"What made you think I couldn't take care of myself?"
"No woman can take care of herself with a man like that. He's so good-looking it's easy to forget he's a spy."
"Good Lord, Ida, have some sense. The man is not a spy."
"You don't know," Ida said, reddening.
"As for Owen's harming me--"
"That's exactly what I mean!" Ida said triumphantly. "He's already got you calling him by his name."
"And he calls me Hetta, but that doesn't mean he's a danger to me, or I'm in danger of succumbing to his fatal attraction."
"What did William say about it? Was he angry? Possessive?"
Hetta appreciated Ida's efforts to throw her and William together, but she wished Ida would let well enough alone. Ida believed that William would talk to his parents sooner if he saw so much of Hetta, he couldn't wait to get married. Hetta wasn't so sure, even if his mother gave her blessing. William was as obsessed with his store as she was with the ranch. It would be a problem. "He was just as het up over it as you."
"Wonderful! I knew he would be as soon as he thought another man was interested in you."
Hetta laughed, but not in amusement. "Owen's not interested in me. He's just a flirt looking for a way to pass the time."
"Maybe, but women don't always do what's best when it comes to a man like that."
"Maybe other women don't, but I do."
"Good, but I'd rather you didn't socialize with my lodgers."
"I'm not socializing with him. He and Myrl happened to come by the ranch when I was there. He rode back with William and me because he was done for the day."
"It may be as you say--"
"It is as I say."
"--but people are going to think differently if they keep seeing you together."
"They've only seen me with him once, and then I was accompanied by William. If they think I'm that easily duped, they're going to think, like father, like daughter."
"I'm sure they won't. You're hardworking, practical, and sensible."
Hetta wondered why that description left her feeling as though she'd been insulted.
"Has William talked to his mother yet?" Ida asked.
"No."
"People are taking it for granted you're engaged."
"So Owen said."
"How would he know?"
"A flirt has to be aware of community feeling or he might find himself in danger."
"Well, he'll cause quite an uproar if his interest in you gets out."
"He's not interested in me."
"Maybe not, but he has shown you more attention than one would expect."
Hetta was certain that Owen wasn't interested in her. If he was, he had a peculiar way of showing it. Insulting her and accusing her of being in league with a rustler--he hadn't said that exactly, but it was what he'd implied--were not ways to her heart. But she supposed that really handsome men didn't have to work all that hard to get women to fall in love with them.
"I'll do my best to make sure I'm not alone with him again," Hetta said. "Whenever you decide to go to your uncle's for dinner, I'll tell him he has to eat in the restaurant."
"Good. Now I'll leave you alone so you can start dinner." Ida stood. "I hope we're having something good. I feel unusually hungry tonight."
Not even preparations for dinner could stop Hetta from wondering what Owen was doing in Pinto Junction. His desire to hang Laveau seemed genuine. His interest in rustling was sensible if he was really considering buying a ranch, but she couldn't help feeling that something was wrong.
And where did she fit into this picture? She had no illusions. Owen wasn't interested in her in any romantic sense, but he was showing an interest she couldn't explain. Was he flirting merely to pass the time or to make William jealous?
It was a shame he wasn't an honorable man. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so guilty about liking him in spite of herself.
Owen didn't know what to make of Hetta's attitude during dinner. He could have understood if she'd been angry with him because of his needling William, or if she'd refused to sit down to the table with him and Ida, but she acted as though nothing had happened. She said almost nothing.
"Uncle Fred told me this morning the rustling was beginning to have a serious effect on his business," Ida was saying. She had talked virtually nonstop all evening. "People can't raise much in the way of crops in this part of Texas, but they always had cows to sell when they needed extra cash. Uncle Fred says nobody needs to do any work to raise longhorns. They thrive where other animals die. Leave them alone and they'll keep right on multiplying. Then when you need some money, you go out and get yourself a few."
"That's work," Owen said.
"Uncle Fred says all you have to do is chase them in the direction of the tallow factories. You just have to follow to make sure nobody else claims them before you get your money."
Either Uncle Fred was telling his niece only what he thought a gently bred young woman should know about ranching, or he was a complete fool.
"Is that what you did?" Owen asked Hetta when she continued to eat her dinner in silence.
"No." She didn't amplify her answer.
"Of course Hetta didn't do anything like that," Ida said. "Texas men don't expect their women to have anything to do with cows. They're nasty, dangerous creatures. Uncle Fred says they'll attack a man just as readily as a wolf or a bear. Of course I've never seen a bear--or a wolf, either. Uncle Fred does have a bearskin rug in his office. Aunt Agatha hates it and won't enter the room--I think that's why Uncle Fred keeps it--but the teeth must be this big." She held her hands nearly a foot apart.
"I worked with a man from California," Owen said. "He said he saw a bull get into a fight with a bear. The bull was so torn up they had to shoot him, but he killed that bear."
Ida's eyes grew wide. "I've heard there's so much gold in California lying around to be picked up, a man can make himself a fortune in one afternoon. Uncle Fred has talked about going to California and opening a bank, but every time he mentions it, Aunt Agatha has one of her fits."
