Wild Flower

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Charles raised his head, showing Grey a bleak expression, one devoid of hope. “You may think you do now, Grey, my friend. But I’m not so sure. You don’t want to live with what I know. The best mercy I could show you now is not to tell you.”

  Grey fought the urge to jerk Charles bodily up out of his chair and throttle the man senseless. “Look, you son of a bitch,” he settled for saying conversationally. “I’m not some child who needs protecting. I’m a man, and I love your daughter. Granted, before now, I haven’t behaved like much of a man. I haven’t held up my end of the responsibilities that fell to me and my brother following our father’s death. You know me to drink and carouse and never think of tomorrow. Well, believe me, all of that’s over. I’ve never felt more serious or grown-up than I do now. And I have your daughter to thank for that—or to curse; I don’t know which. Even worse, I have no idea how she feels about me, if she even at the very least thinks kindly of me. But what she feels in return doesn’t matter. I will keep her safe, even at the expense of my own life and that of every blessed or cursed soul on this earth whom I know or am related to. And that includes you. Do you understand me?”

  Charles nodded. His chin trembled. He looked down, staring at his measure of whiskey. His shoulders shook with silent sobs and great heaving breaths.

  Grey rolled his eyes at his own unkind words. He’d kicked the man when he was down. How sporting was that? He had no idea, after all, what Charles’s demons were. And who was to say, Grey told himself, that once Taylor left him he wouldn’t be in this same broken condition … not caring, crying in his whiskey, not worth the chair he sat on?

  Unable finally to hold onto his burst of anger in the face of Charles’s helplessness, Grey squeezed his friend’s arm in a show of support. “I’m sorry, Charles. Forgive me. I just want to—I need you to … Oh, hell, man, just tell me what is going on, for Taylor’s sake.”

  Charles turned to Grey, staring intently at him, as if he meant to look right into Grey’s soul and assess his worth. He heaved out a sigh and awkwardly swiped at the tears that had wet his cheeks. He then drained his whiskey glass and thumped the heavy crystal tumbler onto the felt tabletop. “Taylor is—” He cut himself off, firming his lips together and inhaling deeply.

  Grey’s heart damned near thumped right out of his chest. He poured out another shot for Charles. “Taylor is what, Charles?”

  “Taylor is not who she thinks she is, Grey. And if we don’t get her to go away from here before she finds out the truth about herself, it alone could very well kill her. And I mean inside herself. She has an enemy she doesn’t even know about and for reasons she can’t even guess. But I fear the simple truth of who she is will do her more harm in her heart and mind than anything anyone else could do to her.”

  Grey sat perfectly still. “Charles, what are you saying … exactly?”

  “I’m saying that we need to get Taylor out of St. Louis before she learns these truths—and before another who already knows the truth finds out that she is here. She could be killed. Too much is at stake for her to live. Too many old wounds best left unspoken and unseen. We have to get her to leave, Grey. And never come back. We have to. It’s her only chance.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Grey muttered, sitting forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He tented his hands over his nose and mouth. For long moments he concentrated solely on breathing in and out and staring at the carpet. The silence in the room was almost palpable. Outside the door Grey could hear the sounds of revelry, of masculine banter and camaraderie, the happy, laughing sounds that permeated the many rooms of this mansion built to cater to a man’s leisurely pursuits. But inside this small and quiet room off to one side of the grand foyer, it seemed that unbearable truths were about to be told.

  Grey lowered his hands, allowing them to dangle between his knees. Inside he felt as cold and exposed as a newborn tossed naked out into a raging blizzard. However, this wintry feeling inside him was a bleak and dark season of the soul. He opened his mouth to speak … and to set the chain of events into motion. “I cannot believe this. It appears, from what you’re saying, Charles, that we will have to tell further lies to Taylor to preserve her from the truth. Amazing. You’d better start at the beginning, my friend.”

