Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (17 page)

      
That was how Jim found her when he opened the door. Charlee looked up from her reverie, like some small, delicate doll with enormous eyes and flushed cheeks. Huddled beneath the sheet on the big bed, she looked like a lost, lovely waif. Wordlessly, he strode over and handed her a steaming mug of coffee.

      
Charlee's eyes were riveted on the tall, half-dressed man. He was barefooted and bare chested, clad only in a pair of dark blue pants that hugged his lean frame scandalously. No part of him was unknown to her now. She blushed, thinking how powerful those narrow hips and wide shoulders were when he held her. His eyes were shuttered and his face grave as the silence between them thickened. She felt a prickle of unease as she took a scalding sip of Weevils’ awful coffee and looked expectantly at him.

      
He, too, sipped his coffee and cleared his throat while he paced back and forth like a caged cougar. Suddenly, he stopped and looked squarely in her eyes. “You...you were never with a man before last night, were you?” He took one look at her stricken face and realized how obvious the answer was. “Shit! I'm sorry...that is, I didn't intend to...” He floundered into silence and resumed pacing.

      
“Just what did you intend?” She put the cup on the table beside the bed and clutched the sheet more tightly to her breasts.

      
“Not to seduce a virgin, that's for damn sure!” He rubbed one hand through his thick gold hair and winced again from the lump.

      
“And you thought I was some kind of whore, is that it?”

      
Her anger was beginning to tip the scales over her shock and hurt.

      
“What the hell was I supposed to think, you coming all the way from Missouri, an eighteen-year-old girl, all alone?” he said defensively.

      
“So that gave you leave to presume you could sleep with me?” She was almost yelling now, but her voice cracked.

      
“You were there, half-dressed in that see-through thing. I haven't had a woman in months! Hell, I was drunk!” Damn, what was he trying to excuse—his reasons for seducing her, or his poor performance when he had succeeded?

      
Charlee's mercurial mood swung once again to pain. Choking back tears, she swallowed hard and said, “So you were drunk and now you're sorry. Half the ranch must know by now we spent the night together. I can tell by the sun out there it's mid-morning. Any idea what we can tell Weevils or Lee or Asa?” She waited a few moments. “I didn't think so. Certainly not that you'd marry me, huh?” She held her breath.

      
He sighed angrily. “Look, I happen to be engaged to be married this October. You knew that before you sashayed around with that low-cut blouse hanging open, or picked a fight with Sina, or came downstairs with a see-through night rail on.”

      
“You bastard! I suppose you think that I was out to trap you—that it was all a plot!” She was shrieking like a fishwife now.

      
“Come off it, Charlee. You're hardly the first virgin to try and trade her maidenhead for some marriage lines.” Now he was getting angry. “Besides, you didn't exactly discourage me.”

      
Stung by the truth of his statement, she lashed back. “Well, you oughta know about scheming women, since you're so hell-bent on marrying one, but I'm not like that. Even if I was, I'd for sure pick someone with a better disposition than you! You've got all the charm of a lantern-jawed jackass!”

      
This wasn't going at all well. Slade sat down on the big oak chair across from the bed and took a few deep, calming breaths. “Look, Charlee, I'm sorry about what's happened, but you're just a kid. You don't know anything about life or men, what you really want, or what's good for you.”

      
She ripped the sheet from the bed as she scrambled off, wrapping it protectively around her as she stalked with as much dignity as possible to the door. Haughtily she replied, “I do know one thing about what I want and what's good for me—it's not you!” With that she practically tore the door from its hinges and departed, slamming it deafeningly in her wake.

Chapter Seven

      
“If I owned both hell and Texas, I'd rent out Texas and live in hell!” Charlee recalled the quotation from a newspaper back in Missouri, but she couldn't remember who said it. “Well, he was damblasted right!” The evil gray weather outside her window was in perfect accord with her mood. It had rained almost constantly since she left Bluebonnet and came to San Antonio, to Deborah Kensington's boarding-house. As the rain beat a steady tattoo on the windowpane, Charlee pressed her cheek against the cool, hard glass and closed her eyes, replaying in her mind the events that had brought her here.

