Lone Star Loving

by Martha Hix

  Her face went hot.

  She yanked herself as far back on the saddle as possible, away from his stock-still body.

  You silly ninny of a virgin. He probably would’ve liked for you to play with him. Gads, where did she get that idea? Weren’t women supposed to do nothing more than lie back and let the men do all the work? That was what Olga, last winter in Spain, had confided. Charity had a lot to learn about men. Men? The only man she wanted to please was Hawk.

  Right then he leaned forward in the saddle. Obviously his attention was captured elsewhere, and she damned the intrusion.

  “Trouble,” Hawk said. “Someone’s in trouble ahead.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charity craned her neck around Hawk, catching sight of a splendid carriage stopped along the roadway. Its front wheel had come loose, and the vehicle tilted toward a ditch. A statuesque lady, plumed and dressed in low-cut finery, stood with her arms crossed while she impatiently tapped a toe. Pacing up and down, a portly man gestured from the carriage toward Uvalde and back again.

  By now Charity and Hawk were within earshot. “How dare that yeoman abandon us! If I ever lay eyes on Smithers again, he’ll swing from a yardarm!”

  The lady motioned in the riders’ direction. “Look, Norman. Someone approaches.”

  “By Neptune, I hope they stop.” Norman cupped his hand at the side of his mouth. “Ahoy, there, mate–mates! Would you be of a mind to lend a hand?”

  Hawk slid from the saddle, helping Charity to her feet. The couple hurried to them.

  “What a sight for sore eyes.” The man extended a hand. “I am Norman Narramore of Galveston and this is my wife, Eleanor. And who might you be?”

  “I’m Charity McLoughlin,” Charity piped up. “And this is Hawk.”

  The lady offered a greeting to Charity before turning to her companion. “How nice to meet you, Mr. McLoughlin.”

  “I’m not Mr. McLoughlin.”

  “He’s just plain Hawk,” Charity explained. “He’s an Indian, you see, and his people don’t name . . .”

  Her words trailed off when she saw that the couple wasn’t listening to her explanation. The middle-aged gentleman was staring open-mouthed, eyeing Hawk as if in a whole new light. Eleanor Narramore–she must have been in her late for-ties–uttered, “My word, Mr. Hawk, you could have fooled me. You don’t look at all savage. Are you a half-breed by chance?”

  Hawk swung toward the carriage. “We’d better get that wheel fixed,” he said irritably.

  “Let’s do find some shade, dearie.” Eleanor Narramore dabbed her forehead with a lace handkerchief. “Let the men take care of the dirty work.”

  The two women retired to a prickly pear-dotted mesquite grove.

  With Norman Narramore barking orders, Hawk set about repairing the carriage wheel. Wah’Kon-Tah, he was peeved that the couple–or at least the wife—had instantly pinned him as white. He had taken to basking in Charity’s assessment of him as Indian. He had played the part of savage to the hilt.

  Charity.

  What was he going to do about Charity? She wanted him, probably not as much as he wanted her, but . . . how long could he hold her off? “You won’t at the rate you were talking.”

  “What did you say, mate?”

  “Nothing,” he replied to Narramore, then got back to his thoughts. Her confessions about Fierce Hawk had nearly knocked him off the back of that mare. All along he had known Charity would recognize his full name, but he’d never thought she’d been carrying a torch for Fierce Hawk.

  I am Fierce Hawk. my angel.

  Therein lay the problem.

  One of the problems.

  One of many problems.

  What was he going to do now? He must not wait for the Old One’s appearance in Uvalde. Once they reached town, Charity must know everything. Tonight would indeed be the night.

  For truth.

  Aggravated with himself and with the world in general, he turned to the blustering carriage owner. “By totem, don’t just stand there, man. If you’ve got a jack in this contraption, get it.”

  From a distance of fifty or more feet, Charity heard Hawk shout for a jack. He was certainly being testy. Probably because of their interrupted love-talk. If not for the carriage mishap, they would be ... Don’t be a ninny. Hawk might have warmed up a bit, but she realized he would have gone no further than bold talk–which dismayed her.

