Lone Star Loving (24 page)

Eyes liquid with desire and anticipation met his gaze. But Hawk had his misgivings, big misgivings, not to mention the three little words that he had yet to hear from Charity. She hadn't so much as whispered them since that night in Uvalde.

And taking his physical needs into consideration, he knew that if he kissed her, there would be no stopping there. She continued to close the distance between them. He swallowed hard, hoping to marshal his wits, and gazed at the whole of his beloved angel.

Her waist-length hair, wavy as the waters of the Atlantic, thick and dark as richest sable, billowed past her shoulders. She wore britches and a shirt, yet the manly attire did nothing to diminish her femininity. Her breasts, large and proud, strained at the soft cotton's buttons. The flare of her hips. . . ah, but they were enticing.

No one, not even from a distance, would mistake her for a man. Or even a boy. She was all woman. Rounded, feminine, tall. Jesus, Lord of the paleface, Hawk wanted her kisses.

How would he be able to turn her lips swollen and cherry-red with desire from the insistence of his lips? His groin throbbed. His heart ached for her touch, for her surrender. For his Charity, his ivory angel. The past weeks had been all too lonely.

“What about a kiss?” she asked, her voice sultry.

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?” Disbelief and uncertainty flashed in her blue gaze. “You said you aren't still mad at me. You said nothing went wrong in San Antonio. And you can be certain I'm not interested in your wealth.”

In answer to her question, Hawk said, “None of that is what's troubling me.”

“Don't you . . . Don't you want me?”

“I want you more than I want the air that I breathe or the sun at dawn or the stars at night. I love you, Charity McLoughlin. And that's why I'm going to keep my hands off you.”

“I don't understand.”

“We're alone in this stable. And a kiss would lead to lovemaking.”

“I should hope so!”

“And what will we do if you get in the family way?” Squinting at the ceiling, he raked his fingers across his scalp. “Sam Washburn met me in San Antonio. I asked if you could've gotten with child while you were unclean, and he said it was doubtful. Women aren't fertile then.”

“You talked with that
toad
about our intimacies? And what do you mean, calling me unclean? Of all the nerve. Is nothing sacred between us? I've never been unclean in all my life—save for when I was out there in the wilderness thanks to you! I ought to take a crop to you.”

“Cut the indignant act,” he demanded. “You and I have business to discuss.”

For a moment he thought she might actually go for the riding crop, so furious was she, so clenched were her fists. At last, in a self-consciously controlled voice, she responded, “By all means, let's get to it.”

He strode to a bench that ran along the stable's interior, motioned for her to follow and to sit, and he settled on the hard seat. The last time the two of us occupied a
bench . . .
Refusing to reflect on Uvalde, refusing to meet the eyes that rained blue-hot fire, he reached into his pocket for a smoke.

“It's dangerous, smoking in here,” she said. “There's enough fire between us to set this place ablaze. Or is there?”

“Charity, don't. Not now.” Hawk poked the cigarette back into his breast pocket. “Let's go over your case one more time.” On the horseback ride to the Four Aces, they had discussed it, over and again, but Hawk had to be certain he hadn't missed anything. “You thought you were bringing Cuban cigars into Texas from Mexico. A crate of them. And you're certain that no one was still alive, besides Rufino Saldino, also known as Senor Grande, knew you were in the dark about the money?”

“He was the only one I had contact with, until I reached Shafter. And Ian knew, of course, after he caught me burying the cash.”

“Did you tell anyone else that Grande had offered you employment?”

“Only Maria Sara. She's the one who introduced me to him. He ran Pappagallo's for Adriano, you see.”

“Did you wonder why he didn't bring the ‘cigars' across the border himself? Or why he didn't get one of his girls to do it?”

“Hawk, I was hungry. And my rent was due. He offered me work. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Understandable.” He doubted her reasoning would hold up in a court of law. Hawk planted his palm on one thigh.

“We'll subpoena Maria Sara to testify on your behalf.”

“But what about Ian? You know he's ruthless. And the Blyer name means a heck of a lot in south Texas.”

Actually, Hawk would have liked to have finished what Gil McLoughlin had started in Texas's capitol building. “I'll drill him about his motives for wanting to see you hang. Paint him as a man thwarted in romance, out for blood in the aftermath of rejection. And Sheriff Tom Ellis has agreed to testify about Blyer's confusing statements in Uvalde.”

Hawk went on. “Besides, the McLoughlin name carries more weight than Blyer's. We must play it to the hilt. Don't fight me on this, Charity.”

