Texas Tiger TH3

by Patricia Rice

  Janice glanced over her shoulder at the departing carriage. It looked out of place among the water wagons and farm carts and dust-covered horses that made up the only modes of transportation on this end of town. She shook her head as she looked back to Daniel.

  "I can't imagine it. She has everything her heart could possibly desire, and now I hear she's going to be married to the man whose family owns the biggest department store in town, so she'll have twice as much. It just doesn't seem fair."

  The handsome fiancé with no sense of humor—Daniel remembered the conversation well. Perhaps if he just reassured himself that the man wasn't a total bastard, he would realize Georgina was no more than a spoiled child who didn't know what was good for her. That would put an end to his Don Quixote tendencies.

  "What is the biggest department store in town? I haven't been here long enough to know my way around."

  The end-of-lunch whistle squealed, and Janice grabbed her skirt, prepared to run back to work. Over her shoulder she answered his question. "Mulloney's. The biggest store in town is owned by Artemis Mulloney. Your girlfriend is going to marry his son Peter."

  She was gone before he could comment. Daniel couldn't have replied in any case. Mulloney. It wasn't possible. There couldn't be two Artemis Mulloneys in Cutlerville, Ohio.

  The merry Georgina Hanover was marrying his brother.

  * * *

  Daniel drained his fourth beer and wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. The tavern was dark and drab, and the noise level was growing as workers just off the line filed in.

  He glanced around at his surroundings and felt the familiar loneliness creeping up on him again. This certainly wasn't Texas. These men were carrying lunch buckets instead of six-guns. They wore faded blue workshirts and khakis instead of spurs and ten-gallon hats. But they were the same men just the same—men with no families or homes or lives beyond the next beer. Daniel didn't want to be one of them.

  But he was. Laying his money down on the counter, he wandered toward the door. He had no head for drink and knew it, but there were times when a man just had to get outside of himself for a while. Tonight had just seemed like one of those times.

  The smell of sulfur struck him as he walked outside. He had hoped for a blast of fresh air to clear his head, but the heat and humidity lingered, trapped between these narrow dark streets and towering old buildings. He would have to get out of town to breathe fresh air again.

  His feet led the way. He had made inquiries earlier in the day with the thought of finding a hired cab and seeing how the other half lived, but he had never made it farther than the tavern. But now, without conscious thought, his feet were guiding him.

  Riding was easier than walking with this leg of his, but he hadn't gotten around to buying a horse. Stabling it would be a problem in the city. He wasn't certain he was ready to take on the extra expense. But he was regretting his lack of transportation as he meandered through the city's main business district.

  Mulloney's Department Store stretched the length of one block and the width of another. Daniel had never seen anything like it, but then, he wasn't in the habit of visiting cities. Houston had grown tremendously in the ten years since he had first seen it, but he couldn't remember anything quite the size of this store anywhere in its environs.

  Daniel stared upward at story upon story of brick structure. Mulloney's wasn't satisfied with occupying just a block of land, but they needed a block of sky, too, it seemed. The amount of wealth needed just to build this monstrosity made him cringe. He didn't need to see the insides.

  He could feel the rage replacing the loneliness, and he let his feet carry him on. He'd spent a lifetime learning to deal with this fury that hid behind his every action. He knew how to capture it, tame it, put it to work for him. Even Evie didn't know the depth of his deception. He wouldn't want to frighten her. But tonight the beers were working on him, and the fury was steaming through the cracks of his control.

  His leg ached, and that helped to keep him in balance. Daniel went past the expensive stores—closed for the evening—and wandered into a comfortable residential district. No factory worker lived here, he wagered. Nor the clerks in those fancy department stores. The delineation of wealth was so much clearer here than back in Texas.

  But he wasn't a stranger to those differences. He had grown up in St. Louis without ever considering the comforts at his command. It was only in these last ten years that he had become aware of the widening chasm between the haves and the have-nots.

  There was a reason for that, but he wasn't prepared to dwell on it right now as his wandering took him farther from the business district and deeper into the bastions of wealth.

  Daniel suspected these magnificent edifices gleaming with gaslights and crystal windows and hidden in the shadows behind trees and shrubberies larger than the city park would rightly be called mansions. He'd lived off and on in a mansion during these last few years, but it in no way compared to these. The mansions around Natchez, Mississippi, were falling into ruin and decay, destroyed by the war, the economy, the lack of manpower to keep them functioning any longer. Obviously, no such destruction had touched Cutlerville, Ohio.

  Daniel leaned against a wrought-iron fence in front of the largest of these symbols of wealth. He could see a polished open carriage in the drive. The front door was open, and he could catch a glimpse of a chandelier glittering in the foyer. All the lamps in the house must have been lit, for light twinkled from every window. Back in the section of town from where he had just come, the cost of oil for a single lamp was prohibitive. Gaslights were unthinkable.

  He had been told the house with the stone pineapples on the gateposts would be the Mulloney mansion. He could see the pineapples at the end of the street. The house and yard took up the entire block. This was it, then, the house where his family lived, the house whose portals he had been forbidden.

