No Place for a Lady

by Vivian Vaughan

  “I told you. I don’t want one red cent—”

  Of a sudden, Tyler stepped around Madolyn, grasped Morley’s arm, and swung him around.

  Morley shook him off. “Get your goddam hands off me.”

  Tyler grabbed another handful; this time he held on. “Hear her out, Morley. I don’t know what this is all about, but I do know that Maddie is one spunky female. If she says she needs your help, by damn, she needs it.”

  “What’s it to you, Grant?” Freeing himself, Morley quickly went on the attack. “Don’t go lookin’ toward my corral. That filly’s mine. M-I-N-E.”

  “This isn’t about a horse, Morley. It’s about your sister.”

  “Then take her back to town and see her off to Boston.”

  The air was suddenly rent by the ear-splitting sound of metal clanging against metal that reminded Madolyn of the train that had barreled down on them the day before. Tyler reached toward her, touched her shoulder, a brief, reassuring gesture, no more. But she relaxed, feeling secure in his presence. She had never known anyone so acutely attuned to another’s feelings.

  “Carlita!” Tyler called.

  Following his gaze toward the house, she saw a woman clad in black, who lifted a hand in response to Tyler’s greeting.

  Tyler nudged Madolyn again, this time toward the hut. “Looks like we’re in luck, Maddie. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten Carlita’s cooking.”

  “No, you don’t!” Morley bellowed after them, but Tyler was already halfway across the swept yard. With a hand to the small of her back, he ushered Madolyn toward the squatty little woman.

  It was an intimate gesture, one that fired her deep within. She should object, of course, but with the disappointment of Morley’s rejection, she couldn’t dredge up even one ounce of outrage. Indeed, she welcomed warmth from another human being.

  What was she doing so far from civilization? Why on earth had she thought she could traipse halfway across the country and find ladies and gentlemen like in Boston?

  Rather, she had found ruffians and barbarians—

  Like in Boston!

  They stopped at what Madolyn took for the back door of the hut, although it was the only door she saw. She realized immediately that Tyler had been right. She couldn’t move her baggage into this place. If indeed, it was Morley’s home, which didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t large enough for a family with four growing boys. Nor sturdy enough. The wind that continually whipped this country clean must surely blow through chinks in the walls. Why, the inside must—

  “Carlita,” Tyler was saying, “meet Maddie, Morley’s sister.”

  Stooped from hard labor, Carlita looked ancient until she met Madolyn’s gaze, at which Madolyn realized the woman could be no older than she, if that old. The subservient manner in which she dipped her head, dispelled Madolyn’s initial impression that she was meeting Morley’s wife. Until Tyler spoke again.

  “Mother of your nephews.”

  Morley’s wife? She didn’t look old enough to be the mother of a fourteen-year-old son. Neither did she look anywhere nearly as belligerent as Morley.

  “They’re wonderful boys,” Madolyn offered. “I didn’t know…I mean, I’m delighted to be an aunt, Mrs., uh, Carlita. I may call you Carlita—”

  “Room for two more?” Tyler interrupted.

  Carlita wrung her hands on the massive apron, while casting a troubled glance beyond Tyler. “He won’t like it.”

  “Morley? Does that ol’ bear ever like anything?”

  Carlita looked sad and worn out and sounded even more so. “Sí, Tyler. There is always room for you. If he agrees.” With downcast eyes, she opened the back door and ushered them into the dimly lit interior which smelled of exotic spices and peppers.

  Morley reached them. “No, you don’t, Grant.”

  Ignoring him, Tyler steered Madolyn into the house with a firm hand to her waist. He stood close behind her; his head just skimmed the low ceiling. “While we’re eatin’, Morley, you can listen to Maddie’s request. Sounds like it wouldn’t be hard to take care of.”

  “Not at all,” Madolyn hurried to say. “A signature. That’s all. I have the papers with me.”

  The room was dark, sparsely furnished and had an earthen floor. Rolled blankets were piled in one corner; in another stood a table that looked sturdy enough, but there were only two chairs that Madolyn could see. The fireplace, on which Carlita obviously prepared meals, heated the already-warm room.

  Carlita pulled out one of the two chairs.