  If only she knew the art of seduction . . .

  “Sure you won’t have some lemonade?” asked the titian-haired Eleanor–she had told Charity to call her by her first name. She gestured to a wicker hamper. “It’s quite tasty.”

  “Maybe I will have a glass.”

  After Eleanor had handed one over, Charity murmured an “mmm” as the tart-sweet beverage slid down her throat. “I haven’t had anything this cool and savory since leaving home.”

  A perfect brow arched, as Eleanor’s assessing gaze swept over Charity’s travel-worn gingham. The woman carefully posed a question. “Where are you and your husband headed?”

  “He’s not my husband.” Charity saw no reason for subterfuge. And, she felt comfortable being in the company of a female; she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed Maria Sara. “We make for the port of Galveston.”

  “Aren’t you off route? You seem to be headed for Uvalde.”

  “A mere detour along the way.”

  Eleanor set her glass atop the closed hamper. “You’re a lovely young woman, and Hawk is a most handsome young man. Much more handsome than any Indian I have ever seen. But I find it peculiar, your alliance with one of his kind.”

  “Not so peculiar,” Charity assured her. “Hawk is as good as anyone in this whole wide world. As good, if not better.”

  “I meant no offense.”

  Charity studied Eleanor’s candid face. She supposed there’d be no harm in being truthful with the woman. “Actually, he holds me for ransom,” she confided.

  Shocked, Eleanor widened her eyes, her voice falling to a whisper. “Norman and I will help. But we must be clandestine in our efforts, else the Indian might . . . Redskins are capable of all sorts of depredations. Never fear, poor girl, we’ll get you to your loved ones.”

  “There is no need for that. I’ve chosen to go along with him. If I never see my family again, it would be too soon.”

  What did she really feel in her heart? To prove that she wasn’t a worthless McLoughlin, she had to make something of herself. First things first. She must do something about that smuggling business. Once she was safely in Europe, she intended to make enough money to hire a brilliant lawyer who would clear her name. The source of these funds? The Wild West show, of course. Papa wouldn’t be too impressed with her accomplishment. But Mutti would love the idea. Darn it, don’t be thinking about them!

  She glanced at Eleanor, who asked, “Are you sure Hawk is what you want?”

  “Yes. We’re going to be partners.” And a whole lot more, once she learned the secrets of lovemaking.

  “You’re a peculiar young woman.”

  Not getting an argument from Charity, Eleanor turned wary eyes toward Hawk, who was hammering at the wagon wheel. Ping, ping, ping. The sounds of his labors matched the beat of Charity’s heart as she took her own good look at him, seeing well-defined muscles working beneath glistening bronze skin.

  What was taking so long with that blasted wheel?

  Why do you ask. Ninny? He’s stalling so that he won’t have to listen to your silly prattle and have to suffer your inexperienced pawings.

  Oh well, she reasoned, maybe he was just holding back out of respect.

  Again she took a gander at Hawk. But this time she saw more than just his physical appeal. In her life she hadn’t had a lot of friends, not close ones. And she had never had a man friend. What was he to her, besides the object of her feminine desires? She and Hawk had worked together toward a common goal–getting free of Ian and Grande. They had talked; rather, he’d let Charity do most of the
talking, but he had begun to loosen up. What was he to her? A friend.

  From the distance she heard the faint sounds of Mr. Narramore giving orders to Hawk, who barked his replies. His back turned to the carriage owner, Hawk continued to hammer the wheel back into place.

  A gloved finger went to Eleanor’s upper lip. “Your Hawk doesn’t appear to be a man easily molded.”

  “He is quite stubborn. But I’m working on it.”

  “You must be quite in love.”

  Love? Hardly. Yet what about her fluttering heart and the weakness in her knees? That wasn’t love, was it? There was no denying, at least to herself, that Charity ached for his lovemaking. Apparently he, on the other hand, wasn’t aching for her.

  Charity chewed one side of her lower lip, then hoisted a brow at the lovely Eleanor. “How does a woman seduce a man?”

