Western Winds
Raine Cantrell
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1991 by Theresa DiBenedetto
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected].
First Diversion Books edition October 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62681-153-9
Also by Raine Cantrell
The Homecoming
Wildflower
Silver Mist
Calico
Desert Sunrise
Tarnished Hearts
Darling Annie
Whisper My Name
To Tom and Libby and their precious gifts of love, Michael and Krysta.
And to my editor, Hillary Cige, whose caring and support mean a great deal to me.
Chapter 1
“So that’s the Garrett princess.”
“I warned you not to make condemning judgments,” came the harsh reply, whispered as the graveside mourners raised their voices on the last notes of the hymn.
A slender, black-gowned young woman lifted her head, the absence of mourning hat and veil conspicuous among the somber crowd. Her gaze skimmed those who stood with heads respectfully bowed as they listened to the minister’s words and targeted the two men standing well behind the mourners. The taller one, shabbily dressed, pulled his flat-crowned hat lower, hiding his eyes, but she felt the demand in them for her to look at him. Lacey Garrett no longer yielded to any man’s command. She glanced away.
Coiled tension rode the man’s hard body as the Texas morning sun spread its blanketing heat. When his elderly companion spoke, he listened but refused to shift his gaze away from her.
“We’ll wait in Sy’s office until everyone leaves. There won’t be any awkwardness or unnecessary questions. I’ve already instructed Lacey and Curt Blaine to join us there.”
“Us or you? You aren’t gonna tell me that you spilled your precious secret.” The laugh that followed was low but bitter. “This Blaine, her lawyer, isn’t gonna take your news kindly. He’s got her staked out, hog-tied, and ready for his branding iron.”
“He’ll accept it. They all will.”
“And the princess? Will she meekly accept it?”
“Lacey will do whatever is necessary to keep the Reina. She knows her place. A bit spirited and prideful, I’ll admit, but then, she’s had to be. Ranching isn’t easy for a woman.”
“Woman? No. She’s packaged skin and bone made up to look like one.”
“That’s enough! You don’t know Lacey. You and the rest of them here don’t understand how Sy raised her. Let’s go. I want to be away from here before they’re finished.” The command in his voice brooked no refusal.
With a lazy stride the man sauntered after him, a smile curving his lips as he ignored the curious stares that followed them. The good judge had unwittingly provided him with weapons for the battle to come. Weapons, his hunter’s instinct assured him, the Garrett princess wouldn’t know how to counter.
“It’s shocking, Hattie! She didn’t shed one tear while your husband conducted that lovely service. Why, it was unnatural. And her disappearing like this is simply adding another disgrace,” announced Mary Howard, a matron of some years and wife to one of Austin’s most prominent bankers. A plain-faced daughter and a husband who quailed under her constant temper had left her with a bitter, jealous disposition. Thinking of the earlier rebuff that Lacey Garrett had given her, she was pleased to vent her anger.
“But then,” she continued loudly, “what could anyone expect with the way she was raised. Breeches and guns! Even that name—Lacey—as fancy as the airs her mother gave herself. I declare to you, Hattie, that girl’s a snip, marked for scandal. Wait and see if I’m not proven right.” Without a thought to who might overhear her imperious voice, Mary was set to begin anew when the wrenlike woman at her side interrupted.
“Wouldn’t you agree Lacey needs our charity now that her father is dead, too? The girl has no kinfolk to help her. It’s a shame she was raised without a mother’s gentle influence. And we all heard Tom Darcy declare his intent of forcing her to sell the Reina.”
“Do you mean to tell me, Hattie Pearl Barnes, that you, a minister’s wife, defend her? Could you possibly approve of the way she conducted herself today? Don’t you agree that Sy Garrett raised her to be a hellion?”
“No. Dear me, no. That wasn’t—”
“No?”
“Well, yes, I agree her upbringing—”
“Oh, hush! You haven’t been in Sonora long enough to understand our ways. Until you do, I wouldn’t put forth any of these foolish notions. Folks here, the important ones, that is, might take offense. And you do want them to contribute to the church’s building fund, don’t you?”
Faced with Mrs. Howard’s imperious stare, Hattie bobbed her head in submissive agreement. After all, she consoled herself, Lacey Garrett had proved she could take care of herself, while Hattie and her husband were dependent on Mrs. Howard’s good graces. Privately she felt sorry for the young woman, but she could not afford to antagonize her husband’s staunchest supporter.
Seeking to remove herself from the opinionated woman, Hattie’s squinting eyes focused on Maggie Olin, the Garretts’ housekeeper, as she made her way to the once food-laden table. Hattie hurried to clear a space for the large bowl Maggie was carrying. A flush added a bit of color to her pale cheeks, and she hoped Maggie wouldn’t hold her responsible for Mary Howard’s opinions.
She need not have worried. Maggie would never give anyone the satisfaction of acknowledging their criticism of Lacey. Privately she might agree with them, and the good Lord knew she verbally tore strips from Lacey’s hide from time to time when she tried to flout every ladylike rule Maggie tried to instill in her. Fussing with positioning the large bowl of hot spicy chili she set down, Maggie frowned when she realized there was no sign of Lacey’s black-garbed figure. It was foolish to think that for once she wouldn’t have given them more to talk about.
