To Kiss a Texan

by Jodi Thomas

‘‘Allie,’’ he said, knowing she’d heard him come into the room.

  She didn’t turn around. ‘‘We’re leaving, aren’t we? Even in the rain.’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’ He moved behind her, standing close enough to feel her warmth without touching her.

  ‘‘Do we go to look for your treasure among the ghosts?’’ She stared into the gray morning.

  ‘‘No.’’ He lightly touched her shoulder. When she didn’t pull away, he allowed his hand to rest. ‘‘We have to take Hardy to a safe place. He thinks Michael will kill him if Michael finds him wounded. Hardy wants to go back to Victoria’s place.’’

  ‘‘But what about your treasure? You need the gold to buy cattle for your ranch.’’ She leaned slightly, brushing her shoulders against his chest. ‘‘I heard you tell your friend that it would be your one chance to start over.’’

  ‘‘It can wait,’’ Wes lied. He knew if he stopped now, he’d never make it back. He also knew she didn’t want him to bother the ghosts at Goliad. Victoria must frighten her more than any ghosts.

  She turned and placed her arms around his neck. ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she whispered. ‘‘You must change your plan.’’

  Wes had expected her to balk at the thought of going back to Victoria’s, but instead, she understood. She knew what he was giving up because of Hardy and her.

  ‘‘It’s all right. I’ll find another way.’’ He pulled her close, wishing he could tell her all of how he felt. He’d always been alone, worrying about himself. Now he had her. It felt good to worry about someone else for a change.

  ‘‘We’ll take the sheriff to my grandmother, but then we must leave for Goliad. We will not stay at the headquarters.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ Wes started.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she answered. ‘‘If it hadn’t been for me, you’d already have been to the gold. I will go with you to look. I will help you fight the ghosts.’’

  ‘‘No, forget it.’’

  ‘‘I will not,’’ she said the words as though ending the discussion.

  For the first time, he saw a stubbornness in the set of her jaw. Maybe because she didn’t talk much; maybe because she was so tiny, he’d always thought of her as a little bit childlike. But she’d understood his loss of a dream. There was nothing childlike in the way she faced him, or the way she’d felt last night.

  ‘‘We’ll talk of it later. Right now, we need to get started if we plan to reach Victoria’s place by midnight.’’ He looked into her wonderful blue eyes. There was so much to her, the blue seemed endless. The more he learned and understood her, the more he cared.

  Without thinking of how little time they had, he lowered his head and kissed her tenderly. The taste of her lips could easily become addictive.

  She accepted his kiss willingly, wanting a moment’s warmth before the long ride ahead.

  When the kiss ended, Wes hesitated.

  His hands rested at her waist, but he didn’t pull her closer. ‘‘About last night.’’ Slowly his hand moved up the front of her dress. ‘‘Why did you put my hand . . . here?’’ His fingers slid over the material covering her breast.

  All she had to do was move and his slight touch would be gone. But she didn’t even breath. ‘‘I . . .’’

  His hand gently covered her, warming the skin beneath the cloth.

  ‘‘I wanted to see if it hurt.’’ She fought to catch her breath as he continued touching, pressing enough for her to feel.

  ‘‘And does it?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ she answered.

  ‘‘All you have to do, Allie, is step away,’’ he whispered against her ear. ‘‘I’m not holding you, only touching you.’’

  She didn’t move.

  Wes kissed her cheek lightly as he crossed to the center of her dress and began to loosen the buttons.

  ‘‘Step away,’’ he said against her ear, ‘‘and I won’t follow.’’

  The buttons tumbled open easily to his touch. He knew there was no time, but he couldn’t stop. The memory from the night was too strong.

  ‘‘All you have to do is back up, and what’s happening now will be over between us without another word being said. I’ll never touch you again.’’

  She closed her eyes and tried to stand still as he pulled the material away.

  ‘‘But I want you to feel my touch when I’m awake. I want you to know that I’m here, whenever you want.’’

  His fingers gently lifted her lace strap and pushed it from her shoulder. Then, very slowly, he placed his hand at the base of her throat and lowered his fingers over her flesh.

