Wild Texas Rose

by Martha Hix

Her stricken countenance shamed Whit. He wished he could grant her heart’s desire, but he couldn’t. “I’m sorry you took my meaning the wrong way, but I’ve told you how I feel. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “Don’t talk in circles. What are you getting at?”

  “I want you for my mistress.”

  If it had been humanly possible for Mariah’s blood to rush out of her body, she couldn’t have felt more drained. “I won’t be Barbara Catley’s Trick’em counterpart.”

  “Why not? You know you and I are compatible in bed.” Not feeling as flippant as he sounded, Whit lit a cigar and tossed the match into an ashtray. “You have a lot to gain. I can take care of you in the manner you were expecting from Joe. You’ll have a fine house in town, and all the things that go along with being my woman.”

  “I’m not for sale.”

  Blowing a slow stream of smoke toward the ceiling, Whit leaned back and balanced on his elbows. “Who said anything about buying you? I want to provide for you.”

  “I can provide for myself, thank you ever so much.”

  “If you’re going to be a schoolteacher, I realize you’ve gotta think of your reputation. But we can be discreet.”

  “How kind of you to consider me,” she bit out, and shot him a withering glare. “Your confidence amazes me.”

  “I didn’t get where I am by being meek,” he said, and got back to the subject. “I’ll give you everything you need–and save you from yourself.”

  “Save me from myself? You’re mad, Whit, stark raving mad.”

  “Probably.” He took another puff from the cigar. “Let’s look at this from a practical standpoint. Whether or not he was impotent, you did spread your legs for ole Joe.”

  Whit despised himself for these cruelties, but he was powerless to stop himself from comparing Mariah to Jenny who had also played the innocent. “You’ve proved you can be had,” he said, “by more than one man.”

  “You rotten scoundrel! How dare you speak to me as if I’m a trollop!”

  She grabbed the empty water pitcher used for her morning toilette and hurled it at Whit. But her aim was poor, and the vessel crashed against the wall, missing Whit by a foot. Shards of crockery went flying.

  He jackknifed from the bed, stomping to her, and whipped her into his arms. “Better you should’ve gotten your gun if you’re wanting to hurt me.”

  “Despicable, callous scoundrel!” As she tried to free herself, her fingernails raked his face, drawing blood. Satisfaction surged within her maligned heart.

  “Right.” He lifted her from her feet, carrying her to the rumpled bed and throwing both of them down.

  “You blackguard, take your hands off me.”

  “Not for a long, long time.”

  Once more he branded her with the mark of his possession ... and roused the passions she couldn’t deny.

  Hot, wild, and angry was their loving, for he was trapped by his wretched past and she was prisoner to her body and soul, an entirety of spirit that desired–and yes loved–a man too bitter for love.

  Chapter Nine

  In the aftermath of what had happened in the line shack Mariah was thoroughly disgusted with herself for allowing Whit to show his physical superiority. Why, oh why, had she been so weak? Why had she responded to him with such ardency? Because she loved him, she realized. That emotion was beyond her control, but she would be tarred and feathered before again allowing him to know how deeply he had hurt her.

  The covered wagon was rolling along the path that led from Crosswind’s outlying reaches to the Jaye property. Since they had left the line shack, Whit had been trying to cajole Mariah into changing her mind about his proposition.

  She’d have no part of it. To be an old-maid schoolteacher had to be better than being just another notch on Whit Reagor’s bedpost. She had a right to be angry. He was callous, heartless. He had, it seemed to her, delighted in his hateful words, even though he hadn’t mentioned her tarnished character since she’d hurled that water pitcher at him.

  Mariah faced reality. Once more she had lost, and this was the most wrenching loss of her life. But she couldn’t take to some lonely bed and hide her grief. She’d deal with her hurt as she had done with her past disappointments. She’d throw herself into the challenges of getting on. That was the only way she could survive emotionally. “We’ll be at Joe’s farm in a few minutes,” Whit said, continuing his crusade and snapping the reins. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”

  “I won’t.”

  “I don’t like the idea of leaving you there with him.”

  “Aren’t you gallant?” she asked snidely. “Never fear, my knight, your presence isn’t needed.”