Stepping aside to allow people access to the food, Maggie was annoyed by their greed. Platters that had been heaped with food bore only crumbs. Perhaps Lacey was being disrespectful by some people’s standards, but Maggie thought of the mourners as a swarm of locusts who would come after the spoils of the Reina if Lacey was not strong.
“Ain’t much left to eat, Maggie.”
Hearing the familiar voice of Doc Culver, she smiled. “No, Doc, there ain’t much, thank goodness. Maybe they’ll soon leave.” Maggie issued a reproving glance at the half-filled glass of whiskey he held, and Doc chuckled.
“Now, Maggie, don’t take on so. I needed a bit of fortifyin’ to listen to them.”
“They hate Lacey. They hated Sy, too, but he was strong enough to make them respect him. I don’t know what’s goin’ to happen to Lacey and—”
“…and that gal has a temper that wants coolin’,” Doc finished for her. “Seems to me Fletcher disappeared as well,” he added with a searching glance over the men and the women he had tended for almost ten years.
“You didn’t see Lacey?” Maggie wished he had, wished that he or someone Lacey
respected had spoken to her. A building tension shimmered in the air, and Maggie felt ghostly fingers walk up her spine.
“No, not since we got back from the service. Don’t worry so, Maggie. Lacey can take care of herself. Here, let me help you carry these platters back.”
“Thanks, Doc, but Annie McBride is tryin’ to get your attention. She’s due for her fourth soon. Go on,” she urged.
Maggie was distracted by the men crowding the tables set with gallon jugs of homemade cider and rotgut whiskey. With a frown she noticed they had already emptied the crystal decanters of fine aged brandy that was once Sy Garrett’s pride, since he had paid dearly to have it shipped from back East. Not even the Civil War tearing apart a country had interfered with Sy getting what he wanted. Lacey had won the argument to set the decanters out. A wry smile creased Maggie’s lips. Few of the good ladies present had refused the sherry set aside for them, as evidenced by more than one flushed face.
Maggie stepped back from the table, rubbing the ache in the back of her neck. She had been up before dawn frying chickens and baking hams, although everyone attending the service had brought along baskets filled with foodstuffs, as was custom. She noticed that as the sun climbed to herald midday, people were beginning to seek shelter under the wide overhang of the roof that surrounded the open courtyard. Graceful arches allowed whatever breeze there was to reach the rooms that opened from the square. Maggie thought Sy had chosen well when he staked his claim to this land and reclaimed a burned-out shell of an old Spanish mission for his home. She shook her head, knowing Sy had taken pride in restoring its beauty, maybe too much so, just as he had taken pride in molding Lacey to what he had wanted.
Lost as Maggie was in her thoughts, it took a few moments for her to notice the sudden hush of voices. She turned, puzzled, and saw Lacey closing the door to her room. Gone was Lacey’s high-necked gown of mourning. Maggie watched her, disbelief forcing her to swallow a sigh of exasperation when she realized Lacey was dressed in her oldest working clothes. Lacey is deliberately trying to shock her guests, Maggie thought, as she focused on the look of defiance on Lacey’s face.
The silence remained absolute as Maggie hurried to her side. “What devil rides you now to come out dressed like that in front of them?” she whispered, furious.
Lacey’s warning look silenced her. Silenced her and those that stood gaping. One by one Lacey faced them down until a soft but steady murmur of voices began to hum once more. She knew Maggie was angry and rightly so about the worn twill pants that clung like a second skin to every curve. Lacey admitted that her faded blue shirt was tight, but she had worn a short black leather vest to hide the fullness of her breasts straining the fabric. She almost smiled recalling her father’s warning when he handed her the vest for her fourteenth birthday. While she admired its supple softness, he had ordered her to wear it always. “Hide those curves,” he said. “Keep the men in line that way. The less they remember you’re female, the less trouble you’ll have bossin’ ’em.” But Sy had been dead for six weeks. She was the undisputed boss of the Reina now, and that reminder made her lift her chin in an arrogant move.
Maggie could not understand what had made Lacey behave this way. It seemed to go beyond an act of defiance. Oh, she could recall times in the past when Lacey, with mule-headed stubbornness, had flouted Sy’s laws and more than a few of Maggie’s own rules, but never in such a disrespectful manner. With an abrupt move Lacey settled her flat-crowned hat firmly on her head, the few loose tendrils of hair that escaped it adding to her unladylike appearance. Her thick chestnut mane of hair was pulled back into the long single braid she favored, and Maggie thought of the time she had wasted trying to get Lacey to sit still long enough to pin it all into a decorous chignon.
“Well, now that you’ve all looked your fill, I’ll leave.” Lacey’s silky voice held a challenge that carried across the courtyard. A few murmurs rose in disapproval, but she ignored them, walking with her head held high as people silently stepped aside to allow her passage.
