Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (41 page)

      
As Tomasina drifted into a moaning, laudanum-induced slumber, the doctor sewed up the angry red wound. “Such a pity for one so beautiful to be scarred. I will try my best to make the stitches small and neat,” he said to Slade.

      
“Yes, she is beautiful,” Jim replied.
Beautiful and treacherous,
he added silently.

      
His preoccupied silence damned him in Charlee's eyes. She saw his gentleness with Tomasina and his fury at Markham for hurting her. Nothing else seemed to matter to him, least of all a disheveled and sorrowing Missouri hill girl, who hid her pain behind a wooden facade of resentfulness.

      
As soon as the surgery was done, Charlee helped the doctor clean his instruments. Weidermann instructed the wide-eyed maids to prepare their mistress's bed. When Slade curtly told them to prepare a bed for him in the next room, Charlee slipped away without his even taking notice.

      
She returned to the sala to find Lee anxiously pacing. Markham's body had been removed by one of Jack Hays's rangers, who served as the law in San Antonio since all the officials of the court were prisoners on forced march to Mexico.

      
Lee looked up and asked uncertainly, “Is she going to live?”

      
Charlee sighed, partly in resignation, partly in anger. “Yes, I expect so, with Jim to tend her. The way she's holding on to him, she'll either live or drag him into the next world with her! I hope they both roast,” she muttered darkly under her breath as she headed toward the back door.

      
Lee hurried after her. “Where are you going? Wait up, I'm coming with you.” He went around the front of the house and retrieved Liso, then met her in the rear as she slipped onto Patchwork. Wordlessly they headed for Bluebonnet, taking Polvo with them as there was no one to care for the horse at the Carver house.

      
On the slow ride to the ranch, Lee outlined the long, grueling pursuit of the Comancheros and the battle that ensued, ending with Markham's escape and flight to San Antonio. Charlee described the taking of the city by General Woll, the amazing events at Kensington's boardinghouse, and her discovery of Tomasina's perfidy in Richard Lee's diary.

      
“I want her hanged,” she stated baldly to the young vaquero.

      
He nodded bleakly, empathizing with her over the loss of a brother. “I understand how you feel. My brother and sister died with our parents. In revenge for them, I've killed Comanches and those who deal with them. But you must realize, Charlee...” He paused, uncertain of how to go on, to explain to her.

      
“You mean, Slade won't let anybody lay a hand on her, don't you? She's guilty as sin of two murders, her own husband's as well as my brother's!” Her face was set in tight lines of outrage and hurt.

      
“No, it's not Jim, or at least it's more than Jim. Charlee, the law in San Antonio would never hang a woman, especially one from an old respected family, a woman of property and influence, a lady despite her treachery.”

      
Charlee whirled on him, furious over the logic of his argument even though she knew he was no admirer of Tomasina's. “She deserves to die just as much as Markham did. I suppose Jim'll nurse her back to health and marry her just to cover up the whole ugly mess.”

      
“More likely he'll try to ship her off to relatives in Mexico when she's well,” he responded, praying he was right and Charlee wrong. “You misunderstand his feelings over her, I think,
chica
. He doesn't love her—if he ever did—but he feels guilty, obligated to her. Or, more properly, to her family and the old agreement between his father and her father. It's the past that holds him, Charlee, not any love for Tomasina now.” He could tell by the look in her tear-blinded eyes that she did not believe him.

      
“Just let me pack my things and collect Hellfire. I'll be gone in the morning. Jim Slade can do whatever he wants. It doesn't signify to me anymore.”

      
That night, snuggled up with the old orange cat in her bedroom, Charlee cried herself into an exhausted sleep. She dreamed of the last night before Slade had left, when she had nestled in his arms, savoring what she foolishly thought was his love.

      
True to her word, she packed her clothing the next day and had an unwilling Lee load them on a spring wagon, saying, “I’ll leave this in town. Maybe Slade will want to bring her back here in it. If not, you can always pick it up at the livery.”

