by Shirl Henke
Melanie had not seen Lee leave that morning and assumed he had gone to work stock with his men. She had ridden to the newspaper office, worked on her society column, stopped by to visit Father Gus's children and get a report from Lame Deer, then headed back to Night Flower early, wanting to bathe and change before Lee arrived home. She wanted to leave him in doubt as to whether or not she'd even left the ranch. Let him ask her for an itinerary, if he dared!
On the way home, the skies opened up in a sudden fall shower. It was a mud-spattered, bedraggled Señora Velasquez who trudged into Kai's spotless kitchen late that afternoon, requesting a bath. He cheerfully put water on to warm and sent Manuel, their young houseboy, to haul it to her room when it was hot.
Stripping off her sodden clothes, Melanie hummed softly as she pinned the waist-length coil of night-black hair up on top of her head in a haphazard knot. With rain-curled tendrils falling free of the pins, she looked like a pixie, young and vulnerable. For several moments, she stood poised in front of her mirror, surveying herself from the crown of her head down to her toes and back up.
Gingerly, she ran her hands over her cool skin, still damp from the long rainy ride. She seemed pale golden in the flickering candlelight, her satiny skin in contrast to the gleaming jet of the hair on her head and at the juncture of her thighs. Melanie inspected critically. She was short, a scant five feet, with fine bones, but her body was curvy and lush. She touched her breasts, which were full, like ripe melons. Despite their heaviness they stood proudly upthrust. Her hips flared out from a minuscule waist and her legs were delicately tapered with slim ankles.
I am pleasing to look at, she said to herself, trying to convince herself it was all right to possess feminine allure. She examined her face, which appeared younger in the mirror's dimly reflected light. She could see the resemblance to her beloved papa in the aristocratically formed brows and nose, the firm chin. Yet the slanted cat-gold eyes that stared back at her and the high Cherokee cheekbones were pure Duval. I won't ever be like her—never!
A jagged streak of lightning hit the ground outside the house and the wind gusted furiously. Glad of the thick walls and the beckoning hot bath, she let herself sink into the steamy water for a brief respite of blissful relaxation. Before Genia went to set the table for dinner, she had placed fluffy towels and rose-scented bath oil beside the tub. Melanie poured a generous dollop of the oil on the water, laid her head back on the rim of the heavy brass tub, and dozed.
Lee bypassed the kitchen and headed straight for his room, intent on getting out of his ruined suit. As if the day hadn't been disquieting enough, he had to soak his best dress clothes. He peeled off his jacket and shirt, then sat down to struggle with his boots. After getting them and his hose off, he stood up and reached for the buttons at his fly, only to hear a crash of glass coming from the end of the hall.
The damn storm must have forced the latch on a bedroom window. He walked swiftly and silently to Melanie's room, cursing her for leaving the window unattended. “She probably forgot to lock it,” he muttered, shoving open the door. He stood frozen at the sight that greeted him.
The gust of wind had torn open the casement window and Melanie was startled awake. After gathering her scattered wits, she began to rise from her tub when she heard the door open. Lee stood in the doorway, bare-chested and barefoot, clad only in a soaked pair of black dress pants. His eyes glowed like onyx coals as they raked over her shivering body. She reached for a towel, then thought better of it and submerged herself beneath the sudsy water, all the while returning his stare like a small wild thing hypnotized by a savage predator. He said nothing, just continued to look, as her enormous gold eyes did the same.
Melanie watched in fascination as small droplets of water slipped from his head to fall glistening onto the corded muscles of his shoulders, then catch once more in the black curly hair on his chest. His desire was obvious as his wet pants clung to his body. Passion was reflected with equally startling clarity in his face. Slowly, he stepped inside the room and closed the door.
Attempting to keep her body submerged, Melanie reached out again to snatch up a towel; but before she could open it, his bronzed fingers circled her wrist, stopping her. He took the towel and unfolded it. Then, bemused, he held it up for her, as if performing the duties of a lady's maid. “You'll freeze if you stay in that water,” he whispered, the hoarseness of his voice apparent even over the noise of the storm.