  * * *

  Just as she’d done that first night she’d come to St. Louis, Taylor again sat her horse outside her father’s home. The evening was pleasant, the sky was darkening, and behind her on the street, fancy carriages passed to and fro. As she’d ridden here, other carriages had passed by her. The elegant people inside them had suddenly sat forward, staring wide-eyed at her. Taylor had dismissed them then, and she ignored them now. She concentrated instead on thinking just what to say to her father. She’d bravely and with determination got herself this far.

  But being here now, and without Grey or her aunt and cousin in attendance, Taylor realized she felt some hesitance. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the answers her father might give. It was more what she should do if he refused to answer or to tell her the truth. After all, what could she do if he didn’t? He was her father. She couldn’t slit his throat or shoot him. Well, she could. But she felt certain she wouldn’t. And this was St. Louis, not the Nation, where disputes were settled more directly … at least in her experience and with the people she’d been involved with. Outlaws, mostly. With them, justice had run a swift course.

  But not here. Threats and weapons seemed to hold no sway. These white people were too civilized to suit Taylor. She yearned for the direct over the complicated, for the physical over the emotional. She didn’t want to think, to care. She wanted to act, to do, and get what she needed by her own hands … or her gun … or her knife. Those she was good with. It was only when she involved her heart that she was uncertain.

  Thinking of her heart and its desires paid her back with what she deserved. The image of Grey’s sad face this afternoon popped into her mind. He’d said they could not lie together anymore. This was an odd thing to Taylor. Always before, she had been the one to say when she would lie with a man. And never before, when she had wanted a man, had she been refused. Until Grey. Of course, he hadn’t yet refused her. They’d been in bed together when he’d taken his stand … after their lovemaking. She wondered if when she next wanted him and had the chance to show him, if he would really turn her away.

  Taylor shook her head and stroked Red Sky’s neck. The white man asked too much. He wanted her heart, he said. Taylor’s eyes narrowed. One cannot give what one does not have. No. That wasn’t right. She had a heart, but it was divided between two nations and two people who did not want her. Was it any wonder, then, that she kept her heart with two halves to herself? Maybe one day, when she could make it whole, she would feel she could bestow it on … someone.

  Taylor sighed, tiring of such thoughts that spoke of pity and weakness. She raised her chin, calling up her Cherokee pride. She had no need of anyone. She would make her own way, as she had always done. And Greyson Talbott be damned.

  Thus restored, Taylor dismounted. She looked toward her father’s mansion. The windows were dark. Perhaps he was not home. Or perhaps he was in another part of the house with no window on this side to reveal a light. Uncertainty gripped Taylor, telling her that this time there would be no Greyson Talbott to stop her. If she went up the walk, she would make it unchallenged to the door. She wondered how different the last three days would have been if Grey hadn’t interfered. Would she have met him at all, had he not? Her first thought was that she most likely would have. His brother was marrying her cousin. So, at some point, they would have met. This was a comforting thought. Maybe they would have met here today at her father’s.

  Taylor frowned, shaking her head no. Grey would have had no reason to come with Aunt Camilla and Amanda. After all, neither Uncle Stanley nor Franklin Talbott—both of whom would have had much more of a reason to do so—had accompanied her aunt and cousin.

  As she looped Red Sky’s reins around a wrought-iron bar in
the rail fencing, Taylor took a moment to ponder what she was doing, what she was thinking. What were these thoughts in her head? She frowned with the truth—she was assuring herself that she would have met Grey. Somehow, somewhere, she would have met him. But she knew it wasn’t really true. She may not have. Assailing Taylor now was a sudden realization of the chance meetings that could change a life. If one thing had been done differently, they never would have met. She found the thought unsettling. But what discomfited her the most was that she was upset by the realization that she might not have met Grey had he not poked his nose in her business.

