Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy)

by Shirl Henke

  Melanie let out a gasp of indignation, coloring at the shameful accuracy of his words. “You border ruffian! You—”

  Rafe lunged toward Lee, but Jim interposed himself between the two. “Now cool down, both of you. Look, Rafe, I hate to say it, but, well”—his amber eyes flashed at Melanie’s crimson face for a moment—“she did seem to be, er, responding to him, not fighting him.”

  “He dishonored my daughter, Jim. I'm sorry he's your friend, but he can't just tip his hat and walk away,” Rafe said through gritted teeth.

  “I never intended that he should,” Jim said, a wicked white grin slashing his tanned face as he looked from one set of hard, dark features to the other. He had done some quick calculating while Lee talked, watching Melanie's reactions and replaying the scene between the two lovers over in his mind. There was no doubt that they had been loving, not fighting. “The only honorable thing for Lee to do is marry Melanie.”

  Everyone grew silent for a second, then spoke at once; but Melanie's shriek of indignation cut across all the rumbling baritone voices. “Wait a minute! Everyone here—every man here has had his say. I'm a twenty-two-year-old adult, and I have some small stake in this, too! I wouldn't marry him if he'd ravished me in front of a whole company of Texas Rangers!”

  “I think by the time we get back to San Antonio every ranger and civilian between here and California will have heard about it,” Rafe said, eyeing his furious daughter speculatively. She had allowed Velasquez's liberties, unless his eyes were going bad, which he doubted.

  “I can't marry her, Jim. I'm already engaged to Larena, your cousin Larena, in case you've conveniently forgotten,” Lee said.

  Remembering Lee's relationship with his first dutiful Hispanic wife, Jim said tersely, “Break your engagement, mano.”

  “I second the motion, Velasquez,” Rafe said with the beginning of an evil smile tugging at his lips.

  “Papa! You can't mean to go along with this insane scheme!” Melanie turned beet red, then chalky as she looked from man to man.

  Jim's amber eyes and Rafe's obsidian ones both locked on Lee's set face, united now in their purpose. All three ignored the woman.

  “You think this'll solve anything?” Lee questioned incredulously, looking from Rafe to Jim.

  “The way I see it, you owe a debt of honor, Velasquez. You do have a fine old family name in these parts and a respectable ranch—and you are free to marry my daughter. That's one way to settle it. The other way—”

  “There won't be any other way, dammit,” Jim cut in, the famous Slade temper finally getting the better of him. “How the hell will it help Melanie's reputation if you kill each other? Don't either of you mistake it—you'd both lose. I know you too well.”

  “I'm not standing here and listening to another minute of this rubbish. You can all three shoot it out—and them, too,” Melanie yelled, gesturing broadly to the men across the river, as she whirled and stomped toward the base of the bluff where her horse was tethered.

  * * * *

  “Oh, Rafael, I don't know. This is so sudden, so crazy.” Deborah laid their infant son, Joey, in his crib and turned to face her husband. She looked pale and shaken. They had just arrived at the boardinghouse when Obedience had rushed out with some insane story about Melanie pursuing a band of outlaws to get a newspaper story.

  “You're exhausted, darling,” Rafe said as he took her in his arms. “It's been only six weeks since Joey's birth. I knew we should have waited longer before you traveled so far.”

  “I'm fine, only worried about Melanie. If we hadn't come, what would have happened to her? What will happen, Rafael? She can't marry a man she's only met a handful of times in her life.” Deborah's violet eyes were wide with apprehension.

  Rafe turned and paced, running his fingers through his shaggy black hair. “Hell, Deborah, you knew me only a few weeks before we married,” he replied ruefully.

  “And it took us only seven years to work things out,” she countered acerbically. “I've known Lee since he was a boy and I've always liked him. But since the tragedy of his first wife's death, he's grown into a hard, dangerous stranger.”

  Rafe quirked one elegant brow at her. “I seem to recall you thought the same thing about me when I found you at this boardinghouse!”

  “But that was us, Rafael. This situation is different. They're not committed to each other. There are no children to consider.”