Owen knew Ida wasn't stupid, but she chattered and smiled at him so much he wondered briefly if she was trying to attract his attention. He ultimately decided that Ida was trying to protect Hetta from his wolfish advances. That caused him to smile. Hetta Gwynne was completely safe from him.
"You must tell me everything your friend said about California," Ida said, turning her biggest smile on Owen.
"Rafe doesn't talk much," Owen replied.
"Rafe. What an interesting name. Much more so than Fred or Ben or Tom."
"Or Owen," Owen added.
"Your name is rather ordinary."
"So is Ida," Hetta said, breaking her silence.
"It's no more so than Henrietta," Ida said, a tinge of spite in her voice.
Owen turned to Hetta.
"My father didn't want a girl. He wanted to name me Henry."
Owen wished Hetta's father had survived the war just so he could have had the pleasure of knocking some sense into his head. His mother had been monumentally selfish, but she'd been too interested in indulging herself to have any time to be cruel to her children. Patrick Gwynne had been sadistic as well as self-indulgent. It was a miracle Hetta wasn't bitter.
"I like Hetta," he said. "It suits you." Their conversation was disturbed by a knock at the front door.
"I'll go," Owen offered. "It's dangerous for a young woman to open the door at night."
"Hetta always answers the door," Ida said.
That was what Owen had expected, but he hadn't expected to see William when he opened the door. "What do you want?" Owen asked.
"That's for Miss Ida to ask, not you," William announced as he marched himself inside. "Where is she?"
"In the dining room."
William didn't wait for Owen to show him the way.
"Mr. Moody said he's got to see you right away," William said to Ida when he entered the dining room. "He sent me to fetch you."
Ida appeared more upset than either of them. "I wonder what he can want," she said. "I hope nothing's happened to Aunt Agatha." She stood.
"You shouldn't be left alone with this man," William said to Hetta. "You come along, too."
Ida immediately seconded William's invitation.
Hetta looked from William to Ida to Owen, then back to Ida again. "I've got the washing up to do," she said.
"But I can't leave you with him," Ida said.
"Why not?" She turned to Owen. "You won't attempt to take my virtue, will you?"
Chapter Seven
There were a lot of things in the world Owen didn't understand, but he did know women. "You know what's happening, don't you?" he said the minute the door closed behind William and Ida.
"I imagine her uncle wants some help with her aunt." Hetta rose and started to gather the plates.
"Sit down and listen to me," Owen said, but she continued to stand, undecided. "The dishes won't go anywhere. And if it's really a problem, I'll help."
"You!"
"I'm a lousy cook, so for four years I probably washed more dishes than you did."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"We didn't have servants on the battlefield. Now sit down."
She sank into her chair.
"Somebody doesn't want you to marry William, and I think it's Ida."
Hetta smiled and started to get up. "You're wrong. Ida wouldn't--"
Owen reached out, took her by the wrist. "Ida is a woman who's always had what she wants. If she decides she wants your fiance, she won't hesitate to go after him."
Hetta looked down at his hand on her wrist. He released her. She sat back down. "I trust Ida and William completely."
"You can never trust a man when a pretty woman sets her cap for him."
Hetta cast him a pitying smile. "Ida has been helping me with William. She got him to walk her home the other night so he could be with me. She sent him out to the ranch so we could be alone together."
"He should have come after you on his own."
"You can't understand a man like William. He has responsibilities--"
"I can't understand any man who thinks more of his store than the woman he's going to marry. No woman should be left alone with another woman's man." Hetta would have understood if she'd known his mother.
"Ida and I have been best friends all our lives. We look out for each other. Women do that, you know."
"Until a man comes between them."
Hetta was silent for a moment. "Ida was raised to believe that no one in Pinto Junction was good enough for her. I expect she'll move to San Antonio or Galveston when she's ready to look for a husband."
"She'll never leave. She's the queen here. She'd be just another attractive woman with a little money in San Antonio or Galveston. How long has she been getting William to escort her home?"
"She doesn't."
"He came home with her last night."
"She brought him here for me."
"Nonsense."
"She sent him out to the ranch to protect me from you."
"It gave her a reason to talk to him and look good in his eyes."
"Women aren't like men. They don't--"
"I know a lot more about women than you think. My mother made herself a whore to the whole county."
Hetta looked stunned. He didn't know whether she didn't believe him or couldn't believe he would tell her such a thing.
"I know what a beautiful woman can do when she wants something. I also know that even a man of strong principles doesn't stand a chance when she goes after him."
"I trust William," she said, but her voice was a mere thread.
"My father trusted my mother. Wives all around us trusted their husbands. My mother made fools of them all. Not a single man she set her sights on ever escaped her trap. She finally got the rich husband she wanted, but I don't know if she's faithful to him."
"I'm so sorry. If I'd known--"
Owen brought his balled-up fist down on the table so hard, the silverware rattled. "Can't you see what's in front of your face?"