  The redhead nearly swallowed her tongue. “My, you are brash.”

  “Yes. And I’m in a hurry. I want to seduce Hawk. Tonight.” Charity finger-combed a pesky strand of long hair from her cheek. Once they reached town, her first stop would be a general store and its toiletry and dress sections. “I want to be his woman.”

  “Tell me, do you still have your virtue?” When Charity nodded in the affirmative, Eleanor said sadly, “Oh, my dear, do think twice before you give away such a precious prize.”

  “You sound much like my mother. Always, she drilled it into my head, as well as my sisters’, that we must keep ourselves pure for marriage.”

  “A wise woman, your mother.”

  “Is it wise, turning one’s back on one’s child?” Charity asked bitterly.

  “A mother’s love never dies. A woman can forget a man, she may shun all she has held dear, but she never forgets her child.”

  “I’d like to think that true.”

  “I speak the truth, believe me. I am a mother. I have two sons. Beau and Jeff. No matter what they do to worry Norman and me, we never stop loving them.”

  “Your sons are lucky boys.”

  “Men. Beau is twenty and eight. Jeff is two years his junior. But enough about them.” Eleanor smoothed the skirt of her silk dress. “A moment ago you spoke of home. Where is it?”

  “The back of that mare for now. Where do you live? Pardon me; your husband said Galveston.” Turning her regard to the sleek coach and its even sleeker repairman, she smiled and softened her tone. “Where are you traveling to?”

  “Kerrville. Norman has purchased a ranch there.”

  Charity assessed the portly gentleman who appeared the sort never to have touched a rope, much less a branding iron. “New to ranching?”

  “We are. Norman has spent his life as owner of a steamship line, and isn’t too keen on the idea, but I prevailed upon his good nature. Frankly, I’m tired of salty air and hurricanes,” Eleanor explained with a moue of distaste. “It’s the open range for us from here on out.”

  “Good luck with it.” Charity hesitated. “You say your husband owns a steamship company?”

  “Yes. The Narramore Line. We sail passengers back and forth to France.”

  Charity knew the firm provided luxurious accommodations; she had sailed on their liners thrice. “And he still owns it?” When Eleanor nodded, Charity asked, “Do you think he would hire me and Hawk in exchange for passage to France?”

  “No, no, no, no, no. We’re indebted to you. We stood under the broiling sun for hours”–to emphasize this last point, Eleanor mopped her brow–“and at least four parties traveled by without even acknowledging our dilemma.”

  “People can be callous.”

  “Can’t they, though? But you and your Indian brave didn’t leave us coughing in a dusty wake. Thus, Norman and I will be honored to compensate you for your kindness. How would two tickets from Galveston to Le Havre suit you? Complimentary, of course.”

  How did heaven suit her? Charity clapped her hands. If only Maria Sara knew how everything was turning out! Turning out? There was still the matter of provoking Hawk into her arms.

  Stopping to study her benefactress, Charity squared her shoulders. “Eleanor . . . will you or will you not impart to me the secrets of seduction?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  For days Hawk had been anxious to reach Uvalde, but now that he and Charity had arrived, he wasn’t so sure. It remained his task to explain things to her. What he had to say demanded the right time, the right moment. Tonight. There was still several hours of sunlight remaining.

  The Narramore carriage pulled into the Wayfarer Hotel’s porte cochere, and Hawk, pulling up the rear, reined in the mare before handing Charity to the street. Somehow unable to meet her eyes, he took a second look at the town that he had first passed through earlier in the month. With its peaceful, gracious airs and its mammoth oaks whose wide branches bowed heavily to the ground, Uvalde was atypical of this part of the state.

  “Well, we’re here,” Charity announced. “What next?”

  Hawk rested his palm on her shoulder. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. Meet me at the hotel?”

  “Of course,” she agreed.

  Hawk gauged her expression. From the look on her captivating oval face, from the unfulfilled passion in her blue, blue eyes, he knew he need not fear she would try to escape from him. If for no other reason than to appease her curiosity. Curiosity, hell. Her eyes had made a grand sweep over him, leaving little doubt in Hawk’s mind–she wanted to continue with what they had started atop that mare. As it had earlier that afternoon, Charity’s boldness and brazen passion worked against his steadfastness.