“I won't. You see, I've made peace with my family.”

Hawk studied her face. She smiled. A lovely, serene smile. “I'm waiting to hear the details,” he said.

“There aren't a lot of them. Tonight, well, tonight Papa and I buried the hatchet. I think we'll be okay from here on out.”

Hawk took her hand in his. “I am pleased, sweetheart. We need all the help we can get.”
It will make the hell you face in San Antonio easier.

“What next?” she asked.

“I've hired some investigators to go to Shafter and Laredo. I'll be joining them in Laredo later this month.”

“I don't want you to go.”

“Charity, we have no choice in the matter. I've got to be prepared for the trial. Well prepared.”

“I suppose I understand.”

“Don't be petulant. I won't be gone long. And I want you to meet me in San Antonio by the first of December.” She asked him why he wanted her there so early. “I want people there to see you. You've got to show the good citizenry of San Antonio that you are a McLoughlin beyond reproach.”

“If you insist. My uncle Adolf lives there. I guess I could stay with him.”

“Not acceptable. I've checked Adolf Keller out, and he's a drunk unworthy of your association. You'll reside at the Manger Hotel. I've already made arrangements. We need to find you a proper chaperone, though. What do you think about calling on the Old One?”

“Forget it. I love her. We're on speaking terms. And she'd be eager to help. But I don't want her interfering in my life.”

Neither did Hawk, now that he thought about it. “What about your mother?”

“I'd rather have Maria Sara.”

“Since we're calling her as a witness, it's best she not be thought of as your close companion.”

“There's Margaret. My sister might be willing to look out for me.”

“Charity, she's away at school.”

“She'll be here tomorrow. And if I know Margaret, she'll be eager to help me.”

 

 

Margaret McLoughlin was fit to be tied.

After being pulled from her advanced studies on European history—right in the middle of semester —her sister wanted her to prolong her stay and spend no telling how long in San Antonio, playing nursemaid.

“I won't do it.” Though she had been known to falter under her sister's pressure, Margaret was adamant. This time. “I came home only because our father demanded it. I've got to think about my studies. I must return to school. As soon as possible.”

Charity's face fell.

They were standing in Margaret's bedroom. Charity huddled against the four-poster, as if she were some discarded waif waiting for a crumb to drop from a passerby. Margaret kept unpacking her steamer trunk for what she anticipated as a short visit.

“Maggie,” said Charity, “I need your help.”

Maggie.
Her sister called her by that diminutive only in times of greatest desperation, and it was all Margaret could do to keep her resolve. “I wish you wouldn't do this to me. You know I have a hard time saying no to you. But please realize, I may lose a whole semester of school if I accompany you.”

“You have the rest of your life for school.”

“You'd say that, since you never cared for it. You don't understand that my studies keep me going.”

“And learning about the past will make your future bright?”

“Correct.” Margaret poured a cup of tea from a pot that a servant had left a few minutes earlier. “I don't understand why you need
me
. I've been told you have a dear friend living here. Maria Sara, isn't it? By the way, where is she?”

“I haven't seen her since yesterday. She and Cousin Karl have . . . It seems they have made a match. At least that's what her note said. She's staying with him.”

“Rather in bad taste, wouldn't you say, staying with a man who is not one's husband?”

“Don't ask me to pass judgment on others.”

Margaret watched dots of pink form on her sister's cheekbones.
Hmm.
Charity must be living in a glass house; that would explain why she wouldn't throw stones. Fierce Hawk of the Osage must have done more than agree to be her attorney. Margaret was on pins and needles to ask about him. She would. Shortly.

“Why don't you ask Maria Sara to act as your companion in San Antonio?”

“Hawk intends to call her as a witness. And he doesn't think we should present ourselves as great friends, lest the prosecutor get ideas that she would lie for me.”

“That makes sense.” Margaret eased into an overstuffed chair and eyed Charity over the rim of the teacup. “Too bad your Hawk was in town when I arrived. I can't wait to get a look at him.” She took a sip and watched pride light her sister's eyes. “Imagine, the young brave from the Territory showed up at last. I never dreamed it would actually happen.”

“He is a dream come true.”

“Tell me, Triplet, are wedding bells in the offing?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. I've always thought a special man would be your ticket to happiness. And I know you. From the sound of your voice, from the look in your eyes, I know your Hawk is that special man.”

“Oh, Margaret, you've always been so bright.”

That was what everyone said. Sometimes Margaret McLoughlin wished she were anything
but
bright. At times life would be more pleasant, would that she could bask in the bliss of ignorance.