      
After her disastrous fight with Jim the morning following their lovemaking, she had marched off to her room and flung herself across the bed to sob silently, humiliated by tears that would not stop, tears for a man who did not love her, did not even want her in his bed after his drunken lust was slaked. She had heard him stalk downstairs and ride off toward town shortly afterward. She had lain abed in misery for over an hour and then forced herself to dress, since she could not bear the further humiliation of having any of the men come up to her room and find her in a red-eyed, half-dressed state.

      
After splashing cold water on her face to reduce the blotchy evidence of her crying, Charlee braided her hair, took a deep breath, and stuck out her chin pugnaciously. Just let anyone even look at her with scorn for her fallen state, or—worse yet—with pity! No one did. Weevils went out of his way to appear unconcerned about her tardy appearance in the kitchen. Asa and Lee ate lunch, making a bit more small talk than usual to fill the void in the conversation left by Charlee. Slade's absence was not commented upon by anyone.

      
As she peeled potatoes for supper, Charlee wondered if he would be gone for the night, seeking moral support from his fancy ladylove in San Antonio. “He's a chicken-hearted coward, that's what,” she swore beneath her breath, yet her throat tightened when she even considered how she would face him when he did deign to reappear. “I for sure can't stay here, but what will I do?”

      
The forlorn, lonely question hammered at her relentlessly. She hated to admit that she didn't want to leave. Lee, Weevils, and Asa, as well as many of the hands at Bluebonnet, had become her family. She had found a true home in the spacious, lovely old ranch house, even if she had failed to warm the owner's cold heart. But it was obviously impossible for her to remain beneath the same roof with a man who had used and then discarded her so cruelly.

      
She had the money from selling the farm, which she could use to start a business in San Antonio maybe, or St. Louis, or New Orleans. But she didn't want to do that. It would mean never again seeing any of the friends she had grown to love. Besides, she had no citified skills. What kind of business could she operate?—a general store, a dress shop, or a milliner's? Hardly! All she knew how to do was hunt, work with livestock, garden, and cook. Scarcely the skills a young woman alone could call upon to invest in a business.

      
As it turned out, Charlee need not have concerned herself with any planning. Slade had done it for her. He arrived home that day having completed all the arrangements with a young widow who ran a large, prosperous boardinghouse. Mrs. Kensington had been looking for a cook and all around helper since her partner, a somewhat older widow, had remarried and moved away.

      
Dinner that night had been a nightmare, with everyone around the small table acutely aware of the simmering tension between the boss and the young woman who served the meal in sullen silence. Afterward, when everyone else had left the house, Jim approached her and perfunctorily informed her of his arrangements.

      
Charlee could still picture him standing there behind her in the kitchen. She had not acknowledged his presence until he had spoken in his low, rough voice. “You and I both know you can't stay here the way things are between us. I visited an old friend of mine in town who needs a helper, a sort of assistant manager at her boardinghouse. It's a really nice, respectable place and she'd pay you well. I...er...vouched for your cooking and housekeeping skills.”
      
His hands had been in his pockets and his level golden gaze fixed on the back of her neck when she had whirled furiously to confront him.

      
“Of course you didn't mention my other skills to the owner of such a respectable place! I'm just surprised you didn't arrange to send me to one of the local bordellos where you think I belong, you sanctimonious bastard!” Her green eyes were almost black with fury. She had restrained the urge to claw the calm, self-possessed look off his handsome face.

      
“I said Mrs. Kensington was a lady, from back east. She won't put up with your tantrums or your gutter language, Charlee. If you want a good job, you'll learn from her how to behave—or be out in the streets for real!” His stance had been defensive, as if he was struggling to cover up a sudden rush of guilt with a black temper of his own.

      
Before her tears could betray her, Charlee had run from the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder that she would be packed and ready to go in two minutes.