  “If we hadn't come along when we did, there might have been,” Rafe said darkly.

  Remembering Melanie's torn clothing and disheveled state when she returned to town that afternoon, Deborah nodded. “Yes, yes, I know it must have looked awful. I always suspected she inherited your passionate nature and simply directed it in channels acceptable for a female.”

  “Well, it certainly emerged today! Anyway, there's nothing wrong with her showing some natural womanly feelings. She's twenty-two years old. And Lee Velasquez is a solid figure in the community, good family name, educated, owns a prosperous ranch. He's settled down from his renegade days and he's a strong enough man to handle Melanie.”

  “Our daughter is a handful, I'll grant you,” Deborah said with approval in her voice. “But she is also a grown woman, as you just pointed out, and we can't force her to marry him. This is 1852, not the Middle Ages!”

  “It's best for her,” he replied arrogantly. “Her reputation is in shreds here in San Antonio. If she refuses, the only alternative is to send her back to your father in Boston.”

  Deborah heard Joey fret in his sleep and knelt by his crib to give him a reassuring pat. Shaking her head, she sighed. “If she let him take such liberties, she must love him whether or not she realizes it. But does he love her?”

  Rafe snorted in derision. “He was giving one hell of a good imitation of it when we caught the bastard!” Seeing his wife's distress, he pulled her up gently and whispered, “Don't worry. I've talked to Wash and Obedience. They know Lee and Melanie both. They think it'll work. We really have no choice, Moon Flower. If Melanie's too stubborn to acknowledge her own feelings after today, someone's got to force her to confront them.”

  * * * *

  Ever since they were eighteen-year-olds, Lee Velasquez and Charlee McAllister Slade had been as close as siblings. Of course, as he thought of it now, Charlee had been a lot more grown up at eighteen than he. But that was ten years ago and he wasn't the carefree boy who lived at Bluebonnet Ranch anymore. Still, here he was riding out to see Charlee and seek her advice once more.

  God, what a mess! Melanie Fleming under her parents' protective wings, Obedience threatening to take her rolling pin to certain portions of his anatomy, and Wash ready to throttle him with one hand. Of all the times for the Fleming family to come for a visit! Of course Jim and Wash would've found him and Melanie anyway. He sighed. If there was any way out of the tangle, Charlee, the master schemer, would think of it!

  Charlee's opinion about his looming nuptials dumbfounded him. Arms akimbo and cat-green eyes aglow, Charlee Slade planted her small, slim body squarely in the center of her kitchen and asked, “When's the wedding—tomorrow or sooner?”

  “I came here for your help, not to be greeted like an Inquisition victim,” he replied sourly.

  “I happen to know exactly how Jim and Rafe found the two of you, Leandro Angel Velasquez,” she said saucily, the emphasis on those two words speaking volumes.

  He winced. “Look, I know I acted like a jackass—all right, a real bastard—but marrying the girl just because of what almost happened is ridiculous. I'm already engaged to Larena. She and I were talking about a fall wedding only last week.”

  “Melanie Fleming will make you a much better wife than Larena,” Charlee said flatly.

  Lee's eyes almost popped from their sockets. “You can't be serious! That wild hoyden! She's no lady!”

  “Sounds just like the way Jim used to describe me,” Charlee said, eyes dancing.

  “That was different,” he said dismissively. “He wanted
to marry Tomasina Carver and we all know what she was like.”

  “Yeah. A real lady. Fancy manners, soft words, knew her place around men, all right,” Charlee said sarcastically.

  “If you mean to imply she was anything like Larena, that's ridiculous, Charlee, and you know it,” Lee replied angrily.

  “I wasn't comparing Tomasina and Larena, but Larena and Dulcia,” Charlee said softly.

  Lee's head jerked up and a look of bleak, shocked pain flashed into his eyes. “Don't, Charlee, don't.”

  “Sit down,” she commanded with no nonsense in her voice. When he folded his tall frame onto a chair, she pulled out a chair for herself. Before sitting down, she selected two glasses from a cabinet and took a bottle of whiskey from a shelf. “I got this from Wash. He brought it all the way across the Rockies.”

