Epilogue
"Just because my mother gave you those damned things doesn't mean you have to wear them." Whipping the oxen to a faster pace, Peter glanced down at the offending article showing in a tantalizing ruffle beneath Janice's skirt.
"They keep me warm. Besides, I'm wearing a skirt over them. It's not as if I'm wearing them as pants. And besides that, you don't need to look at my legs. You already have what you want." Janice rested her hand on the curve of her stomach, just beneath her breasts. She lifted her ankle to admire the ribbon threaded through the ruffled anklet of her stylish bloomers. They would look very nice when she was allowed to ride a bicycle again, but she wouldn't tell Peter that.
Peter gave a smug grin as he noted where her hand rested. "I'll admit that the thought of you carrying my baby tickles me no end, but that isn't all I want. I've made inquiries, and we have plenty of time for what I want."
A hint of color stained Janice's cheeks as she turned her attention to the rough road ahead of them. "I won't ask to whom you made your inquiries. You come from a family of real rapscallions, you realize. I don't know how your sainted mother has endured it all these years."
Peter snorted. "My 'sainted mother' has become a true harridan in her later years. If I didn't know him so well, I'd pity my father."
Janice smiled and watched Betsy ride her pony up the trail ahead of them. "He's only getting what he deserves for keeping her under his thumb all this time. And your brothers are learning to follow Daniel's example and let his tirades go right around them. In a few years, they'll be able to run Mulloney Enterprises without any help at all."
Peter shot her smile a suspicious look. "Just because I made a little profit on that stock sale doesn't mean we have enough to live on for very long. We might be back there by winter again."
The mountain they were riding up didn't seem to have changed much from the inclement winter weather. The coming of spring had brought a renewed green that she didn't remember from the prior autumn, but the smell of the pines was the same. Janice drank it in happily and leaned back against the wagon seat to give the child inside her more room to move.
"If that's what you want, I don't mind. We'll just have to wait until the baby is old enough to travel," she answered serenely, not taking up the challenge in his voice.
"I'll never be rich this way," he warned. "I can't keep going back and forth between this damned mountain and Ohio. If we don't strike gold this time, we might be better off going back East and staying."
"If that's really what you want to do." She knew it wasn't. She knew he wanted to be out here in the vast open spaces where men were judged by what they did and not who they were. He wanted to show he could make it on his own. He didn't want to be counted a failure out here. But she knew he wouldn't be. Peter had the ability to do whatever he set his mind to. All she had to do was keep his formidable mind diverted from worrying about her and the child.
Knowing when he was being placated, Peter grunted and concentrated on persuading the oxen up the hill to the cabin. He'd set out this time with enough money to provide some of the niceties for their home, and the iron stove they hauled slowed their progress.
"Do you think the gold we left behind will still be there?" Janice asked. She really didn't care about the gold now that the child inside her consumed all her concentration, but Peter's thoughts needed diverting. Pillow fights worked very well in the bedroom, but in public she had to be a little more diplomatic. "It was good of Tyler to let you wait until now to pay him back."
Peter grinned. "He was feeling generous after he made all that money on that stock I told him to buy. He had enough to buy that crazy horse of his back and then some." He shrugged as he returned to her question. "I don't see any reason why the gold shouldn't be there. It's just dangerous to take it down to be assayed until we have the operation going and more protection up here."
At a shout from Betsy, Peter grabbed his rifle and halted the oxen. He had the horse he'd left behind tied to the rear of the wagon, thanks to Townsend and the town storekeeper. If he could get to it...
Betsy and her mount burst around the curve of the trail, followed more sedately by Townsend on his rugged pony. Betsy slid to a halt beside the wagon, and Townsend shifted his hat back and grinned through a winter's worth of beard.
"Glad to see you back, partner. Thought maybe you'd grown soft and decided to desert me."
"Leave you with a mountain full of gold? Do you take me for a fool?" Peter grumbled, but the jest was in his eyes.
"Silver," Townsend replied, "mountain full of silver."
Janice's eyes widened but she remained silent as Peter stared at his partner. Betsy bounced up and down and showed a rock in her hand, but Janice continued to hold her breath while she waited for Peter to say something. Peter knew this man. He would know whether this was a joke or not.
Townsend nodded to the rock Betsy held out. "That came from the lode you struck when you pitched that fit and threw your pick into the mountain. It's a mite hard to get at, but once I made my way up there, I found plenty more. Gold's still there, too, but I figure we can use the silver for start-up money until we can get the excavation going."
Peter took the rock and held it up to the light. As he looked from the rock to Townsend, he slowly began to grin. "I'm the money manager around here, remember. I'll figure what we go after first."
Townsend tugged his hat down to disguise the laughter in his eyes. "Yassuh, massuh, suh." He glanced at Janice's newly rounded figure. "But it looks to me like you found other business to tend to and now you're short one bookkeeper. That don't look to me like any way to run a business."
