Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  Emily’s small hand stroked his chest. She buried her fingers in his curly hair and teased his hard, flat nipples.

  “Keep that up, love, and you’ll be on your back again in a minute.”

  Emily sighed with pleasure. “Would that be so awful, Will?”

  Will’s hard kiss let her know exactly how awful he thought it would be.

  “But we still have to talk, darling,” he said when he finally managed to pry his lips from hers.

  He felt her take a deep breath, as though bracing herself for something unpleasant, and tried to forestall any further objections on her part.

  “Emily, my love, I’m a very rich man. I made my money honestly, by my own enterprise.”

  “Well, of course you did, Will. I never doubted it for a moment.”

  Emily sounded surprised he would even have to say such a thing, and Will chuckled. “When you learn more about me, love, you might not wonder about why I need you to know that.”

  “All right, Will.” Somehow it didn’t seem like the right moment for her to question him. A big yawn escaped her lips along with her compliance.

  “Of course, like most lucky fellows, I had help. I made my fortune by honest means and with the help of my best friend Thomas Crandall.”

  “That nice man we met in the restaurant?”

  “The same. Thomas and I started a business—here in San Francisco, as a matter of fact—about ten years ago. It’s been more successful than either one of us ever imagined it would be.”

  “You and Mr. Crandall . . .”

  Emily’s words trickled to a stop, and Will felt her stiffen at his side.

  “Mr. Crandall,” Emily whispered. “Mr. Crandall and Will Tate. Crandall and Tate.”

  Suddenly she sat up straight as a plumb line and pinned Will with a stare of absolute awe. “Crandall and Tate?”

  She was so damned lovely, looking at him like that. Will could only grin with appreciation for several seconds.

  “Yes,” he managed to say at last. He couldn’t stop his hand from lifting to cup one of her perfect breasts. “God, Emily, you’re so beautiful.”

  But Emily no longer heeded Will’s words of love. She was too busy being flabbergasted by his revelation. She did not, however, remove his hand.

  “Will Tate. You’re that Tate?”

  “Yes,” he said again. His voice was getting a little thick as Emily continued to present him with the luxurious display of her womanly charms. The red haze of his passion cleared slightly when she frowned.

  “But you said you have a spread in Texas.”

  Will was just honest enough to look guilty. “Well, I do,” he said. “But it’s not a ranch or anything, although I do have a majority share of three large ranches in the area. Basically, it’s a big estate I built for myself ‘cause I never had a home when I was a kid and I always wanted one. It can be our children’s inheritance, Emily, love. One that will mean even more because I built it up myself by the sweat of honest work.”

  It didn’t seem as though Emily heard him after the “not a ranch” part.

  “My God,” she whispered. “Crandall and Tate is the biggest importer in the West. One of the largest in the nation. Oh, Will.” Her expression held dazed incredulity.

  He wasn’t entirely sure whether being dazed was good or not under the circumstances, but he said, “Yes. So you see, helping your aunt and uncle isn’t a problem for me. I’ve got so much money, I’ll never be able to spend it all, even with their help. And it just keeps multiplying. That’s the funny thing about money.”

  There was a lull in the conversation. Eventually Emily said, “I’ve never been able to find anything at all funny about money, Will.”

  He couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed her by her supple waist and pulled her down so that she lay on him, breast to chest.

  “I can’t marry you, Will,” Emily told him sadly. “I can’t possibly allow you to waste your money on my family. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  But he was prepared for her this time. By now, he had been able to think up a perfect answer, fit to stifle any further protest on her part.

  “It’s too late, Emily.”

  “What?”

  Emily struggled to sit up again, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her captive in his arms, his warm hands stroking her back. His undisciplined male parts both appreciated and reacted strongly to the feel of her body wriggling against his.

  His soothing massage had its effect. Emily stopped struggling after only a very few of his long, gentle strokes. “I don’t understand, Will,” she whispered against his neck.

  “I’ve already got your uncle’s business on its way toward profitability. There’s no way to avoid it’s becoming a success now. I have a golden touch. Don’t know why. It’s a gift, I guess. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted your family to founder in poverty and lose everything. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have meddled.”

