Texas Girl Grit: Sequel to Texas Hellcat (Texas Series Book 2)

by Shelley Stringer

  “She was. She was petite and delicate, and had a natural grace about her. Her family was old Texas money. Nanny was an only child, and Grandpa Marley wanted her to go to the best schools possible. They sent her to Hockaday and UT, back in the day when most women in Texas didn’t even finish high school.”

  “Is that where she met Tex?” I asked, understanding a bit more why Tex felt the way he did about my background.

  “Yeah. And the ranch belonged to her family, although it was just a farm back in the day. Tex bought all the land around it and quadrupled the size.”

  I was surprised to hear Tex had inherited the original ranch from his wife’s family. I was surprised to hear everything else about Tex’s past. It certainly explained a lot about the man, but I still couldn’t bring myself to forgive him for the way he’d treated me. Thinking about that made me remember the fundraiser and his reminder about “breeding,”, and my stomach clenched. I was supposed to have my first public appearance alone the next day.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning forward and brushing his thumb across my forehead. I realized I was frowning as he tried to soothe the lines.

  “Just thinking about my speech tomorrow.”

  “Something bothers you about it,” he surmised.

  I nodded. Something did bother me about it, aside from my ever-present insecurities. I’d read over the speech his handlers had prepared for me at least twenty times. I wasn’t sure I felt the conviction of the words, or Liam’s stance on the border bill.

  “I don’t know if I’m the right person to give this speech,” I admitted. I’d never challenged his political views on anything. He knew I leaned a bit to the left when confronted with social issues, but was in his corner where gun control was the issue. I had a license to carry and believed strongly in the second amendment.

  “The Hispanic Women of Austin asked specifically if you would speak at their luncheon, and this is the topic they are most interested in. I think my speechwriters covered all the key points in your speech. You’re representing me.”

  “Mrs. Covington, do you want me to take over? Hey, Chico Guapo, what’s up?” Miranda asked as she hovered in the bathroom doorway.

  “No, we’re good. You finished studying?” I asked, reaching to lift Masen from the tub.

  “I’ve got him, babe,” Liam said, brushing my hands away. “You don’t need to be reaching and lifting so much.”

  I rolled my eyes at Miranda which drew a giggle.

  “Hey, whatcha studying for?” Liam asked as he wrestled a wet and squiggly Masen.

  “Reading Beowulf for my English Class,” she replied, moving to take Masen’s jammies from my hand.

  “Miranda’s here. Why don’t you practice your speech on her?”

  I turned big eyes on Liam, widening them at him as my response.

  “What? I would think she would be great to sound off to, get some feedback. Take her pulse for the Latin Community.”

  “What is the speech about, Mrs. Covington?” she asked, settling down on the edge of the bed.

  “Kelly, please,” I said with a sigh. “And Liam has asked me to speak at the HWA luncheon tomorrow about immigration and the border bill.”

  I decided this might be a great opportunity to address my concerns through Miranda. Her opinion could be a buffer.

  “Okay, lay it on me,” she said, turning to place Masen in her lap. He played with the lotion bottle, trying to chew the cap off. Liam sank back onto the bed, his head propped in his hand.

  “Well, the first point they make is the economic impact illegal immigration is having on the economy. Won’t that draw a negative response from the group?”

  Liam’s eyebrows rose. “There is no denying the impact the illegal immigrants are having on our health care system and our school systems. We have to educate the children of these illegals, but they pay little or no taxes into the system.”

  “But what about the argument many of them do the jobs most Americans are reluctant or refuse to do? The construction and farm manual labor force is at an all-time high in Texas, with fewer natural-borne citizens to do the jobs.” Miranda answered Liam, seeming ready to debate the points. She’d given this a lot of thought.

  “That is a valid point, Miranda. And a good reason why a decent amnesty program is needed. But what about securing the border. How do you feel about illegal immigration going forward?”

  She contemplated Liam for a beat, seeming to think about her answer carefully. Placing Masen at her feet, she rose and paced as Masen crawled about, pulling up to stand beside Liam on the bed.