  Allie leaned her head back and let the feel of his hand caress her. She steeled herself for the pain as he explored lower, cupping her breast in his grip. But none came. Only the warmth of his touch.

  His free hand gently braced her back as his mouth covered hers. His kiss was hungry, hurried, his touch tender, hesitant. Sensations exploded inside her, shaking her body with the force.

  He broke the kiss and stepped back suddenly. ‘‘Are you all right?’’ His brow wrinkled in worry.

  Allie staggered forward from the sudden loss of his nearness. ‘‘I think so.’’ She placed her hand on his chest, steadying herself. ‘‘I never felt anything like that before. My whole body had a fire running through it.’’

  Wes relaxed. ‘‘I thought I’d hurt you.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ she answered, thinking she’d like to ask him to do it again but unsure she should. She wished there were someone, anyone but Wes, to ask if what he’d just done was right. She knew what the men had done before was wrong. It hurt her, and they made sure no one else saw them. But when Wes touched her, there was no pain, only the warmth. And he’d offered to repeat the action any time as though he were giving her a gift.

  ‘‘Is it right, for a man to touch a woman so?’’ She pulled her dress together.

  ‘‘It’s right for a husband to touch a wife as I touched you,’’ Wes answered.

  ‘‘Then you will touch me so again, tonight?’’ She passed him and headed for the door. ‘‘Is this also done only when we are alone?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  She reached for the door. ‘‘Until we are alone tonight.’’ She vanished before he could answer.

  Wes braced against the window frame, reminding himself he was her husband in name only. Only to protect her. Only until she found a home. Only til she was out of harm’s way.

  But if he touched her again tonight, he’d be her husband in more than name.

  He told himself he didn’t want a wife. He didn’t need a wife . . . he could barely feed himself. But from the looks of things, the only one who would stop him was himself. Wes wasn’t sure he was strong enough to fight that battle alone.

  He was still trying to decide what to do ten hours later as he neared Victoria Catlin’s ranch. He’d noticed riders following them a few hours back, but they hadn’t drawn closer. If Allie or Jason could have driven the wagon, Wes would have ridden back to take a look. But Allie had her hands full trying to keep the sheriff settled. The old man was well into his second bottle of whiskey by nightfall. The team was too inexperienced for Jason to handle, but the boy was quick to jump out and help guide when the road was muddy.

  By the time they were well onto Catlin land, the men following had disappeared. Wes thought maybe they’d just been going in the same direction, but, with his luck, that was doubtful.

  When they sighted the ranch headquarters, it was near midnight. No light shone from the fortress, and Wes wondered if they hadn’t made a mistake returning. How safe could they be at a headquarters that didn’t post a guard at night?

  They reached the gate with still no sign of life from inside the wall.

  Wes handed Jason the reins and climbed down. The horses were too tired to walk, much less run, so the boy could handle them.

  Walking up to the small door on the side of the huge gate, Wes pounded. Once. Twice. No one came.

  With a shove he forced o
pen the door that had been locked but not barred. Inside the compound, the night was black. Shadows closed upon shadows, making the blackness complete.

  ‘‘Hello!’’ he yelled. ‘‘Gideon! Hello!’’

  A light flickered on from the second floor, then another in the servants’ quarters. Footsteps echoed. A door opened somewhere in the blackness.

  ‘‘Gideon, it’s Wes McLain. I brought Sheriff Hardy. He’s wounded.’’ Wes waited for an answer.

  In the inky blackness, he thought he heard someone tapping down the stairs with a cane.

  ‘‘Mr. McLain?’’ A whispered voice drifted around him.

  Wes reached for his gun then paused. The voice was only a few feet away.

  ‘‘Miss Victoria?’’

  The soft sound of aging laughter drifted to him. ‘‘You can’t see me? But I can hear your breathing as loud as a drum.’’

  ‘‘Where are you?’’ Wes asked in the general direction of the voice. ‘‘It’s black as midnight out here.’’

  ‘‘It’s always black midnight to me.’’ A thin hand touched his sleeve. ‘‘Will you take me to Maxwell? I heard you say he was wounded.’’