If she hadn't been so smart, she wouldn't have discovered that Professor Frederick von Nimz-hausen was out to steal the meat of her dissertation and sell it to Academic Press in New York. If she was a silly twit, she would still be reveling in his glib praise.
If I don't put a stop to his treachery, a bank draft will be resting in his breastplate.

“Hawk says he loves me,” Charity was saying. “But I can't—
I
refuse to tell him the same. I did once, but I'm scared. As much as I trust him—as much as I want to trust him, anyway—he conspired against me. And I can't forget it.”

“If you can't forget, then simply forgive.”

“Forgive?”

“That's what I said,” Margaret replied, sounding very like their father. “If you love the man and he loves you, forgive the past. You won't be sorry for it. Just forgive him and be done with it.”

“Why didn't I think of that?” Charity's face brightened. “Oh, Margaret, you've always been so smart! What in the world would I ever do without you?”

Margaret wondered the same. “You might want to go and find your Hawk. And get on with the forgiving.”

Straightening her back as well as her hair, Charity replied, “Yes. You're absolutely right.” She stood. “But, sister, first things first. Will you go with me to San Antonio?”

Although she had spent most of her life being aggravated with Crazy Charity, there was a bond between them that couldn't be denied. No one, except for that simpleton Olga, could infuriate Margaret as Charity could. Yet she couldn't turn her back on her. Her arguments had been for naught. Margaret accepted that they had been futile from the beginning.

“You win. I'll go with you to San Antonio.”

Charity charged from the bed, threw her arms around her, and laughed with glee. “I knew you would, I knew you would. I knew I could count on you, my precious sister!”

She burned to get on with the forgiving.

Right after Margaret had agreed to accompany her to San Antonio, Charity went searching for Hawk. Surely he'd returned from town by now! He wasn't in the house. Firestorm's stall in the stable? Empty. Frustrated, Charity set up camp in the solarium to await Hawk's return. Midnight came and went. When the new day dawned, he had still not returned.

Once she had finished her breakfast, Charity wandered restlessly out into the rose garden in the rear of the house. The gardener Manuel, a sombrero shading his weathered and amiable features, pruned branches from the fading bushes. Charity asked him to turn over his clippers and then shooed him away.

Chopping at this dead limb and at that dead limb, and dodging the leaves that fell from the ornamental plum tree that shaded the area in summertime, she tried to likewise snip off her thoughts of Hawk. Impossible. Charity had never been so confident of the future, what with the family having fallen in behind her, but the foundations of her confidence were crumbling under her feet.

Suppose Hawk had changed his mind about defending her? Suppose he just didn't want her anymore? Suppose he never returned?

Oh, for heaven's sake. What was the matter with her? Hawk was not the kind of man to run out on a commitment.
Says who? Didn't he run out on his Osage people?

He would not run out on her. He had twice declared his love. His reason for keeping his distance from her probably rested on his concerns over starting a child. Charity acknowledged that his was sensible reasoning. Yet, strangely, crazily, she took a fancy to the idea of having his baby grow in her womb.

“You've lost your mind,” she mumbled under her breath.

If only the trial was behind her.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Graciella leading young Jaime into the rose garden. “The boy, he wants to play outside, señorita.”

Setting the clippers aside, Charity opened her arms to the child. “Hello, munchkin. Do you have a kiss for Tía Charity?”

Nodding vigorously, he planted a wet one on her lips.
“Donde
Mamacita?”

Charity's eyes shot to Graciella, who lifted her palms in uncertainty. Keeping her voice light, she told Jaime, “Your mama has much to do today.”

Manuel rounded the house. “Senorita, I peek the pumpkins thees morning. Meebe the boy, he would like to help Manuel?”

Squealing with joy, Jaime scampered to the elderly gardener, and the two of them headed for the pumpkin patch. Charity was of a mind to go along on the expedition, but changed her mind. She intended to find out what was keeping a mother from her son.

Graciella, fingering one of the braids that lay over her shoulders, stepped forward. “Senorita Charity, it is not my place to say anything. But I cannot help myself. Señorita Maria Sara . . . she should not stay away so long from her baby.”

Although these were Charity's sentiments exactly, she wouldn't speak against her friend. She was even more set on seeking Maria Sara out, though, since she didn't want gossip to spread in her absence.

“Maria Sara has business in town,” Charity lied to the servant girl. “It's taken longer than expected, that's all.”

“Si, señorita.”

Graciella walked into the house. Charity brushed her hands and sleeves with determination. What had been keeping her friend?