  “Some of my family and friends are against any fence or obstacle on the border. They see it as a slap in the face to our heritage. A few of them are in favor of stopping any more illegals. Many of my friends, as my family, are here legally and became American citizens through the proper process, and resent those who didn’t.”

  I watched them discuss the issue, fascinated by Liam’s interest in Miranda’s opinions. He was truly vested in her answers.

  “I know Kelly struggles with these same questions,” Liam said, turning to me. I knew he sensed how I felt about his hard stand on the border issue, although we’d never discussed it. “What if I told you when I talked to some of those ranchers in South Texas, their greatest concern was they could no longer pick up workers for the ranch out of the illegal groups they found on their land. Back in the day, they met them openly, offered what jobs they could, and helped them on. My grandfather’s old friend, Zeke, said it was once a great convenience when they worked cattle, or harvested cantaloupes to have a labor force coming directly to him at the ranch. But now it isn’t families or women and children coming across, but drug dealers and dangerous men trying to fly under the radar of homeland security. They all said they find other languages/English dictionaries from countries on our watch list. They find prayer blankets abandoned, weapons, stashes of drugs…and then there are the rape trees.

  “Rape trees?” I whispered, stunned.

  “Slang for the areas where they find blood and clothes of women and young girls on whom the Coyotes pray, and initiation into human trafficking; or the price some of the young women pay who agree to run drugs for the cartels. These dangers threaten those farmers and ranchers on our South Texas border daily. It’s happening on their land—and many of them have had to abandon their family homes and move to the closest town for safety reasons. They no longer carry guns with them when they ride fence lines looking for cattle because of snakes…they carry them for personal protection.”

  “We’ve heard stories, but thought they were isolated incidents,” Miranda said sadly. “If this is truly the state at the border, I can see why you are fighting this hard for the border initiative.”

  As he continued to talk about conversations with DPS officers and the Texas Rangers and others he interviewed, I began to see a side of the issue I hadn’t considered before. Miranda made some good suggestions for his campaign to embrace, and I could see he was beginning to sway her opinion of the border bill as well. Finally, Liam picked Masen up and clutched him to his chest. “I want our children…this little guy,” he said, his eyes coming to meet mine, “to be able to run about his grandfather’s ranch without fear he’ll ride upon a cache of illegal guns or drugs. I want the most dangerous thing he encounters in the South Texas sun to be what’s supposed to be out there…a rattlesnake or wild hog. I want those to be the only things he needs to carry a gun for. I want the Texas of my childhood back…for all of us.”

  “Well, I’ll put this sweet one to bed for you,” she said simply, kissing him on the forehead.

  “Thanks, Miranda,” I said, hugging her then watching her move to the crib.

  “So now, what do you think, Mrs. Covington?” Liam asked as he followed me down the hallway to our bedroom.

  “I think I have a brilliant, sexy politician for a husband,” I said, turning to pull him to me. “And I’m one lucky girl,” I added.

  His lips claimed mi
ne voraciously, immediately distracting me with my body’s passionate response as I struggled with my apprehension about tomorrow’s speech. I pulled away as we stumbled into our room. Liam swung the door to and then turned to me.

  “What’s wrong, Baby?” He moved closer, taking my shirt in his hands and unbuttoning it. He pushed the shoulders back and it slid down my arms and puddled on the floor. Pulling me closer, he traced a line with his nose, his breath soft against my ear, down my neck and across my collarbone and then down to the valley between my breasts. My breath caught as I answered him, “I’m nervous about tomorrow.”

  “Enough about tomorrow, you will be great. Just be yourself. You’re prepared, we’ve discussed everything, you know where I stand and you have a good grasp of the issue.” He moved back as his hands moved behind me and released the clasp on my bra. It fell to the floor. I glanced back up, finding his eyes on my breasts, a hungry look in his eyes. “Now you need to put it out of your mind and rest. I know the thing to ease your mind,” he said, his murmurs whisper-soft against my skin as he moved his lips across my breasts. My hands, moving of their own volition, slid down his chest to the button on his jeans and unbuttoned, then unzipped them and pushed them off his hips.

