Les understood that she was lying inside a tent. Alex or Freddy had mentioned that rain was moving in from the south and they’d set up tents for everyone. She also knew that she’d been badly injured. Bandages wrapped her left thigh and she was aware of pain surging like a hidden current beneath the warm sea in which she floated. But she didn’t remember the actual injury or crossing the river or Alex stitching her. All of the drovers had poked their heads past the tent flap and had spoken to her, but she couldn’t recall what they had said, remembered only bits and pieces of what her sisters had talked about when they had crawled inside her tent and held her hands.
“Les. Damn it, are you listening to what I’m saying?”
She opened her eyes and smiled at Ward. The tent flap was tied back and light from the campfire reached inside. She could see his thinning hair and drawn expression. He didn’t look like the handsome Prince Charming she had been dreaming of, a man who would carry her away to a house like Luther Moreland’s. She had always liked Luther’s house. It occupied a grassy corner lot off of Main Street. Tall cottonwoods shaded the porch, and there was a bay window with a large fern placed before the center pane.
“But you don’t look like him,” she murmured, disappointed. Prince Charming was tall and slender, and you couldn’t see his scalp through his hair. He didn’t shout, and he never criticized or made a woman cry. Prince Charming didn’t wear paper collars and cuffs or a shopkeeper’s apron, and he didn’t imagine snubs or insults in every glance. Prince Charming never ever squeezed so hard that he left bruises on a woman’s face and arms, and he never raised his hand in annoyance or anger. His lips didn’t disappear into a tight thin line.
“Les.” Ward clasped her shoulders and gave her a shake. “They had a meeting. They said that it’s your decision to stay with the drive. They’ll give you a week to heal, then you have to go back to work or withdraw. Are you listening? I told Frisco that you would stay with the drive, but he said he had to hear it from you.” Fury pinwheeled in his eyes. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to take that bastard down a peg!”
It was such an unlikely, unimaginable possibility that Les laughed. Ward drew back, then lunged toward her face and hissed. “You’ll see.”
She took his hand and smiled, floating, drifting. “I want to go home.” Not to the ranch house, but to a house with a bay window and a fern in the front pane. A two-story house with a cozy parlor and no view of cattle from any window. No furniture made out of horns.
“Les, I’m warning you. When Frisco asks, you tell him you’re staying with the drive.”
“Staying with the drive,” she repeated, frowning, trying to understand what he was saying. Did he want to take her for a drive in his gig? Would he stop in the moonlight, gaze tenderly into her eyes, and kiss her? “Do you love me?” she asked curiously. “You’ve never said the words.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. How much laudanum did Alex give you?”
“I want you to look at me the way Dal looks at Freddy.”
“This is a waste of time,” he said, disgust heavy in his tone. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
She floated above the pain, watching firelight flicker on the wall of the tent. Pretty patterns, like moving wallpaper. She thought Freddy and Alex spoke to her from the opening in her tent. One of the drovers called good night. And then Prince Charming came.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, smiling when he entered her tent and sat beside her. The campfire was low now and didn’t cast enough light that she could see his face, but she knew it was him. He held her hand gently and stroked her wrist.
“I’m so sorry you were injured, Les.”
Oh yes, that is what Prince Charming would say. He wouldn’t talk about meetings or cattle drives. She disengaged her hand and lifted it to touch his face. He covered her hand with his own and pressed her fingers to his cheek, moved her hand, and placed a kiss in her palm. Surprise and delight widened her eyes. “Do you love me?” she whispered. She wanted someone to love her, needed to hear words that she could throw against the pain like a shield.
“I have loved you for years.”
“Oh!” Tears filled her eyes because his quiet answer proved that she must be dreaming. Disappointment parted the cloud that supported her and she dropped into a cauldron of pain, groaning and moving her leg. The pain was hot and throbbing and more real than Prince Charming would ever be.