      
As she vanished down the road, Asa, Weevils, and Lee watched dolefully. The cat's steady green eyes held theirs as he sat facing backwards on the seat, taking the jouncing ride in stride, as if he knew a secret no one else did.

      
When she arrived at Kensington's—no, Flemings'—boardinghouse, Charlee jumped off the wagon and reached for Hellfire, who disdained her assistance and sprang gracefully to the ground. Sniffing to reacquaint himself with his surroundings, he trotted toward the side door to the kitchen, no doubt to beg some milk or meat drippings from Sadie. Chester informed Charlee that Deborah was upstairs in her room. Just then Adam burst down the steps and ran into her welcoming arms.

      
“Oh, Aunt Charlee! I'm so glad you're here. You can take care of this house. Now that mama's back, we're going to live at papa's house, way far away.” He wriggled as she knelt and hugged him.

      
“Now, what's all this about your leaving and your mama being gone?” She held him at arm's length for mock inspection.

      
Breathless with information, he plunged on. “When the army left, that bad man who came here with General Woll, he took mama and put her in one of those carts. Then when papa came back, she was gone and he followed them and there was a big fight. My papa is the bravest man in the whole world! He saved her and now she's packing all our things so we can go with him to his ranch! Ain't it great?”

      
“Yes, I'm sure it is,” Charlee replied uncertainly.

      
“Come on, you can help!”

      
Bemused, she followed him up the steps and into Deborah's room where everything was being packed into trunks.

      
Deborah was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a pile of shoes and several jewelry boxes. Hearing Adam's and Charlee's chatter, she looked up, then rose and rushed into her friend's embrace.

      
“Oh, Charlee, I'm so glad to see you! So much has happened I scarcely know where to begin.” Her face looked pale and drawn, her beautiful features haunted and sad. “Adam, darling, I need to talk to Aunt Charlee about grown-up things. You go to the kitchen and let Sadie get you some cookies and milk.”

      
With a quick hug for each of the women, the joyous child fairly flew down the steps. “Bet Hellfire's in the kitchen,” he shouted over his shoulder.

      
“I take it a lot's happened since I left San Antonio on the sixteenth,” Charlee said dryly. Then, noticing the tension in Deborah's expression, she pulled her friend to sit on the bed beside her. “Now tell me what's going on.”

      
Deborah explained the tumultuous events of the past days in outline, obviously finding some things too painful or too personal to relate in detail. Captain Flores had abducted her. Rafe's old enemy had lied to the general, accusing Rafe of spying, and had convinced Woll to put a price on his head. His safe conduct into San Antonio was rescinded and he was nearly shot. When he finally reached Adam and Sadie, they hysterically told him about her disappearance. Rafe had trailed her and rescued her during a fierce battle.

      
Charlee sat rooted to the bed while Deborah narrated the incredible events.

      
Despite the fact that she was back home and safe, something was definitely wrong. Deborah was not as happy as her son.

      
“Where is Rafe now? Adam said you were leaving soon,” Charlee volunteered uncertainly.

      
Deborah ran a hand through her hair and swallowed. “Oh, he's at Bainbridge's, ordering supplies for our trip. I guess we'll leave in a few days,” she finished distractedly.

      
“You don't want to go with him, do you?” Charlee asked it gently, oddly surprised at her friend's reaction after all Rafe must have gone through to save her.

      
Deborah sat mutely, her silence an assent of sorts. “I...I honestly don't know. A part of me wants to be with him, to follow him anywhere, like some mindless creature, but I'm afraid. He's become a stranger—a violent, even savage man, so different from the Creole aristocrat I married.

      
“I guess I resent losing all the hard-won freedoms I've come to treasure the past years. A woman needs her own...sovereignty, her own sense of individuality.” She stopped and looked uncertainly at Charlee. Deborah was flushed in embarrassment for having revealed so many of her private thoughts. “Oh, I suppose I'm rambling. It's too complicated and too painful to rehash, better left alone. I'm married, and under the law I have certain obligations from which I can no longer hide.”