  In one motion, he swept me up and carried me to our bed. I loved our large four-poster bed. It was oversized, and felt like something out of a fairytale when I was in it…especially with Liam in it too. It somehow made me feel as if he was claiming me, and we were in our own little world. It was the best feeling I’d ever had—being claimed by Liam.

  And that was what he was doing at that moment. He stood over me, clad only in his boxer-briefs, gazing down my body as if he were deciding where he wanted to start. Anxious to be inside me, he grabbed my pants at the waist and peeled them down my legs, taking my panties with them. Before I could even settle, he’d shed his briefs and was hovering back over me, his hands planted on either side of my head.

  “Still worrying about speeches, or is your head clear?” he asked with a sexy smirk.

  “Still a bit anxious,” I breathed.

  He slid his fingers through my hair, then tangled them and tugged, taking control of my head as his elbow sank down in the covers. Resting his weight with only an elbow, he grabbed my leg and pulled it around his hips, nesting his rather large erection against my heat. Rolling his hips and thrusting against me, he leaned down and whispered against my lips, “and now?”

  “Beginning to work it out,” I breathed against his lips. He smiled, taking my lips in a brutal kiss as he thrust into me. I arched up, meeting him thrust for thrust. Our bodies in perfect harmony, this was what I needed to expend this nervous energy I had pent-up inside.

  “I’ll always give you anything you need, Baby,” he breathed between kisses, his mouth eating at mine between the words. “You feel amazing,” he said. I broke the kiss, feeling the flush coming over my body as my orgasm built inside me. As the familiar tingle started deep and then rushed up my spine and down my legs, I threw my head back and gasped.

  “That’s it, Hellcat. Damn, but I love how you come for me, babe,” he said, burying his face in my neck as he continued to power into me. As I came down from my high, his body stilled, pouring his love into me as he continued to pump slowly in and out of me. He stilled, planting himself deep, his moan vibrating against my neck.

  “I love you, gorgeous,” he whispered, placing kisses on my neck, across my jaw and then to the other side. He rested his lips against my ear, his hands still tangled in my hair, holding my head close. “I love you so much it scares me,” he said, placing a soft kiss under my ear.

  “Me too,” I whispered back.

  “Snuggle in. I’m going to go check on Masen. I’ll be right back.”

  It seemed I’d barely closed my eyes when I felt the bed dip and heard him click off the lamp on his side of the bed.

  “Think you can sleep now?”

  “Mmm,” was the only response I could offer.

  He chuckled, reached down to grasp the covers, then tucked them around us as he settled me into his side.

  “Night, Baby,” he murmured.

  And I slept.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I played with the food on my plate, wishing I was anywhere but there. Giving my first speech in front of a Latino women’s group luncheon in downtown San Antonio seemed like a good idea when Texanne set it up. Although she’d been extremely helpful since the fundraiser debacle, I was still wary of her motives. I wasn’t sure I wasn’t being fed to the wolves on purpose. I did, however, feel better about defending Liam’s stance on the border issue and the speech that had been prepared for me since I’d talked with Liam and Miranda last night.

  But I was still at a disadvantage for sure. The women around me spoke to each other quietly in Spanish at times. I knew it was a natural thing to do, most of my Hispanic colleagues were bi-lingual. But my paranoid side argued they were probably talking about me. I began to worry about the speech Liam’s team had written for me. I had visions of my words falling flat. As I sat working myself up all over again, before I realized it, it was time. As the Mistress of Ceremonies introduced me, I felt as though I was having an “out of body” experience while walking to the podium.

  The words on the paper script in front of me blurred. Closing my eyes momentarily, I found I didn’t care. The words the stuffed-shirt speech writers had prepared were useless in this room.

  Taking a deep breath, I decided I would talk to them as I would Miranda and her mother. I could approach this as Liam had last night. Our common ground? Families and children.