  In the next instant, Taylor realized she was grinning and shaking her head. Greyson Talbott had forced their meeting—by fate or by chance—and she was glad he had. A rare peal of laughter escaped her, garnering for her the shocked stares of a fashionably dressed man and woman just then passing by. A glare from Taylor had the woman clinging to the man’s arm and them hurrying on their way. Taylor grinned again at that result. She hadn’t lost her toughness. Greyson Talbott. She shook her head. And couldn’t imagine a time in her life when she hadn’t known him. He was under her skin. He filled her thoughts. She could smell him when he was nowhere around, could feel his hands on her just by thinking about him—

  Enough. Taylor gave herself a mental shake and looked around, realizing that she’d already started up the walk to the house. In only moments she would be at the front door. Taylor suspended doubts and fears and steadily continued on her way. She kept her gaze trained on the closed and solid front door, facing it as if it were her enemy. And then, she was standing in front of it … and was lifting the brass lion’s-head knocker. And knocking. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, on the other side, the sounds of a lock being turned greeted her ears. Taylor swallowed, felt her heart tripping over itself. The door opened.

  Taylor recognized the butler from that afternoon. Estes. The thin, starchy-looking man took one look at her and his eyes rounded with surprise. “Oh. I say. Good evening … Miss, uh, James.” He looked all around her as if he thought someone was missing.

  “Bentley is not with me.”

  He met her gaze … his face reddened. “I should hope not. Uh, I mean I hadn’t supposed he would be.” The man retreated to his butler pose and remembered his duties. “Forgive me. Won’t you come in, Miss James?”

  He was welcoming her. Relief coursed through Taylor. She’d half-expected to be sent packing. “I will if my father is here.”

  The butler’s expression fell. “Oh, dear. He’s out for the evening. He’ll be so sorry he’s missed you. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes. You can tell me where he is.”

  The butler looked into her eyes … and swallowed. Taylor saw his prominent Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I see. Well, he’s gone to his gentlemen’s club. He’s to meet Mr. Greyson Talbott there, I believe.”

  Taylor’s pulse quickened. Her father was meeting Grey? A sense of urgency seized her. “Where is this club? What is it?”

  Alarm rounded the man’s eyes. “As I said, Miss James, it’s a gentlemen’s club. Surely you’re not thinking of going there?”

  Taylor cocked her head in a challenge. “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  “Yes, miss, I’m afraid there is. Women aren’t allowed on the premises.”

  “What are … premises?”

  Estes blinked, looked confused … but then his expression cleared. “Oh, I see. You don’t understand the word. Premises are … the grounds, I suppose. No, wait. More like inside the building. That’s it. Inside.” He raked her up and down with one look—not unfriendly or demeaning, just pointed. “But you’re—that is, women … no matter their attire or station … are not, uh, welcomed.”

  Taylor nodded consideringly. “How do I find this building where women are not welcomed?”

  Estes made gulping noises. To Taylor, he looked like a fish did when it was taken out of the water. But concern of another stripe jumped to the fore inside her—he wasn’t going to tell her where to find Grey and her father. She arched an eyebrow at the man and edged her hand toward her gun. Estes gasped and began a rapid babble punctuated with dramatic hand gestures that told and showed Taylor the directions. At the end of his exertion, as he stood there with a hand on his chest, Taylor nodded her thanks and said, “I wouldn’t have killed you. I would only have shot you in an arm or a leg.”

  Estes blinked rapidly and paled. Then he said, “Thank you, miss. That’s most kind of you.”

  Taylor nodded her head in leave-taking and turned, heading back down the path to the street and Red Sky. Behind her, she heard the door close—and heard the lock turn. A momentary grin rode her lips.

  But as she walked on, her mind churned over what she’d just learned. Grey was meeting her father, but not at his home. Could it have something to do with her? She felt certain it did. And Grey hadn’t wanted anyone else to know or to hear what was said. Taylor’s eyes narrowed. She would confront the men, and they would tell her. She would see to that. It didn’t concern her in the least that she intended to go to a place meant only for men. What could they be doing inside that they didn’t want women there? Well, she wasn’t a mere woman. Their rules meant nothing to her. They would give her entry. Or they would die.

