Amelia (15 page)

She closed her eyes and shivered. No wonder he'd changed so!

"Is there nothing that can be done?" she asked plaintively.

"Medical science, alas, has not progressed so far." He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "I can arrange for a nurse when it is finally necessary. You will not have to bear it alone. Have you family,
señorita
?"

"My… my brother, only."

"He must be told," he added. "It is only a matter of time. Not too much time, either, I fear. This attack has brought on a fever which may have caused even more damage. You should not be alone with him," he added. "Men inflicted with this sort of thing are often violent. He could kill you."

She shivered. "Yes, I know."

"So, it has already happened, has it not?" he persisted.

She hesitated. Then she nodded. "I tried to run away a year ago in Atlanta. No one would believe that he would hurt me; he was such a kind man, before. When I went back home, he beat me very badly. He was sorry for a few minutes, and then he raged that I deserved it. He has been like that ever since the buggy accident." It was so good to talk of it, so good! She felt tears rolling down her cheeks. "I have never been able to tell anyone," she whispered. "I was ashamed of him, and of myself for allowing him to mistreat me. But I was afraid…"

"With good reason," he replied solemnly. "It is a fact that you risk your life by disagreeing with him.
Señorita
, there is an asylum in which he could be placed."

"And have everyone know?" Her face was tragic. "He could not bear the shame!"

"Alas, the world we live in is a prison, is it not?" the good doctor said grimly. "Public opinion dictates our every action. A man can be ruined, or a woman, by only the slightest gossip. I pray that this will change one day."

"As do I."

"Can you have a relative come to stay with you, then?" he persisted. "Is there someone you trust?"

"My brother is a Texas Ranger," she said, "and he is rarely here. He lives in barracks. I would hate to put this burden on him."

"Nevertheless, you may have to consider it," he returned. "Your position is desperate, did you not realize? Your father will soon be unable to work,
señorita
," he said flatly. "What will you do then?"

She felt her face go white. Unable to work! She had no way of employing herself. All of a sudden the enormity of her situation made her knees go weak. The doctor eased her into a chair and gave her some smelling salts.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. It's just that it's so sudden."

"I understand. I must go," he said regretfully. "Mrs. Sims is in labor. I was on my way to her when I stopped by. Please try not to worry so much. God looks out for us."

"Indeed He does," she replied with a tearful smile. "But I think that perhaps He is sleeping right now."

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A
melia didn't sleep that night. Her father seemed better, but he was very much changed from the man he had been only a day or so before.

"I don't think I should leave you," she said hesitantly, when it was time for Alan to come for her.

"You go ahead," he said huskily. He was hoarse and a little confused, too. "Go with Alan. I'll be all right. The pain isn't so bad now."

"I'm glad." She hesitated. He was so much like he had once been that she felt affection for him. "Shall I find someone to sit with you?"

"I don't need a damned bodyguard!" he yelled at her suddenly. His head turned, and his eyes were glazed, full of hatred and pain. "Get out! Get out, you stupid woman! Get out!"

Amelia felt frightened. He had started to get out of the chair where he was sitting, and she backed away.

She ran down the hall, grabbing her bag and parasol on the way, and darted out the front door as if all the hounds of hell were sharp on her heels. She was shivering, but she managed to get herself back together as Alan got down from the buggy, smiling, to fetch her.

"Hello, sweetie," he said, holding out his hand. The smile abruptly faded. "Amelia?"

She didn't realize that her face was white, her eyes like black coals. She was shaking.

"What is it?" he asked abruptly.

"My father," she began. "He's worse."

"I'm sorry. Shall I go in and speak to him?"

"No! No," she added more calmly. "He'll be fine. But I would like to stop by Dr. Vasquez's surgery and inquire if he'd look in on Father while we're away. I hate to leave him alone."

"We shall do that, of course. Has he been ill?"

"Yes," she said wearily. "Ill."

He stopped by the surgery, and she told Dr. Vasquez, out of Alan's hearing, what had happened.

"I will go by to see him, of course. I have a man who can sit with him a few hours, too."

"Thank you," she said fervently.