      
“And Adam, what about him...and his father?” Charlee added hesitantly.

      
“You've seen how it is. He adores Rafael. If there was nothing else, I 'd have to go back to him for Adam's sake.” She sat disconsolately. “At least he'll be happy, and living on a ranch will be good for him.” She said it as if trying to convince herself.

      
Charlee did not know what to say, feeling some of Deborah's agonizing ambivalence herself, torn between love for Jim Slade and pain over his desertion.
If there was nothing else,
Deborah had said. But after the episode she had witnessed in the yard, Charlee knew there was obviously something else, something more to the relationship between Deborah and Rafe than the son they shared. She vowed she would talk to Rafe Fleming to see what he planned for his family.

      
Charlee placed her arm around Deborah's shoulders as they huddled together on the bed. “Wherever you go, I just want you to understand that I'm your friend and I'll always be here to help you any way I can. We can write, maybe even visit from time to time.”

      
Deborah hugged Charlee back. “Oh, you don't begin to know what your friendship has meant to me. I'll always be so grateful.”

      
“I'm the one who should be grateful. You took a scraggly, foul-mouthed waif and taught her how to speak, dress, even walk, for heaven's sake,” Charlee replied as she ruefully remembered her painful metamorphosis. “That's part of what, I need to talk to you about. I learned a business skill from you, too. I can run the boardinghouse for you, or even make a down payment and buy you out if you want. I have a little nest egg from selling my parents' farm in St. Genevieve. I could pay the rest in installments, I'm sure...” Her voice faded nervously as she looked away from Deborah's worried eyes.

      
“I'd love for you to own the boardinghouse, Charlee, and I'm sure you would do an excellent job. But I can't believe that you and Jim...that is, I'd hoped you would make up your differences and get married. I know he loves you, not Tomasina Carver. Charlee, are you certain—”

      
“Yes, I'm certain,” she interrupted impatiently, pain and anger clearly written on her small, vulnerable face. “He's staying at her house right now, sleeping in her bedroom.” At Deborah's look of horrified incredulity, Charlee went on to explain about the shooting, and Tomasina and Markham's collusion in murdering Richard Lee and Jake Carver.

      
“So, you can see he's chosen his side,” she finished coldly. “He's willing to protect a murderess from facing her just punishment.”

      
“Taking care of someone near death is scarcely the same thing as shielding her from the law, Charlee,” Deborah gently remonstrated.

      
Charlee's face clouded and she sniffed. Walking nervously to the window, she said, “You should have seen him, Deborah, when she was shot. He was so tender, so gentle with her. When Doc Weidermann sewed her up, Jim was devastated over the scar it would leave to mar her porcelain perfection,” she spat hatefully.

      
Taking a deep breath, she turned and faced her friend. “Well, may I run the boardìnghouse for you or not?”

      
“I can scarcely take care of it from the wilds of north Texas, can I?” Deborah replied with a wobbly smile.

* * * *

      
Having settled her own future, even if not to her satisfaction, Charlee decided she could not rest until she was assured about Deborah and Rafe. Throughout the day she worked up her courage to confront the darkly mysterious Creole gunman. But where to do so? The boardinghouse was always crowded with people busily coming and going. She could hardly ask Deborah's husband to go for an after-dinner stroll with her! But she must talk to him.

      
As it turned out, Rafe took the initiative for a private conversation just after the midday meal. She was carrying a heavy tray stacked with dishes from the dining room table when he suddenly stood in front of her.

      
“May I take that for you? It looks to weigh more than you do, Charlee.” His tread was cat-silent and his voice low and silky. Charlee gasped in surprise, almost dropping the rattling china before he eased the weight from her hands.

      
Rafe set the tray on the work table in the center of the kitchen as she rounded on him. “Don't you ever make a sound before you creep up on a body?” she asked churlishly.

      
He turned and flashed her a white grin, which seemed to erase the menace from his scarred, swarthy face. He was as beautiful as some dark satanic god.
Heaven help Deborah, Charlee
thought suddenly.