"Ida Moody is the best friend I've ever had. I would never be so disloyal as to suspect her of trying to steal William."
"If this were poker, I'd say your pair was up against Ida's royal flush."
"I don't play cards. I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm saying Ida's got all the advantages. She's got money, her own house, a rich uncle, and she's pretty."
"Whereas I have no money, my house burned, I have no rich uncle, and I'm as plain as a stick."
"I agree with all but the plain-as-a-stick part. So you see--"
"Don't patronize me. I know what I look like."
"But you don't know how others see you."
"Yes, I do. I've heard the whispers for years. It's such a shame she didn't get her father's looks."
"So knowing your disadvantages, what are you going to do to protect yourself?"
It clearly did no good trying to explain to Owen that not all people were as unprincipled as his mother or as suspicious as he was. "What would you have me do?" It might be fun to learn what kind of strategy he would devise.
"I'd have gone with him and Ida, even if it meant I'd be doing dishes after midnight. Are you in love with him?"
She looked uncomfortable, began playing with her fork. "That's not a proper question for you to ask."
"Then don't tell me, but you've got to answer it for yourself."
"You know so much about women. Why don't you tell me?"
"I think you've always thought you were so unattractive, no man would want to marry you. You settled on William because you thought he probably felt the same way. He's probably a nice enough guy, but like all unattractive, dull men, he's susceptible to flattery--"
"I never flattered him."
"--and he found your interest in him very flattering. You've talked yourself into believing you're in love with him because he's precisely the kind of man you think you want for a husband."
"Has anyone ever told you you're rude, arrogant, and full of yourself?"
Owen laughed. "My cousin. All the time."
"I'd like to meet your cousin."
"You wouldn't like him. He's always sure he's right. And he usually is."
"I'm surprised you're not bosom friends."
"We disagree all the time."
"Well, you're wrong this time, too. Even if Ida were trying to steal William from me, which I'm certain she would never do, he wouldn't be so untrustworthy."
"Okay, have it your way." Owen stood and picked up his plate and glass.
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
"I don't understand you," she said, looking at him like she was trying to see behind some mask. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"
"I've already told you."
She picked up her plate and headed toward the kitchen. "I know what you said. Now I want the truth."
"You can't see through a woman you've known all you life, but you can see through me after less than two days."
She put her dishes in the sink before turning back to him. "My father was like you. He used his charm to distract people from looking closely at what he was doing, to persuade them to do things they didn't want to do."
"You don't like me at all, do you?"
"Whether or not I like you isn't the issue," she said as she brushed past him to return to the dining room. "We're talking about character, not charm."
Owen waited until she returned with Ida's dishes. "So you're saying I have a rotten character."
She put the dishes down before she faced him. "I'm saying you've used your looks and charm to get what you want. I might like you--one can't always control one'
s likes and dislikes--but I can't respect you."
Owen didn't like it when his cousin made him face the truth about himself. He didn't like Hetta doing it any better. An old demon raised its head, the demon that wanted to captivate Hetta just to prove her wrong. It didn't matter that he didn't want to seduce her, that he never wanted to get married. She'd attacked him, and his impulse to retaliate was strong.
That was what his mother would have done.
Which was why Owen didn't speak until he had himself under control.
"William is a dull man who will bore you to death inside of six months, but I hope he and Ida prove worthy of your faith. I even hope I don't turn out to be quite as black as you paint me. But in the event you're right, I think I'll head on over to the saloon and make a few objectionable friends. Maybe meeting someone as awful as myself will inspire me to reform."
"I didn't mean--"
"Don't worry. You haven't said half of what I've heard before."
He left before his good intentions melted away, before the smile on his face hurt so much it cracked.
Damn you, Ma. She doesn't even know me, and she can see you in me. Damn you to hell!
Hetta was so mad at Owen, she was tempted to follow him to the saloon. And do what? She'd told him he was wrong, so what was the point of telling him again? Still, she wanted to do something to him for forcing her to doubt William and Ida for even one second. And the later the hour grew, the harder it was to ignore his accusations.
There was nothing unusual about Ida needing an escort. William had escorted her a dozen times during the past year, along with other men, married and unmarried, and Hetta had never felt a twinge of doubt. Now she sat in the parlor, waiting impatiently, imagining any number of things she knew to be quite impossible.
All because of Owen Wheeler.
She couldn't understand how the arrival of one man less than two days ago could have affected her life so powerfully. She shouldn't talk to him several times a day or even be aware of him except at the table. She most certainly shouldn't have shared confidences. She couldn't imagine what had caused her to behave in such an uncharacteristic manner.
Owen was much more adroit, more clever than her father had been. He argued with her, criticized her and her friends, and still managed to make her think of him constantly. Maybe she couldn't blame it on him. Maybe--probably--much of the fault lay with herself. She had allowed her common sense to be seduced by the appearance he gave of genuine interest. She kept forgetting he probably thought of her as a piece of furniture, there to make use of, though the next piece of furniture would do just as well. There was no reason to remember furniture.
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