"You will be home before dark?"

"Certainly."

"Something must be done," the doctor added quietly. "This cannot be allowed to continue. You will be in constant danger."

"I know," she said heavily. "It's just that I don't know what to do! I do not wish to involve outsiders in what is a very private business!"

"It is an act of great courage to take the risk of staying with him, even for a member of one's family," he said quietly.

"He is my father," she replied. "Before the accident, he was a good and kind man who took wonderful care of his family. I love him. What else could I have done?"

He smiled at her. "You are a singular woman."

She flushed. "No. Only a weary one. Thank you for your help."

"It is my pleasure to do what I can for you. Good evening."

She nodded.

Alan put her back into the buggy and drove out of town. "Something's very wrong, isn't it?"

"Yes, Alan. But it's nothing I can tell you about. I'm sorry. I must handle it as I think best."

He frowned. "Aren't friends supposed to help each other?" he asked softly.

She sighed. "Alan, only God can help me now." She turned and forced a smile. "Tell me about this spot you've chosen for our picnic."

 

It was a lovely day. The rain of the past weekend, a brief storm with little substance, had not been repeated. There was a drought in the Rio Grande Valley, and talk of drilling more wells was on everyone's tongues. Alan was in good spirits, and the sun and crisp spring air made Amelia feel more relaxed and hopeful than she had in a long time.

She had worn a blue plaid cotton skirt and a lacy white blouse with a big, flower-covered hat for the picnic. Alan was in a neat gray suit that emphasized his good looks. What a pity, Amelia thought sadly, that she could not love him.

"I had Rosa's daughter pack the basket full for us. Rosa is… indisposed," he said, unwilling to mention that she was in labor in front of a lady like Amelia.

"It looks delicious, Alan," she said as she helped him unpack it and set the dishes out on the spotless white linen cloth that had also been provided. Crystal glasses were produced and a bottle of wine. Amelia exclaimed with delight when she saw it.

"It is a very light white wine," he assured her. "Nothing which will threaten your senses. Do sit down, Amelia."

She did, wrapping her long skirt around her, taking off her hat to let the air touch her high-piled blond hair. Wisps of it teased her flushed cheeks.

"You look happy," he said, "but very tired. Can you not tell me what is wrong?"

"My father has been ill. I did tell you."

"Amelia…"

She reached over impulsively and put her hand over his where it lay on the cloth. "No more questions, I implore you," she said softly. "Let it rest."

"As you wish," he said heavily. "Here, dear, have some chicken."

They were just beginning to eat when the sound of a horse's hooves startled them. A lone rider was coming up the rise. He was long-legged and lean, with his hat tilted at a rakish angle across his right eye and his red and white bandana fluttering in the wind. Wide chaps with silver conchos lay over black boots in the stirrups. Amelia's heart jumped. Even at a distance, the arrogant way he sat that horse betrayed his identity.

"King," she said under her breath.

"I'd forgotten that he was working out here today," Alan said unconvincingly.

"He sits a horse like the centaur of mythology," she murmured, her eyes helplessly watching the approach of the horseman. "He is majestic, Alan," she added involuntarily. "How wonderfully he rides!"

"Quinn said that you used to ride. King didn't believe him, of course."

"I had a friend whose father owned a riding stable," Amelia said, smiling at the memory of the long afternoons she and Mary had spent in the saddle. "I rode quite well, they said. Of course, when Mother died and I had Father to care for, there was not much time for it. Father was different in those days," she added quietly. "He drove me to the stables himself. It pleased him that I had what Mary's mother called a natural seat for riding. He was very proud of me."

"This change in him, when did it begin?"

"Only a handful of years ago," she said sadly. "He is not the man he was, Alan."

He wanted to know more, but King was within hearing distance now.

The tall man swung out of the saddle with incredible grace and threw the reins lazily over the horse's neck, letting them trail the ground to keep him close. The animal had been trained to stand when his reins were dragging.

"Join us," Alan invited. "We have chicken and biscuits!"

"Coffee?"

"It is just brewing," the younger man said, nodding to where he'd set the coffeepot boiling on the small fire he'd made with fallen limbs.

