The Texan

Chapter Four

“Show you? I don’t understand.”

She lied, he thought smugly. Though her wide eyes were confused, her body arched, leaning toward him as if she yearned to be in contact with his own solid frame. Escaping the pocket where she’d thrust it, her hand rose, fingers clenched tightly. And then they unfolded and her fist was no more, having become a narrow palm whose trembling fingers lifted toward his wide chest.

“I think you do,” he said quietly, denying her words. “Shall I help you?” he asked.

Her gaze was shuttered by drooping eyelids now, as if she concentrated on the movement of her fingers as they brushed against his leather vest. “I thought you’d wear a suit in your pursuit of business. A white shirt and tie, perhaps.” And then, as if his words penetrated her mind, she glanced up at him and he saw heat in the depths of her blue eyes, a warmth she was unable to conceal.

“Help me? What do you mean?” Her lips trembled and he fought the urge to cover them with his own. He’d almost done that very thing, less than a week ago, there at the corner of the house as she held the shutter for him. An unnecessary task he’d invented for his own pleasure.

“Like this.” He bent his head, and one wide palm lifted to cover her hand as it pressed finally against his chest. She was warm to his touch, her slender hand more than capable of bringing him to a state of arousal with barely a whisper of pressure against his clothing. And what he would do next would perhaps thrust him beyond that initial state of yearning.

Her eyes closed as he surrounded her waist with his other arm, tugging her gently against himself. Lest he frighten her with the evidence of his longing, he allowed only their upper bodies to touch, and that just enough to feel the soft curves of her breasts against the back of his hand.

She inhaled, a deep, quivering breath, and he rested his lips against hers, barely brushing the soft surface. They trembled at his touch and he pressed more firmly, wanting the further intimacy of tongue and teeth exposed to his own. But not tonight, he realized. She kissed like the innocent she was, and so he was dutiful in his behavior, only whispering a soft word of pleasure as he lifted his head.

“Nice,” he said quietly. “Your mouth is soft and sweet, Miss Gussie.”

“Gussie?” she inquired, as if she’d only now realized his use of a derivative of her name. “You said that a few minutes ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “I think it suits you.”

“My brother called me Gussie,” she told him. “A long time ago.”

“I won’t call you that in front of others,” he promised. “Only when we’re alone.”

“I hadn’t planned on us being alone, Jonathan,” she replied, using his given name for the first time, emphasizing each syllable. Her eyes met his with a direct gaze that demanded a reply.

“Beth Ann told you, didn’t she?” His smile was gentle as he thought of the ungainly young woman who had caught his attention and inspired his gentleman’s instincts. “She needed to feel special that day, Gussie. I told her she had a lovely name, and…”

“She told us. And you succeeded at your task. You made her feel good, just by paying attention to her.”

“You don’t mind? Not only that I told her my name, but that I didn’t tell you first. I didn’t intend it, but she’s a needy female, Gussie. I just thought…”

She shook her head, effectively halting his words. “Every woman needs to know that there is something about her that is attractive to a man. Beth Ann has never felt worthy of anyone’s attention. I think now she recognizes that she may have something to offer one day. In fact, I think we’re attacking that problem in the proper fashion now.”

It was not the way he’d wanted these few moments to be spent, speaking of another woman, yet Augusta went on, and he allowed it, easing himself a bit as he held her against his body.

“We’re showing her how to fix her hair. Pearl’s good at that, and she has her using lemon juice to rinse it with to bring out the gold. Janine is fixing her clothes a bit, making them fit better, and showing Beth Ann how to stand up straight with her shoulders back.”

“And what are you doing for her?” he asked, his voice amused as her earnest words told of her plan.

“I’m helping her to read better and teaching her how to write more clearly. She is sadly lacking in schooling, I fear.”

“You have a kind heart, Gussie.”

“I have a need to help, Jonathan.” As if she tasted his name on her tongue, she pronounced the syllables slowly. “Someday I’ll tell you about it, when I’m brave enough.”

Brave? Did Augusta need to gather her courage to confide her reasons for what she did here, in this place, with these women? “Someday soon, I’ll remind you of that promise,” he said quietly. And then pushing all else aside, he bent to her again, catching a whiff of sweet scent he could not identify, mixed with the warm aroma of her flesh. “I think I must leave,” he told her, pressing his lips against her forehead. “I don’t want anyone to see us and think badly of you.”

“I missed you.” She repeated his words and her smile was tremulous as she tilted her head to look up at him. “I’ve never been kissed before,” she confessed. “In all my days, no man has ever gotten this close to me.”

