Saxon's Lady

by Stephanie Janes

  Rita's mouth thinned in quiet anger and Devon finally realized why her new friend had been trying to evade the older woman. Devon knew Martha Springer well enough to realize the woman had undoubtedly been giving any­one who would listen her opinion about the reasons for the marriage between Garth and Devon. In her infinite wis­dom, Martha Springer had decided Devon must be mar­rying Garth for his money.

  It stunned Devon to realize that she hadn't been expect­ing an attack from that side. All those years alone raising Lee and Kurt she'd been so proud, so determined not to ask for financial help from anyone in the community, least of all Garth. Didn't this foolish woman understand that money was the last reason Devon would marry? A wave of cold anger pulsed through her. She turned on Martha Springer.

  But she was too late. Garth had already arrived on the scene. He glided to a halt behind Mrs. Springer in time to hear the woman's triumphant question.

  "Martha," he drawled, startling the woman into whirl­ing around in astonishment, "the really great thing about you is that you're consistent. Everyone in the area can rely on you to put your foot in your mouth at any given mo­ment, day or night. You have a real talent for it, don't you?"

  There were several amused grins from people who'd been standing nearby and who'd caught Mrs. Springer's comments to Devon.

  Martha Springer turned red beneath her tan. "I don't know what you're talking about, Garth. I was just chat­ting with Devon and I—"

  "Oh, we all know you've always had Devon's best in­terests at heart, Martha. Believe me, everyone here re­members how helpful you were in giving her advice about Lee and Kurt. You never lost an opportunity to tell her what she was doing wrong, did you?" Some of the grins on the faces of the surrounding people turned to chuckles and Martha Springer grew more red in the face.

  "Now see here, Garth Saxon. I've known Devon most of her life."

  "Then you must know she's one of the few women around who wouldn't marry for money. Hell, if I thought I could have gotten her to say yes that easily, I'd have shelled out the necessary cash a year ago. I'm always will­ing to put money into a good investment. But I'm sure you must realize just how proud Devon is when it comes to money. After all, she paid off every last dime her father owed you, didn't she?"

  "Now hold on, Garth..."

  "Speaking of money, we all know just how generous you were after her parents were killed, don't we? I wasn't here at the time, but I've heard how you didn't even bother to give Devon a little extra time to pay off the feed and grain tab at your store. You insisted on being paid on time. No extra credit. You've got a hell of a nerve claiming to be an old friend of the family. Good friends come through with more than advice when the chips are down."

  There was outright laughter in the group that had gath­ered to hear the rest of the confrontation. Everyone in the area knew that Martha Springer hadn't offered anyone a dime in her life. The woman glanced around the circle of acquaintances in growing horror. She was suddenly the center of some very unwelcome attention.

  Devon began to realize just how bad the scene could get. Garth was out for blood now, whether poor Mrs. Springer realized it or not. He was a long way from the coup de grace and he intended to make his victim suffer as much as possible before he delivered the final blow. Rita looked torn between wanting to see the older woman taken down a notch and the fear of having her first major party ru­ined by an embarrassing confrontation. The crowd stand­ing around the combatants was turning bloodthirsty as only people in a small, closely knit community can. Mar­tha Springer deserved what she was getting and her neigh­bors were more than happy to see her get it.

  Devon drew a steadying breath. It was time to interrupt the sport before it turned any bloodier. "I'm sure Mrs. Springer felt her advice was worth a great deal more than solid gold," Devon murmured dryly to an accompanying round of laughter.

  Garth glanced at her, his eyes gleaming. "Maybe, but we all know how the value of gold has dropped during the past few years," he said coolly.

  The laughter grew keener and Devon was divided be­tween exasperation and despair. "Mrs. Springer always means well," she said, blandly dismissing the older woman with an unconscious ease that would have been hard to manage a year ago. "I've been looking for you, Garth. Rita needs someone to take a load of charcoal out to Sam. Would you mind?"