“Rest now,” he murmured, smoothing a wave of hair back from her forehead. “Sleep. Don’t worry about anything, just concentrate on getting well.”
His voice floated softly out of the darkness, tender with sympathy and concern. On some level of reality Les understood that the laudanum had conjured him and formed the words she longed to hear. Her dreaming mind gave him a familiar voice, but it wasn’t Ward’s.
That was the best part. He was nothing like Ward.
Chapter 14
Cold rain collected along the brim of Dal’s hat and dripped down the collar of his slicker. There hadn’t been much lightning associated with the last day and a half of grey wet skies, and he was grateful. A stampede on muddy ground was something he didn’t want to think about.
Riding alongside the herd, he slowed beside Freddy and inspected her through a thick sheet of steady drizzle. She rode hunched up, trying to keep the rain out of her collar, shivering and blowing warm breath down the cuff of her gloves.
“I’m going into town,” he said, skimming a glance across the wet tendrils of black hair plastered to her cheek. “Your shift is about over; do you want to come along?”
“It doesn’t sound like there’s anything to see.”
She was correct about that. Austin’s location ensured growth, but right now it was still a small frontier town trying to decide if its future lay toward cattle, cotton, or politics. But Austin’s lack of amenities wasn’t why she wanted to stay in camp. The way she and Alex were hovering over Les gave the lie to her earlier statement that the sisters didn’t care about each other.
They circled the herd in companionable silence, listening to the rain drumming against the brims of their hats. When her leg brushed against his, he remembered the night she had accused him of intentionally letting their legs touch. She’d been right, of course. He couldn’t be near her without wanting to touch her. She was driving him crazy.
Last night he’d tossed and turned, considering her admission that she hadn’t been acting. The truth hadn’t surprised him. By now he could tell when she assumed a role.
He wanted to ask her about that night, but he didn’t. If she confirmed that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, a door would swing open that needed to remain closed.
There was nothing here for either of them, he reminded himself, looking at her through the slanting rain. They wanted different things, different futures. He had nothing to offer. If she won Joe’s inheritance, she’d leave for the big-city theaters. If she lost, it meant he lost too. Between them they wouldn’t have two nickels to rub together.
If he started thinking with the equipment below his belt instead of the grey matter above his eyebrows, then he might get her in bed during this drive, but it wouldn’t be an act to his credit. She would believe he saw her as an actress-whore, and that wasn’t true. She would believe he was merely using her, and that would be true, because he knew they had no future beyond Abilene.
He’d never burned for a woman as he did for Freddy Roark, but he wasn’t a man who used women with no thought for the consequences. And he couldn’t see any good consequences for either of them in the long run.
He rolled back his shoulders. “Is there anything you want me to bring you from town?”
“Some licorice if you can find any,” she said, licking rain off her lips. “Les likes licorice.”
He watched the tip of her tongue slide across her lips, felt an instant stirring between his thighs, then he jerked sharply on his reins and trotted away from her, cursing under his breath.
“Whe
n you agreed to meet, I figured you’d pick one of the saloons.” Pausing in the doorway, Dal inspected the hotel’s second-floor lady’s salon.
Lola smiled over her shoulder, then led him toward two chairs facing a coal fire. “I’m a lady now, haven’t you heard?” Taking one of the chairs, she smoothed her skirts with gloved hands, then demurely crossed her ankles.
As they were the only occupants in the salon, Dal lit a cigar and studied her through a drift of smoke. Her auburn hair was elaborately curled, and she smelled of something a lot sweeter than cowhide. Powdered cleavage peeked from the braided edges of an amber-colored cape. She wore lip rouge, artificial pink on her cheeks, and her eyelashes were darkened.
He couldn’t help thinking about Freddy, hunched and miserable, rain dripping down her collar and face, her trousers and boots streaked with mud. At the end of her shift, she would crawl into her tent and sit there shivering, longing for the hot sun she’d cursed two days ago. Tonight she would sleep in a damp, muddy bedroll.