“Not for lack of trying, I’ll warrant,” he said quietly. “You are an appealing woman, Gussie.” His mouth touched hers, a fleeting caress.

“Appealing?”

“I’m not going to make a list of your charms, ma’am. You’ve already chastened me on that score once.” He softened the words with another quick touch of his mouth against hers. “Besides having lovely hair—” His lips brushed like fairy wings against the wispy curl that lay against her temple “—and beautiful eyes—” He kissed the lids, carefully, with butterfly touches. And then his words were wistful, clinging to her ears like honey dripping from the comb. “Augusta, my love, you have a bountiful supply of attributes which could easily bring a man to his knees.”

“My hair is down,” she blurted out, as if unable to respond to his elaborate descriptions of what she obviously considered rather ordinary features.

“I noticed,” he murmured. “I feel privileged to see it revealed. I’d lay odds that no other man has had such a viewing.” His hands yearned to tangle in its golden waves and he forbade himself the intimacy. Next time.

“You’d win,” she admitted with a sigh. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she saw me here with you. She taught me to be a lady.”

“She did a good job of it,” Cleary said. “You are every inch a gentlewoman.”

“Even with my nightclothes on and my hair in disarray?”

He nodded. “Especially in such a state. Your womanhood does not depend on what you’re wearing or your hairpins remaining in place. Right now, you’re every bit a lady, and I respect you as such.”

Even as I yearn to lay you down and make you a woman. The thought raced through his mind and he inhaled deeply, stepping away from her, releasing her from his embrace, lest he frighten her with his barely controlled desire.

She backed a few steps, coming up against the door, and her fingers groped for the handle. Her face was in shadow and he heard her whisper a soft farewell, watched as she slid within the narrow opening she allowed, into the hallway, where she stood like a wraith beyond the screened door.

“Good night,” he said, turning to step down from the porch, making his way to where his horse awaited his return, there beneath the widespread limbs of the tree at the front of her yard. He heard the faint click of the latch as she closed the door, and he led his horse from concealment. With a lithe movement, he mounted, groaning at the firmness of the saddle against his throbbing arousal.

With a last glance at the dark house, he lifted the reins and traveled a roundabout route to his home.

To the house that seemed less a home than the one he left behind.

“Thought I saw somebody out in the front yard last night,” Pearl said from behind her as Augusta stood at the back door. Morning had been a relief, her sleep broken by dreams of Cleary. The sun was just above the chicken coop now, almost time for breakfast. She’d thought herself alone in the kitchen, until Pearl’s words made her aware that her midnight foray to the porch had not gone unnoticed.

“Did you?” Her voice was quiet, the words deliberate as she turned her head to face the other woman’s gaze. “It was Cleary, as you well know.”

“Is he leadin’ you down the primrose path?” Pearl asked, and Augusta sensed real concern behind the casual query. A crease drew her brows together as Pearl spoke her mind.

“He’s not what he seems, Miss Augusta. I’ve been around the track a few times, and I’ve known men like him. I think he’s a good man, deep down where it counts, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. With anybody, for that matter.”

Augusta digested the woman’s words, reluctantly agreeing with her theory, and then shrugged. “Maybe not. But I know he’s done a lot to help us here. And until I find out otherwise, I have to trust him not to do harm.”

“Don’t go losing your heart to a man who can’t make you any promises,” Pearl advised. “I’ll lay odds he has other fish to fry, and we’re just helpin’ him mark time while he does whatever it is he does.”

“And what do you suppose that is?”

Pearl grinned. “We’re both probably better off not knowing. The only difference is that you’re the one likely to get hurt before this is over. Now if you were like me,” she paused and laughed aloud. “I’m tough as old boots, and I lost my heart in the shuffle a long time ago.”

“To a man?” Augusta asked with a smile. For the first time she began to see through Pearl’s tough exterior, into the woman’s heart she’d just claimed to have forfeited along the way.

“There’s always a man,” Pearl said with a laugh. “The thing is, you gotta learn how to keep yourself clear of the loving part.” Her head cocked to one side as she examined Augusta’s face, and her smile faded. “Damn if I don’t believe you’ve already got in over your head, Miss Augusta.” She shook her head and her eyes mourned Augusta’s loss of innocence. “Damn.”

“I’m not in over my head,” Augusta denied quietly. “He’s a gentleman in every way. And he didn’t molest me last night.”