  Madolyn glanced around, unsure what to do.

  “Sit, Maddie,” Tyler instructed.

  “But there isn’t—”

  “There’s plenty of room. She’s holding your chair. Sit.”

  Reluctant to intrude, Madolyn started to refuse, but she recalled the repercussions when she defied Tyler about using the back staircase at the house. This country obviously operated by its own rules of etiquette, most of which made no sense. Not that she would be around long enough to worry about it.

  While she was taking her seat, a small girl entered from the lean-to, carrying a stool, which Tyler accepted. All thoughts of etiquette fled when Madolyn looked into the little girl’s green eyes. Her mouth fell open.

  Tyler caught the child around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. His big arms engulfed her, leaving only dangling legs and arms, which she quickly threw around his neck. She burrowed her head up under his chin in a show of affection that left Madolyn’s limbs weak. “How long since I’ve seen you, little one?”

  “A coon’s age,” she responded so quickly that Madolyn realized the exchange was a ritual of some sort.

  Meanwhile, Morley straddled the chair opposite Madolyn. He glared at Tyler. “No one invited you to barge in here.”

  Tyler ignored him. “Clara, meet your Tía Maddie.”

  The little girl scrutinized Madolyn with a frown, an open assessment, neither belligerent nor hostile, simply the natural reaction of a child. Madolyn’s heart fluttered. She quickly found her voice.

  “Clara, my dear, let me guess your name. Clara Barton Sinclair.”

  The little girl nodded eagerly.

  “Where’s Betsy?” Tyler asked Clara. Before she could answer, another girl, older than Clara, stepped hesitantly into the room from the lean-to.

  “Betsy?” Madolyn watched as the girl shyly bobbed her head. “Betsy Ross Sinclair. I declare, what wonderful names, Morley.”

  Morley ignored her. “Betsy, café.” While Morley glared at Tyler, Betsy brought coffee. Little Clara, who could be no more than six or seven, set an earthenware bowl in front of each of the three diners, which Carlita filled with a rich-looking stew.

  “Carne guisado,” Tyler explained. Although in actuality no one had explained anything.

  Madolyn glanced around nervously. “Where will you sit, Carlita?” She started to rise.

  Tyler grasped her wrist and pulled her back to her chair. “Sit down, Maddie. Carlita’ll eat later.”

  “Later?” Madolyn’s eyes flew to her brother, who had already begun to spoon heaping spoonfuls of stew into his mouth. The excess dripped back into the bowl. She shuddered.

  “And the girls?” When she tried to rise again, Tyler grabbed her wrist and held on.

  “Sit down.” He tugged her back in place. “You didn’t come out here to meddle. You came to see Morley. So here he is. Talk to him.”

  She glared from Tyler to Morley then to the submissive Carlita, who watched wide-eyed while another woman championed her cause, or tried to. No, Madolyn thought, not another woman. Carlita was her sister-in-law, a sister-in-law who resembled her own submissive mother too much for comfort.

  Far too much for comfort. And Carlita was obviously rearing her daughters in the same fashion. Her daughters; Madolyn’s nieces. Madolyn’s ire rose. She clasped her hands together in her lap.

  “Clara, bring three more bowls, please,” Madolyn instructed. “Betsy, I’m sure you can find three more stools
. Boxes will do. Anything to sit on.” Until I find some furniture.

  When she glanced at Tyler it was to see a bemused grin. Even as she watched, he shoveled a heaping spoonful of stew into his mouth, tore off a piece of tortilla, and stuffed it in, too. She glanced at her brother, who was still busy eating. When he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, she turned away.

  Barbaric! After their mother’s strict adherence to the rules of etiquette. Their mother, who was surely turning over in her grave this very minute.

  And Miss Abigail! Madolyn realized with a start that this was one of the few times today she had even thought about Miss Abigail. All the better, she knew, because Miss Abigail would not approve of a thing she had done lately. Madolyn gripped her hands in tighter fists. But all that was fixing to change. Plans stirred in her brain.

  If she did nothing else before leaving this barbaric land, she must rescue these precious girls from a future of servitude. How she could accomplish such a formidable task remained to be seen. At her request, they had vanished into the lean-to and had yet to reappear. Whether they understood her was debatable. But one thing was certain, Madolyn did not intend to eat one bite with her hostess—her sister-in-law—standing meekly by.