“The next time your future husband interferes with my drive,” he said, drawling the words, “I’m going to send him back to you a lot less pretty.”
“Now, Dal honey, you got it all wrong,” Lola purred, leaning forward to pat his knee. “What happened with that wagon was a fortuitous accident, that’s all.”
“Caldwell says you’ll give Les one week’s recovery time, then she goes back on the line or she’s off the drive. I’m asking you to give Les however long she needs. I want it in writing.”
“And how is my dear stepdaughter?”
“She’s feverish, and Alex says the wound is inflamed. Les needs longer than a week to recover.”
“Well, well,” Lola said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “Am I to infer that you don’t want to replace Les with an experienced hand because you’ve decided to accept my offer?”
“I want to keep Les on the drive because she’s earned her share of Joe’s money.”
Anger twisted her lips. “Are you hinting that I didn’t? You don’t have any idea what it was like being married to Joe Roark! Stuck out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but cows for excitement.” She waved a hand. “It’s the longest ten months I ever spent! No dancing, no cards, one glass of whiskey a night. And the criticism… a lady does this, a lady does that,” she repeated in a singsong voice of disgust. “Believe me, I earned every cent that’s coming to me!”
He nodded at her cape and gown. “Looks to me like you were paid pretty well.”
“Dal, I need this money. There aren’t going to be any more rich husbands. I’m running out of time.” Turning her face, she looked into the coal stove. “I want to get out of the country, to see Europe in style. I don’t ever again want to be forced to depend on a man.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Isn’t there something missing from those grand plans? Like Caldwell for instance?”
She laughed. “Jack is useful. At present.”
Her sly smile told him however much Caldwell might think he was using Lola to reach the jackpot, Lola was a step ahead. She’d dangle marriage to entice him to help her, but Dal was willing to bet that Caldwell would never see a penny of Joe’s money.
“It’s all moot, Lola, because you aren’t going to win,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Those holier-than-thou troublemaking daughters are still young enough to find a man; they don’t need Joe’s money. I do!”
“Joe was their father. They have more of a claim to his fortune than you do.”
“None of those sanctimonious little bitches ever did a lick of real work. Never had to worry about supporting themselves or getting along in the world! Never went without. They were spoiled, coddled, and pampered all their worthless lives. They don’t deserve to win!”
“They’re working now,” he said softly. “Nobody’s pampering them. They’re getting their hands dirty. I’ll tell you something else about Joe Roark’s daughters, Lola. They aren’t cheats. They aren’t swindlers or liars, and they don’t use people for their own benefit. Win or lose, they’ll do it honestly,” he said standing and looking down at her. Reaching in his slicker pocket, he withdrew a paper and pencil and dropped them on the tea try. “Caldwell’s responsible for what happened to Les. And the way I figure it, he’s acting on your orders to make trouble wherever he can, which makes you responsible. So you write Luther a note and tell him that you don’t object to Les taking as long as she needs to get well. Do it, or you’ll regret it, Lola.”
“Why, what a suspicious mind you have.” Lola tented her fingers under her chin. “But your request does present an interesting dilemma. If my poor injured stepdaughter stays on the drive, that means you won’t replace her with a more experienced hand, and that’s good for me. On the other hand, if Les has to withdraw, I’ll have the pleasure of knowing the little bitch won’t get one red cent of Joe’s money. If something happens and the other two have to withdraw, then I’d win by default.” A smile curved her lips. “None of those girls have what it takes to go the distance.” Her eyes hardened. “I ain’t letting her off the hook, honey. Les is off the drive, and good riddance. One down, two to go.”
Dal let himself see her for what she was, and feel the hatred that had festered since the end of the war. “Two can play this game, Lola. I’m warning you… tell Luther that Les stays on the drive, or so help me God, I’ll destroy you. You won’t get a penny.”