  Garth hesitated, clearly not wanting to be deprived of his victim, but Martha Springer was already slipping away into the crowd, her face still burning with embarrassment. The punishment wouldn't end here and everyone knew it. This little scene would be rehashed a hundred times during the coming week. Garth realized the game was over and shrugged.

  "Sure," he said, coming up the steps into the kitchen. "I'll give you a hand with the charcoal." The screen door slammed behind him, shutting off the attentive onlook­ers, who began to drift away as they realized the show was over.

  "Honestly, Garth," Devon muttered as she stood fac­ing him in the middle of the kitchen, "your social skills are a little rusty, aren't they? That was turning into quite a scene out there."

  "Martha Springer deserved it," Rita said forcefully as she picked up another tray of salad. "I'm glad Garth ar­rived when he did. That woman's been asking for it ever since she heard you were back in town, Devon. She has an awfully big mouth."

  "Devon knows that. She suffered enough from it when she was living in town with her brothers." Garth helped himself to a cracker he found on a platter and bit into it with strong, white teeth. The cracker crunched loudly and disappeared. "I don't want her at the wedding, Devon."

  Devon cleared her throat. "It's too late, Garth. I al­ready sent out the invitation."

  "Cancel it."

  "Well, that's a little easier said than done," she began delicately. "It would be much simpler to just let the invi­tation stand. Maybe she won't show up."

  "Make sure she doesn't show up."

  "Now, Garth, be reasonable, how can I do that?"

  "If you can't find a way to do it, I will." He turned to Rita. "Where's the charcoal you want me to deliver to Sam?"

  Rita glanced nervously at Devon. "I'm afraid there isn't any. Sam's already got the bags of charcoal."

  Garth cocked a brow at Devon. "I see."

  Devon blushed. "I just wanted to end things out there before they got too embarrassing. This is Rita's party, Garth. I don't want to be responsible for causing a major catastrophe." She sought for a way of changing the con­versation. "Where's Ryan?"

  "The last time I saw him, he and Ordway were talking to a bunch of local ranchers about computer-izing their accounts. They weren't getting very far."

  "I don't think they will," Rita put in comfortably. "At least, not as long as that Mr. Ordway is part of the team. Folks around here know Ryan and trust him, but they don't seem to care for Ordway. I heard Sam and some of the other men talking about him earlier. No offense, Garth."

  "None taken," Garth assured her easily. "Personally, I can't stand him either—a real hustler."

  Devon shot Garth a quelling glance. "I'm sure he's not that bad. His main problem as far as the locals are con­cerned is that he's an outsider. A city man, instead of a neighbor."

  "Believe me, Devon," Garth said, "Ordway's as sleazy as they come. I'll bet Royal Standard's next stud fee that the only reason Ordway bothered to accept Ryan's invita­tion to come here tonight is because he's going to make a few last-ditch efforts to drum up some business before giving up and heading back to L.A. The guy never stops trying to sell. He should be working on a used car lot somewhere."

  Devon narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. The last thing she wanted to do was start an argument. But se­cretly she felt a little sorry for Ryan's friend. Maybe Phil Ordway was a hustler, but chances were he was simply an upwardly mobile, hardworking young businessman trying to secure financial backing. It wasn't Ordway's fault that Hawk Springs automatically looked askance at outsiders, especially flashy outsiders who arrived in Porsches. She picked up a bowl of salad and thrust
it into Garth's hands.

  "Here," Devon said, "as long as you're standing there, you might as well make yourself useful."

  "Yes, ma'am." Garth took the salad bowl and obedi­ently exited the kitchen.

  Rita stared after him thoughtfully as he left. "You know, I do believe the assault on Mrs. Springer tonight was meant to be a warning."

  "A warning?" Devon gave her friend a questioning glance.

  "Sure. Garth was making it clear that anyone who wants to take a shot at you is going to have to go through him, first."

  Devon turned slightly pink. "I'm sorry about that scene outside a few minutes ago, Rita."

