Diamond Spur

by Diana Palmer

  “The very few times I gave in to desire, it was always with women who knew the ropes,” he said simply. “I heard one of the boys talk once about his wedding night, or I wouldn’t have had a clue about how to keep from frightening you.”

  Her face, she knew, was red. “Well…it wasn’t bad at all.”

  “Yes, I noticed that it wasn’t bad at all,” he laughed softly. “My God, you made me feel ten feet tall. Those sweet little noises you made, the way you held me. You’ll never know how whole I felt with you. Or how it hurt me to walk away.”

  “I thought you were feeling guilty.”

  He shifted. “Maybe I was. Guilty and a little vulnerable, too. I didn’t want to get married.”

  “Neither did I,” she lied. She drew in a slow breath. “But here we are.”

  “And here we’ll stay,” he added. “I don’t believe in divorce. So you’re stuck with me, Mrs. Donavan, and I may even make you like it one day.”

  She kissed his bare shoulder. “I like it already. I just hope I can be the kind of wife you want. I know I’m naive in some ways, and country, and I don’t know much about high society. But if you’ll be patient, I’ll learn those things. I’ll try to make sure you’re never ashamed of me again, the way you were that night Cherry invited me to supper.”

  He pulled her against him roughly, a sound that was almost a groan passing his lips. “I was cruel because I wanted you so badly, Kate. I’d missed you like hell, forced myself to stay away. And then I looked up and there you were, and I caved in. I didn’t want to give in to it, so I fought back.”

  “You did a good job of it,” she sighed. “Until I agreed to go out with Gabe.”

  He sighed at the memory of that confrontation. “And I lost my head completely. I couldn’t even stop.”

  “Neither could I, so don’t agonize over it. You never seduced me. It was as much my doing as yours, and I don’t have one single regret, Jason. Not one.”

  He felt his chest swell at that confession. He brushed his hard mouth over her forehead. “Neither do I. Least of all now, with a baby on the way.” He started to tell her that the baby hadn’t been an accident, not on his part. But he held back. He’d already told her more about his deepest feelings than he really wanted to. There was time for confessions. All the time in the world.

  “You’d better get some sleep, cupcake,” he murmured. “We’ve got a lot of exploring to do in the next few days.”

  She smiled against his shoulder. “Good night, Mr. Donavan.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Donavan.” He kissed her forehead before he put out his cigarette and curled her into him. At that moment, he wouldn’t have minded if the world ended. He was happier than he’d ever been in his life.

  They spent three more days in Jamaica, exploring the elegant landscape and getting a look at the drastic difference between the luxurious tourist houses high on the hills and the less than adequate houses that many Jamaican people lived in.

  “The economy here is very unstable,” their cabdriver told them as he drove them around the island. “We go from prosperity to poor to worse than poor.”

  “What about tourism?” Jason asked curiously.

  “We don’t get as much of that as we’d like,” came the resigned reply. “Riots, you see. And people hear how violent we are…violent, my God. Violence everywhere in the world, my friend, but people only notice it here. You can get mugged and killed in New York City and that doesn’t even slow down tourists there. But here, there’s one riot completely across the island, and nobody wants to come to Jamaica.”

  “I love it here,” Kate confided, and meant it. “It’s beautiful and unpolluted, and the people are marvelous.”

  Barton Cox grinned at her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She flushed. “Well, they are. We’ve been treated so nicely, in the hotel and in the restaurant…everywhere we’ve gone. And people haven’t talked up to us or down to us. Here, color doesn’t seem to matter.”

  “How could it? We don’t have the history your country has,” she was reminded. “In Jamaica, there was no Civil War.”

  “No, there were just bloodthirsty pirates who killed and robbed everybody,” she laughed.

  He lifted his hands briefly from the wheel. “Local color,” he corrected, chuckling.

  He took them down to the public beach, to the docks where huge cruise ships were anchored, and then up to the tip-top of one of the mountains that rose almost from the beach itself. On the top was an elegant restaurant with a Greek motif and parrots in cages.