The towel was large and offered her more protection than the now cold water. Lowering her thick fringe of black lashes to hide the warring emotions in her eyes, Melanie grasped the edge of the tub and rose, allowing him to enfold her in the linen, then quickly broke free of his hold, clutching the towel securely around her shivering golden body.
He smiled like a wolf. “There's nothing I haven't already seen, Melanie,” he said in that same disconcerting whisper.
Part of her felt a kindred flare of desire leap between them. She wanted to shed the fragile protection of the towel and fly into his arms, yet she held back. He desired her; but he did not want her as his wife, only as a beautiful, available vessel to assuage his lust.
“No, Lee. We had an agreement,” she said, her voice strangling as she fought the tremors of desire pulsing through her.
“A man can't be expected to resist such temptation, Melanie—naked, smelling like night flowers, looking at me with those golden eyes, waiting for me,” he replied, advancing on her slowly.
“I wasn't waiting for you!” she cried.
“And I suppose you weren't looking at me, either!” He laughed silkily. “Your face gave you away, just as your body gave you away that day on the hillside.” One lean brown hand took a tumbled ebony lock of hair and twisted it softly around his wrist, pulling her nearer.
“I'm not your whore, Lee! You can't just barge in here and expect me to melt in your arms like...like...” her voice trailed off in whispering humiliation.
“Like an octoroon placée?” he taunted.
As if struck by the lightning raging outside, Melanie stiffened and yanked the curl from his hand. “You do think of me that way—not as a wife but some expensive harlot! Only remember your bargain, husband,” she hissed. “If you don't want children kissed by the tar brush—or worse yet, with Indian blood, then don't touch me or I'll give them the proud Velasquez name as surely as I'm Lily Duval's daughter!”
He dropped his hands and clenched his fists in frustration. “I've never forced a woman in my life,” he gritted out. “I won't start now. Sleep in your cold bed and welcome to it!” He turned and stalked toward the door, then stood with his hand on the knob. “I'd close that window, unless you want to catch pneumonia and save me the trouble of an annulment!” With that, he slammed the door behind him with a crash that matched the raging elements outside.
* * * *
The sun shone with obscene brilliance the next morning, awakening Lee when it hit him full in the face. He was sprawled across his bed, covers kicked off, head throbbing wickedly from an excess of brandy. Very carefully he slid his legs over the side of the bed and then raised his upper torso, cradling his head like fragile crystal in his hands as he sat up.
After the disastrous scene with Melanie, he had stalked into the library, where he kept an oak cabinet stocked with fine liquor. He had no idea how he had negotiated the way between the library and the bedroom.
He sat in misery, contemplating the forthcoming year of living under the same roof with a gold-eyed temptress: smelling her perfume, watching her lithe little body as she moved through his house, imagining her as she had looked naked in her bath—or spitting at him in hate-filled defiance when he tried to touch her.
He rose and cursed his precipitous words and actions last night. He had said cruel, hurtful things to her—words he did not mean. No wonder she had refused him! She was his wife, and he was certain he had treated her worse than Rafe Fleming had ever treated her mother. But after the things Larena had said to him that afternoon and th
e months of celibacy since returning to Texas, damn, she had pushed him past the breaking point! To find his beautiful little Night Flower that way—it was more than any man should be asked to endure!
Lee considered his options. Hold to his plan for an annulment and send her away at year's end? Impossible. He dismissed the idea immediately. Try to seduce her and settle for the marriage Charlee and Larena seemed to think would be so good for him? But would it? Could Melanie ever become a dutiful, loving wife? Or would she always cling to her infuriating ideas about women and Indians?
Then, too, he had to examine his own prejudices. She flaunted her mixed blood, and as she said, it would be Velasquez blood if he lay with her. Did that matter to him? He didn't know; he honestly didn't know. The only thing he did know was that he wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman in his life.
