Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (9 page)

      
By the time he arrived in San Antonio later in the evening, Slade was bone weary and badly in need of a bath. He toyed with the thought of going to one of several newer, more pleasant hotels in town, but decided on impulse to go to Sina's town house instead. She was probably there, and even in the unlikely event she had returned to Jake's ranch, her servants knew him. Besides, he planned to nose around town a bit to see what he could learn about the current activities of one Ashley Markham.

* * * *

      
“Really, Diego, you know it isn't proper for you to stay here alone with me all night, without a member of my family for chaperone,” Tomasina scolded, with a ripple of teasing laughter in her voice. She had been embroidering in the sala when he arrived, and was the picture of cool Hispanic beauty, dressed in rich navy blue silk that emphasized the blue-black luster of her raven hair.

      
He had been let in by José, her elderly porter, who vanished immediately thereafter. “Consider the whole house full of servants as more than ample chaperonage, Sina. Now that you're a widowed lady, you aren't expected to have a
dueña
like a schoolgirl. We are old neighbors, you know.”

      
“But everyone in San Antonio knows we were engaged before my marriage to Jacob, Diego. Rumors about us are beginning to circulate.” Careful not to soil her gown, she helped him out of his dust-covered buckskin jacket, tossing it on a wooden chair in the hall with a sniff.

      
“Oh,” he said, quirking an eyebrow in that mocking manner she had come to know so well, “and why do you suppose they're talking? Could it be we've gone riding together too often, or sat together at Mass too many Sundays, or even danced too close at the Mendoza’s' last fandango?”

      
“Such things, and servants' gossip. You are too forward with displays of affection in public, Diego,” she added primly as his hot golden gaze raked her face and figure.

      
“If I was really as forward as I'd like to be, Sina, I'd grab you right now and kiss you soundly, never mind that I stink of sweat and horses and need a shave,” he growled, rubbing the thick golden stubble on his face.

      
She made a mock pout. “You are too much of a gentleman for that, and I am too much a lady to permit it.”

      
“More's the pity,” he sighed. “Lead on to that bathtub.”

      
“I’ll ring for Jose.”

      
After a long, hot soak, a shave, and a change of clothes, Jim felt infinitely refreshed. He would collect that kiss from the maddeningly beautiful woman downstairs.

      
Tomasina instructed the cook to prepare a simple supper and then waited in agitation for Diego to join her. How fierce and dangerous he had looked, walking casually into the sala, filthy from the trail, bearded and armed like a border bandit. Despite her show of coolness, she had felt a surge of primitive attraction. If he had grabbed her and tried to kiss her, would she have resisted? With Jake she always had, but then he was so much older and coarser.

      
She had never felt the strange, hypnotic fascination with her late husband that she did with her future one. The attraction made her distinctly uneasy. She allowed herself to speculate on how he would be as a lover—after they had married. She knew it would be a tactical error to let him lie with her before their wedding night. No, her curiosity would have to be satisfied in nine months, she decided, forcing the disquieting images from her mind.

      
“Penny for your thoughts, bella señora.” Slade stood in the doorway, casually but strikingly dressed in a snowy white shirt, tan breeches, and gleaming black boots.

      
Caught off guard, she flushed, and stood to offer him her hand. He saluted her palm with soft kisses, trailing them up her arm and throat as he pulled her into his embrace.

      
“My darlin’, Sina, I've missed you.” He kissed her ardently, teasing her lips with his tongue to gain access, pressing her closely to his body. She neither resisted nor responded. After a moment, he regained control of his physical hunger and broke the kiss, loosening his hold on her. “Do we have to wait until next February for the wedding?” he groaned. “I don't know if I can stand it,
amada
.”

      
Breathlessly, she swished out of his grasp and glided over to the liquor cabinet of carved walnut. “You will just have to be patient,
querido
. You know what a scandal it would be if we married now. Perhaps by late fall...” She poured a glass of brandy and handed the drink to him.