  “How beautiful they are,” Kate enthused, and started to stick her finger into the cage.

  “If you like having ten fingers, don’t do that,” Jason cautioned, catching her hand. “Those are Amazon parrots, and they can crack nuts with those beaks.”

  “They wouldn’t really bite me, would they?” she asked Barton. “They look so tame….”

  “The tamest Amazon will nip occasionally,” the cabdriver responded. “Hello, Chico. Hello, Maxine.”

  “Hello,” one of the parrots replied. As the bird climbed by his beak to the side of the huge wrought-iron cage, his pupils dilated and contracted so that they seemed to be flashing. He ruffled and made a purring noise, then spread his wings and tail feathers. Next he made a bobbing movement with his head and regurgitated.

  “He likes you,” Ben told Kate. “That’s a compliment, from a parrot, at least.”

  “I’m flattered. I think,” Kate murmured dryly. “They’re very pretty.”

  “Amazona ochrocephala auropalliata,” Barton said in Latin. “Yellow-naped Amazons. The noisiest, most vocal, and most acrobatic of the big parrots. I have one of my own at home. He sits on my lap, to watch the news with me, and shares my dinner.”

  “I never knew birds were like this,” Kate said, fascinated, “I thought they just sat in cages and sang.”

  “These are allowed out of their cages during the morning, and late afternoon. It’s cruel to keep them inside all the time, you see, and they don’t stray far. They’re climbers more than flyers. They’re every bit as affectionate as a cat or dog, and very intelligent.” Barton smiled. “Mine can sing grand opera and carry on a conversation. But they’re unpredictable, and they can damage a poking finger. Mine doesn’t like to be touched except when he invites it.”

  Kate sighed wistfully and glanced up at Jason, but he put his finger on her lips.

  “No, you can’t have one,” he told her firmly. “We’ve got several thousand head of cattle scattered over two states. That’s enough animals.”

  “You are a rancher?” Barton asked Jason.

  “That’s right. Kate and I come from south Texas.”

  “A state I have often wished to visit. But Jamaica is home.” He lifted his shoulders. “I could never live anywhere else. Say, do you see movies often?”

  “Once in a great while,” Jason told him.

  “A black woman I admire has become a big movie star in your country,” Barton replied as he led them back out to the cab. “She’s known there as Whoopi Goldberg.”

  “I think she’s super,” Kate sighed. “She was on one of my favorite weekly television shows, and in a variety show special…she was even nominated for an Oscar for the film The Color Purple.”

  “She has a great talent,” Barton agreed. “And she is an inspiration to our young people, who see what can be done if one aspires.”

  Kate wondered if Jason understood her own aspirations, but she wasn’t spoiling the delicate balance of their comradeship by asking. She slid her hand into his and smiled at him. After a minute, he smiled back. The lowering of barriers that first night had made him less antagonistic, but he still had a great deal of reserve left. Kate knew it was going to take time and patience before Jason trusted her fully. He might go far enough to share some secrets from his past, but that was a long way from telling her everything that was in his heart, especially where she was concerned. But she had time. Worlds of it. Her life had never been swe
eter than it was here, in this beautiful place, with the man she loved most in all the world beside her and his child nestled under her heart.

  They did a little more sight-seeing before they returned to the hotel, where Kate laid on the beach in her one-piece black swimsuit. She bought some shell necklaces from a big Jamaican who carried his wares on a small raft that he pulled along in the shallow water near the beach. Jason didn’t go swimming. He lazed beside her in his white shorts, so devastating in his almost nudity that Kate hid behind her sunglasses and just stared at his darkly tanned, hair-roughened muscles with pure delight.

  They had most of their meals near the pool, where odd-looking black birds with sideways tails called kling-klings begged for crumbs from the tables. Kate had gotten used to the kling-klings sharing her breakfast. The small blackbirds with their pale greenish yellow eyes and distinctive cry were a sight that, like the Amazon parrots, would stay in her memory for a long time. She’d also gotten used to the slower pace, the sultry Caribbean breezes, the beach, and the thrilling sight of octopi chasing hermit crabs along the surf, throwing their tentacles onto the sand in an attempt to harness their meals.