King stretched out beside them, tossing his hat to one side. His hair was sweaty, like his shirt. He looked tired.

"Still branding new calves?" Alan asked.

King nodded. "It's hot and thirsty work." He glanced at the crystal glasses. "Champagne?" he drawled mockingly, with a silvery glance that Amelia avoided.

"Wine," Alan replied. "Lemonade was too much work," he added with a chuckle.

"Fill a plate for me, Amelia," he instructed, and leaned back against the tree trunk to watch her do it. Her hands fumbled under his unblinking scrutiny. That seemed to amuse him. A corner of his mouth pulled up, and his lids dropped over glittering eyes.

She handed it to him. He took it, his hand brushing hers deliberately as he took it.

She jerked her hand away and dived for a fork to give him. He did the same thing with that, making an excuse of it to caress her fingers with his. She met his eyes, and lightning seemed to jab through her body.

His eyelids narrowed, and the smile faded from his mouth. He sat holding the plate, holding her in thrall, while Alan handled the coffeepot, trying to get some of the steaming black liquid into a cup.

"Ah," Alan exclaimed, "there we go!"

King, his attention diverted, allowed Amelia to escape him. She went back to her own corner of the cloth and picked at her chicken and biscuit, her appetite routed by the shocking pleasure it gave her to be near King.

He ate heartily, while he and Alan talked about the state of the cattle and the far-reaching effects of the lack of rain.

"We'll have to buy hay to feed if we don't get some rain soon," King remarked, having finished his meal and returned the empty plate with its bones to the cloth. "Water is going to be the real headache. I've had the men start drilling a second well in the lower pasture."

"Good idea," Alan replied. He glanced at Amelia, who must surely feel left out of the conversation. "We have to make sure the cattle have enough water," he told her.

"I see."

King lounged back against the tree trunk again, taking his time about lighting a cigar. Thick smoke curled up from his lean fingers, and he stared at Amelia through it.

"How do you like your new home?" he asked her.

"It's very nice." She began to put the food away.

"Just… nice?"

"It is well-located, of course, in a good section of the city."

Alan looked from one to the other of them, secretly amused at the thick atmosphere of tension they were projecting.

King's eyes narrowed for a minute before he turned toward his brother. "Take my horse and ride down to the corral, will you? Ask Hank to move the next lot of calves in. I rode off to see who was up here without telling him."

Alan hesitated, just to seem reluctant. "Well, I suppose I could." He eyed the horse warily. "I don't like riding the 'iron horse' there."

"Kit won't hurt you," he was assured. "He's just strong-willed, that's all."

"Pretty dangerous, too, I'd say, but maybe he won't dump me off."

"He couldn't unseat you the one time he tried, could he?" King asked, smiling affectionately at his younger brother. "You can handle him."

"All right, then. I'll be right along, Amelia," he told her. "Save some of that coffee for me," he cautioned King before he swung into the saddle and rode off down the hill.

Amelia was unsettled at being left alone with King. They could see the corral, but were too far away to be seen, especially under the shade of the tree. She couldn't imagine why he'd sent Alan away unless he wanted to harass her again.

She turned toward him, ready to defend herself, and stopped dead at the look on his face. That wasn't mockery or sarcasm or a need to hurt. It was pure, helpless desire.

He put the cigar aside, crushing out the fiery coal at its tip. Then he turned his head back toward Amelia, his pale eyes blazing.

"Come here," he said quietly.

She hesitated, and his hand shot out, grasping her wrist. He jerked her down beside him and trapped her there, looming over her like a conqueror.

"King," she protested.

"Be quiet." He leaned closer, his chest pressing down on her breasts to prevent her from rising. Even as he moved, his head lowered and his mouth eased down over her startled lips.

She reacted helplessly to the taste and feel of him, even though she did try feebly at first to resist him. But his mouth was warm and coaxing, and she couldn't help her willing response to it. Her hands fell beside her head. She lay close in his embrace, feeding on the ardent tenderness of his hard mouth while the wind blew ceaselessly around them.