  “It could get ugly.”

  “Really? My dear Mr. Reagor, how could anything get uglier than the last couple of hours with you?”

  “I’ll forget you said that.” He grimaced. “Will you leave as soon as you tell him?”

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Shall I wait around, say down by Mukewater Pond, and pick you up later?”

  “Absolutely not. I never want to see you again.”

  “Don’t make declarative statements you don’t mean.” His big wide hand moved to her knee. “Think about all I’ve offered, and get over your snit. I’ll be waiting for you at Crosswind.”

  She swatted his touch away. “How many times do I have to tell you I won’t be your mistress.”

  “You’re already my lover. What’s the difference?”

  “Little things like principles, scruples, reputation.”

  “Cut it out, Mariah. You won’t shame me into marrying you, if that’s what you’re about.”

  “Maybe I had fleeting thoughts of being your wife, but believe me, that’s the furthest thought from my mind now. As soon as I break my engagement, I’ll be free to do whatever I please. And what I please doesn’t include you.”

  “I wish it did.”

  “Too bad.” She disregarded his intense blue stare. “You and I are finished.”

  Not for a moment did Whit believe her statement, but he now realized he hadn’t counted on her pride. Why not give her a bit of a victory? “Okay, you’re through with Joe. And you’re through with me. You have to take a step in some direction. Which one will it be?”

  “I’ll teach school.”

  She’d had her victory, and he wanted his. “What a waste ... You could have anything you want.” His brow hiked. “You know you want the same thing I want.”

  For a moment he thought she’d weaken, but she imparted an arch look and said, “You can get that from your blond floozy in Dublin.”

  “Barbara is past history.”

  “Oh? Did she turn you down at the wedding fete? Is that why you came running after me?”

  “We came to a final parting of the ways. To answer your second question, I wanted to see you because I wanted to see you. Barbara had nothing to do with it.”

  “I wouldn’t stake my soul on that.”

  “Aw, now, Mariah, settle down. You’ll see things differently once you’re over your pique.”

  “Don’t underestimate me. When I make up my mind to do something, I do it.”

  “That so? Seems to me you’d made up your mind for babies’-breath and white lace. Sure did change your tune quick.”

  “I know when to quit, and this war of words has gone far enough,” she said as a rider and calico mule topped a hill.

  “Fine with me to stop arguing. It’s just in time, too.” He motioned toward the man who was approaching them. “Want to meet one of Joe’s neighbors?”

  Being neighborly was the last thing on her mind.

  Whit brought the wagon to a halt, and the stranger came abreast of them, reining in his mount. “How doin’, Lamkin?”

  The open-faced man took a battered hat from his shiny pate. “Fair to middling. Hello, ma’am:”

  In the course of the men’s chat she overheard several things about the farmer. A. W. Lamkin was not a we
ll man. Malaria had driven him to the healthy, arid climate of Coleman County. The most astounding part was he and his family were farming a tract of land on Joseph’s property!

  “Yep, Mr. Jaye’s been good to us,” A.W. commented.

  “Yep,” Whit mocked in good nature, “and it’s a good thing you didn’t try to homestead on Crosswind.”

  “I know you’re agin us grangers, Reagor, but I’ll say this fer you. You been right neighborly. The missus shore did appreciate those canned goods you had sent over.”

  “Now, don’t be spreading that around.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Reagor. But I jist wanted to offer my appreciation. Molly and Aggie gobbled up those peaches like nobody’s business. You ought to’ve seen the grin on those younguns’ faces.”

  This testimony to the sterling characters of both Whit Reagor and Joseph Jaye did little to allay Mariah’s aggravation. “It’s been nice to meet you, Mr. Lamkin. Whit, shouldn’t we be going?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “See you later, Lamkin.”

  The wagon moved on. Mariah had no wish to converse with Whit, so she said, “I’m going to check on the kittens.”

  She heard his intake of breath as she climbed across the seat, her thigh touching his shoulder. The urge to scream, to pummel him, to laugh in hysteria, raged within her ... but why give him the satisfaction?

  Sitting down at the back of the wagon, she unfastened the cat’s wooden quarters and stroked Fancy’s head. Being away from Whit gave Mariah a certain peace.