“Oh my, I’m shaking in my boots,” she said with a laugh. Standing, she moved to the door, thrusting out her bosom and one hip. “Despite everything, I like you, Dal. You’re one good-looking cowboy. How is it that you and me never went to bed?”
“Just lucky I guess.” He rolled his hat up on his head and walked past her.
Downstairs in the saloon, he bought a whiskey and pushed the glass around on the counter in front of him. Getting tangled up with Lola had started him on the road that ended inside a bottle. He’d let himself get suckered, made a fool of, set up as a target for murder and revenge. He’d betrayed his principles and ultimately his country.
And Lola had walked away unscathed with a lot of other people’s money in her pocket.
He gazed at the amber shimmer topping the whiskey glass, and saw how the cattle drive would unfold. The mired wagon was only the beginning. This hard-luck drive was going to be plagued all the way to the yards at Abilene. And when it ended, Lola would walk away unscathed, with Joe Roark’s fortune in her pocket.
Only this time, he wouldn’t be the only human wreckage she left behind her.
When he felt sweat appear on his brow, saw his knuckles whiten around the glass, he pushed the whiskey away and glared at the bartender polishing glasses behind the bar. “Does Austin have a telegraph office?”
“Closest telegraph is in Fort Worth.”
He spun a coin across the counter and left the saloon. Outside, he pulled down the brim of his hat and gazed at the rain. He knew how to stop Lola. The telegram he’d send would aim a bullet right at her head. If he was lucky, Emile Julie and his men would head north immediately, and Julie would take care of Lola before something happened to Freddy or Alex. His only regret was that Julie wouldn’t arrive in time to save Les’s share of the inheritance.
Writing the telegram in his mind, angry that he had to wait until he reached Fort Worth to send it, he stepped into a stew of mud, horse droppings, tobacco juice, and refuse, crossed the street, and entered a penny-candy store. “Licorice,” he growled at the man standing behind a high glass case.
Christ, he wanted a drink.
When Alex moved out in front of the herd, it was like driving into an ocean of green, tipped by waves flecked with blues and golds and the delicate pink petals of sturdy prairie wildflowers. Up ahead, she glimpsed strung-out herds grazing northward. To the east lay rolling pastures and neat fields of cotton plants. The Edwards Plateau rose on her left, tinted green by twisted mesquite trees, live oak, and cedar.
Since Les was riding with her, she refused to travel at h
er usual breakneck speed. This frustrated her pilot, but the slower pace was easier on the leg she braced against the seat fender. Actually, her leg had strengthened to the point that her knee no longer quivered and trembled and threatened to collapse when she climbed down from the driver’s seat, and she could have used her crutch all day without feeling undue strain. That realization disturbed her. The mobility and convenience of the crutch were insidious seductions too depressing to think about.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing at the rope Grady had used to tie Les to the seat.
Les’s eyelids fluttered, and she fixed fever-glazed eyes on the pilot riding out ahead of them. “So hot. Thirsty.” The damp cloth on her forehead had dried in the warm breeze.
“Don’t rub your leg,” Alex cautioned, frowning. According to the book of home remedies she’d brought on this journey, yeast paste helped against the inflammation drawing a red line along Les’s wound, and she’d tried white vitriol, too. After she set up camp, she’d give Les some quinine, try that against the fever making her incoherent at times.
Fixing her gaze on the mule’s ears, Alex pressed her lips together and swallowed a scream of helplessness. She wasn’t skilled in medical matters, hadn’t dreamed that doctoring would form such a regular part of her responsibilities. Already she had splinted broken fingers, cleaned cuts, dosed rumbling stomachs, dispensed liniments for strains and sprains. The challenge of unexpected emergencies kept her in a constant state of anxiety and dread. And she’d been praying that nothing as serious as Les’s injury would come her way.
The only good thing about Les’s worrisome fever was having company during the ride ahead of the herd and while she set up camp. She detested the terrible forty minutes alone, absolutely alone, after the pilot turned back and before Grady swept in with the remuda.
The Best Man Page 20