  They’d met other tourists who became recognizable, and a school marching band had performed for the hotel’s guests. Kate had enjoyed that most of all, since it had given her an incredible feeling to stand as the American national anthem was played. Used to being a Texan in the States, she was now a minority in a foreign country—an American, not just a Texan. It was new and interesting, to think of herself in those terms.

  Jamaica had been a learning experience in many ways. Kate felt that she had gained a better understanding not only of geography, but also of world economics. And of her new husband.

  Their relationship had changed for the better during those lazy days in the sun. Kate had slept in his arms every night, although he hadn’t slept a lot for the disturbing proximity to her. She knew how badly Jason wanted her, but they were both too afraid to risk any more danger to the baby. He kissed her occasionally, but only lightly, briefly, so that the chemistry between them didn’t flare up too high and become unmanageable.

  Jason’s distance from Kate since his loss of control in their hotel room never fully disappeared. But when they got back to San Frio, that distant attitude grew even more rigid, and she wondered if he meant for intimacy to be banished from their relationship forever. They shared a room, but not a bed now. He slept on the daybed and she had the king-size bed, and if she saw him at night, it was only as she was drifting off to sleep.

  It didn’t help Kate that her cramps were coming back, and that she had more spotting. She had a terrible feeling that she was going to lose the baby, and it was the most unsettling worry of all.

  Jason settled back into ranch business with a vengeance, leaving Kate to her job with ill-concealed irritation. His attitude toward her work only made the distance between them grow. She wished they were back in Jamaica, where they’d been close, where their budding affection could have blossomed. Now, they were growing apart at a rate that frightened Kate. And because it did, she worked harder than ever, burying her fears of losing Jason in her work.

  During the day, she went to the plant as usual, but in the evenings, she found herself at the mercy of newfound society friends who called with overwhelming frequency. She was invited to a coffee for a bride-elect early the next week, and Jason told her in one of their infrequent meetings at the supper table that it would be a good idea to attend.

  She couldn’t really spare the time. Things were hectic at the plant as she finished the last ten garments for the collection. But she asked for the morning off, and went. She was afraid that her casual things would be too informal for a coffee. She didn’t really know how to dress for a coffee. She didn’t want to distress Jason, and despite her knowledge of casual fasion, she still had no real idea of the kind of thing one would wear to a spiffy morning coffee. So she wore a black cocktail dress. Unfortunately, Cherry was out and couldn’t tell her that it wasn’t appropriate for a morning social event. A neat suit or even a dressy dress would have been adequate, but Kate did the thing properly in spaghetti straps, sequined jacket, and black pumps with rhinestones. With her perky short haircut, she wouldn’t have been out of place at a Roaring Twenties party. But she stood out at the sedate gathering in the big brick mansion.

  Her hostess didn’t gasp when she opened the door, but she came close. She tried to smile and invited Kate into the parlor, where about two dozen women were milling around the silver service and refreshments. None of them had on cocktail dresses, and all of them stared blankly at Kate when she walked in.

  She went red in the face. Not a single one of those women had on anything comparable to Kate’s ensemble. Just my luck, she thought, to overdress again, and in black, again. She should have remembered her last social evening at Jason’s house, and the disastrous results, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  “Mrs. Donavan, isn’t it?” one of the women asked, and nearby, Kate saw that horrid blonde woman who’d been at Jason’s dinner party.

  “Mrs. Donavan indeed,” Kate said with a resigned sigh. “Overdressed as usual and as out of place as a pumpkin. I’m pregnant, you see. I guess my mind stopped working at the moment of conception.”

  That casual remark, thrown out with panache and an impish smile, took the cool edge off the social set. They crowded around her, and she found herself caught up in conversation about the wedding and her own gown, that someone had said she sewed herself.

