That impressed her most of all.
Most men like Owen were totally self-centered. They usually allied themselves with the strong, the rich, the beautiful, and the popular, with whom their mixture of looks and charm was most effective and where there was the most to gain. It was a shame his looks had ruined him for people like her.
She told herself not to be foolish. She had been ruined for people like Owen long before. She was plain, she had no money, and lived in the backside of Texas. She wanted nothing more than to settle on her ranch for the rest of her life.
Anyone could see that Owen was destined to live in a city, go to parties, dance with beautiful women, and marry someone rich and beautiful.
The sound of the front door opening scattered her thoughts. Ida was returning. She would feel more comfortable with a barrier against any kind of intimacy with Owen. Her relief fled when Owen walked into the parlor, still naked to the waist.
"Where's Myrl?" she asked, grabbing at straws.
"He doesn't dare go near water. There's nothing but dirt and dried sweat holding him together."
He looked at her, and a slow smile spread across his face. She was suddenly aware that she'd jumped to her feet when he entered the room. Now she stood clutching the bandages to her bosom as though they formed some kind of protective barrier. She was angry at him for laughing at her, but she couldn't blame him. She was behaving foolishly.
"I'm making you uncomfortable," Owen said.
"I'm not used to half-naked men, but if you stay with us much longer, I probably will be."
"I hope not. You blush delightfully. I'd hate for you to lose that innocence."
"I can't afford to be innocent. A woman alone--"
"You've told me. Do you know how to bandage cracked ribs?"
"No."
"Just do what I tell you."
"How do you know so much about it?"
"This isn't my first time. Wild steers don't like being rounded up. And when you brand them, they try to kill you."
"I know all about working cattle. Sit down. Tell me if I get the bandage too tight."
But the moment Owen sat down next to her, every feeling except acute awareness of his nearness fled.
"Turn your back to me," she said.
"Then I won't be able to see you blush when one of your fingers accidentally touches my skin."
She dropped her hands to her lap. "If you're going to make fun of me--"
"I like seeing you blush."
"Well, I don't like doing it. It makes me feel stupid."
"Why? Every young beauty I ever met keeps a blush as part of her arsenal of charms."
"I'm not a young beauty, and I have no intention of attempting to collect an arsenal of charms. I'd look foolish trying to employ them."
"No young woman looks foolish when she's being charming."
"I'm not charming, either. So I'd appreciate it if--"
Owen reached out, took her chin in his hand, and forced her to look at him. "Don't disparage yourself. You have character. That's important."
She removed his hand from her face. "You are a great beauty and you have no character. Look at which of us is the more successful." The look in his eyes stunned her. It was hurt. It was so unexpected, she hardly trusted her judgment. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that, but you upset me. I know what I look like."
"Does your stiff-necked fiance ever tell you you're beautiful?"
"William's not given to telling lies."
"Not even small, harmless ones for your sake?"
"I prefer the truth."
"No woman prefers the truth when it comes to how the man she loves sees her."
"I'm beginning to doubt you have any cracked ribs. You're too eager to tease me to be suffering."
His patently false anguished moan caused her to smile. "You are hopeless. If my father behaved as you do, I begin to see why women were always acting like idiots over him."
"Why do you say that?"
"You're not hurt, and I've been worried about you. You're telling me bald-faced lies, and I'm allowing you to sit in Ida's parlor without a shirt. Who else but an idiot would do that?"
"A woman in love."
"Since I'm not in love with you, that still doesn't answer my question."
"Well, put your dainty hands all over my body, and I'll try to think up an intriguing answer."
Hetta looked at the hands clenched in her lap. They had handled ropes, a plow, washed dishes, and scrubbed floors. How could he even suggest they were dainty?
They really weren't all that large. And the calluses had disappeared. They looked a little rough from so much hot, soapy water, but they were rather small for a woman of her size. Looked at in that light, a person might be able to consider them dainty. But putting them all over Owen's body was quite another matter.
"If you don't stop provoking me, I'll send you to Myrl."
"I promise to be more prim than a Puritan."
She nearly giggled. The notion of Owen as a Puritan was almost too much for her.
"I don't think you could stand the strain. How about just not talking?"
"I'll try, but only because I'm scared of you."
She did giggle, but she stifled it quickly. She knew it would just prompt him to say something else outrageous. She held one end of the folded strip and handed him the rest. He placed it across his chest and handed it to her on the other side. She placed it across the loose end and handed it to him again. They did this twice more.
"Is it tight enough?" she asked.
"Just right," he replied.
She fastened it with one of those new safety pins Ida had brought back from New Orleans. She'd just handed him the next bandage when the door opened and Ida and William walked into the parlor.
Chapter Ten
Why should William come to the house the one time when, though it was quite easy to explain the situation, it was impossible to make it appear innocent?
"You're just in time to inspect Hetta's handiwork," Owen said, apparently not the least bit upset by the situation.