Peter gave a long whistle and turned to Janice. "When the hired help starts getting uppity like that, it means there's money in his pockets. We might be building that mansion yet."
Janice smiled serenely and hugged Betsy as she climbed on the wagon seat to join them. "Just so it has a bedroom with a door that closes and lots of pillows, that's all I ask."
Peter smiled and set the team into motion. "I want a bathtub with lots of bubbles." He sent Janice a sideways glance. "I made sure that harem outfit got packed."
Janice pursed her lips and tried to look disapproving, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm sure I can find the clown costume," she replied evenly.
Betsy hooted and patted Janice's stomach. "I think the clown suit will fit better on Mama Janice." She gave a sly look through her lashes at the tall man beside her. "So I guess Papa Peter will have to wear the pretty silks."
Townsend roared with laughter, and the others joined him, but Peter and Janice exchanged looks over Betsy's head. Whatever Betsy guessed about her parentage she seemed to have accepted with the blithe innocence of security. They were well on their way to being more than the parents of an infant. They were going to be the proud parents of an exceptionally talented and devious ten-year-old.
Janice hugged her daughter and Peter whistled a happy tune as they pulled into the cabin clearing. He hadn't even known he could whistle, he realized as they stopped before the home they could call their own.
It wasn't much, but it was theirs.
Betsy clambered out of the wagon with a ten-year-old's disgust as Peter leaned over to kiss his wife. It would be years before the child would understand that it was love that made them wealthy. For now, Betsy was more interested in finding the paints she'd left behind.
Peter tipped Janice's chin upward with his knuckle so he could look into her eyes. "I love you," he murmured so only she could hear.
"I know, and for that, I'll forgive you anything." She met his lips with her own.
"Anything?" he murmured wickedly against her mouth.
"Almost anything," she answered severely, pulling his head down closer.
And because he knew he was an impossible man, he knew he would put that promise to the test more often than he cared to think. He also knew that she would never fail him.
He closed his eyes and deepened the
kiss. He might covet gold, but he'd already found his treasure.
The End
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TEXAS LILY
Too Hard To Handle
Book One
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Texas Lily
Too Hard To Handle
Book One
by
Patricia Rice
New York Times Bestselling Author
TEXAS LILY
Awards & Reviews
4 ½ Stars – Romantic Times
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"Ms. Rice is in her element as she gives us a recipe for romance... one delicious read."
~Romantic Times
Anger welled, as it always did when someone made fun of her height. She should have been born a man, she had been told more than once. Well, she had done her best to turn herself into one. She would behave as one now. She sat tall in her saddle and waited to see the rest of the joke that had been perpetrated on her.
The man's long black hair was straight as a stick but evidently clean. With a shock she realized his bronzed features and angular cheekbones were undoubtedly Indian, although she suspected something of the Spanish in his heritage also, if for no other reason than the proud arrogance of his nose and the jut of his square jaw. This was not a man she could control with a few sharp words.
Lily was almost willing to admit her mistake in seeking him when she noticed the odd way the man, Cade, held his hands on the reins. They were practically sitting in his lap.
In another moment he was close enough for her to see the kitten draped across the saddle in front of him. A kitten! Lily could scarcely keep her eyes from the untidy sprawl of fur until she recognized the unseemliness of her gaze. Flushing, she looked up to the man's dark eyes. If there was a flicker of something behind that impenetrable obsidian, she could not interpret it.
"Cade?" She had been told he had no last name. Looking at him, she could see he didn't need one. It would be akin to giving a family name to a wolf. She just hoped he didn't have the intelligence of a buffalo. As he stared without speaking, she continued nervously, "I've been told you have the experience to manage a cattle ranch. Is this true?"
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Too Hard To Handle
Book One
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Patricia Rice
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Book Two
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Patricia Rice
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TEXAS ROSE
Awards & Reviews
4 ½ Stars – Romantic Times
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"A special gift of love and laughter."
~Joan Hammond, Romantic Times
"Excuse me, gentlemen. I am looking for Pecos Martin. Is he here?"
The drawn shutters of the gambling hall turned the late afternoon sun into dusk. Smoke curled in the murky air, giving the room an atmosphere resembling the first circle of hell. Engrossed in their various card games, few of the occupants paid much attention to the vision in the open door.
And there was no doubt that she was a vision. With the sunlight for a backdrop, her chestnut hair glowed almost auburn. Arranged in thick, loose folds at the back of her head and topped by an incongruously tiny green velvet and lace hat, her hair rivaled the setting sun outside. The features beneath the thick waves of chestnut were not distinguishable in the gloom, but they appeared to be of the delicate cream and evenness that were fashionable. Perhaps the eyes were larger and darker than customary, having a certain exotic slant, but the clientele in this room weren't connoisseurs of fashion.
So the exquisite walking gown of green foulard adorned with yards of ruching and topped with a darker green fitted bodice went unrewarded by her audience. Only one head lifted in this sea of male attire, and the vision breathed an almost audible sigh of relief as her glance found him.
