about harvest?" Owen asked. "Christmas? The Fourth of July?"

  "Folks around here don't go to parties much."

  "No wonder you're so unhappy."

  "I'm not unhappy."

  "You act like smiling would break your face. You walk around me like I was a panther and you weren't sure the rope was strong enough to hold me."

  There was something panther-like about him. He was sleek and sinewy and languorous, as if he knew he had nothing to fear.

  "We're not used to strangers. We like to get to know people before we make them bosom friends."

  "I'm just talking about having a little fun."

  "Folks down here are real careful about their fun."

  "What you mean is folks down here are boring."

  "You don't have to stay if you dislike us so much."

  Why on earth would she say something like that? she wondered. It was obvious that a man like Owen would never stay in Pinto Junction, but strangely enough, she'd imagined he would. Which just went to show the folly of looking a handsome man in the eye.

  "It's none of my concern what you do," she said and started to get up, but he put out a hand to restrain her.

  "Don't run away."

  She couldn't move. She'd been touched by men before. The contact had left her indifferent, irritated, or merely eager to get out of their reach. But nothing had ever made her feel as though her bones had melted, as though she couldn't get up off the sofa if the house were on fire. It was absurd. The way she felt reminded her strongly of how her mother said her husband made her feel--foolish, unable to move, unable to think clearly, lacking the desire to think at all, willing to do anything to enjoy his nearness for a lifetime.

  She looked down at his hand on hers. He hadn't exerted any pressure, yet his hand anchored her to the sofa as surely as if it weighed a ton. How could an ordinary hand affect her so strongly? His nails were clean, his fingers were long and slim, but that could describe the hand of several men she knew.

  She couldn't stay where she was, not so close, not with him touching her. She didn't dare look up. She was certain that would destroy any strength she had. She busied herself in transferring everything from the table to the tray.

  "I'm not running away, but the dishes have to be done."

  "You just said you have nothing to do all evening. What's the rush?"

  "I don't like leaving work. It just makes it harder when I get around to it. And thinking about it ruins my pleasure in what I'm doing."

  "Then you do find pleasure in my company. I was beginning to think you equated me with a dose of bad medicine."

  Hetta felt the heat rise in her face. She started to assure him she hadn't received even the slightest pleasure in his company, but that wouldn't have been the truth. No woman could dislike the undivided attention of a handsome, charming man. The danger came in thinking he meant anything by it.

  She forced herself to look at him now. He had a smile that transformed his features, made them seem perfect. She wasn't experienced with men. She couldn't tell if his smile was genuine, but it drew her like a honeybee to the first spring flower.

  She couldn't understand why he should want to smile at her. She wasn't pretty, or entertaining, and didn't enjoy flirting. She could only assume he was being polite. If so, Virginians really ought to warn people. Young women unfamiliar with their ways could develop quite unrealistic expectations.

  But Hetta wasn't foolish, and she hadn't developed any expectations at all. "I was speaking in general."

  "Be specific."

  "Mr. Wheeler--"

  "Call me Owen."

  "I'm aware you're new in town and have nothing to do with your evening, but I have far too much work to spend time in this senseless bandying of words. You know you're not interested in me."

  "But I am interested in you."

  Hetta felt the room go still around her. He couldn't mean what he said. Not the way she meant it. "You don't know anything about me."

  "I know you have a ranch. I've been thinking about buying one."

  Hetta was shocked to find her heart beating twice as rapidly as normal. She didn't know how she'd allowed herself to get caught up so quickly in the aura that surrounded Owen. He was like a physical force impossible to be around without being affected, but she couldn't afford to let herself be affected, not even for a single evening.

  "I'm told you're not bothered by rustlers," Owen said. "I'd lik
e to know how, so I could protect any ranch I might buy."

  She didn't like the feeling of disappointment. She hated to know she'd been foolish enough to expect something else. Owen was exactly the kind of man she'd warned herself against her whole life.

  "If that's all you wanted, you could have asked."

  "I didn't say it was all, just one of the things."