"I heard you took Newt's stack apart brick by brick," William said. He favored Owen with an admiring look. "I wish I'd seen it."
"I don't approve of fighting," Ida said.
"I don't either," Owen said, "especially when it's my ribs getting broken."
"It's barbaric," Ida said.
"It depends on who's winning," Owen said, his good humor unimpaired.
"I can't believe you would be alone with him in his state of undress," Ida said to Hetta.
"I tried to get her to come to my room," Owen said, "but she refused."
"You didn't do any such thing," Hetta said, "so stop trying to make trouble."
"I tried to get Myrl to bandage me up," Owen admitted, "but he said he'd rather drink beer and talk over the fight at the saloon."
"A few cracked ribs is nothing compared to the condition Newt's in," William said.
"You will not admire him for brawling in the street," Ida said, every inch of her patrician nose in the air.
"I admire anyone who can beat Newt Howren," William said, giving Hetta an opportunity to be pleased that he had the backbone to stand up to Ida, "but Hetta should have sent you to a doctor."
"She tried," Owen said, "but I got used to doing without them during the war."
"Where did you fight?" William asked.
"In Virginia."
"Were you in any important battles?"
"William!" Ida exclaimed. "I will not stand here listening to you discuss battles. Uncle Fred sent us to get Daddy's records."
"Deeds," corrected William.
"I know nothing about business papers," Ida said irritably. She turned to Owen. "Since you appear to be thoroughly bandaged, I would suggest you retire to your room. I will need the parlor to look through Daddy's papers. Uncle Fred insists I pay attention to my business affairs." She sighed, still irritated. "It will probably take William weeks to make me understand the simplest things."
"I'll be happy to help," Owen said.
"I'm sure William can teach me all I need to know."
Hetta and Owen left the room together, his expression saying I told you so as clearly as if he'd spoken the words. She still had faith in William's constancy, in Ida's friendship. Ida really did hate business. She even let Hetta pay the bills, and it was obvious that William would have liked to hear more about the fight.
"Are you sure there's nothing else I can do for you?" Hetta asked Owen. "Of a medical nature," she added when she saw the beginning of an impish grin.
"Why don't I break in on them and get William thoroughly enthralled with stories of some of the biggest battles of the war?"
"Did you actually fight in any battles?" Owen was flirtatious, irreverent, and easygoing. It was hard to envision him as a hard-bitten soldier willing to kill anyone wearing the wrong uniform.
"Only the last year. Before that, I was part of a special mounted troop that carried out night raids on Union convoys, ammunition dumps, and payroll shipments."
"Is that where you met Mr. diViere?" She was sorry she'd mentioned the topic even before she'd finished saying his name. She didn't like the way Owen changed.
"That's the troop he betrayed. More than twenty men died."
She wanted to ask what had happened, but she still couldn't make herself believe that the man she'd met could have been responsible for so much horror.
"I'd better go," he said. "If Ida finds me here, she'll take it out on you."
"I don't know why she dislikes you so. She normally enjoys her lodgers."
"She's angry because I like you better than her."
He couldn't have said anything that would have shocked Hetta more. Nobody ever liked her more than Ida. Ida was a charming hostess and knew how to please men. It was absurd that anybody would like Hetta better.
"How can you say such a thing and expect me to believe it?"
Owen flashed one of those smiles she was sure he had practiced before a mirror until he achieved easy perfection. "Maybe because you don't believe anything I say, do your best to drive me away, and continue to prefer the company of that barely animated stick to me."
She had to smile. "You mean I've piqued your vanity."
"Something like that."
She was relieved. That was an explanation she could believe, because it was exactly how her father would have reacted.
"Then I will take great pleasure in continuing to turn my back on you," she said.
"Or maybe I like you because you're an interesting woman. I've never met anyone quite like you."
That answer scared Hetta. She didn't know how to handle a man like Owen liking her. It had never happened. She couldn't think of any reason why it should happen now.
"It's a good thing I don't believe anything you say. I could easily make a fool of myself."
"I doubt you'll ever do that, not even if you marry William."
"What do you have against William? And don't start on about him not being exciting or handsome or full of fancy words."
"That's pretty much it."
"It's pointless to discuss anything with you. You refuse to see any side but yours."
"You do the same thing."
"That's because I'm right."
She'd expected a spirited retort. Instead he smiled, a little wistfully, she thought. "Maybe you are. My cousin thinks I'm wrong all the time, too."
"I don't see how he can say that. Why, you ..." She didn't know what stopped her, his slow grin or the realization that she was about to defend him.
"Caught yourself before you said something good about me, didn't you?" He actually had the nerve to chuckle. "Careful. Next thing you know, you'll be trying to convince Ida I'm not a spy. Who knows where that could lead?"
"Even if I did feel obliged to defend you--and I don't think you're a spy--you'd soon make me so angry I wouldn't do it."