  Rita laughed. "Like I said, forget it. Martha Springer had it coming. And at least it will make certain my party gets talked about after it's over. Folks won't be able to claim they were bored."

  Devon gave a rueful sigh and picked up a salad bowl. "Something tells me life with Garth Saxon is never going to be boring."

  "Something tells me you're right," Rita agreed with a smile. "Whoever said life out here in the sticks was dull?"

  An hour later everyone was sitting down at the picnic tables that had been set up on the lawn. Plates were loaded with salads, thick chunks of buttered bread and huge slabs of barbecued beef. Devon sat beside Garth at a table that quickly filled up with a friendly assortment of neighbors. Ryan and Phil Ordway were sitting at another table around which sat some of the daughters of the guests. There was much giggling -and a lot of low-voiced conversation from the group. Apparently Ryan and Phil had given up trying to pitch their schemes to the local ranchers and farmers and had decided to enjoy themselves.

  "We're so pleased you're back in town," one of the women sitting at Devon's table remarked to her. "I know you must be excited about the wedding. I was talking to Bev Middleton the other day and she tells me you're plan­ning a big reception. What fun!"

  Garth picked up his knife. "Fun is not exactly the word that comes to my mind when I think about this wedding."

  A man sitting across from Garth guffawed loudly. "Your fun comes after the wedding, Garth. Haven't you figured that part out yet?"

  "Don't pay any attention to Bill," one of the women advised. "He's on his fourth beer. Tell me something, Devon, are you and Garth going to start your family right away? Neither one of you is a youngster. Can't wait too long, can you?"

  Devon's hand froze halfway to her mouth. It came as a devastating shock to realize that she and Garth had never talked about children. Of course Garth would want ba­bies. It would be one of his reasons for marrying. And he'd already waited so long, Devon thought in anguish. Why hadn't he brought up the subject? Was he just assuming she would be as anxious as he to have children? For God's sake, why hadn't she brought up the subject herself? She must have been deliberately suppressing it. Perhaps in the shock of accepting the fact that she really was going to marry Garth, she'd concentrated too much on the imme­diate situation and ignored the long-term implications.

  A kind of panic assailed Devon. When she thought of children all she could think about were the years she'd spent alone with Lee and Kurt. She'd already lived through all the problems, the terrors and the worries of raising two teenagers. How could she turn around and start all over again?

  Garth's hand was suddenly resting on the small fist she'd made in her lap. His fingers were warm and strong and in­finitely reassuring as he answered the woman's question about children.

  "Don't you know," he said quite casually, "that a year ago Devon just finished raising a couple of kids the hard way? The last thing I'd do is rush her into having her own babies until she's good and ready."

  There were murmurs of understanding from those lis­tening. Devon clutched at Garth's hand under the table, holding it fiercely as she tried to thank him silently for the reprieve. She remained silent, and the conversation quickly went on to other topics.

  But the subject wasn't going to just disappear, Devon knew. Sooner or later she would have to deal with it. She stared sightlessly down at her plate, still clinging to Garth's fingers, and forced herself to think about the fact that neither she nor Garth had taken any precautions the night he'd made love to her at her San Francisco flat. The pas­sion between them had sprung up too quickly and over­whelmed them too suddenly. A year of hunger had fed the flames, leaving little room for rational thought.

  She could be carrying his baby even now.

  Garth tightened his hand on hers and Devon glanced up to find him watching her with a strange expression in his eyes. It was an odd combination of possessive-ness and re­assurance. And she knew in that moment that he, too, was thinking of the night in San Francisco.

  Devon felt abruptly disoriented, as if her world had suddenly, subtly altered in some indefinable way.

  Watching her from the corner of his eye, Garth was certain he knew what was happening inside Devon's head. This past week she'd begun to forget that she'd viewed marriage to him as a trap. Or perhaps she'd merely begun to accept it. Garth wasn't sure which. All he cared about was that she'd stopped fighting it. The day they had ar­gued over the furniture, he knew he'd won the main battle even though Devon assumed she was the victor.