  “This is Edna St. John, our bride-elect,” her hostess introduced a shy little dark-haired girl in a rich beige suit that did nothing at all for her petite figure with its ankle-length straight skirt. “She’s being married to Barnett Coleman in March.”

  “Congratulations,” Kate said with a smile as she tried to balance her coffee cup and saucer.

  “Thank you,” Edna replied. “You were just married last week, weren’t you?”

  “That’s right.” She bent closer. “It was a shotgun wedding,” she said in a stage whisper. “I got Jason pregnant, too.”

  Edna giggled and so did their hostess. The blonde came ambling up and lifted a lazy eyebrow. “That would be one for the books, from what I’ve seen of Jason Donavan,” Daphne drawled. “He isn’t the world’s most notorious playboy.”

  “Still waters run deep,” Kate told her, hiding her nervousness as she remembered her last confrontation with the woman. “And here we are again.”

  “You were right in what you said to me that night,” she said levelly. “So I did something about it. I’m divorcing my husband, who loves my money more than he loves me, and I’m going to Libya to become a harem girl or some such thing. I expect to be involved in a juicy international scandal in no time,” she mused, tongue in cheek.

  Kate burst out laughing. “How delightful.” She grinned. “I’ll look forward to reading all about it.”

  “It will be your fault,” Daphne drawled. Then she smiled, and turned away to another guest, and Kate realized then how much of a disguise the woman’s bored expression and sharp tongue were. Like Jason’s bland poker face, this woman had her own mask, but it wasn’t an obvious one.

  “How could you advertise something like pregnancy when you’ve barely been married for a week?” a hatchet-nosed matron demanded shortly, offense in every line of her flushed face.

  Kate noticed her hostess’s sudden pallor, and turned back to the matron without letting her own nervousness show. “Because it’s something that everyone will see soon enough,” she replied. “I made a mistake, but at least I’m not trying to hide it. I want this baby. So does my husband. If that makes me a scarlet woman, then I suppose I am. Oddly enough, I have very old-fashioned ideas about babies. I think people should be married before they make them, and that a baby’s life is precious, not something easily disposed of just because it interferes with a woman’s pleasure.”

  “I’ll bet the pro-abortion people love you,” Daphne murmured in
a stage whisper.

  “Oh, they’re perfectly entitled to their own opinion,” Kate replied. “I can even see their point of view, under certain circumstances. I simply don’t share it, that’s all.” She leaned forward. “I’m a prude!”

  The matron flushed even more, and stormed off to whisper something to another ruffled-looking older woman. Kate just smiled and lifted her coffee to her lips. Not bad, kid, she told herself. At least, not for her first coffee, even if she didn’t know quite what to wear or how to act. Society ladies were just like the ladies at the plant, except for the size of their bankrolls. There were nice ones and nasty ones, caring ones and uncaring ones. Kate didn’t have another worry about fitting in. This had been a piece of cake.

  However, when she turned to thank her hostess for inviting her, she tripped, and poured coffee down the back of the ruffled matron’s expensive suit and knocked her into the coffeepot.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kate let herself into the house, smeared with finger sandwiches and canapés and stained with coffee. While she was afraid that her face was going to be permanently red, her most immediate concern was keeping Jason from finding out about what she’d done. She barely remembered how she’d managed to get out of her hostess’s home, blurting apologies and promising to make good the expense of replacing everything. The expensive silver coffeepot had an equally expensive dent in it. The china was in shards. Two crystal lazy Susans were also gone. Kate imagined it would take at least thirty or forty dollars to replace the things, and thank God she had an account of her own and a good deal of money in it from her designing.

  “What in heaven’s name happened to you?” Sheila explained when she saw her. “What are you wearing? Kate, you didn’t go to the coffee dressed like that?!”

  Kate swallowed. “Yes, I went to the coffee like this. And I was congratulating myself on how well I was doing when I bumped into a plump lady and knocked her into the canapés and fell on her.” She burst into tears. “Oh, Sheila, I’m sure God never meant for me to be a society butterfly!”