  Wes helped her through the door. As they walked to the wagon, he tried to explain what had happened.

  Victoria held up her hand. ‘‘I wish to touch his chest first.’’

  Allie took the woman’s withered hand and placed it over Maxwell’s heart. ‘‘He’s still alive.’’ Allie knew the blind woman was testing to make sure.

  Victoria smiled as she felt a heartbeat then moved her hands to his face. ‘‘He’s burning up with fever and long past drunk, from the smell of him. Gideon!’’

  The stout man appeared at the door, still trying to dress himself. ‘‘I’m here, Miss Victoria,’’ he mumbled.

  ‘‘Of course you are. I heard you coming from the time your feet hit the floor by your bed. Now, unlock the gate. Send a man to town for that quack who calls himself a doctor, and order him to bring plenty of medicine. And tell Katherine to get the study ready to use as a sickroom. Maxwell will be easier to take care of on the first floor.’’

  Gideon looked flustered. ‘‘All at once?’’

  ‘‘All at once and right now! I’ve no time to waste being questioned or repeating myself. This is Maxwell Hardy we have here.’’

  Wes almost laughed out loud. Blind and old, she was still quite a woman.

  ‘‘And you, Mr. McLain, pull the wagon carefully to the main door.’’ She grabbed Maxwell’s hand. ‘‘And don’t you worry, Sheriff, I’m not turning loose of you until I see you cared for.’’

  The place turned into an ant bed of activity. Gideon was shouting orders and pushing everyone who got near him to hurry them along. Torches and lanterns were everywhere, lighting the courtyard and the steps bright as day. Only the wagon moved slowly to the door with Victoria Catlin walking beside it.

  Wes lifted Maxwell from the wagon with Jason holding his leg straight out. The sheriff moaned in pain, but he was drowned out by Victoria’s rapid fire of endless orders.

  They were halfway up the steps when Katherine appeared before them, blocking the doorway like an aging Amazon warrior.

  ‘‘These are the people who—’’

  Victoria’s cane struck her, none too accidentally, midthigh. ‘‘Hush, Katherine and get out of the way. I know who these people are, but all that concerns me right now is that Maxwell is hurt. Now you can help or remove yourself from the area. I don’t care which.’’

  Katherine took one look at the sheriff’s blood-covered leg and ran for the stairs.

  Victoria walked into her house without using the cane. ‘‘Put him in the first room, Mr. McLain. And be careful when you pass through the door.’’

  As Allie followed, Victoria grabbed her arm with strong, bone-thin fingers. ‘‘Did you bandage the sheriff and set the leg?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Allie answered. ‘‘With Jason’s help. We did the best we could.’’

  ‘‘Good, then you’ll be my eyes.’’ She pulled Allie along the hall. ‘‘We’re going to take the bandages off and check the wound. I don’t want someone fainting on me while I do my doctoring. If you’ve seen it once, the wound will be nothing new to you.’’

  ‘‘You’ve doctored people?’’ Jason asked from just behind Victoria.

  ‘‘I have. I doctored all my husbands through gunfights, steer-gouging, and every other ailment you can think of.’’

  ‘‘Your husbands?’’ Jason asked. ‘‘They’re all dead, ain’t they?’’

  Victoria held her chin a fraction higher. ‘‘That’s beside the point. They all had cleaned wounds when they passed on into the hereafter.’’

  TWENTY

  BY DAWN, VICTORIA HAD LEARNED EVERYONE’S name and the sounds they made when they moved, so that she was never surprised with where they were in the room. She kept Allie by her side, making Allie tell what she saw and often asking to feel the stitches or Maxwell’s forehead. The servants stood just outside the door, waiting to be called. And call them Victoria did. She constantly wanted clean water, or more bandages, or wood added to the fire. Once she even demanded a full meal of steak and eggs, then ordered Wes and Jason to eat.

  Wes found himself of little help in the makeshift hospital. Instead, he walked the perimeter of the headquarters. Checking for perfect vantage points along the wall. Wes quickly fell back into his military thinking. For the length of the war, all he’d thought about was staying alive. Several times, his preparation had saved not only his life, but the lives of his men.