  He had just enough beer in him to wonder what would happen if he walked up that drive and announced himself at the door. He liked to imagine the chaos that would ensue. Leaning his shoulder against the cold iron fence, Daniel remembered all those years of wondering, the years of waiting. To a child, a week was forever. He had endured years, the childhood equivalent of eternity. By the time he had learned some speck of the truth, he had developed a facade of indifference.

  But curiosity had always been a strong component of his character. He couldn't help but be curious about a family that had so much it could afford to throw away one of its sons.

  Just that much knowledge of the people behind this gate made him worry about the merry little imp he had met on the train. People who could throw away their own child wouldn't think twice about ignoring a bright and lovely woman whose only purpose was to bring them more wealth. Daniel hated to think of that happening. Even Evie would agree with him if she knew.

  Straightening, Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the carriage, willing its occupants to descend from the house. He wanted to know at least what they looked like before he started digging into their lives.

  But no one came out, and his empty stomach was beginning to protest. It was time to get back to the real world.

  He was a journalist, had learned at the hands of some of the best. He knew just how to go about digging into the Mulloney family. He hadn't been certain when he came here that he would bother, but now he had an incentive other than himself.

  He would make certain that Peter Mulloney was the kind of man Georgina Hanover ought to marry. And he would find out just what kind of people the Mulloneys were before he made the decision to acknowledge them as his relations.

  Hands in pockets, staring through the iron gate separating him from the family he had never known, Daniel thought he might just ride out of Cutlerville, Ohio, without ever telling them who he was.

  Chapter 4

  The announcement was made. There would be no turning back now.

  Georgina looked up at the handsome man whose arm she
held and tried to will herself to feel happiness. His smile was warm as he turned it on her. She gave him a vapid smile in return. If she didn't have a thought in her head, Peter wouldn't notice.

  The pale blue gown her mother had chosen for her had a deep square neckline that cut scandalously low across her bust, and Georgina had felt Peter's glance in that direction more than once during the evening. She wasn't certain why men liked to look at her there, but it did make her tingle slightly when she knew he was doing it. Maybe everyone was right and she just needed to get to know him better.

  It was a difficult assignment in a crowd like this. It was her duty to circulate among the guests, to dance with old and young and see that everyone was having a good time. She could do that with ease, but she couldn't figure out how to get to know her fiance while doing it.

  Not that Peter was much help. Already he had turned to one of the other male guests to discuss a problem he had down at the store, and she was forgotten. Sighing, Georgina accepted a lemonade and an offer of a dance from a young man she had known since childhood.

  Much later, after she had lost sight of Peter, Georgina decided the party was doing just fine without her. Despite the open windows, the heat in the ballroom was stifling, and she could feel a fine sheen of perspiration coating her forehead.

  If her fiancé wasn't around to escort her into the garden, she would just have to go herself. If she thought Peter might be in the least bit jealous, she would have another man take her outside, but she doubted if Peter would even notice. And if he wouldn't notice, she wasn't going to waste her moment of freedom on one of these less than sober morons decorating the dance floor.

  A slight breeze billowed the heavy draperies as Georgina stepped between them and through the open French doors to the terrace. The draperies prevented much of the light in the ballroom from escaping, but there were gaslights placed strategically along the paths in the garden beyond the terrace, so the night wasn't completely dark.

  She saw him immediately. He wasn't making any secret of his presence. He lounged against the low wall, his wide shoulders outlined against the shrubbery, his long legs lazily sprawled in front of him. Her heart gave a strange lurch and pounded a little faster as she scanned his features to be certain she hadn't been mistaken. She recognized the slightly crooked nose, the unruly lock of hair, the almost ascetically long face that transformed into something delightfully wicked when he grinned. Which he was doing now.

  He was wearing a suit, but it wasn't of the formal black worn by the men inside. The light linen stood out against the darkness of the shrubberies behind him, and the string tie was defiantly western. He was as out of place as a toad on a footstool, but relief washed over her as he approached.

  "You said I was invited to all your parties," he said softly, in a drawl she hadn't quite remembered.

  "And I would have sent you a formal invitation if I'd known where to find you, Mr. Martin. You never called."

  She was aware when his gaze was distracted from her face to the glittering tiara crowning her stacked tresses. She wasn't certain what was in his eyes when they came back to hers, but she knew somehow that he was studiously avoiding looking at her breasts. That knowledge made her tingle more than Peter's deliberate look had. Rebelliously, she wanted this man to look at her there.

  Georgina came closer, holding her shoulders back so he couldn't avoid seeing what she displayed. Never in her life had she behaved like this, but she knew exactly how it was done. She touched his arm and felt the slight jerk of shock beneath her fingers.

  "I thought you had forgotten me." She made her voice whisper like the breeze through the trees, and she read its effect on his mobile face.

  Daniel didn't answer immediately. Instead he studied her, deliberately resting his gaze on the line of lace caressing her breasts before traveling downward, noting the hard curves of her corset beneath the silk, the full swell of her hips, the juncture of her legs beneath the clinging cloth. When his gaze returned to hers, he was smiling.