  Taylor blinked, bringing herself back to the moment. What had caught her attention? She looked toward the street. Red Sky. He was moving about agitatedly, tagging against his reins and showing the whites of his eyes. Suddenly he whinnied his displeasure. Then he kicked out. Fear caused Taylor’s heartbeat to accelerate. She picked up her pace, sprinting toward her horse.

  In the twilight darkness, she couldn’t see if anyone—there! A man. A big man. Grey? Even if it was, she still needed to warn him. Perhaps he’d forgotten that Red Sky responded only to her, her mother, and, of course, Calvin. Anyone else who tried to handle her mount would know the animal’s wrath.

  Taylor was running now. She cursed the long and winding path that slowed her down. Finally she jumped the low hedge and tore through the neatly trimmed lawn, heading directly for the gate. Now she was close enough to call out. She did so, only to immediately realize she’d spoken in Cherokee. Cursing herself, she repeated it in English: “You there! Stop! Get away from him!”

  The man jerked around to face Taylor. His stance was the hunkering one of an angry bear. Taylor could make out only his silhouette. His features were lost in the darkness. But something about him, something like a billowing cloak that wasn’t really there, seemed to surround his being. It was darker than his form, darker than the encroaching night … and it was threatening. Wave after wave of ill will radiated off him … and hit Taylor like physical blows.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Taylor slowed her running steps, finally stopping on the other side of the wrought-iron fence from the man. Out of breath and needing support, she grabbed two of the bars and peered at him between them. He stayed where he was—out of range of Red Sky’s hooves and teeth—and stared at her … silently. With the aid of the street lamp off to one side of them, Taylor could see more of him now, despite his hat’s brim.

  But this cannot be. Startled confusion seized her, tightening her grip on the fence’s cold iron bars. In only seconds, her thoughts ran through a gamut of emotions and impressions. She feared she was losing her mind. Was it playing tricks on her? Because the man standing before her now was a handsome and stately man. He was well dressed, like a rich gentleman. There was no black shroud of evil surrounding him. Still, Taylor wondered if her first sight of this man had been a warning vision, one meant to show him to her as he really was. She didn’t know what to think, but she did consider herself warned.

  Where had he come from? Had he just appeared here on the street? Taylor risked looking away from him for a second or two. Behind him, across the wide street, was a richly appointed buggy. One horse. No driver. Most likely—she refocused on the man—the rig belonged to him. She stared at him standing there and watching her silentl
y. He seemed to purposely be giving her time to assess him and the situation, as if he waited for her to catch on. But catch on to what?

  She had no idea. But she continued to heed her warning vision by naming this man her adversary. Well-dressed and handsome he may be, but he was her enemy. He fairly reeked with hatred for her, yet she had no idea why. And once again he seemed to have changed. Now, in the smoky light cast by the street lamp, his features appeared heavy, his nose prominent. His mouth wide and cruel. Dark eyes held an unfriendly glitter in their depths. A shiver of recognition just beyond her grasp slipped over Taylor’s skin. There was something naggingly familiar to her about him.

  She found it revealing that he had yet to say anything to her. He only stared … and hated.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, thankful that there was no fearful waver in her voice—and just as thankful that the iron bars were still between her and him, even though they brought to her mind a prison’s bars.

  “Who do you think I am?” the man barked right back at her. She noticed his hands were fisted at his sides. And something else—he wasn’t as big now as he had appeared only a moment ago. Was it yet another trick of the light or her imagination? Or was he magic, like Bentley, and so could change his appearance? Then Taylor saw the bulge under his coat, on his right side. No, he was not magic. He was very human—and he was armed. But so was she. She didn’t know about him, but she did know about herself. She was a hell of a shot … providing she could get to her gun first.

  Ignoring his question, as he had hers, Taylor arrowed a glance at Red Sky—he appeared unharmed—and then back at the man. “What were you doing to my horse? Are you a horse thief? If you are, you ought to know that so am I. And I have killed three men already. One more won’t make much difference.”