  The headquarters had been built by a military mind, there was no doubt. Thick walls formed a square, with only two openings large enough for a horse and rider to pass. The front gate was barred with an oak log. The other opening could be easily seen and defended from any spot inside the compound.

  Wes understood why Sheriff Hardy insisted on this place. A few men could hold off an army.

  Gideon silently relinquished his command of security to Wes, seemingly glad to have the younger man’s advice. Keeping an eye on two old women was one thing, protecting a fort from attack with only a handful of servants was another. It didn’t take long for Wes to realize Gideon saw himself more as doorman than defender. His chain of command had been from Victoria to the kitchen help, no further.

  By midmorning men started arriving, slowly filling the courtyard like migrant birds returning after a hard winter. Old men. Aging fighters who’d fought for the Republic and maybe served a few tours as Rangers during Indian trouble. None looked young enough to have fought for Texas in the War Between the States.

  ‘‘Who are they, Gideon?’’ Wes asked as the two men watched thirty visitors milling around below, setting up camp, apparently planning to stay a while.

  ‘‘Victoria’s army. They must have gotten word when we sent for the doctor,’’ Gideon answered calmly, as if his words made sense. ‘‘For years, Victoria’s ranch has been a place men knew they could come and, no matter how old or stove up, still be treated like a full man. Back in the ’30s and ’40s Texas was packed with Indian fighters and fortune hunters, outlaws and worn-out lawmen looking for that last time to stand tall.’’

  Gideon looked over the gathering. ‘‘As time passed, they either lost what family they had or never married. What’s a man to do who’s no longer strong in a land where only the strong survive?’’

  Wes studied the men more closely. A few wore tattered parts of uniforms with pride. Most still carried single-shot rifles and handguns made generations before the Colt. But they stood proud. A waiting army a day away from the grave.

  Gideon continued, ‘‘A few were Catlin’s men from his Army days, others Victoria met over the years. One by one they showed up at the gate, and she insisted on treating them like returning heroes. A few were so down on their luck, they walked through the gate without a horse. Victoria would have a great dinner for them and, in her way, beg them to stay on to protect the ranch. She’d offer a house on th
e land and a full hand’s pay in exchange for their watchful vigilance over the place.’’

  Wes raised an eyebrow. ‘‘You mean this is the Catlin ranch’s security?’’

  Gideon nodded. ‘‘I call them the Old Guard. They may be crippled and all used up, but one thing you got to know. To the man, they’d die for Victoria . . . or kill for her.’’

  Wes pushed back from the railing. ‘‘Take me to meet these heroes.’’

  As he walked down the stairs, he thought of what happened to a man who had no family when he aged. These men weren’t farmers. Their skills had kept them alive long enough to leave them starving when their fists no longer struck hard and their aims wavered. No one else would have hired them. There weren’t enough homes to take in orphans, much less the aging loners and warriors. Old women were valued for all they could do to help, but who would value an old buffalo hunter or frontier fighter?

  Wes met them one at a time. Listening to their stories, remembering their names. He could see it in their eyes, in the strained hardness of their handshakes. These men were an army. They didn’t need a commander. They only needed direction. Each would man his post until the end of his watch.

  Wes stepped up on the edge of the fountain and raised his hands. ‘‘Thank you for coming so quickly to my aid.’’

  ‘‘We didn’t come for you!’’ yelled a barreled-shaped man with gun belts crossing his chest. ‘‘We come to protect Miss Victoria.’’

  Several others nodded.

  Wes took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. ‘‘I’ve outlined a plan of defense.’’

  ‘‘Don’t need no plan!’’ A bald warrior who looked like he ate men for breakfast grunted. ‘‘We know what to do, sonny.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ another complained. ‘‘We don’t need no pup of a Yank telling us nothin’.’’

  ‘‘But I was a captain in—’’ Wes began.

  ‘‘And I was a colonel when you was still having your mama hold you out the window to drip.’’

  The crowd laughed. These men were loners who balked at suggestions. Who knows, Wes thought, they might shoot at a direct order. He didn’t feel like being used in target practice.