Standing in the shadowed recess of an open doorway, one man’s eyes followed her regal progress with a glint of admiration. He lifted his glass in silent salute before sipping the smooth-as-velvet whiskey. Summoned back into the room and ordered once again to close the door, he did so.
“There! That shows you, Hattie!” Mrs. Howard’s voice, so unmistakable, rose above the others.
Lacey stopped and turned around slowly. With a cold smile that never reached her eyes, she stood there until she had once again gained their attention.
“Don’t anyone leave on my account. I want you all to feel as welcome as you’ve been when Sy was alive. And just as welcome as you’ve always made me feel.”
Lacey spun gracefully on booted heels, and her long strides carried her to the large imposing gates set in the back adobe wall. Two men crowded in on each side of her, but before they spoke to Lacey, the sly, sugared tones of April Darcy reached them.
“I told you she’s afraid of dressing like a woman. Everyone knows she got to try an’ be hard as a man, or she’ll lose the Reina. Then who would want her even if she could pretend to be female?”
Janny Howard’s timid voice hushed April as Lacey once again turned around. Her mocking gaze picked its insulting way over April’s dark blue gown, lingering over each bit of abundant lace trim and the ruffles dancing with every heaving, furiously drawn breath. She knew she should ignore April’s goading, just as Maggie and Sy had always cautioned her to do. But Sy was dead and Maggie was already angry with her. She had given these hard-bitten Texans enough to feed the gossips for a month of Sundays to come, but there was not a one of them who understood what she was feeling, April least of all.
When April couldn’t stand another moment of Lacey’s mocking look, she stood up. “Well, did a sidewinder get yore tongue?”
“No. I was just wondering what you knew about being a woman, April, wrapped up like some bit of fluff a man might set on his mantel to look at. ’Course, he could take you down now and again, dust you off, and show you about, but he wouldn’t find much use beyond that for you, would he? You couldn’t stand behind him, beside him, or up to him since you’re so scared of soiling those precious lily-white hands. And that’s the only thing that’s lily-white about you.”
“Lacey, that’s enough!”
She glared at her lawyer, ready to answer him, but Doc Culver came between them, hustling Lacey off to one side.
With a last warning look at April’s flushed face, Lacey looked beyond her to meet Tom Darcy’s furious gaze. He wouldn’t take the insult to his daughter lightly. Lacey smiled then and flipped one finger at her hat brim in salute, her stance indicating her readiness to do verbal battle with him, but Doc cut her off from their view.
“Just ignore the silly chit,” he sagely advised. “She’s not worth your gettin’ riled over.”
“I know I should have better sense than to listen to anything that spiteful witch has to say.”
“April’s never forgiven you for drivin’ her brother away. You know how hard you were on Evan, even if I give you right not takin’ him seriously. Sy wouldn’t have let you marry him anyway, and that’s a fact neither of the Darcys can accept.”
“Sy would’ve chewed Evan up and spit him out in little bits. But Evan made his own decision about leaving. You’d think with him gone over a year that April and her father would let the past die.”
“She’s shown a definite bent toward having a malicious streak since she came back from that fancy girl’s school back East. April enjoys baitin’ you, Lacey, knowin’ it wins her father’s approval. What’s more, you let her do it.” His firm hands, belying his age, captured Lacey’s. “Now, don’t go gettin’ your back up with me, girl. She’s had a hard time of it, too, what with her pa thinkin’ there ain’t a man around good enough to court her. An’ you both been raised motherless.”
“Darcy will sell her to the highest bidder. He’s made that as plain as his intentions of seeing me brought to heel and forced to give up the Reina. Much as I hate to say it, maybe it’s a good thing Sy’s sons never lived. Darcy would have April coiling like a snake around any man who could claim the Reina. I told him I’d see him in hell first.” Her voice lent conviction to the fierce glitter in her eyes. “I’ll fight that man any way I can with whatever it takes before I see him claim one blade of grass on Reina soil.”
“Listen up, girl.” Doc demanded her attention with a rough shake of her hands. “I knew when I warned Sy two years ago to ease up the brutal demands he made on that agin’ body of his that this was gonna be. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. But then, he was a tough son of a gun. I want you to know I think you done a fine job in his place, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Lacey nodded, impatient to leave him.
“You seen Judge Walker yet?”
“No, not yet. I’ll see him after everyone leaves. Why?”
“Don’t matter. Just you remember that Sy was a damn stubborn old fool,” he stated gruffly, releasing her hands. “He was a bull of a man outwardly and a hard man to know. I called him friend, an’ times were when it wasn’t easy to do. His boots ain’t gonna be easy to fill, girl, but he was a fool just the same.”
Lacey found his remarks puzzling, but she was anxious to be gone. Leaving him, she came abreast of the open gates, annoyed to see that Curt Blaine and Ward Farel, the Reina’s foreman, were waiting for her. She greeted them both with a curt nod.
“I’ll ride out with you, Lacey,” Ward said, pushing his wide-brimmed hat back on his head.
“I don’t want anyone with me.” His assumption that she wanted his company added to her annoyance. “I thought you were riding the north range to help Dex bring in that small bunch of yearlings.”
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