  “Good afternoon. Thank you for extending the invitation to speak to you today.” I dramatically drew in a breath and blew it out daintily, my lips pursed. “Is now the time to admit this is my first public speaking engagement?”

  My admission gained a small chuckle from the audience. Maybe heartfelt honesty and not a rehearsed spill was the way to go. I squared my shoulders.

  “I have this carefully crafted speech in front of me,” I began, holding the talking points up as a reference. “But I’m not going to use it. You all know what party my husband belongs to. You all know his greatest goal while in office is to push the border security bill for Texas. I know it’s not a popular topic. You don’t want to hear his campaign spill or what his team has come up with as selling points. I think what you would rather hear is how, behind closed doors last night while he helped me bathe our baby, he convinced me, as a mother, why we should support him and his fight to secure the Texas border. And that is what I’m going to share with you – a room full of Texas wives and mothers.”

  As I folded the paper up, I laid out his arguments as he’d presented them to me and Miranda. Not as an argument for a fence or wall to keep relatives, neighbors and friends from crossing into the U.S., but as a defense against danger. A secured border to combat ISIS, terrorism, gangs such as SUR 13, and the ruthless coyotes who preyed on innocent women and children. I told them of the stories we’d heard of numerous innocent deaths as coyotes packed the desperate migrants in trucks and shipping containers, and raped and tortured women and children as payment for smuggling them across. I shared with them the stories we’d been told by the border ranchers who feared for their lives and the lives of the migrant workers because of the threat of the Mexican drug lords who now controlled many of the border towns. I shared with them the stories we’d heard from the border patrol agents of “raping trees” – where the blood of innocent young girls pilled as they were stripped and raped after the border crossings, signs to other gang members and ranchers marking cartel territories.

  As I spoke, I began to see a nod here and there across the room. Continuing, I told them I’d debated my husband with the argument a tighter, stronger border meant hardships for the migrant workers only seeking better life, and I’d convinced him he couldn’t expect Hispanic support without a safe, better migrant worker program and a fair, comprehensive amnesty plan that didn’t favor only big busine
ss.

  “Hispanic women have played such a huge part in the history of our great state. Our destiny, as a state, is intricately woven with the rich culture of Mexico and her people. I humbly ask for you to consider supporting my husband in the fight to honor that rich history, and to keep our border safe and strong.”

  Relief washed over me. While the emcee stood and thanked me, I scanned the room. While half of the faces I studied remained impassive, I received some nods and smiles. And two of the women at the head table moved to congratulate me on a great speech. Just when I began to relax, I spotted the hungry reporter from a major news affiliate in Austin, microphone in hand.

  “Mrs. Covington, great speech today. You seemed to have spoken from your heart as a wife and mother, not a politician’s wife. Is it hard to separate the two?”

  I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. This would be the first time I talked to the press without Liam or his father or brother to take control. “It isn’t hard. He hasn’t been a politician for long, but Liam and I are committed to our marriage first, and serving the great State of Texas second. And my role as a wife and mother is the most important I will ever fill.”

  “In view of that, don’t you think it will make it hard on your husband’s campaign as it comes to light you once aborted a pregnancy? After all, your husband and his family are staunchly pro-life,” he asked, stabbing the microphone in my face. “Do you think the news of the abortion will hurt your conservative image of placing family first?”

  All the air was sucked from the room, all the faces around me closing in. If there was ever a moment for my flight instincts to kick in, this was it. My worst fear had come true…that someone would uncover the secrets from my dark past and use them against Liam.

  Liam wasn’t here to whisk me backstage. As I wildly looked around at the women close to me waiting on my response, I spotted Scott in the crowd, pushing toward me, obviously to escort me to our waiting ride outside. I was frantic to think of something to say. I’d ended the speech on such a good note, and I knew this reporter, with one statement, was trampling on everything I’d accomplished today. Flight? No! I was determined that instinct would be replaced with fight. And I was pissed. It would, from now on, be a “fight” instinct. I would live up to my husband’s nickname for me.