Texas Moon TH4 (37 page)

Betsy darted past Janice and grabbed up the offending article, holding the petticoat up to her with delight. "Look! Uncle Peter left you a present! Do you think he left anything for me?"

Since Peter knew full well that his wife wore fashionable bustles and shifts and not outdated crinolines, Janice didn't think this surprise had any relation to a gift, but she had no desire to disappoint Betsy. As Martin stepped up behind her with the first load from the wagon, Janice smiled and answered, "He's probably waiting for you to tell him what you want. He doesn't know much about girl's clothes, remember."

Betsy nodded happily and danced off to inspect the rest of the cabin. Behind her, Martin grunted and shoved his way past to drop a trunk on the floor. Janice stared at the offending petticoat a little while longer, trying to create some reasonable explanation, but her imagination had come to a halt. Silently she returned to the wagon to help with the unloading.

Martin shot some squirrels and skinned them. Janice set about preparing stew in the pot over the fireplace. She couldn't believe she was learning to cook over a fireplace. She had married a man for his wealth and was cooking in a backwoods cabin over a primitive fire. She must have done something terrible to deserve this, but she couldn't think of anything for which she hadn't been punished enough already.

The petticoat still made her temper boil. While Martin unloaded the wagon and the stew simmered, she inspected the bedroom. It contained one large feather bolster on leather-strung tree trunks. A colorful Indian blanket was the only cover. With a grim look, Janice hauled the mattress from the house, strung a rope between two trees, and hung it out to air. The idea of sleeping in the same bed another woman had shared with her husband ate at her insides, but she hadn't been able to bring her own bed, and she didn't intend to sleep on the floor another night.

Later, after they devoured the stew, and Martin announced he would sleep in the barn, Janice dragged the bedding back in and made it up with the sheets she had brought with her. They were good quality sheets with a fine linen weave and hand-embroidered edges. She had worked hard for them. She meant to enjoy what little luxuries she had left.

Betsy slept beside her that night. Despite the pleasant comfort of the bed and the quietness of the mountain night, Janice didn't sleep easily. Somewhere on that mountain out there she had a husband who entertained women who wore crinolines. She wasn't certain whether to kill him or worry that someone or something had already done it for her.

Instead, she made up lists of chores and finally drifted off to sleep.

In the morning Janice found a broom and a mop and began cleaning the cabin from the inside out. Martin took one look at the flurry of activity, lifted his hat in farewell, and promised to come back with some chickens and a goat that needed a good home. Janice barely noticed his parting.

She had a husband up on that mountain and no means of reaching him. But surely he would have to come down once the snow started falling, and from the feel of it, that would be any day now. She would have his home ready when he arrived.

By the end of September she had the cabin spotless, a garden plot hoed ready for spring, a goat and chickens in the barn, but still no husband.

The stranger Martin occasionally arrived bearing fresh game that she cooked and shared with him, but he was as taciturn and uncooperative as ever when she asked him about Peter. She knew the perverse man could find Peter if he wanted, but for some reason, he wouldn't do it. The frustration left her less than gracious about his offerings for her larder.

Nailing a newly dyed curtain to the window one crisp day, remembering the night Peter made curtain rods for her, Janice was too lost in thought to pay attention to the dust cloud coming up the hill. The night of the curtains had been a turning point in her feelings for Peter. She hadn't believed an heir to the Mulloney fortune would actually sit in her humble living room and carve cheap curtain rods. He had suddenly become more human that night. She wondered if it might not have been better if he'd remained a cardboard cutout she could hate.

Betsy sat in the sun, attempting to imitate the brilliant color of the aspens on her canvas. Janice kept one eye on her as she nailed the final curtain panel, which was how she noticed the rider. He dismounted and stared at Betsy.

She couldn't swallow. She stared out the window and tried to keep calm. No more panicking. It couldn't really be him. Anyone could have blond hair. He was smaller than she remembered. She closed her eyes, remembering. Even after all these years, she couldn't forget. He could have lost his hair and gained a hundred pounds, and she would remember. She couldn't fool herself. Stephen had found them.

Hiding her shaking hands in her apron, Janice climbed down from the chair and went to the door. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't know why in hell he had come all the way out here or how he had even known to come. She didn't want to know. She just wanted him gone.

But he was approaching Betsy, and she had to stop him. She had to do anything to keep him from her child. Betsy was her daughter, not his. Other than that one miserable night's coupling, Stephen had nothing whatsoever to do with that innocent child sitting in the meadow. And now that she knew what lovemaking could really be like, she knew he hadn't even made love to her that night. He'd just taken his pleasure on her body and left her.

She loathed him. But she let none of that show in her face as she walked into the yard, deliberately drawing his attention away from her daughter. Once Stephen saw her, he led his horse toward the house and away from Betsy. The child didn't even seem to notice.

"Good morning, Janice." His eyes were the deceptive gray-blue she remembered. They looked her over with the same appreciation as they had then.

She didn't think her dusty gingham work dress was anything to brag about, but then, he wasn't really looking at her dress. She used to blush when he looked at her like that. Now, she just wanted to smack his face.

"What are you doing here, Stephen?" she forced herself to ask calmly. There was no point in denying him. She knew who he was, even after ten years. He had grown from a handsome boy into a handsome man, but years of hard living appeared in the weathered lines around his eyes. He hadn't found a life of ease since he'd left her.