      
He took it and planted a light kiss on her neck. “That's still a long time, but not as bad as next year.”

      
“If you were not gone so often, Diego, you might not be so tired or lonely. Why must you always go on these mysterious journeys? Where do you go?” She teased, but her gleaming black eyes watched his face closely.

      
“Houston, Galveston. It's business, Sina, that's all. Cattle sales, seed and implement buying. What do you do while I'm gone?” he countered, to turn the conversation from the subject of his business.

      
“Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid. I receive a few callers, walk in the Main Plaza with my women friends, have fittings at the dressmakers, and once in a great while go to a small dinner party. You know all this, Diego.”

      
“In your social travels, have you ever been introduced to an Englishman named Ashley Markham? Medium height, light blond hair, ice blue eyes, rather a fancy dresser.” Slade teased her, but he was curious to see how accepted Markham might have become in polite
Tejano
circles. If Sina knew of him, Markham might have contacts in high places indeed.

      
She cocked her head in consideration. “No, I do not think so. He is a fop, you say, a vulgar man? How unlike the English.”

      
Slade laughed. “You think everything English is wonderful just because you went to school over there. Believe me, Englishmen are like Texians or Americans or anyone else, a mixture of good and bad.”

      
“And this Markham, he is bad, Diego?” she asked softly.

      
“Poison,” he replied emphatically.

* * * *

      
Slade had been gone for three weeks. Each day Charlee scanned the horizon in hopes of seeing his big buckskin horse, but she was disappointed.

      
In an effort to distract herself, she decided to help the two
Tejanas
from town who did the housework. Dressed in her old patched breeches and a large shirt borrowed from Lee, Charlee learned all the intricate details of oiling furniture, polishing silver, waxing floors, and pressing linens. Compared to her simple chores in St. Genevieve, the work here seemed endless.

      
Gradually, as she and the cleaning women got acquainted, they had begun to relax in the company of the strange young Americana. They confided stories about the Slade family and others who worked at Bluebonnet.

      
At first, Charlee’s mannish attire and unladylike way of speaking had made Lena dislike her, but old Lupe could see a kind heart beneath the rough exterior. After several cleaning days, Charlee's good humor and hard work had won over even the standoffish Lena.

      
“Why do you love that
gato feo
so, Charlee?” Lena sat at the kitchen table, watching the girl feed Hellfîre bits of chicken from her plate.

      
Charlee's green eyes danced. “Oh, he's not really ugly, just wearing his medals of valor, sort of like President Houston 'n his war wounds, you know. Besides, I always liked cats more than any critters, and this is the smartest one I ever saw. You should watch him hunt gophers sometime.”

      
“Or steal fish,” Weevils interjected from the other corner, where he was washing dishes. The two women laughed as the fat old cook went outside with a pan of dirty water.

      
“Well, it's sure easier to swipe them from you than get his paws wet catching them himself,” she called out to the retreating figure as she scratched the fringed orange ear.

      
“You are a strange one,
muchacha
,” Lena said wonderingly. “I must confess, when you first came here and I found you sleeping in
her
room, well, you know, I made a big mistake.”

      
Charlee's attention shifted from the purring cat to her companion. “Whaddya mean,
her
room?”

      
“Oh, you did not know! I guess I should not be so surprised after all. Weevils, Lee, or Señor Asa would not tell a
niña
about
el patrón's mujer
...his woman...you know, his mistress the Texians call it, I think.”

      
Charlee gave a startled croak. “She lived in the room I have now?”

      
“
Sí,
for nearly two years. Her name was Rosalie Parker, a fair-skinned Anglo woman Don Diego brought back with him from one of his journeys.”

      
“What happened to her?” Charlee asked, already hating the woman she pictured as a golden, lovely Yankee.

      
“Oh, about two months ago she left suddenly. Right after Jake Carver's funeral. Not long after that
el patrón
began to spend a lot of time with
la Viuda
Carver,” Lena said, with a knowing smile.