  Lee groaned. “The last time I drank that stuff was in Santa Fe. I swore off.”

  “Never knew you to be temperance,” she replied cheerfully, handing him a glass. “Lunch is served,” she said, swallowing a sip carefully.

  He took a gulp. It was fiery and smooth at the same time.

  Charlee let him stew in silence for a moment, then plunged in. “Lee, I know Dulcia was your first love, a sweet, dutiful, lovely girl—and I hate to dredge up the pain of the past; but your whole future is at stake.”

  “And you think I chose Larena because she reminds me of Dulcia?”

  “Well, let's just say you're hung up on Hispanic pedigrees. Larena is ladylike, from a family with pureza de sangre. I know you set great store by that; but I also know that if you and Dulcia had stayed married, you'd have ended up keeping a woman on the side.”

  Lee looked at her in incredulity. “How the hell can you say that?”

  “I know what she thought of ‘submitting to her husband,’ ” Charlee said baldly. “She was raised that way, Lee—to be timid and proper, to be afraid of honest passions—passions Melanie felt with you.” She paused a beat, then continued, “Jim was very graphic in his description of just how he found the two of you.”

  “I'll bet!” He stood up, unable to decide whether to be furiously angry or terribly embarrassed. “It seems all my faults, past and present, are laid bare,” he said coldly.

  Charlee stretched out a small, tanned hand and grasped his fist, pulling him back into his chair. “They're not your faults. Dulcia didn't fail to respond because of anything you did wrong, Lee. But Melanie sure responded because of what you did right! She responded because she feels something very strong for you—and you do for her, too. Tell me honestly, did you ever kiss Larena that way?”

  “That's different,” he said evasively.

  “Why? Because she's a lady? Lee, you can't have a real marriage with a mirage, an idealized dream. You need a real flesh-and-blood woman.”

  “And you think Melanie is that woman?” He shook his head in amazement and disbelief.

  “Melanie will be the woman,” Jim said determinedly from the back door. He had overheard the last bit of their conversation as he walked quietly across the back porch. “Either you do the decent thing and marry her or you're finished here in San Antonio, Lee. As for the Sandovals, Uncle José will never let you marry Larena after all this scandal. You made your bed on that hillside with Melanie Fleming, Lee. Now you'll just have to sleep in it,” he concluded with a lopsided grin.

  * * * *

  Lee had never felt so powerless over the course of his life as he did that afternoon. After his surprising conversation with the Slades, he visited Father Gus for counsel. Jim Slade and Rafe Fleming together had had a long talk with the priest the previous evening. By the time he left the sympathetic but regretful cleric, Lee realized he was only postponing the inevitable. He must break his engagement with Larena and marry Melanie Fleming. He had felt more self-possessed riding alone into Mescalero camps in the wilds of the Apachería than he did approaching the Sandoval house.

  Larena refused to see him, so he was forced to make his apologies and explanations to her father. Don José was impeccably polite but decidedly cold. It was easier to describe what had occurred between him and Melanie to another man than it would have been if he had spoken to a gently reared girl. Still, it hurt him when she would not see him, and he felt bitterly guilty for causing her such undeserved humiliation and sorrow.

  * * * *

  Melanie wandered aimlessly through the orchards in back of the boardinghouse, nibbling without appetite on a peach plucked carelessly from a low-hanging bough. The sun was warm and the breeze light, a clean beautiful Texas afternoon. “How can the day be so lovely when I'm so miserable?” she asked aloud of no one and everyone.

  Dinner last evening had been a horror, with her whole family present, all her younger siblings silently puzzled, itching to know what had happened. Their papa had brought her back to the boardinghouse with her hair tangled, face dirt-smeared, and clothes ripped. No one openly discussed it, but Obedience and Wash, as well as Rafe and Deborah, engaged in private conversations before the meal. Several of the lady boarders stared at her as if she had sprouted horns and a tail, but old Racine Schwartz seemed secretly delighted about the situation.