"I came looking for you," he replied. His gaze focused on her face. "You haven't changed much, Janice. You're lovelier than ever."

"Hog spittle. Name your business and go." Janice untied her apron and began folding it over her arm. Past his shoulder, she could see Betsy looking up from her absorption with the painting. She prayed the child would have the sense to stay put.

"Janice, I've come a long way to find you. Won't you even hear me out?" Stephen stepped closer.

Janice held her place. She refused to let him back her into the house. "You haven't got anything to say that I want to hear, Stephen. It's far too late for that. I can only figure you're here now to cause trouble. I've got a shotgun back in the house. Don't make me fetch it."

His lips tightened slightly. "Janice, you didn't used to be this disagreeable." He glanced over his shoulder to the golden-haired child watching them. "She's mine, isn't she? They told me back home that you had her, but some said she was sickly and wouldn't live. She looks fine to me."

"She's not yours, Stephen, so get that notion right out of your head. You never gave me anything but misery. I'm expecting my husband home anytime now. I'd advise you to get out of here before he does." The words didn't sound very brave when she said them, but at least she didn't grovel and plead with him to leave. He was scaring the wits out of her. She couldn't think of any good reason for him to be here.

"You've grown hard, Janice. After I've come all this way, shouldn't you invite me in? We're old friends, after all. I'd like to hear how you're doing."

Once upon a time that silky voice and knowing smile would have turned her into jelly. They were even more effective now that he'd grown a mature man's confidence. He wasn't as tall as Peter, but he was wide-shouldered and well made. She could imagine him seducing girls in every town between here and Ohio. She was no longer one of them.

"We were never friends, Stephen. I was a stupid kid who idolized you and you were a selfish bastard who used me. You haven't got anything I want and vice versa. Now get out of here before I go for the gun."

His smile diminished slightly. "You don't really mean that, Janice. I've never loved another woman but you. I thought I was doing you a favor by staying away rather than dragging you down the holes I fell in. I came looking for you as soon as I got back on my feet."

In another time and place she might have been swayed, but Peter had shown her what a real man was. A real man stayed around even when trouble was neck deep. A real man sought solutions instead of excuses. A real man made commitments instead of promises.

They might still have their differences. Peter might have a few explanations to make. But the reason she was here was because he had taught her he could be trusted, that he wouldn't run in the face of adversity. Stephen didn't even come close to measuring up to the yardstick Peter had set.

"Well, you've found me. Now you can turn around and go back. I've got work to do." She started toward the house.

Stephen grabbed her elbow and jerked her back around. Janice saw Betsy jump from her seat, and she shook herself free.

"Don't ever do that again, Stephen Connor," she warned him while Betsy hovered uncertainly in the background. "Now go before you upset my sister. She's likely to tell Peter, and he isn't likely to look at this calmly."

Stephen threw a look over his shoulder to the golden-haired child beside the easel. His expression wasn't particularly pleasant when he turned back to Janice. "You can't deny me my child, Janice. She's no more your sister than I am your brother. You can lie to the rest of the world. You can lie to your husband. But you can't lie to me. She's the spitting image of my mother. She's mine."

"Don't delude yourself, Stephen." Janice shook so hard inside that she was surprised her words came out straight. She forced herself to concentrate on the words and not the terror. "There isn't a court in the world that will accept your word over mine. Now tell me what it is that you really want and get out of here."

He reached to touch her hair. This time, she didn't hesitate. She smacked his arm sideways.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Stephen. I will not be publicly mauled. Just name it straight out. What do you want from me?"

She stood straight and unbending, the mountain breeze whipping rebellious tendrils of fine hair about her face and plastering the thin cotton of her dress against her. There wasn't much mistaking the look in Stephen's eyes as they fell to her breasts, but she didn't give an inch. Reluctantly he raised his gaze back to her face.

"I want you back. You're the one reason I kept going all these years. Whenever the going got tough, I'd see your face and know I couldn't quit. I've worked hard and I came to take you back. Look at how he's got you living. This isn't what you were meant for. The parsimonious bastard has a bank full of money and he makes you live like a tramp. You can't stay here. I'll take you and the kid back to civilization where you belong."

Janice wondered how long he'd practiced this speech. She hadn't realized until now that all the pretty words he'd ever said to her had been memorized verses from his book of seduction. Even after all these years she had hoped there really had been something between them, that he really had meant to come back for her. Disillusionment left a sour taste in her mouth, but it was better swallowed now when she had a promising future ahead of her. She wished Peter were here.

"I don't buy horse manure anymore, Stephen. I'm happily married and have no intention of leaving my husband. You're too late. If you'd been half a man, you'd have come back for me after you seduced me. But you abandoned me and I have no intention of ever forgiving you for that. Get that through your head now and leave."

Betsy was packing up her paints. Janice edged in her direction, meaning to place herself between Stephen and her daughter.

"You're wrong, Janice. I came back for you, but your father told me you were gone. I tried again later, but you'd disappeared. I had nothing to offer you then. I just wanted to see you again. It got worse after that, and I thought you were better off without me. You're a beautiful woman. I knew you could have any man you wanted. I tried to do what was best for you."