  “Look at all you sweeties,” she said, giving full attention to the feline family.

  The mama cat, her foreleg around the two kittens, a satisfied smirk on her whiskered mouth, moved against the pressure of Mariah’s hand. Fancy glanced at her babies, then up at Mariah, as if to say, “Didn’t I do good?”

  “You did good.” Mariah took a bite-size piece of jerky from her pocket and offered it to the mother cat, who worked it between her teeth. “You know, Fancy, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss you.”

  “Meow?”

  Scratching the now-purring cat’s ear, she said, “Around you, there’s never a dull moment.”

  At long last Mariah and the feline were friends. No longer would Mariah and Whit be friends. She closed her eyes, lost in thoughts of the past, of the present, and of her fuzzy future ...

  “Mariah, we’re here.”

  Whit’s voice from the wagon front jarred her. A tear rolled down her cheek, her voice catching as she whispered, “Goodbye, Fancy. Take care of your sweet little kits.”

  Goodbye. She brought her trembling fingers to her lips. Within a matter of minutes she’d be saying farewell to Whit and she knew it would be the hardest thing she had ever done in her life.

  “Mariah? Did you hear me? We’re at Joe’s farm.”

  The wagon halted. Forcing herself to face the conflict with Joseph, she descended out the back. Her mouth dropped open, and she stared in disbelief. Whit had warned her that Joseph was broke, but when she laid her eyes on his homestead, she was speechless.

  Joseph bounded out of the log cabin and crushed her into his bony arms, but realizing his breach of propriety, he stepped back and began his many questions.

  Unable to speak, unable to look him in the eye, she depended on Whit to make explanations of their meeting and decision to travel together. Numb, both from the wrenching time with Whit and from shock wrought from the present situation, she leaned against the blue-painted wagon and took in the scene before her.

  A small log cabin, a plume of smoke rising from the cracked chimney, stood twenty feet away, its exterior glinting gray in the sunlight. One rickety cart filled with rolls of red-painted barbed wire stood next to the lone mesquite tree. Three scrawny white chickens tripped around a bleached cow skull scratching for a handful of corn kernels in the rocky area fronting the cabin. Inside a poorly constructed lean-to stable was a bony horse, obviously of advanced years. Her shock turned to dismay.

  Where were the fruits of Joseph’s letters? Where were his Spanish-style home of native rock and tiled roof, his new barns, his fat stock, not to mention his pear groves? Oh, there were pears all right. Hundreds of flat-jointed, spiky green cacti dotted the barren landscape. Prickly pears.

  Disgusted with Joseph and the bald lies of his correspondence, she was anxious to get away. Should she put aside her misgivings and go with her heart ... with Whit?

  “Shall we unpack the wagon?” she heard Joseph ask.

  “Not just yet,” she answered, measuring her tone. Whit, look at me! she pleaded silently. Say you want us to be together–legally!

  He didn’t.

  “Please come in the house,” Joseph requested, motioning to Whit and taking Mariah’s travel-stiff arm. “I’ll fix us a spot of tea.”

  “None for me.” Whit stepped to the wagon, reached beneath the driver’s seat, and took the parrot cage in his hand. Setting Gus in front of Mariah, he looked into her eyes. “Better get on to Crosswind. Got a family of cats that need to be settled.”

  Despite the warm sun and her woolen cape, a cold chill ran the length of her spine, and she felt empty at the thought of being without Whit. She told herself not to be foolish.

  “Please take tea with us,” Joseph said. “I want to hear why you two have scratches on your faces. My goodness, you look as if you were in the middle of a cat fight.”

  “You got that right. I tangled with a wildcat,” Whit dimpled a grin at Mariah. “One helluva wildcat.”

  How can you stand there and flirt with me!

  Joseph didn’t appear to catch Mariah’s tension. “How dreadful for you,” he exclaimed. “Well, I am pleased you both arrived relatively safely. I must say, I wasn’t expecting you this soon, dearest. You caught me unawares.”

  “I am a couple of days early.”

  Whit doffed his black Stetson. “Gotta shove off.”