  Submissive. Madolyn shuddered. Submissive, like her mother. Like Morley’s mother. Conventional wisdom held that a man married his mother. But Madolyn held with Miss Abigail’s interpretation—that a man turned the woman he married into a facsimile of his mother.

  When Morley suddenly scraped back his chair and rose from the table, Tyler chastised her.

  “Looks like you missed your opportunity, Maddie. ’Less all you came out here to do was meddle.”

  Madolyn tipped her chin, but held her tongue, for Tyler was right. She had let the opportunity slip past. “Morley,” she called. “I really must speak with you.”

  He leveled indifferent eyes on her. “So who’d the old man leave his money to?”

  Madolyn took a deep breath and wished Tyler Grant weren’t sitting there taking in every word. “The Gentleman’s Select Smoking Club of Boston.”

  Tyler laughed. Madolyn cast him a withering look. He wiped his mouth and started to rise.

  “Good riddance.” Morley crammed his Stetson on his head.

  Madolyn’s heart lurched. “All of it,” she added lamely. “Even the house.”

  Morley ran practiced hands along the creased brim, as though to reinforce what time, neglect, and the weather had likely rendered as hard as saddle leather. “So?”

  “I have no place to live.” Feeling Tyler’s eyes on her, she hissed, “I don’t want your sympathy, sir.”

  He held up his hands in defense. “Don’t mind me, Maddie, I’m just a fly on the wall.”

  She glared at him, feeling abandoned, betrayed and beneath all that, confused. Resolutely she approached her brother. Her face grew warm when she explained, “Unless I give up my work and marry within a year of the reading of the will, everything goes to the Gentlemen’s Select Smoking Club of Boston, even the roof over my head. One month has already passed.”

  “Your work?” Morley barked.

  Madolyn lifted her chin. “I am secretary of the Boston Woman Suffrage Society.”

  Morley actually laughed. And, finally, she recognized him. He had laughed a lot back when they were youngsters. He taught her to laugh.

  “Learn to laugh at life, little girl,” he instructed. “That’s the only way to get through some of it.”

  “Woman suffrage!” He whooped the words to the low-hung ceiling. “No wonder the old man had a conniption.”

  Madolyn refused to be sidetracked. “This is my plan, Morley. You, as Papa’s legal heir, can break his will.”

  Morley’s smile faded. Madolyn hurried on. “A lawyer drew up papers for you to sign. The money can be divided. I don’t need much. With what’s left, I had planned to start a Center for Women’s Rights.” She cast a glance toward Carlita, who huddled near the fireplace. “That was before I knew about…I mean, before I met the children. I didn’t know you had children, Morley. The inheritance belongs to them, too.”

  “How many ways do I have to say it? I don’t want nothin’ from that ol’ man.” Morley’s eyes had gone dark; his face turned red. “Go back to Boston, Maddie.” He glanced to Carlita, then back to Madolyn. “Take your woman suffrage and women’s rights with you. They don’t fit our way of livin’ out here.”

  Tyler snatched his hat off the back of his hide-bound chair. “Hear her out, Morley.” He pushed his former partner aside, opened the door, then turned back with, “Gracias, Carlita.”

  Courage drained from Madolyn’s spine. “Mr. Grant? Where are you going?”

  Tyler tipped his hat. “To find me a stolen horse.”

  “Like hell!” Morley took out after Tyler. Madolyn heard them bicker even while they stomped away from the adobe hut.

  “Hear her out, Morley.”

  “She’s done. So am I. And so are you.”

  Twenty years. For twenty years she had pined for her lost brother. Now it looked as if the brother in her fantasy had never existed. Heavy-hearted, Madolyn repeated her litany: Men are no damned good. When she turned back for her reticule, the two little girls had returned to the room and stood beside their mother. All three stared at Madolyn with doleful, uncomprehending expressions.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Carlita. I’m here now, and I intend to help you straighten him out. Morley will not turn out like his father. I guarantee you that.”