  But with the mention of babies, she'd once again be­come aware of the bars of the cage she was entering. He sensed the sudden tension in her slender figure as she sat beside him, and realized she was thinking of that night in San Francisco when they'd made love without taking any precautions. Was she now resenting him as well as the passion that had flared between them?

  He'd been so starved for her, and a year's aching hun­ger had been driving him. It had been impossible to hold back when the wait had finally ended. Surely she under­stood that he hadn't been thinking as rationally and clearly as he should have been that night, especially when he'd realized she was going to drag her feet and argue about going back to Hawk Springs. The terrible, lonesome ache he'd thought was finally about to end had swamped him when she'd started to tell him why they shouldn't marry. He'd had to stake his claim on her then or lose his mind.

  He wanted to tell her that if she was pregnant it would be different this time. This baby would be her own, not a teenage brother only a few years younger than herself. But maybe that didn't seem very different to her, Garth thought. Maybe all she could see was the trap of commit­ment taking shape around her.

  He could hardly deny that trap. There could be no mar­riage without it, and Garth had already done everything he could to give her time to adjust to it. But he'd waited as long as possible.

  Devon flinched under his hand and lie realized how tightly he was clasping her fingers. A few minutes earlier she'd been clinging to him, but now he was practically chaining her. He forced himself to release her and go back to his food.

  Later, he promised himself. He would have this out with her when they were alone. He'd let her know that while he was guilty of not taking proper precautions the other night, nothing had changed. If she wasn't already pregnant, he would be careful in the future, at least for a while. He would try to give her more time. But if she was carrying his baby, then that was how it was. She belonged to him and he would have to find ways to help her accept that and the baby.

  What it really came down to, Garth thought grimly, was that he would have to find ways to help her accept the life he was constructing around her.

  The evening wore on, the guests growing louder and more boisterous under the Dennisons' backyard lights. When the small country and western band Rita had hired began to play, there was no lack of eager dancers. The music added to the general, good-natured din and Devon found herself seeking a few minutes of peace and quiet.

  When Garth got involved in an intent discussion with his neighbors about the merits of a small nearby ranch that was coming on the market, Devon slipped away to the outlying shadows of the big yard. It seemed to her that she'd been needing some time to think since that unnerv­ing conversation about babies at the table.

  She walked in silence for a few minutes, lifting he
r face to the balmy evening air. When she came to the fence of a small paddock she leaned against it, staring toward the stall on the other side. A horse's tail swished absently in the shadows and a floppy-eared dog trotted past Devon's feet to see if anyone had inadvertently left some barbecued beef lying unattended on a paper plate.

  The scent of hay and alfalfa and ranch animals seemed comfortable and familiar tonight. Devon realized she'd lived with these earthy smells most of her life. They were intimately bound up with the routine of planting and har­vesting, of calving and foaling, of tracking the weather with an anxious eye. They were part of the endless, inti­mate cycle of life lived close to the land.

  Sometimes in the city one forgot what it was like to live this close to reality.

  "Hey," said a familiar voice directly behind her, "you look a little bored. Can't say that I blame you."

  Devon drew a breath and turned slowly around to find Phil Ordway approaching. She managed a smile. "Hello, Phil. Enjoying the evening?"

  "It's an experience, I'll say that much for it." He shook his handsome head. His words were just faintly slurred. He took another swallow from the beer he was holding. "That music's enough to drive a man over a cliff. This beer is pure blue-collar and all anyone back there wants to talk about is land and crops and cows and horses."

  "I guess people around here aren't ready for the won­ders of the computer age yet," Devon said, feeling a little sorry for the man.

  "You can say that again. They're all about fifty years behind the times. I don't see how you can stand this envi­ronment, Devon. You look like you'd have settled down just fine in San Francisco. What made you decide to come back here?"