  Gotta shove off? That was all he had to say to her? She stared at the hard-packed ground. Well, she could be just as offhanded. Raising her hand, she waved her fingers. “Toodle-oo.”

  Whit caught her coolness and it lanced into him, but he collected his wits. She’d get over her anger. Little wonder she was edgy beneath the indifference. After all that had happened between them, he wasn’t himself, either.

  She was facing a difficult discussion with Joe, so why add to her problems by making a show of himself? One thing Whit was damned glad of: She wouldn’t marry Joe Jaye. He was determined to provide for her in any way she’d accept, and wouldn’t leave her stranded at Joe’s mercy. “The Conestoga,” he thus offered. “Keep it as an engagement gift to the bride.”

  “I wouldn’t think of accepting such a gift,” she said, wanting no part of his burnt offering.

  Joseph spoke up. “Thank you for the wagon, old chap. I’m sure it will come in handy.”

  “Joseph!” she protested.

  Whit had the impulse to extend his hand to the frosty redhead who had been so hot-blooded in his arms. He itched to cosset her, to keep her imprisoned in his arms for as long as the fire raged between them, but she would have to make the next move. Whit Reagor would not beg. Never again.

  She’ll be at the Crosswind before dawn, he thought. Without glancing her way, he swung into his hand-tooled saddle and clipped a salute. “Later.”

  He’s gone! Forever! Mariah watched her lover point his sleek sorrel stallion to the west. Emotionally spent, she continued to stare at the muscled back she knew so well.

  Then a miracle happened. Bay Fire made a circle, and horse and rider headed back toward Mariah. She was ecstatic realizing Whit hadn’t given up on them.

  The stallion pranced up to the cabin, and Whit vacated the saddle. Hat in hand, he half grinned. “Couldn’t get away without ... Well, I forgot something.”

  Her heart hammered against her breast as Mariah took three steps in his direction. Expectation in her tone, she said the simple word “Yes?”

  “Forgot my cats.”
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  Cats! It was all Mariah could do not to scratch his eyes out. Blast him. “Heaven forbid you should leave something behind.”

  Grabbing Gus’s cage, she instructed Joseph to lead her inside the cabin. She would proceed with her life, sans Whit Reagor and that was that. Her determination however did little to ease her pain.

  In the confines of the one-room log cabin, she eased into a rope-latticed, high-backed straight chair. Joseph took a kettle from the fireplace cleek and poured water into a pot of tea leaves. She sat motionless.

  Two steaming cups sat on the rough-hewn table, and he unfastened the lid from a jar of dried apricots. “Have one. They’re quite tasty.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He sighed. “I’ve missed you, dearest.”

  Staring at the earthen floor, she didn’t reply.

  “I’m pleased you made friends with Whitman. He’s a fine chap, has been terribly kind to me this past year. Did I mention him in my letters?”

  She shook her head, both in answer to his question and in hopes he would stop discussing that scoundrel Whit Reagor.

  “I should have. He’s–” Joseph abruptly raised his head, his line of vision stopping on the straw-filled mattress of his bed. Bloody hell! One of Temperence’s cotton stockings peeked from the covers. Thanking God the woman had left two hours earlier, Joseph hastened to the offending article, gathered it and a pile of clothes, and shoved the lot into his watering pail. How was he going to rid himself of that baggage Temperence Tullos? A nightly visitor, she had promised to return this evening.

  He had to get Mariah away from the farm. Never would he allow his beloved to be hurt by his meaningless indiscretions.

  Beyond those anxious thoughts, Joseph had lost the train of his previous chatter. What had he been saying? Empty words mattered not, not really. His problems were far greater than idle talk. He read disenchantment in Mariah’s silence, and taking her cold hand into his barbed-wire-scarred one, Joseph knelt in front of her. “You’re too quiet, and that’s not like you. Please say something.”

  Her eyes averted, she asked, “Why did you lie?”

  Backed into a corner, Joseph had to do something. He would rather die than lose her. Knowing Mariah, he decided to play on her sympathies. “Pride was my undoing. My situation is an embarrassment, and no one feels it more deeply than I. I couldn’t tell you, simply couldn’t!”