Just then, her hat at a jaunty angle, Maisie McLoughlin marched toward her. The oldest of the living McLoughlins stood tall and lean; ten feet separated the two women. “Have ye run the lad off?”

There was no doubting who she meant.

“Hawk will be back. Soon.” Charity, using her fingers, snipped at a dead rose leaf.

“Ye ought t' be getting the lad's ring on yer finger.”

Charity tossed another dead leaf to the ground. “Doggone it, Maiz. Would you give it up? I'm fighting for my life right now. I don't need to be thinking about a husband and keeping him happy!”

Maisie, remarkably spry for all her complaints of late, marched ahead to halt her button shoes just short of her great-granddaughter. “I need to tell ye something.”

Dread flooded through Charity. “What?”

“I sent the lad on purpose to Laredo. And it dinna have nothing t' do with anything but matchmaking. I like that lad. I think he would make ye a fine husband.” A timid look so uncharacteristic of Maisie McLoughlin crossed her aged features. “Do ye know why I think the lad is right for ye, my darlin'?”

Charity chuckled, relieved. “I have no idea,” she replied “I almost hate to find out.”

“That Fierce Hawk may be able t' suffer yer tongue, but he's got more t' him than that. He reminds me of my own sweetheart. My Sandy. Alexander McLoughlin may not of lived t' an old age, but he was a giant of a man.”

Since she had known her great-grandmother as a widow only, Charity had never been able to picture Maisie as a wife.
She was young once, and in love.
“It must have been difficult, losing your man.”

“Not a day goes by that I doona think of him.”

Tears welled in the old woman's eyes, much to Charity's surprise. Maisie never cried!
Neither do I. Are we, as Karl charged, much alike?
Not such a terrible thing. Maisie had character that had not diminished over the space of ninety years. And wouldn't if she lived to be as old as Methuselah.

Charity wiped away the tears now streaming down the ancient face. Pulling the shivering Maisie closer into her embrace, Charity whispered, “I wish I could have known him.”

“Ye will someday. When we all meet in heaven.” A tentative smile lit her face. “I'll be seeing him soon. I am old. So old. Surely God willna be needing me here in his earthly domain too much longer.”

“Don't talk like that. I can't stand the thought of losing you,” Charity said in all honesty.

“No one lives forever, darlin'. And my work is near-on finished here. Once I see you married and settled, then I can go t' me grave in peace.”

“I've no plans for marriage.”

“Ye should, lass. Ye and Fierce Hawk . . . Will ye make yer old granny happy? Will ye marry the lad afore something happens t' me, and I'm put in me grave a troubled woman?”

Here we go again. If and when Hawk broached the subject of marriage once more, Charity would have to be certain Maisie had nothing to do with it. “Don't put me on the spot. Please don't.”

“Is there something wrong with the lad?” Uncertainty replaced cunning in Maisie's expression. “He isna some sort of pervert, is he?”

Suddenly Charity knew exactly how to deal with her meddlesome great-grandmother. She plucked a drifting plum leaf from the air. Feigning nervousness, she crumbled the leaf, then turned to walk to a garden chair. Seated, she chewed her lip in exaggeration. She heaved her shoulders and chest up and down, as if to get control of herself.

Maisie advanced to her chair. “There is something wrong with the lad.”

“Well, I didn't want to say anything.” It was all Charity could do not to grin. “It is personal, you know. And highly inflammatory against his character. . .”

“Get on with it.”

“Well . . . he has the nastiest habits when we're alone. He picks his nose and breaks wind.”

Maisie sighed in relief. “The lad isna perverted! Most men do that, oncest they are sure of a woman.”

Uh, oh.
“Papa never does such things!”

“I dinna say every man.”

Drat. Charity covered her eyes with her hands. “There's more . . .”

“Tarnation!” Her hand sweeping to her face, Maisie knocked her hat aslant. “What else child?”

Not being schooled in perversions, Charity was unsure how to proceed. Yet she recalled something Maria Sara had said one night in Laredo, when they had drowned their troubles in tequila. Maria Sara had mentioned a whore in Nuevo Laredo who enjoyed having two men at once. While Charity liked teasing Maisie, she wouldn't smite Hawk's character by placing him in such a compromising scenario.

“Maiz, it's too awful to tell. Please don't make me.”

“I willna be left hanging by tether hooks. Speak up, lass.”

Was there anything—
anything!
—that Olga had mentioned? Wringing her hands, Charity searched her mind. Futilely. Then suddenly she thought of something. One time, while she had been on a roundup with the cowboys, she had overheard them teasing each other. “You see, Maiz, it's like this. Hawk's male equipment is awfully tiny.”