Owen put on his shirt. "I think I'll go back to the saloon. After this tongue-lashing I need to bask in a little bit of glory to heal my wounded spirit. Still, set the table for three," he said as he buttoned his short. "Ida will invite William to stay for dinner."
"He always eats with his parents."
"We'll see." All the bantering disappeared from his voice and expression. "Don't let him break your heart. He's not worth it."
Hetta stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe Owen was genuinely worried that William might hurt her. William was as dependable as the sun in the morning and the moon at night. But Owen was ephemeral, here one moment and gone the next, serious until you started to take him seriously, and then he'd start joking. He would defend an ex-soldier or fight a bully, then deny any concern for anybody at all.
It was impossible to believe anything he said, because he was so full of contradictions. Sometimes she could almost believe he did like her. He could be very convincing, but that was the stock in trade of a flirt.
No man was going to break her heart, not even William. She would cherish her husband, be faithful and loyal, support him in whatever he wanted to do, but she wouldn't give him her heart. She had no intention of suffering the same fate as her mother.
* * *
Hetta had never been so excited. Mr. diViere had paid her for the use of her ranch. She finally had enough money to start rebuilding her home. She had managed to talk William into going with her to the ranch to discuss what materials to buy.
"Are you certain you want to spend all your money on this place?" William asked as they surveyed the charred ruin.
"I'd rather spend it to purchase stock, but I've got to have somewhere to live."
"You can live with Ida."
"I can't run my ranch from Ida's house."
"You can't run it from anywhere as long as you don't have any stock."
"I'll buy some when Mr. diViere pays me again in a few months."
"I don't see why you can't stay with Ida."
"Because I don't want to be a servant."
"Ida doesn't think of you like that. You're the only real friend she has."
It was impossible to explain to William that she couldn't live in someone else's house as an equal.
"I appreciate everything she's done for me, but I can't wait to have my own home again."
"Do you mean live out here?"
"Of course. What did you think I meant?"
"I thought you meant you needed someplace to stay when you didn't want to drive back that night." William had insisted they use a buggy. He disapproved of a woman riding a horse.
"This is my home."
"It won't be after we're married."
This was the first time he'd mentioned marriage in weeks. She felt herself grow tense.
This was what she'd been waiting for since he had invited her to their first dance. It was practically the same as announcing their engagement. At least that was what women whispered to Hetta. She realized she'd fallen into believing what she'd been told. But did she really want to get married right now?
The mere fact that she would ask herself such a question shocked Hetta.
"We're not married yet." She avoided meeting his eyes. "Now tell me what I'll have to buy and how much it'll cost."
Hetta had always known William was a town person. Even in Texas, there was a difference between people who liked the comfort of living in a community and those who liked a little more breathing space. But she hadn't realized just how much of a difference it was until William started to criticize the way the two different parts of the house had been joined, the way it had been constructed, and the way it would have to be rebuilt. When he said it wouldn't be worth the cost for the tenth time, Hetta would have lost her temper if Tom Manly hadn't ridden up.
"What are you doing?" he asked her without getting down from his restless horse.
"Figuring out how much it'll cost to rebuild my house."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"So I can live in it."
"Mr. diViere is paying to use this p
lace. He doesn't want anybody living out here."
Hetta had never had much contact with Tom Manly, but she'd always considered him a pleasant person. He wasn't acting that way now.
"He didn't say that when he asked to use the place," Hetta said. "I wouldn't have let him have it if he had."
"This is no place for a woman," Tom said.
"I lived here until my mother died." The house had burned the same week. She had been relieved to have somewhere to go--the death of her mother and the destruction of the house coming so close together had made her feel especially vulnerable--but she'd been gone too long now. She needed the feeling of roots. She needed her own home.
"There's rustlers about," Tom said.
"You can protect me."
"Mr. diViere doesn't keep cows here all the time," Tom said. "He only uses it as a base for cows he's selling."
"Maybe you shouldn't move out here," William said.
"Rustlers are after cows," Hetta said, exasperated. "They're not interested in carrying off American women. They've got plenty of their own."
Tom clearly didn't mean to give up, but she couldn't understand why he cared what she did. He stayed in town or camped out when he had cows. It wasn't as if he'd been using the house. Tom became so insistent, she was on the verge of demanding to know the real reason behind his objections when he suddenly looked up and cussed. She squinted against the sun to see who was riding down the dusty, weed-choked track toward her house.
Owen.
She hadn't told him she'd finally received her money. She didn't like the change in him whenever she mentioned Mr. diViere.
Besides, she'd been uncomfortable around Owen ever since he said he liked her for herself. She didn't know how to take the things he said. She'd felt sure of her ground when she thought he was nothing but an insincere flatterer. But if he really did like her for herself, if he thought she was interesting, then maybe she'd had everything wrong from the beginning.
It was a puzzle she couldn't figure out, so she gave up trying. He would leave soon, and none of it would matter. In any case, she was certain he'd agree with William and Tom that she should stay with Ida. He would probably consider independence a character fault.
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