  "You're flirting again, aren't you? Why don't you save your tricks for your boyfriend? There's no need for anything but honesty between us. That is, if what you want is a friend."

  Georgina felt deflated. At the same time she felt relieved. She could say what she wanted to this man, and he wouldn't laugh or walk off or take her in contempt. She touched his arm again, leaving her hand there this time.

  "I want a friend. Will you dance?"

  Music poured through the open windows, and Daniel glanced up at the heavy draperies preventing any sight of the lavish ballroom beyond. He looked down into the plea in her eyes, and held out his arms.

  "I'm not very graceful, but I'd be delighted to try. There's more room out here than in there."

  The flagstones beneath their feet weren't a polished dance floor, and their motions were less than graceful as he had said, but it was a wonderful dance anyway. Georgina gave in to the sway of the music, the brush of a breeze against her skin, and the firm hold of this tall stranger's arms around her. He took a strong lead, leaving her with no concern other than the pleasure of their movements. It was like heaven. She didn't have to say a word, didn't have to be concerned about her appearance, didn't have to watch her steps. None of that mattered with this man. The dance was everything.

  She was sorry when the music stopped. The cowboy's hand lingered briefly at her waist, and even when he dropped his arm, he continued holding her other hand. Their fingers entwined when he looked down on her.

  "I just wanted to see if you were happy," he said in measured tones, as if the speech were practiced.

  Georgina plastered on her vapid smile. "Why, of course I'm happy. I have it all, don't I?"

  "That's what I thought." His gaze was curious, though, and not relieved by her reassurances. "I've decided to stay around a while. I've bought a printing press over near your father's factory. Do you still want me to call on you once in a while?"

  "A printing press?" Her eyes widened in excitement. "Will you start a newspaper? Will you have an office with photographs in the window?" The excitement suddenly departed. "Or are you just printing cards and posters and such?"

  Even if he hadn't contemplated his own paper, he would have after that. Daniel grinned. "I'll be doing both. There's not much money to be made in a newspaper until it gets some circulation. I have to eat somehow."

  Remembering her role as a mature adult, she replied with muted excitement. "I wish you would call on me sometime and tell me about it. I've always been curious about how a newspaper works."

  "I would be happy to tell you what I can, but I don't know if I can get away at proper calling hours. I have a business to run."

  "Give me your card, and I'll see you get the next invitation. I've got to return to my guests."

  Somehow, Georgina knew Mr. Martin wouldn't enter the ballroom with her. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between them. Even when he handed her the card and their fingers touched, that knowledge was there. There was no good reason why their worlds should ever touch again.

  She tucked the piece of cardboard between her breasts and winked. She would almost swear that he colored, but he stepped back into the darkness, and she hurried toward the door as the music started up again. It felt good just knowing he was there. She wouldn't think about all the other things he made her feel.

  * * *

  Peter sprawled his long frame across the blanket they had spread over the grass. His dark curls fell over his forehead as he finished the chicken leg he had been gnawing on. Georgina found him an exceedingly virile specimen of manhood, but she was still searching for the magic she had hoped to find in her future husband.

  At least Peter hadn't been terribly reluctant to indulge her with this intimate little picnic she had talked him into. It was just the two of them for a change. There were no other men to distract him with their talk of business, no other women to distract him with their charms. His attention was all hers.

  She had worn one of her gowns f
rom London, one of those requiring no structured undergarments. Mr. Martin had noticed that immediately when she had worn one on the train, but Peter seemed somehow oblivious to the makeup of women's attire. He rested blissfully at ease, staring up at the sky and enjoying his meal. She wanted to pour the pitcher of lemonade over him.

  "What is it you do all day at the store?" She tried the soft, seductive voice she had tried on Mr. Martin, hoping Peter wouldn't think the question too unfeminine if she asked it properly. To add to the illusion, she leaned over and tickled him with a piece of grass.

  "Work." He grabbed her hand and kissed it, robbing her of the grass at the same time. "What do you do all day?"

  Georgina wanted to groan, but she obediently replied, "Play. Will you tell me about your work if I don't tell you about my play?"

  Peter grinned, and the shock of it nearly mwade her jump out of her skin. He looked just like Mr. Martin when he did that. Of course, he didn't really look like Pecos. The cowboy's hair was light and straight and his face was much longer and leaner with that unfortunate bump in his nose, but there was just something...

  She shook her head and willed him to make a sensible reply.

  "I'm a glorified handyman," Peter admitted. "I fix whatever needs fixing."

  That didn't sound very likely. Peter was always elegantly dressed in tailored coats and silk cravats. Georgina frowned. "You mean you go around with hammer and nails and pound boards all day?"

  Peter laughed and reached for another chicken leg. "Not that kind of fixing. If one of the customers takes a liking to something but tries to go out without paying, I'm the one they call. The other day we had a nosy journalist asking questions of our shop clerks, and one of the managers asked me to remove him. That's the kind of thing I do."

  Nosy journalist. Georgina's eyes lit up. What could Pecos be up to now? She spread jam on a roll and handed it to Peter. "What kind of questions would a journalist ask a shop clerk? I shouldn't think they'd have much to say."