  Carlita remained silent, her eyes downcast. Poor thing. Poor submissive thing. Well, she had learned one thing today, Madolyn thought: Women in the West were not as liberated as she had believed from her brief association with Miss Goldie Nugget.

  On the other hand, women of the ilk of those who ran the House of Negotiable Love had always been liberated. Prostitutes had always had more control over their lives than wives. A wicked thought.

  “I’m here now, Carlita. Everything will work out.” Kneeling before the smallest girl, she took both the child’s little hands. “How old are you, Clara?”

  The little girl shrugged, her green eyes alight with curiosity.

  “Siete,” Carlita responded in Spanish, then added in hesitant English, “Clara is seven; Betsy is eleven.”

  “Clara Barton,” Madolyn declared. “And Betsy Ross. He can’t have gone all bad.” She wanted to hug little Clara to her, like Tyler had done earlier, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to act so freely. Instead, she squeezed the child’s hands. “I’m very glad to have found you. I didn’t know I had a niece.” She turned to Betsy and took one of her hands, although the girl tried to pull away.

  Somehow rejection from a shy child wasn’t the same as being rejected by a brother who had been her best friend twenty years before.

  What had happened? Why had Morley grown hostile? She had a good idea why he left home, but that had been twenty years ago. Now he had a lovely family. Although his home was in obvious need of major improvements—

  The thought returned. Money. The children were barefoot, the house was small and inadequate by anyone’s standards for a family of eight.

  Eight! A few hours ago she had believed Morley to be the only relation she possessed in this world. Within the space of half a day she had discovered seven more relatives. Seven. A sister-in-law, four nephews, and two adorable little nieces!

  And they obviously were in dire financial straits. Yes, things did happen for a reason. She had come here to seek her brother in her hour of need, and what had she found? A brother who needed her even more than she needed him.

  Money. And guidance. Shoes for the children. Clothing. A table with eight chairs. And that was only a beginning. Morley might act like he didn’t want her around, but he needed her. In no time she would show him how much.

  Standing, she gripped Carlita’s hands. “Thank you for a lovely meal, Carlita.” She spoke to the woman’s downcast head. “Let me fetch my valise. I won’t be a burden, you�
�ll see. I can help out. I shall sleep with the girls.”

  Suddenly, in place of the despair that had been her constant companion for so long she couldn’t recall when it actually began, joy and expectation swelled her bosom. A family.

  She had found a family. She hadn’t known how much she needed one. And they needed her, too. Oh, the joy of it!

  She would fetch her valise, then she would find Tyler and tell him to go back to town without her.

  Tyler folded his arms over the corral fence and watched the honey-colored thoroughbred romp around the enclosure, which, like the lean-to, was made from stalks of the sotol plant.

  He had coveted that horse for over a year, and now, Morley Damn-his-hide had bought her out of spite. Which wasn’t all that surprising, given the state of their friendship.

  But look what the bastard was doing to his sister. For twenty years Tyler had known the man possessed a mean streak. But if he hadn’t witnessed firsthand the sonofabitch’s treatment of Maddie, Tyler knew he would never have believed it. And damned if he hadn’t set her up for the fall.

  “You played hell this time, Grant.”

  Tyler didn’t turn. Truth known, he was afraid to face Morley, lest he lose control of his itchin’ fist. “Never knew you were such a bastard, Morley. Always suspected it, but until today, I never knew it for fact.”

  “We didn’t have the money for that horse when you wanted it. We were investin’ our money in cattle, if you recall.”

  “Help her, Morley.”

  “Stay out of it, Grant. It ain’t none of your business.”

  “Help her. It’s the quickest way to get rid of her.”

  “That woman don’t need my help or anyone else’s.”

  “You heard her. She doesn’t have a roof over her head.”

  “You bet. Jed told me how it took nigh onto two baggage cars to haul all her stuff to Horn.”

  “Give her your damned signature, Morley.”

  Morley stood beside Tyler, his arms crossed over the fence, staring at the same honey-colored horse. “Not that it’s any of your damned business, Grant, but that signature wouldn’t be the end of it. It’d open a can of worms better left sealed. Before we were done, I’d have to go back to Boston, get involved in a situation I vowed never to have any part of again.”