      
“I see,” said Charlee ominously. “Havin’ a vacancy, so to speak, he was real generous to let me sleep in the unused bed. I bet Mrs. Prissybritches made him get rid of his lightskirt, right enough. She sure seems to call the shots with that man.”

      
“You do not like Doña Tomasina? I
cannot
imagine why. She is so kind to all us servants,” Lena said maliciously. “It is a shame Don Diego still wants to marry her after all these years.”

      
“You mean all that gossip about them being engaged before she dumped him for Jake Carver? Why would any woman with the sense of half a brick drop a man like Jim Slade for some old geezer?”

      
Lupe came into the kitchen just in time to hear Charlee's last remark. “
Quien sabe
? Maybe because Señor Carver was rich and had many friends high in the government. Also, you must remember,
niña
, Don Diego was only a boy then, not the man he is now.” She chuckled.

      
“Oh,
sí,
you should have seen the way he worshiped her back then, all clumsy and adoring. I worked in the Aguilera' kitchen and saw much,” Lena added conspiratorially. “His papa and her papa wanted the match, but she chose Señor Carver, who her Tia favored.”

      
“Well, Jim Slade's scarcely less adoring now, if you ask me,” Charlee said sourly, recalling the warm glances exchanged between the couple on the humiliating first day she arrived at Bluebonnet.

      
“He has eyes only for her, and you do not like it.” Lupe's round face creased in a dozen places as she smiled at the embarrassed girl. “
Chica
, you look like part of Hellfire's dinner—a scraggly bone he did not choose to eat.”

      
At Charlee's sputtered indignation, the older woman placed a motherly hand on her arm. “I do not say it to be unkind but to show you that you must look like a woman, not a boy if you wish Don Diego to notice you. Why do you wear men's pants and shirts, all baggy and ragged?”

      
Charlee blushed beet-red and stammered defensively, “They're comfortable to work in, an’ besides, I got me only one dress, that red gingham.” Thinking of several pretty flowered frocks she had perversely left in Natchitoches, she silently cursed herself for a Missouri mule.

      
Lena wrinkled her nose. “That dress is big enough to fit you and me at the same time. Anyway, it is
feote
...hideous.”

      
“Well, I guess I did kinda favor it back home because I could move freer in it than a good-fitting dress,” Charlee confessed ruefully. “Besides, I don't know a thing about fancy duds, even if I was to go to a dressmaker.”

      
“We must find you something to wear that will at least show your shape. You are
pequeña
, but still, you have curves, I think,” Lupe said, with a critically appraising eye as she inspected Charlee’ s slight form. She pulled the bunched shirt and pants close to the girl's body.

      
“I have it,” Lena chimed in, looking from her own slim form to Charlee’s. “My clothes...a blouse and skirt. They are only cotton, but pretty. We are nearly the same size.”

      
“Oh, Lena, thank you, but I couldn't take your things. You work hard for your money, 'n oughta spend it on yourself,” Charlee protested, touched by her friend's kindness.

      
“Do not be foolish, Charlee,” Lupe said sternly. “When Don Diego gives you your wages you can pay her. Anyway, she has many blouses and skirts, and you have none.”

      
It was settled. Charlee received a package the very next day from San Antonio. Taking it secretly up to her room, she unwrapped it and felt the soft cotton of a snow-white blouse with a rounded neckline embroidered with green thread. There was a billowy full skirt of bright, deep green as well. The color suited her, she decided, holding it up to her hips and looking in the mirror. Her skin was tanned now, the pallor of strain and fright gone, the freckles faded into the golden color the Texas sun had given her.

      
Reverently, she placed the skirt next to the blouse on her bed, wondering if she would ever have the nerve to wear them, or to follow Lena's advice and let her hair down to flow around her shoulders. Putting it into a tightly knotted braid had always seemed so much easier than having it tangle in the brush back home.