Chapter Fifteen
The following week passed in stony silence. Only the barest civilities were exchanged between the honeymooners. Each spoke with Kai and Genia, using the hapless household servants as intermediaries whenever possible. Everyone was on edge waiting for something to happen. Then on the following Wednesday, Melanie returned from town with some news she had to share with her husband.
Lee was in his study having his before-dinner whiskey, a ritual that he indulged in liberally since his marriage, fortifying himself for the ordeal of sitting across the dining room table from his coldly hostile wife. When Melanie knocked on the door, he called absently for her to enter, expecting one of the servants. She stood poised on the threshold, watching him down a generous slug of amber liquid. As he stood by the large window, his tall, lean body was silhouetted in the twilight. She waited for him to turn, and when he did she could see surprise and some other darker emotion flash across his features.
“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked with a sardonic lift of his brows. “You only enter my domain to borrow books when I'm away.”
“You might try reading instead of drinking when you're in this room. You'd feel better in the mornings,” she answered acerbically.
“I can think of something else that might make me feel better in the mornings,” he replied with a slyly taunting lilt to his voice.
Melanie clenched her fists and stepped closer, daring him to persist with his innuendos. “I have to talk to you, Lee.”
“So, talk,” he replied, giving up the game and returning his attention to the sunset outside the window.
How to put what she had to say—to ask, really? She began carefully. “My family is leaving for Renacimiento the day after tomorrow. I've spent only a few hours with Mama and Papa and have hardly seen Norrie, Caleb, and Joey. Adam came to the Star and we've had lunch several times....” She hesitated, remembering the first day she and Adam had had lunch, when he introduced her to Jeremy Lawrence with such disastrous results.
Lee's face betrayed nothing. “I presume this is leading up to something. A family gathering to say farewell?”
“Jim and Charlee are giving a dinner for Mama and Papa and the children. The Oakleys will be there, and we're invited, too.” She waited for his reaction.
“A command performance,” he said, setting his glass down on the cabinet rather forcefully. “Your father must see that I'm not abusing you before he can go home with a clear conscience.”
“Call it what you will,” she said dejectedly, too emotionally overwrought to argue further. “Will you go or shall I make your excuses to Charlee?”
He chuckled in spite of himself. “No one makes excuses to Charlee Slade when she gets her mind made up. I'll be there—and never fear, I'll play the doting husband so well Junius Brutus Booth would be fooled!”
* * * *
The evening began with cautious politeness between Lee and his in-laws. Deborah acted uncertain but conciliatory. Rafe watched his son-in-law with a measuring eye as Lee laughed and talked with the Slades and Oakleys and roughhoused with the Slade children. Norrie and Caleb warmed quickly to him as well, taking to his teasing and charm easily. Adam even surprised his father by going out of his way to show Lee that he was welcome in the family. Indeed, the bridegroom showed decidedly more animation than did the bride.
Melanie was quiet and watchful before the meal, listening to the children's laughter ring through the house. Lee's natural ease with them made her think about how good he would be as a father. But a father who wants his children to have pureza de sangre.
The men spoke of the weather and probable road conditions on the Flemings' forthcoming trip home, and the women adjourned to the kitchen to assist Charlee's helper, Weevils, in putting the finishing touches to a magnificent feast of roast pork and sweet potatoes.
With appetites sharpened by horseplay, the children settled down to serious eating when called to supper, and the noise level around the table abated. Melanie was aware of Jim's attempts to draw Lee and Rafe into conversation about ranching.
Responding to his father-in-law's question about Night Flower's future, Lee said to Rafe, “I'm running about five thousand head now, but that's all I've had time to buy or gather on the land. After the ranch's being deserted for so long, it'll take awhile to gear up to the sort of operation you have. At least this time I have the capital to hire men and purchase all the materials I require.”
Rafe smiled and looked over at Deborah. “When I came to Texas, I was in a situation similar to yours—only instead of lying unattended for six years, Renacimiento had not been worked for nearly fifty. It was lucky for me that I had some cash to start off with, but even with that it took years of backbreaking work to get the place going. If Joe hadn't been there, we'd never have made Renacimiento succeed.”