  That and . . . She’s been fantasizing about me for years. Damn, that made Hawk feel good. He felt a stirring in his groin, the second time that day. He felt even taller than his six-four. Probably, though, he should have put a stop to her confessions about Fierce Hawk. But her talk had so thrilled him, he had been unwilling, even unable. . .

  Wah’Kon-Tah, he was in a fix. Wanting her. Her wanting him. Lies and disguises. A powwow with Maisie McLoughlin. He had a feeling bad medicine was on the verge of raining down.

  Charity tilted her head to the side. “Tell me, Hawk, what sort of business are you about?”

  “Getting that mare taken care of, for one. I’ll take her to the livery stable, then send a telegram to Laredo. Let Blyer know where he can collect his mount. After that, I’m going straight to the sheriff’s office. Best let it be known Syllabub was abandoned. I won’t tempt a horse-thievery charge.”

  “Good idea.”

  She set off in the hotel’s direction, and Hawk went about his errands, renewing his acquaintance with the lawman who had traded him manacles for a set of dominoes.

  Next he made a stop at the local bathhouse. He wanted to be presentable when he confessed everything. He garbed himself in a checked shirt, leather vest, and denim trousers, then stopped at the general store to buy a pair of boots and an oyster-colored Stetson. He then made his way to the Wayfarer.

  He saw her through the hotel’s picture window. His exquisite angel. Charity, who’d fantasized about him for years.

  Waiting in the deserted lobby, she wore a new dress low in cut, blue in color. The shade brought out the turquoise hue of her big, black-lashed eyes. And her long sable hair was combed atop her head with fetching curls brushing her shoulders. His fingers tingled to loosen that mass and let it fall to her waist.

  Hawk found it difficult to breathe, so in thrall was he with her beauty, yet he forced his feet forward. . . toward his evening of reckoning.

  She rushed to meet him. “My, you look nice. But I must admit, I’ve grown rather fond of seeing you in your breechclout.” Her nose twitched. “You smell nice too. That’s herbal toilet water, isn’t it?”

  “I, uh”–he swallowed the peppermint that Sheriff Tom Ellis had offered him–“I’d better see about renting some rooms.”

  “Not to worry. I’ve taken care of everything.” Lifting her fingers, she dangled a sole key. “They had but two rooms vacant and the Narramores have taken
the other.”

  His eyes took in the lobby. “Place looks pretty empty to me.” Even the desk clerk was nowhere to be seen. “I’m sure an extra dollar or two would cause an extra room to turn up.”

  “No, no. I’ve already tried that. No luck.” She made a poor liar.

  “Then I’ll sleep outside.”

  “You will not.”

  From the determined lift of her chin to the adamant glint of her eyes, Charity McLoughlin was a woman of purpose. Looks like you’re in trouble, Hawk.

  He glanced through the window to the street outside. “Sun’s going down.” Damn, what was he going to do? His stomach growled. What he had to say might be made more palatable by a couple of full stomachs, his and hers. “Possibly Mr. and Mrs. Narramore would like to join us for dinner.”

  “Oh, no. They’re taking it in their room. Actually, I’ve ordered supper up as well.”

  “It’s going to waste.”

  “Now, Hawk. Maiz taught me it’s a sin to waste.”

  He grabbed Charity’s hand and led her out to the street, none too gently. Of course, she griped and complained, but Hawk remained determined; he got her to the nearest café–an establishment with little to recommend itself–sat her down, then smiled tightly. “What would you like for dinner?”

  Pouting, she sniffed. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t be like that. We need to talk, and a hotel room is no place for it.”

  The waiter approached. “Willkommen.”

  Bald and pot-bellied, he displayed a set of large teeth that showed signs of decay plus the leavings of food. Using a grayed towel, he wiped a couple of dead flies from the table into his hand. Though David Fierce Hawk’s upbringing didn’t lend itself to fastidiousness, he found the café positively unappetizing.