      
Although she had been prepared to dislike Deborah Kensington sight unseen, Charlee found herself unable to do so, despite the woman's startling beauty and flawless manners. When they had arrived at the front of the big whitewashed building on a tree-lined side street, Charlee had grabbed her bundle of clothing in one hand and Hellfire in the other. “I can tell her who I am without your help, Don Diego,” she spat sarcastically.

      
Slade had clamped a strong brown hand on her arm and propelled her toward the steps. With gritted teeth he said, “I will introduce you properly. I can scarcely drop you on her doorstep like a half-drowned kitten.”

      
Rain had begun to fall during their late-evening ride to town, drenching them by the time they arrived. Just as they reached the steps, the front door had opened and a beautiful woman emerged to greet them in the dim twilight. Her gracious, warm welcome had been balm to Charlee's wounded spirit, and the fact that she loved cats put her several notches higher in the girl's estimation. The old cat even liked her, for heaven's sake!

      
A prickly lick on Charlee's arm brought her out of her reverie. The chewed-up furball gave his mistress a sharp nudge, dislodging her nose from the cold glass pane. “Ouch! Oh, Hellfire, boy, I'm so glad I still have you.” She straightened up from her crumpled pose by the window and scooped the large orange lump into her arms for a fulsome snuggle.

      
That's how Deborah found them when she knocked and opened the door to Charlee's room. “Good morning! I hope you slept well, Charlee. The first night in a strange place can seem very long. Is the room to your liking?” Her smile warmed up a striking face with lavender eyes and features that were finely molded but strong. A mass of silver-gilt hair was piled softly on top of her head, adding to her already imposing height, and her day dress of simple dark blue muslin looked as elegant as a ball gown.

      
Charlee smiled faintly as she looked around the cheery room, with its bright green gingham curtains and soft tan bedspread and rugs. ‘Thank you, I did sleep just fine. The bed is really comfortable and the room is beautiful. I'm beholden to you, Mrs. Kensington.” Hellfire jumped from her lap and swished haughtily over to the proprietress to favor her with his presence.

      
“Please, call me Deborah. I hope we will be friends, Charlee.” With that she knelt gracefully and stroked the preening tom beneath his chin, eliciting several loud purrs. “I see I already have a friend in you. I hope you adopt Adam so handily, too.”

      
“Adam?” Charlee's voice was puzzled. “I thought you were a widow?”

      
Deborah's face clouded for a fleeting second, and her eyes filled with a deep, nameless pain. She quickly suppressed it and said brightly, “I am. Adam is my five-year-old son. He's named after his grandfather.”

      
“I'm sure Hellfire will love him. He always takes a shine to folks I like, and I love kids.” She smiled. “I hope you don't mind the name, but he's gotten sort of used to it and I don't think he'd answer to much else now.”

      
Deborah was amazed at the transformation in the child when she smiled.
Why, she's really rather pretty despite the awful snarled hair and the boy's clothing
. “I assure you, the cat's name is fine. My son hears far worse from the teamsters and cowboys on a daily basis, even if they do try to be civil in front of a lady.” She paused, uncertain how to proceed. Jim Slade had told her very little about the girl yesterday, only that she was an orphan and a capable worker who had come to Bluebonnet looking for her deceased brother. She needed a job and he wanted to help her. Deborah read between the lines that Tomasina Carver might object to a young single girl beneath his roof and, hence, deduced his need to be rid of Charlee. But Deborah expected a beautiful, voluptuous creature, not this pathetic waif in boys' breeches.

      
“Charlee, I don't know what Mr. Slade told you about your job here, but we do need to talk about some things before we set to work.” Her eyes strayed to the loose shirt and patched pants the girl wore.

      
Charlee blushed furiously, recalling all the disasters resulting from her ventures into dressing like a female. If the lechers on the boat or in the hotel in Natchitoches were awful, the humiliation with Jim Slade was the worst of all. She would die before she'd wear that low-cut sheer blouse and free-flying skirt again! “I got me...er, I have no other clothes, Deborah, at least none that fit me.” Mustering all her courage, she looked the immaculately attired older woman in the eye.