  His ridiculous statement brought on a fit of soft giggles, a result very much to Will’s liking. “Oh, Will, I do love you so awfully much.”

  “Good. Then if you can’t come up with any further objections to it, will you marry me, Emily, darling?”

  She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. Oh, she knew he was right: his interference for the good would save her uncle’s business. She was almost positive of it now.

  But that didn’t negate her own villainy. As she stared into his beautiful hazel eyes, Emily knew she could not refuse him again tonight, even though they would have to part at dawn. Instead, she kissed him. She kissed him soundly, and continued to kiss him until he was at her mercy. Then she kissed him some more, until she was at his mercy.

  By the time Will lifted her and pulled her down upon his aching body, they were so besotted with one other it took only a very few glorious minutes before they hurtled once again into the shattering ecstasy of completion.

  “I love you, Will,” Emily murmured after they both came back down to earth. She snuggled into the cradle of his arm to go to sleep. She had never even considered what sleeping in the arms of a man must be like before she met Will, but she liked it. A lot. Fancy enjoying falling asleep in a man’s armpit, she mused.

  His strong arms encircled her and his heart swelled with adoration. “And I love you, love,” he whispered.

  Then he guessed that was redundant. He chuckled with pleasure. Great God almighty, he was a happy man.

  Thus they drifted off to sleep.

  It was very late the next morning when Emily was awakened by the sound of a gentle tapping at her door.

  When her eyes fluttered open, she was delighted to find herself still encircled by Will’s strong arms. Her delight tumbled downhill into panic when she noticed the sunlight streaming through her window, illuminating the tiny dust motes hovering in the air. Oh, Lord, it was late; much later than she usually awoke. Not only that, but somebody was knocking on her door. She sat up, startled, and stared down at Will, who stirred sleepily as she jostled him.

  “Somebody’s at the door, Will,” she hissed.

  “Uh-oh.” With the quick reflexes borne of a youth spent on the lam, Will scrambled out from under the covers, grabbed his clothes and dove under the bed.

  Emily snatched up her robe in a hurry, looked at herself in the mirror, and decided her hair and face were both hopeless. After checking to make sure no sign of Will Tate still remained discernible, she went to the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, darling.” It was Gertrude. “Are you all right, Emily, dear? I know you were upset yesterday. And it’s so late in the morning, and you weren’t up yet, and I just wanted to know if you’re all right.”

  Emily cracked the door open and peeked out. “Oh, Aunt Gertrude, thank you. I—I guess I overslept.”

  “Oh, Emily, you look terrible!”

  Although she wasn’t sure she appreciated her aunt’s candor, with her beloved Will hiding under the bed, Emily was actually sort of glad she didn’t look well. Bes
ides, she was sure she would soon look worse. As soon as Will left her for the last time.

  “I—I guess I’m not feeling too well, Aunt. I think I’ll sleep a while longer.” Emily yawned and rubbed her eyes for effect.

  “I should go fetch you a tonic. You know, my darling, I really think you should reconsider your decision about not marrying that nice Mr. Blake if refusing him is going to make you this sick and unhappy.”

  Without waiting to hear her answer—which was just as well since Emily’s eyes suddenly filled with tears—Gertrude left. Presumably she went to fetch Emily’s tonic, although Emily suspected Gertrude would forget her errand before she got to the kitchen.

  Although she didn’t expect further interruptions, Emily took the precaution of locking her door before she tiptoed over to the bed and lifted the counterpane.

  “Will, darling.”

  “Is it safe?”

  In spite of her underlying misery, Emily was startled into a ripple of laughter when Will poked his head, a little fluffy from the dust it had picked up, out from under the bed.

  “It’s safe.”

  “Are you laughing at me, Emily von Plotz? Soon to be Emily Tate?”

  His show of mock grumpiness made heart squeeze. “Oh, Will,” she sighed.

  Will didn’t like the sound of that. “What is it, Emily darling?”

  She gazed at his face for a moment or two. Then she turned away resolutely. Clasping her hands to her breast, she said stolidly, “Please leave now, Will. I—I don’t want to keep you from your business.”

