Was Hetta pressing him to get his mother to announce their engagement?
It was an open secret that William had been afraid to approach her. Myrl said that was probably why Hetta had given up on him and turned to Owen.
Owen had been convinced that Hetta had given up on William because she'd realized she didn't love him. But now he couldn't help wondering. Hetta had her house, her ranch, her independence. She didn't need Owen anymore. Could she be turning back to William? Marrying him would secure her future, both financially and socially.
It was exactly what his mother would have done.
But Hetta wasn't like his mother. He didn't know what she was doing, but it had to be something else.
Then Hetta kissed William, and Owen felt sick to his stomach. How could she do that if she didn't like him? He tried to convince himself he'd misinterpreted her actions. But it wasn't easy to remain convinced when Hetta hooked her arm in William's, turned him around, and started back to the dance floor looking immensely pleased with herself. She leaned on him, smiled, even laughed as she talked earnestly to him. She presented the general impression of a woman who'd just secured a happy future for herself.
Owen knew the sensible thing to do was turn around and ride straight out of town, but no one in his family had ever been sensible. They'd responded to events around them like a weather vane, turning whichever way the wind blew. He had to confront Hetta with her treachery before he turned his back on her forever. She had caused him to let down his defenses long enough to glimpse a dream. Now she'd closed the door with a sharp bang. He had to know why.
He didn't need an explanation of why Hetta pushed William in Ida's direction the moment they reached the dance floor. Ida had been her general. Who better to help her celebrate her victory? He approached Hetta and spun her around to face him. Only then did he see she'd made herself up to look like someone he didn't know. Her appearance reminded him so much of his mother, he could practically visualize her in Hetta's place.
"What did you say?" Hetta demanded, her face reflecting disbelief.
"Why did you paint yourself like a strumpet?"
"I didn't paint myself. As for looking like a strumpet, I've never seen one, so I'll have to rely on your expertise to judge."
"You did it for him," he said, not even bothering to indicate William. "You needn't bother denying it. I saw you."
"I don't know what you saw, but--"
"I saw you kiss him, your arm linked in his."
"Good Lord, is that all you're upset about?"
"It was a very clever strategy. It took courage. I don't know of another woman except my mother who could have brought it off."
Hetta's expression hardened. "Exactly what strategy did I pull off so brilliantly?"
"Everybody knew William was afraid to tackle his mother about the engagement. You used me to bring him up to the mark. In the meantime, you got me to brand your cattle and build your house. Now that you don't need me anymore, you've got your hooks back into William." He took her face in his hands and pressed his thumbs against her deep red lips. Then he slowly pulled his thumbs down to smear the lipstick across her cheek. "Why did you do this to yourself? You were perfect just like you were."
Hetta knocked his hands aside. "Apparently I wasn't perfect enough, or I would have snared William the first time."
She looked furious. But he got the feeling she was even more hurt than angry.
"A woman has to reach down into her arsenal for anything she can use to catch her man. Your mama should have taught you that." She practically spat the words at him.
"If you were my woman, I'd never let you out of the house looking like that."
"Why? Would you be afraid I'd go looking for someone better looking and richer?"
That was exactly what he'd be thinking.
"I'll never be your woman. But if I were, I'd step out of the house dressed any way I wanted. But just for your information, if I ever did agree to be your woman, I'd be your woman forever. Once I make a promise, I keep it. And once I believe in a person, I don't change my mind because of something somebody else did years ago."
"It's not just my mother. It's all the women I've known."
"Then you should keep better company."
"They couldn't help themselves, but I thought you were different."
"Am I so plain and ordinary I have to be different from every other woman?"
"I liked you the way you were."
"Well, I didn't. I'm tired of being the ugliest woman in the room."
"I won't let you do this to yourself."
Hetta looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You won't let me?"
He was getting this all wrong. All he wanted to do was tell her she didn't have to change herself, that he'd always liked her, had always been attracted to her. "I keep my promises, too, and there's one I've ignored for too long."
She seemed to go still. "Is this your way of saying goodbye?" She gestured at the lipstick he'd smeared across her cheeks.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"What I shouldn't have done, Owen Wheeler, was think a fancy man like you could turn into a decent human being. I should have realized that with your looks and money and women falling over themselves to please you, you'd never have a real interest in someone like me. I was just a challenge for you. It must have been fun to try to convince me a man could find me attractive. Well, congratulations, you did it. Only I went a step too far, didn't I? I started to believe I was attractive. But that wasn't what you wanted. You wanted me needing you so I could believe in myself. You wanted me to depend on you so much I'd do anything you wanted. You even paid for my house so I'd feel obliged to you. Well, it won't work. I'm grateful for what you've done, for me and for the ranch. I can't repay you for helping to rebuild my self-confidence, but I can and will pay you for your work at the ranch and on the house."
"I don't want your damned money!"
"Now you'd better go. I'm sure your promises are weighing heavily on your conscience. I'll be staying in town tonight. That will give you time to leave the ranch before I return."