  She had fallen into a restless, exhausted sleep filled with feverish dreams in which she and Lee replayed the furious, hurtful scene on the hillside over and over. She awoke sweaty and trembling near dawn and could not go back to sleep. Visions of her father's stern features and closed expression haunted her. He and Jim Slade had arranged her life, forcing a man who despised her—whom she despised—to marry her! Damn men and their infernal rules of honor!

  She finally worked up her courage and went to plead her case with Deborah, only to find her father was waiting with her mother. They were in agreement. She must marry Lee Velasquez. Everyone, it seemed, agreed but the bride and groom! The Slades, the Oakleys, even Father Gus. She had not had the courage to approach Clarence, wincing to imagine his scathing sarcasm at her most typically female fall from grace while on a news assignment!

  She felt betrayed by her friends and family, alone and frightened. What kind of life can I have as a rancher's wife? No, be honest, as Lee's wife?

  As if in answer to her question, she caught sight of a tall figure striding purposefully across the orchard toward her. Lee. She stopped and took a quick calming breath, willing her heart to stop its trip-hammer beat. Oh, why had she thrown on this girlish muslin dress? She felt at a disadvantage with her hair in a simple braid and low-heeled slippers on her feet, confronting his hard, menacing presence. He towered over her, dressed in his usual uniform of buckskin breeches and white shirt open at the throat, revealing an indecent amount of that springy black chest hair. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

  Lee watched her brace herself, like a spitting, cornered wildcat, ready to claw at him. Her physical allure still amazed him, reaching out, scorching him with desire. He remembered the feel of that soft, voluptuous body beneath his hands, the arching breasts so full and ripe, the undulating hips and small, delicately formed calves. Her simple yellow dress clung to every wickedly enticing curve in whisper-soft folds. The breeze blew the sheer fabric, molding it to her, reminding him of what lay beneath.

  Absurdly, he wanted to grab the fat, shiny plait of hair and pull her into his embrace once more. What is it about her that makes me act like a rutting schoolboy? If he wanted to succeed with the plan he had formulated this morning, he must get all such thoughts out his mind immediately.

  He scowled and removed his hat, letting the wind ruffle his hair with blessedly cool air. “I've discussed the marriage with Father Gus. He's making arrangements for San Fernando Church. Tomorrow. I know it's not much time to select a wedding trousseau; but considering everything, I imagine it's best if we return to the ranch and skip the honeymoon.” He paused and looked at her widening gold eyes.

  “So you've made all the arrangements. How efficient,” she said contemptuously.

  “I merely followed up on what Jim and your father have already arranged. It seem
s neither of us has a choice in the matter.” He watched the seething emotions boiling just below the surface, ready to erupt. “Look, Melanie, we're going to have to go through with this charade. The whole damn town is united against us.”

  “This isn't a charade—a game! It's the rest of our lives you're talking so calmly about! It's marriage!” she cried desperately, hating the panic in her voice.

  He assessed her emotions and decided to plunge ahead. “It wouldn't have to be a real marriage. If it weren't consummated, we could wait a year or so, until things cool down here, and then apply to the bishop in Galveston for an annulment.”

  She stared at him blankly. Not consummated. Her golden skin flushed crimson as his meaning sank in. “You'd deceive Father Gus and lie in church? Promise to—to...and then....” She turned her head and groped with one hand for a tree limb on which to steady herself.

  “Don't get religion so late, Melanie. It doesn't become you. You've flirted with disaster ever since I met you on the Galveston waterfront ten years ago. This time I can't just rescue you and turn you loose like before. Your irresponsible behavior created this mess. A temporary marriage is the only way out. Surely a woman as free and unconventional as you won't worry about the scandal of shedding a husband.”

  “You bastard,” she whispered. “My irresponsible behavior! You took it on yourself to be my rescuer. I didn't ask you to follow me! And I for sure didn't ask you to grab me and—and do those awful things to me!” Her voice rose steadily as she spoke until it ended on a shrill cry, echoing across the empty orchard.

  “You seemed real receptive to those awful things by the time your father and Jim came on the scene! If you hadn't had your arms and legs wrapped around me, they'd have killed me on the spot and solved both our problems at once! Think, dammit!”