  She didn't know why he'd come to Pinto Junction, but she was absolutely certain it had nothing to do with her. Yet when he looked at her like that, spoke to her in that tone of voice ... it was foolish, absurd, impossible!

  "Another rancher is using my property until I'm able to manage it again. In exchange he takes care of my herd."

  "But how does he protect it from the bandits?"

  "I don't know that he does. We haven't had a roundup, so no one knows."

  She couldn't understand why talking about the ranch should interest her so little. She'd been thinking about it all the time lately. The only explanation was that she was disappointed that Owen hadn't been interested in her. Personally.

  But despite his kindness, courage, and beautiful manners, she wouldn't allow herself to be disappointed over anything to do with Owen. She didn't think it was the same, but this could be the way her mother had felt about her father. Yet she didn't feel like falling down at his feet. She didn't think the sun rose and set in him. She didn't believe that his every word was gospel. She didn't feel so miserable that she wanted to sit in the corner and cry her heart out. Except for the strangeness of it, she felt quite good.

  Still, this way was madness, and she had no intention of going mad. "More coffee?" she asked.

  He held out his cup. "You ready to close up shop?"

  "I need to finish in the kitchen."

  "And leave me to finish my coffee alone?"

  "I'm sure you've drunk hundreds of cups of coffee without my help."

  "But I didn't drink them alone."

  "Try. I promise it isn't hard."

  "But it's no fun."

  "You can't expect fun all the time."

  "Why not?"

  He was the most stubborn man she'd ever met. She stood and reached for the tray. He put his hand on her wrist. His touch was light. It was clear he was only playing, but her temperature seemed to have spiked.

  "Tell me about this rancher you have a deal with," Owen said.

  "There's nothing to tell. I had a ranch I couldn't run. Mr. diViere had a herd--"

  "Who did you say?"

  The change in him was instantaneous. One moment he was smiling, flirtatious. In the next he looked angry enough to commit murder.

  "Mr. diViere."

  "What's his first name?"

  "I don't remember."

  "Is it Laveau?"

  "I think so. I'm sure Ida's uncle called him by that name."

  "Where is he now?"

  "I don't know."

  "This is a small town. People don't just disappear."

  "He's not in Pinto Junction." She'd been so surprised by the change in him, she'd forgotten he still held her wrists. She pulled, but he didn't release her.

  "Where did he go?"

  "He said he was taking some cattle to market."

  "Where?"

  "He didn't say."

  "Did you ask?"

  "No."

  "You'll never make a success of your ranch if you don't learn everything you can about the cattle business. And the most important thing is where you can sell at a good price."

  He stood, but he still held her wrists.

  "I'll learn when the time comes. Now if you'll--"

  "When is he getting back?"

  "I don't know."

  "He just comes and goes on your ranch and you don't ask why or what he's doing?"

  "He pays me for the privilege of coming and going."

  "Where do the cattle come from?"

  "If you want to know, you'll have to ask him."

  "I intend to, the first chance I get. Why would you hook up with a man like Laveau?"

  "I didn't hook up with him. He offered me a business proposition, and I took it." She didn't understand his attitude. "Everyone in Pinto Junction likes Mr. diViere. We know he fought for the Union, but he's a Texan and he's kept the army away from us. We've heard what drunken soldiers have done in other towns."

  She didn't understand Owen's expression. The anger was easy to see, but the rest of it was hidden in the depths of his enormous dark blue eyes. They reminded her of the color of the sky before a storm.

  "How could you trust someone like Laveau?" Owen asked.

  "He found my father wounded and dying. Knowing he was a fellow Texan, my father entrusted his sword to him, asked him to take it back to his family."

  "Where did your father die?"

  "Shiloh."

  "Laveau was never at Shiloh."

  "He must have been. He brought me letters, mementos."

  "Then he stole them. Laveau never fought at Shiloh."

  "You don't know. You don't even--"

  "I rode with Laveau diViere for three years in a Confederate troop of Night Riders. He betrayed us. Twenty-four men died because of him."

  "I can't believe that's true. Nobody likes it that he fought for the Union, but he's been good to us."