He couldn't let her go like this, thinking she had to paint herself or buy expensive gowns to be attractive, that she had to have a pretty face or nothing else mattered. What she was inside had transformed what she thought was an ordinary face into something special, something unique, something that reached out to him as sheer beauty never had.
He stretched out a hand to bring her back, but someone knocked his arm away.
"Let her go."
It was Myrl. He looked stone cold sober. And angry. And just behind him Ben approached, an equally angry expression on his face. That was when Owen saw at least a dozen people staring at him, their expressions ranging from curious to bewildered to angry.
"I was just trying to convince her she didn't need to paint herself to be attractive."
"And you think telling her she needs you to control her was the way to do that?" Myrl said.
"I don't want to control her."
"Yes, you do," Ben said. "You want to control everybody around you. You did something for me I couldn't have done for myself. I'll always be grateful, but you expected us to pretty much abandon our lives and do what you wanted."
"You told us to be part of the rustler's patrol, and we did it," Myrl said. "I even stopped drinking."
"You told us to help build Hetta's house, and we did it," Ben said. "We stayed at the ranch when you wanted, slept in town when you wanted. You forced Hetta to let you brand her cows. You built her a house she didn't want. Now you want to tell her how to dress."
"Who convinced her she didn't love William, that she shouldn't marry him?" Myrl asked.
"I won't apologize for that."
"Nobody's asking you to," Ben said. "Our lives were out of shape. You came along and bent them back into shape, but you're not responsible for us anymore."
Owen had never felt responsible for them but nor did he feel they were a burden. He'd finally b
een able to do something for someone other than himself, finally begun to think of someone other than himself, and here it was being thrown back in his face.
"I didn't do anything expecting gratitude."
"We know that. We wouldn't have said anything if you hadn't said what you did to Hetta."
They didn't understand. It was different with Hetta. Ben just needed time for his injury to heal. Myrl just needed a job, but Hetta had been about to do something that would have ruined her life.
"What did you expect me to do? She's going back to William." Owen pointed to where William and Ida were talking excitedly. "She told him to give the good news to Ida. I expect they're already planning the wedding."
Ben turned to where Hetta had disappeared. "I don't think you're reading this one right," Ben said.
"There's one thing I'm reading right," Owen said. "She told me to be gone before she gets back to the ranch."
Owen turned away. Without thinking, he found his feet carrying him in the direction Hetta had gone. The moment he realized what he was doing, he stopped. There was no point in following her. They'd said all there was to say. He should have left after they'd finished the branding.
He'd told her he'd leave when he took her steers north to market, but somehow he'd taken it for granted he would return. He would have to pay her, help her decide whether to buy extra cows, make sure she wasn't being hit by rustlers. He'd hadn't accepted that there had to be a final break. He had started thinking she belonged in his life.
Yet the break had come, and he'd be a fool not to recognize it. It wasn't the way he'd imagined, but maybe it was best. It was sharp and painful. There could be no question about coming back to help her. When he rode out tomorrow, it would be final. He turned and headed to the hotel to collect his horse and saddlebags.
It was like walking into a head wind. He had to fight his feet to make them move. His body wanted something his mind knew he couldn't have. She didn't want him and had told him so. She'd told him so many times before.
It was time he believed her.
* * *
Hetta's eyes were so filled with tears, she couldn't tell where she was going as she left the dance hall. How could she have been so foolish as to let herself fall in love with Owen? She had known from the first what he was like. But he'd behaved so differently from her father, she'd decided he was an exception.
New rule: There are no exceptions. No, it was an old rule. She'd just forgotten it.
What could have made her think a man like Owen would marry anyone like her or settle down if he did? When she'd broken off with William, she'd even decided she didn't want to be married. She couldn't imagine what had caused everything to change.
That wasn't true. There was something wonderful about being in love. Days were sunnier. Problems weren't nearly so difficult to solve or hard to face. And no matter what happened, there was the feeling that everything would turn out right in the end.
Which was an object lesson. When things seemed to be going too well, they probably were. Any sensible woman would have been looking over her shoulder, watching for signs of the approaching disaster.
She hadn't, and it had caught her unaware.
Laveau diViere kept to the shadows, his curses silent on moving lips. What in hell was Owen Wheeler doing in Pinto Junction? The man should have been a hundred miles to the north living like a fat, lazy bastard on a ranch he'd helped his cousin steal from Laveau. He cursed again. He'd spent a year trying to get over the humiliation of having to jump through a window to keep from being captured by Cade Wheeler. He knew they'd try to hang him if they got their hands on him, but he'd spent the last year building contacts with the Union troops. By bribing the men of an army troop to go around with him to back up his story, he'd been able to convince people in towns like Pinto Junction that he could protect them from the army and rustlers alike.