Surrounded by men in dark top coats, grubby sack coats, and black hats, this one man alone wore buff linen. His frock coat fitted snuggly to wide shoulders, and his starched white collar contrasted nicely with the golden-brown of his coloring.
Evie felt a swell of reassurance at his appearance. This had to be the man she was looking for. Of course, he was much younger than she had expected. A man who had done everything that Pecos Martin had done should be older and grizzled and weather-beaten. She had expected one of the derelicts in shirtsleeves and vest with three-day's growth of beard to be the man Daniel had told her about. But this man was obviously accustomed to sun, more so than anyone else in here.
His hair lay in thick lengths of sun-licked gold. Peering through the gloom, she thought his features were probably quite handsome. She hesitated to call a cold-blooded killer handsome. But he was definitely remarkable-looking.
Reassured by those looks, certain she was in the place described by Daniel, Evie approached the gambler without hesitation. The scene was just as she had imagined.
"Mr. Martin?" she inquired as she approached, her petticoats rustling in the silence. She didn't want to disturb anyone's concentration. The men in the card game with the golden gambler scarcely noticed her presence. She wasn't accustomed to that, but she wasn't accustomed to frequenting dens of vice, either.
The gambler grinned as his gaze raked over her new walking gown. Evie hoped he noticed the clever way she had cut the gussets so the tunic fit her waist neatly before flaring out over the full skirt and modified bustle. He certainly seemed to be appreciating some aspect of her attire, anyway. She smiled tentatively.
"Deal me out, boys," the man murmured, laying down his cards and scooping up the coins and greenbacks littering the table in front of him. He crushed his cheroot against the table and rose without a word of protest from the other players. They almost seemed relieved to see him go.
"How may I help you, my dear?" he inquired as he took her hand and placed it on his linen-covered arm. When she seemed prepared to withdraw her fingers, he held them and started toward the door. "Let us go outside. This is no place for a lovely lady such as yourself."
Deciding there was no harm in holding a man's arm even though it was more muscular than she had ever dreamed, Evie followed him through the gloom to the brilliant Natchez sunshine outside.
She was well aware that this was not the kind of place where ladies strayed, but she knew of no other way to obtain her goal, and she wasn't known for giving up. Don Quixote wouldn't have given up at the sight of a few cigars and the smell of unwashed bodies.
The blacksmith and buggy shops of Under-the-Hill might harbor men of the lower orders, but Evie had full confidence that they wouldn't be interested in harming her. It was broad daylight, after all, and the street was filled with horses and wagons and buggies. She realized the shuttered buildings like the gambling hall and other establishments of even less repute were dens of iniquity, but she wasn't exactly certain how iniquity could affect her if she simply walked by it.
With full confidence of her power to appeal, Evie smiled up at the gentleman holding her hand and launched into her prepared story. "Daniel told me all about you, and I knew you were the gentleman who could help us out. I am Maryellen Peyton, Mr. Martin. I'm pleased to meet you."
Tyler Monteigne smiled as his gaze took in the full glory of this creature he had only dimly assessed earlier. She wasn't so young as to be innocent, but young enough not to be jaded. Her face was an exquisite cream and rose accented by eyes so dark and heavily lashed t
hat they scarcely seemed to belong to her. Full lips of a vibrant rose formed a natural pout that begged to be kissed, and sun-warmed hair gave off an enticing scent of cinnamon and roses that stirred all his senses at once. He wanted to eat her and bed her at the same time.
He didn't know who in hell Pecos Martin was, but he was willing to be Robert E. Lee if she wanted. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. It's a pure honor to be called upon by such a vision of loveliness." Tyler made a slight bow, then securely tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he turned their direction up the hill. "Let us speak somewhere less public. My hotel is just up the street ..."
"So is mine, and my brother would be delighted to meet you, Mr. Martin. If you would prefer to get in out of the sun, we could go there."
He had not foreseen a brother in the picture. Images of an idle afternoon spent in white, shapely arms rapidly faded. Tyler hesitated beside the barred windows of a tavern. "Perhaps you had best give me some hint as to what this is about, Miss Peyton. I am a busy man, after all, and I don't wish to waste your time or mine."
Evie sensed his reservations, and she offered him the full benefit of her smile. "I wouldn't dream of wasting your time, sir. I'm fully prepared to pay for your services. I suppose expenses and a daily salary are required, but we can discuss that later when you hear my story. I really need your help, Mr. Martin. Surely you couldn't refuse a lady in distress."
Ladies in distress were the first people he would refuse. They pouted and cried and clung and made a general nuisance of themselves. But this one seemed all shimmering copper and light, and Tyler couldn't resist the mention of pay.
"Best tell me what you need now, ma'am. I don't rightly know that I've time to book many more good deeds in my schedule."
Texas Moon TH4 Page 35