  "Laveau diViere is a coldhearted villain who wouldn't hesitate to cut your throat if it served his purpose. I intend to hang him."

  She stared at him, unable to believe what she'd heard. "Even if he did what you say--and I don't believe it for one minute--you can't go around threatening to hang people. Now, I don't want to hear any more of your mad ravings. And I'd just as soon you let me go."

  She raised her arm, trying to break his grip. He merely released it and quickly caught her in a different grip, pressing her arms close to her body, bringing her closer to him.

  "The only person who's mad is Laveau. I won't stop until I bring him to justice." He pulled her closer until she could feel his breath on her skin. "You don't have to help me. Just don't get in my way."

  Hetta was about to assure Owen she didn't intend to interfere in his business in any way when the parlor door opened. She turned to see Ida in the doorway, a shocked expression on her face. Right behind her, looking equally stunned, stood William Tidwell.

  "Get your hands off that woman," William thundered, pushing Ida aside to stride into the room, his face deep red.

  Hetta had never seen William in the grip of strong emotion. She couldn't believe she was the cause of this incredible transformation in the man she considered the most dependable, even-tempered, predictable person she'd ever known. She went so limp with shock and embarrassment, she was relieved that Owen didn't immediately release her arms.

  "Who are you?" Owen asked.

  "It doesn't matter who I am," William thundered back. "Get your hands off that woman."

  Owen didn't move a muscle. "This woman has a name."

  "A name you're not fit to use."

  Hetta suspected that William's actions had made Owen furious, but she guessed he was embarrassed to have been caught treating her in such an ungentlemanly fashion. When he released her and stepped back, she was certain of it.

  "I meant Hetta no harm."

  William stepped between them. The two men made Ida's parlor seem almost too small to contain them.

  "Just putting your hand on her is an insult."

  "William, he wasn't--"

  "We don't allow strangers to handle our women."

  "William!"

  "If you touch her again, you'll have me to deal with."

  "If I touch Miss Gwynne again, it'll be with her consent. If you attempt to interfere then, you'll have me to deal with. Good night," Owen said, turning to Hetta. "I apologize for causing the evening to end on a sour note. What time is breakfast?"

  "Seven," Hetta replied.

  "You can't stay here," William said. "Ida will give you your money back."

  "I don't want it back. Now, unless you want me to forget that your out
rage is in defense of a woman, you'll turn your attention to Hetta." He turned and left the room.

  "You can't let him stay here," William said, turning to Ida.

  "Of course she can," Hetta said. "He's already paid. She can't throw him out without a reason."

  "You don't call manhandling you a reason?"

  Hetta found it nearly impossible to believe that she, plain Hetta Gwynne, could have been the cause of two men nearly getting into a fight.

  "He wasn't manhandling me," she said. "Something I said, a person I mentioned, caused him to become agitated. I'm not even sure he was thinking of me."

  "Who did you mention?"

  "Mr. diViere. He said he'd fought with him in the war, that he was a thief and a traitor, that he intended to hang him."

  "He's crazy," Ida said. "I'll tell him to leave tomorrow."

  "I can't say I like diViere," William said, "but he has kept the Army away from us."

  "And he's renting Hetta's ranch."

  But he hadn't yet paid her. She didn't believe Owen's accusation, but she was glad she'd asked Ida's uncle to send a letter reminding diViere that he hadn't paid her.

  "I expect he'll have forgotten all about it in the morning," Hetta said. "Good-looking men say a lot of things to impress women foolish enough to believe them."

  "I'll make some fresh coffee," Ida said and winked at Hetta. "I promised William a cup if he'd walk me home."

  "Thank goodness you don't believe him," William said to Hetta. "You never know what a man like that will do. Did you hear what he did today?"

  "You've got to hear William tell it," Ida said as she prepared to leave the room. "He's spellbinding."

  "It happened in front of our hardware store," William said, looking pleased with himself. "I saw the whole thing."

  Hetta had a strong suspicion, confirmed by Ida's wink, that she'd accidentally run into William so she'd have an excuse to invite him in. Ida was always looking for chances to throw them together. She really was a wonderful friend.