They didn't know the army wasn't anxious to travel very far from the coast, but he did. That suited his plans well. He'd used Hetta Gwynne's ranch, along with two others, as holding stations for cattle he rustled farther north. He'd been furious when he heard Tom Manly had been killed and the town had started a rustler patrol.
He breathed a sigh of relief when Hetta walked away from Owen. Maybe he could salvage the situation yet. He followed her and caught up.
"Miss Gwynne."
Hetta slowed down but didn't stop. The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it. She attempted to dry her eyes.
"Miss Gwynne."
Hetta turned to see the handsome face of Mr. Laveau diViere staring back at her. Surprise momentarily kept her silent.
"Don't you remember me?" he asked.
"Yes. I just hadn't expected to see you."
"Business has kept me away. Why are you leaving the dance?"
"I have a headache. I thought a little quiet might help it go away."
"I'll accompany you. We have things to talk about."
Hetta didn't feel entirely comfortable with diViere accompanying her, but she didn't have a reason to refuse.
"You did get my payment, didn't you?" he asked.
"Yes. Thank you."
"It's about time for another one."
"You haven't used my ranch for months."
"I leased the right to use it. That means I have to pay you even if I don't use it."
Hetta didn't know why that made her uneasy. It was a perfectly good business concept. She guessed she was letting what Owen had told her about diViere influence her thinking. It made her skin crawl to think she was alone with a man who could cold-bloodedly betray his friends.
"This isn't a very good time," she said.
"I promise I won't take long."
"Then we can talk here."
"I never discuss business in public," diViere said. "I'll feel much better in your parlor."
She gave in gracefully. DiViere was very careful to observe the proprieties. He waited outside until she had lighted the lamps.
"Now what do you want to discuss?" she asked when he'd seated himself.
"I noticed you were talking to Owen Wheeler."
"I didn't see you at the dance."
"I had just arrived, but I overheard some of what you were saying. You're wise to tell him to leave."
Hetta controlled her impulse to defend Owen. "Do you know him?"
"Not well, but he doesn't have a good reputation."
"What has he done?"
"He's something of a lady's man. He picks out a victim and charms her out of her good sense. I've heard it said he always manages to walk away with a fat wallet."
"How could he do that?"
"Maybe the families of these impressionable young women pay him to leave."
She didn't doubt that Owen would attempt to dazzle any attractive female he met, but she couldn't imagine him taking money. DiViere was up to something, and she wanted to know what it was.
"He may have a poor character, but I need his help at the ranch."
"I'm willing to continue our relationship. Isn't that help enough?"
"I still need to rebuild my ranch. You won't always want to use my land, and I have to be able to support myself."
"Surely you can find more dependable men."
"Owen Wheeler is the best worker I've ever had."
DiViere looked thoughtful, as if he was trying to make up his mind what to say next.
"Have you thought that he might have an ulterior motive?"
"What?"
"He could be establishing one kind of character to act as a cover for what he is really doing."
She forced herself to laugh. "He tried to pass himself off as a gambler when he came here, even a gunman, but it didn't work."
"Why?"
"He rescued an old cowhand from drinking himself to death, gave a handicapped ex-soldier a chance to prove he could still do a good day's work, and helped a woman with no self-respect realize she was worth something after all."
"That's exactly what I meant, building a ch
aracter to cover what he is really doing."
"What could that be?"
"Rustling. I'm told hundreds of steers have been stolen in the last two months. More than before he arrived."
Owen was right. DiViere was a liar. "I don't know who told you that," she said with as much wide-eyed wonder as she could muster. "Owen organized a rustler watch a month ago. We haven't had more than a dozen head go missing since."
DiViere's smile was slow and showed no trace of chagrin. "An all-around good Samaritan. I appear to have underestimated Owen."
"War does change people, though not always for the better."
She thought she detected a tightening of his expression, a flash of some strong, violent emotion.
"Do you mean something in particular by that?"
A little voice told her to shut up, but a rebellious streak told her she ought to stand up to him. She'd been running from things all her life. This was her chance to decide just how much of a stake she wanted to have in her community. She could stand up for what she thought was right, or she could turn her head and let someone else do it.
The way the people of Pinto Junction had done before Owen arrived.
"Owen says you're behind the rustling, that he followed you from San Antonio. He says you wanted my ranch to hold stolen cattle until you could drive them to Mexico."
"Is that all your very opinionated friend said?"
"That's all that affects me."
"And do you believe him?"
"That depends on what you tell me."
"I assume he told you I betrayed his troop."
She nodded in assent. She was surprised when he started laughing very softly, so softly it was almost sinister. "It's a real shame he and his cousin weren't killed when their troop was ambushed."
What kind of man was diViere to be able to laugh and wish men dead at the same time?
"If the fool had gone in like I told him, no one would have escaped. But he couldn't possibly take advice from a traitorous Johnny Reb. I drank a toast when I heard he'd been killed."
Hetta had thought her father was evil, but now she realized Owen was right when he said Patrick Gwynne had been just mean and jealous. DiViere was evil.
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