“Your partner?” Lee questioned, vaguely recalling the name.
“Cherokee Joe De Villiers. He's half Indian, and he's been like an uncle to all of us. Hasn't he, Adam?” Melanie interjected, addressing her remark to her brother but watching Lee's reaction.
The interchange was not lost on Rafe, who was a survivor of many a strained dinner-table conversation at the Flamenco household in New Orleans. He flashed a quelling smile at his daughter. “Yes, Joe and his wife, Lucia, practically raised Melanie. They'll be so happy to hear that she's settled down and married now.”
“Oh, I may be married, Papa, but I'm still working for Clarence—mostly covering social news, nothing dangerous,” Melanie cooed.
Lee smiled tightly. The little bitch was baiting him, flaunting her damn Indian blood and hoyden activities right in front of the assembly to see if she could get a rise out of him. “Only a gossip column for the Star. After all, Mellie, you don't ever want to place yourself in danger again, do you?” His voice was soft, but the message came across loud and clear.
Melanie gritted her teeth at his added insult in using the pet name only family members called her. Deborah's violet eyes flashed warily between Lee and Melanie. Rafe sat back, waiting to see what his daughter would do next—and wondering what his son-in-law would do to counter. Jim coughed, hiding a grin behind his dinner napkin while Charlee kicked him under the table.
“Jeehosaphat, ” Obedience interjected suddenly, “I purely do hope yew two git saddled with a passel of younguns real quick 'n' take ta stayin' home. Keepin' up with either one o' yew's ‘nough ta tire out a lantern-jawed jackass! Keepin' up with two o' yew's nigh onta killin' a old gray mare like me!”
“I agree,” Charlee said with a chuckle, her cat-green eyes dancing as she looked at Lee. “What you need is a couple of hell-raisers like Will and Caleb to keep you close to home.”
“What about me? I keep Mama and Aunt Lucia real busy,” Norrie said with a mixture of childish pique and pride.
The adults and other children around the table joined in the laughter, but Lee looked at Melanie with a question in his night-dark eyes.
Melanie returned the searching look briefly, uncertain of what it meant. Did he really want her children, or did he simply lust for her body—the body of a beautiful kept woman?
* * * *
>
“Why do you suppose ole Sam's come all th' way from th' U.S. Senate jist ta dance in Santone?” Obedience speculated as she gave a final swat to the big blob of bread dough she was working in the boardinghouse kitchen.
“Politics, I guess. Sam likes to talk to his constituents,” Charlee replied, munching on a corn dodger as she visited with Obedience.
“Jeehosaphat, ‘pears ta me he might cud be oilin' th' waters over this here Injun mess. Folks in west Texas is plumb unhappy with th' way the’ gove'mint back in Washington's been handlin' things,” Obedience said shrewdly.
“From what I can get my tight-lipped husband to divulge, I think you're right. Sam's always been on the Indians' side, trying to keep white settlers from crowding them out of Texas.”
“ ‘N thet don't make voters hereabouts none too happy,” her friend averred.
“Especially with the Comanche raids increasing around Bexar County this past year. Why only last week another family sold their land to Laban Greer and took off for California after being burned out.”
Obedience nodded. “Th' Ryans. Good folks, even if ‘n ole man Ryan wuz a bit shiftless. Course if ‘n his woman an’ younguns warn't in town draggin' him outa th' saloon, they'd all be kilt dead by them bloodthirsty Comanch.”
“There have been so many settlers leaving. Lots of folks say it's the Congressmen in Washington who are to blame for not sending the army enough men and supplies to fight the Indians,” Charlee said with a touch of doubt in her voice.
Obedience let out a snort of derision. “I kinda 'spect our senator won't take real kindly to thet talk. Whilst Houston's here mendin' fences, yew don't suppose he ‘n Jim'll be lookin' into whut Blaine ‘n some o' his cronies er doin?” Her shrewd brown eyes surveyed Charlee. Obedience knew Jim Slade had secretly worked for Houston when Sam was president of the Republic.