  “What?” Will stopped in the process of cramming a long leg into his trousers. “What did you say?”

  She whirled around and cried, “Oh, Will, please! Just go! Go away! Never come back! I can’t bear to love you so and to know you can never be mine!”

  Flinging herself on her bed, which groaned a loud protest, Emily succumbed to a violent fit of tears.

  Will stared at her, dumbfounded. “What the hell . . .?” Then he frowned. “God damn.” His violent curse got lost in the frenzy of Emily’s sobs.

  “Do you mean to say,” he said in a very controlled voice, “that you still refuse to marry me?”

  Emily could not speak. She only nodded, driving her nose into her pillow and nearly smothering herself.

  Will continued to stare at her miserable form for several more seconds. Then he muttered, “Well, hell and damnation. I can’t even believe this.”

  “I love you, damn it all to blazes,” Will hollered. Then he crammed his hat on his head, scanned the street below for policemen, and hastily climbed out the window and down the tree, taking most of its leaves and a good many small branches with him.

  Chapter 14

  “Dear Aunt Emily: My girl still says she won’t marry me. I even told her I don’t care that she don’t think she deserves me. It is making me mad and sad and I don’t know what to do. I think I need a drink. Signed, Texas Lonesome.”

  “Dear Texas Lonesome: I am more certain of this than I am of anything else in the world: Your young lady is too honorable to marry a man whom she feels she has deceived. Please forgive her. I know she is miserable. All my love, Aunt Emily. (And please, dear Texas Lonesome, do not take refuge in the bottle. Your loving Aunt Emily will never forgive herself if such a dire consequence should occur.)”

  # # #

  Once Emily finally stopped crying and came to grips with her appearance, she trudged wearily down the stairs. She had scrubbed her face until it glowed, and pressed a cold washcloth over her swollen eyelids to try to soothe them. Her lids were still puffy, though, and she decided she probably should ask Mrs. Blodgett if she had any cucumbers.

  She had read in a fashion magazine that both cucumber slices and mashed strawberries could be used to soothe swollen eyelids. The thought of wasting expensive strawberries on her eyes made her squirm. Cucumbers, on the other hand, grew by the million on the vines in Mrs. Blodgett’s tiny kitchen garden.

  Then she washed her hair, since there was no doing anything else with it, and had to wait until it dried before she managed to wrangle it into her favorite upswept do. She was more pleased than she expected to be with the result of her efforts. Unless one looked closely, the ravages of her terrible yesterday and today—before Will climbed through her window and after he climbed back out again—were almost invisible.

  She donned her prettiest day dress, a two-piece creation she had crafted herself from a pattern copied from McCalls. The fabric was a calico print, blue as bachelor’s buttons, purchased at her favorite cheap shop in Chinatown. On any normal day, she would have been pleased to have the blue of her eyes emphasized. Today, she didn’t even care.

  Although her emotional crisis had not allowed her to eat a single thing the day before, the thought of food still made her feel ill. Nevertheless, she knew she must keep up her strength. She might yet be the only hope her family had. It was her duty to stay alive, however bleak the prospect of another forty or so years without Will Tate seemed.

  “Lord, help me,” she whispered as she paused at the kitchen door. Then she drew a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  “Why, good day, Emily darling,” Mrs. Blodgett said. “Your aunt said you weren’t feeling well this morning, but you certainly look fit to me.”

  Emily kissed the woman’s kind old cheek. “I feel a little better now. Thank you, Mrs. Blodgett. I guess there’s a lot to be said for getting plenty of rest.”

  Mrs. Blodgett eyed her keenly. “Well, you just sit right down and I’ll fix you a big breakfast, Miss Emily. How about ham and potatoes and eggs?”

  Though the very mention of the succulent meal made Emily feel sick, she said, “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Blodgett,” and felt like a fool when she heard herself.

  Mrs. Blodgett gave her another curious look, but kept up a cheerful stream of chatter while she cooked. Emily wondered if she would have cooked for Will if they had married. She was a good cook, thanks to having to help Mrs. Blodgett. But Will would never know of her skill in the kitchen now. Emily wanted to rest her head in her arms and cry.