Parking her knuckles on her lack of hips, Maisie leaned forward. “Ye must think I am blind in one eye and canna see outta the other.”

“Excuse me?”

“I ought t' take a strap t' yer ankles, Charity McLoughlin, for lying.” A gnarled finger poked at Charity's nose as Maisie made herself clear. “All a woman has t' do is look at the crotch of his britches t' tell ye're lying.”

“What were you doing gawking at his private parts?”

“I may be ninety, but I ain't dead!”

Charity threw back her head and laughed. Trying to regain control over the situation, she pulled herself together and pointed out, “Watch what you say and do, Maiz. Or Sandy will turn over in his grave.”

Not to be outdone, Maisie replied, “My Sandy will be needing the exercise.”

There was no prevailing over Maisie McLoughlin. Thus, Charity gave up. At least she allowed her great-grandmother to think so. Once Maisie had bounced into the house, Charity took the opposite direction.

She saddled Thunder Cloud and made for the Keller ranch. She had to know what was keeping Maria Sara from her son.

 

 

“Karl and I are going to be married.”

“I'm delighted, Maria Sara.”

Giving a prayer of thanks to the Lady of Guadalupe that she had washed away the face paint and put on respectable clothing before Charity's arrival, Maria Sara opened the front door even wider and gestured for her friend to enter.

She closed the door as Charity swept into the room and scanned it.

Her own eyes searched for any signs of the past day's—and night's—sexual activities, and Maria Sara found none. How humiliating it would be if Charity discovered that she and Karl were ravenous for each other.

Karl's carnal appetites met and exceeded her own, and what a lovely thought it was, that they would have the rest of their lives to slake them. It wasn't love she felt, but she knew she would never get enough of his purple-headed prize. All the men in her past—the extremely ugly or disfigured men who had been willing to pay a fortune for her favors—had been dissatisfying lovers, unworthy to be considered in the same breath as Karlito. Ianito had fire, but his soul was the devil's.

A voice in the back of her mind assailed her. What about El Aguila?

But Rafael Delgado had never offered her the respectability and security of marriage. El Aguila—a man of danger and mystery and inborn talents as a lover—didn't have to offer anything beyond himself; women swooned at his feet. It had taken a whole bottle of tequila to interest him in so much as one night of sex with Maria Sara. It had taken another to cajole him into a threesome.

Moist between the legs from her thoughts of Karlito and El Aguila, she couldn't help but wonder —not for the first time today—what Charity's Indian looked like naked. She found Hawk wildly attractive, for in his fierce mystery he resembled El Aguila of Chihuahua.

She wondered what it would be like to have both the Indian and Karlito at once. Such would hurt Charity, she knew.
You could be careful and not rouse her suspicions.

Yet the thought of Karl bedding another woman roused Maria Sara to jealous fury. She would kill any
puta
who even thought about touching Karlito's oversized testicles.

Evil thoughts have you.
It was as if Sister Estrella of the convent school were shaking a finger at her in castigation.
I cannot help myself. Ianito turned me into a whore
, she replied to her vision from the past. For the hundredth time Maria Sara Montana made a silent vow: Ian Blyer would pay for everything he had done to her.

She calmed herself and eyed Charity, who was staring at her with big, beautiful questioning eyes.

“I'm sorry, but your cousin isn't here at the moment,” she explained. “Karl's foreman called him away.”

“Actually, I'm here to see you.”

“I am pleased,
amiga.
I would like to ask you to stand up for me in the wedding.”

“I will be honored to do it.”

In the center of the room, Charity stopped and turned to face her friend. There was a peculiar mien to that familiar face, Maria Sara noticed.
I wonder what is troubling her.

“The wedding will be a week from this Saturday. Here at Karl's home. Already we have spoken with the peace justice.” Maria Sara smiled. Taunting the nun of her visions, she wondered once more what Fierce Hawk looked like unclothed and if he would be interested in a ménage à trois. “I am so very, very hopeful for the future.”

The peculiar look vanished from Charity's face, and was replaced by one of pure delight. She bent at the waist to hug Maria Sara. “Best wishes to you both.”

“Thank you.”

Charity stepped back. “What plans do you have for Jaime?”

Maria Sara shrugged. “I am sure Graciella will be happy to look after him until the honeymoon is over.”

Charity's smile instantly disappeared. “Maria Sara, Graciella Garcia is not your servant. She has her hands full taking care of the McLoughlin family. You would do well to put your son's welfare—”