  Soon Mrs. Blodgett plopped a steaming plate before her and said, “It looks to me as though you’re lost in a fog this morning, my dear. Is everything all right?”

  Emily jerked to attention. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Blodgett.” She tried for a smile. “I guess I’m not quite feeling tip-top yet.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll be feeling more the thing after you eat, dear. I don’t think you ate a bite yesterday.”

  “No,” Emily sighed. “I don’t believe I did.”

  Mrs. Blodgett rattled a pan and frowned. “Now, Miss Emily, I don’t suppose it’s my place to say so, but I don’t know why you won’t have that nice Mr. Tate. Mr. Blodgett says he’s the nicest man. And he wants to marry you, dear. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s the reason you feel so poorly.”

  Emily had to dash a tear away. “Oh, I wish everybody would stop plaguing me about Will Tate!”

  “It’s only because we care about you, Miss Emily,” Mrs. Blodgett said, looking hurt.

  When Emily saw Mrs. Blodgett’s pinched face she repented her impetuous exclamation. “Oh, Mrs. Blodgett, I’m sorry. I—I’m not happy about it. You’re right.” She took another nibble of her potatoes Lyonnais. “But there are reasons I am unable to marry Mr. Tate, Mrs. Blodgett.”

  The housekeeper’s eyes widened. She pressed a wrinkled hand to her bosom. “Oh, dear, Emily. You don’t mean to tell me he’s a bounder?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Taking note of Mrs. Blodgett’s horrified expression, Emily said, “Oh, no, Mrs. Blodgett. Mr. Tate is a perfect gentleman. He’s—he’s—well—” she had to pause and blow her nose on her napkin. “—He’s a wonderful man.” She tucked her hands in her lap and stared mournfully at the half-eaten breakfast in front of her. “It is I who am to blame,” she whispered miserably.

  The housekeeper stared at Emily as if she’d lost her mind. “Miss Emily, I can’t believe that
for a minute. Not for a single minute.”

  “Nonetheless . . .” She couldn’t finish; neither her sentence nor her meal. She pushed her plate away with another sad sigh.

  “Well, there’s something fishy going on here, if you ask me. Mr. Blodgett says Mr. Tate is a true gentleman and I’ve never known Mr. Blodgett to be wrong in the forty-five years we’ve been married. And he thinks you—” She tapped Emily’s shoulder with her spatula. “—are a fine young lady.”

  Emily couldn’t find the heart to answer. The Blodgetts just didn’t know; that was all. She picked up one last potato with her fingers and realized she must really be in a state. She hadn’t eaten with her fingers since she was two years old. Sighing, she put it back on the plate, then snatched it back and flung it into her mouth.

  There. Sustenance. She felt as if she wanted to die.

  “Well, I wish you’d make up with Mr. Tate, Miss Emily. With him coming to call, I’ll wager your aunt wouldn’t be plagued by that awful Mr. Pickering so much. She’s in the parlor with him right now.” Mrs. Blodgett’s voice held a distinctly sour note.

  “He’s here now?” Suddenly alarmed, Emily forgot her miseries. A bitter misgiving began to gnaw at her almost-empty innards.

  “Oh, my, yes, miss. Mr. Blodgett told me he’s been with your aunt for a good hour or more.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Emily pushed her chair back from the table. “I’d better go in there and investigate. I don’t trust that man.”

  “Well, be careful, Miss Emily. Mr. Blodgett says the man is a villain.”

  “Mr. Blodgett,” said Emily with conviction, “is absolutely correct.”

  Emily forgot all about asking the cook for a cucumber. Giving up heartbreak for anger, she strode firmly away from the kitchen, down the ragged carpet to the parlor, and opened the door. The startled—and slightly guilty—expression on her aunt’s face when she entered the room did not escape Emily’s attention. Oh, Lord. Rather than launching a bitter attack on Pickering or, better still, stabbing him with her uncle’s letter opener, however, she forced a complacent look.