“I didn’t think he had,” Pearl said agreeably. “But he’ll either marry you quick as he can, or take you to bed and tie you to him in ways you’ve never imagined. And then you’ll be…” Her eyes narrowed as she watched Augusta. “He’ll answer to me, does he hurt you. And you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll tell him so.”

“No.” The single word resounded like a rifle shot in the room. “No. I won’t have anyone interfering in this. I’ve already been warned, but for the first time in my life, I’ve found a man I’m willing to trust with everything I have to give, and I won’t let anyone else be involved. I need to do this on my own.”

“Well, you’d better know I’ll be watching him,” Pearl said grudgingly. “And so will a couple other people I know.”

“It’s time for breakfast,” Augusta said with a glance at the kitchen door. If she knew anything at all, it was that Bertha would be strolling through that doorway in minutes, and the conversation of the hour didn’t need to include another living soul.

“I’ll get out the milk,” Pearl told her, turning to the icebox, bending to retrieve the bottle from its depths. “Here,” she said. “You start the biscuits and I’ll get stuff from the pantry.”

Within minutes the fire was crackling with the addition of kindling and a few stout pieces of wood. The bacon was sliced and in the pan, and Augusta was demoted to finding a biscuit pan while Bertha made it her business to cut out the pale rounds of dough and place them on the greased surface.

“I heard y’all out here talkin’,” she grumbled. “Seems like we could’ve had another half hour to sleep. Sun’s barely up.”

“It’s just as well we get organized early,” Pearl said cheerfully, shooting a wry grin in Augusta’s direction. “I have a notion we’re gonna have company for breakfast.”

In fact, it was barely ten minutes later when a faint rapping at the back door caught Augusta’s ear. Jonathan Cleary stood to one side of the door, seeking her gaze through the fine wire mesh as she reached to unlatch the screened door.

“Thought I’d stop by and see if there was a chance of cadging breakfast,” he said cheerfully.

“Do you suppose you can find something to do to earn it out?” Augusta asked him, as if she were not fully aware that his mind was no doubt already swarming with tasks to be accomplished.

“I’ll manage,” he said, his words droll. Walking to the sink, he washed his hands and then turned, seeking a towel.

“Towels are in the pantry,” Pearl said shortly. “And there’s need of a few more shelves in there, if you’re of a mind to nail up a couple of boards.”

“I could manage that,” he said, his glance mocking as he met the woman’s gaze. “Anything else you think I need to tend to?”

Pearl’s eyes took on a gleam that warned Augusta she’d best be stepping between the two adversaries. “I’ve got a short list of things,” she said quickly. “We can talk after breakfast.”

The short list involved using a lawn mower, a new one Augusta had ordered from the Sears, Roebuck catalogue. “Am I the first one to use it?” Cleary asked. “It’ll be a far sight easier to push than the one I used back home as a boy. I well remember having to rake up the clippings to feed the goats.”

“Why didn’t your father just stake the goats in the yard and let them do the work?” Augusta asked with a grin. Looking at Cleary beneath the hot sun, his forehead wearing a handkerchief to halt the pouring of sweat into his eyes, was a treat.

Now he halted, midway in his rounding of the yard and eyed her boldly. “You think you’re smart, don’t you, lady? All cool and crisp while I’m sweating like a horse, doing your chores. And for your information, when I was growing up, the other ladies in town would have thought we were peasants had we tied the goats in the yard.”

“Where was home?” Augusta asked quietly, her gaze resting on his strong body, outlined by the dampness of his clothing. Another time, with another man, she might have considered her thoughts forward, would have looked anywhere else but at the flex of muscles in his arms as he reached for the glass of lemonade she held. But not with Cleary.

After last night on the porch, she’d become aware of him in a new way. She knew that he wanted her, as a man wants a woman, and that knowledge made her brave, bold in her scrutiny.

He took the glass, and she reveled in the touch of callused fingertips against her finer skin. Tilting his head back, he drank, his swallows readily draining the glass. And then he held it out to her. “We lived not too far from here, as a matter of fact.”

Perhaps she hadn’t expected his honest reply, and yet, somehow she’d known that when he could, Jonathan Cleary would be honest with her. “Do you see your folks?” she asked, looking up at him.

He shook his head, and his words held a ring of harshness she had not expected. “They’re gone.” And that seemed to be all he would say on the subject as he glanced up at the sky. “Might as well get this job done. I think we’re in for a good rain before nightfall.” His grin was quick, as though his moment of brusque behavior was forgotten. “And that will only make it grow quicker.”

Augusta looked upward, where clouds gathered at the western horizon. “Well, you’ll have to come back for breakfast next week then, won’t you?” she heard herself saying.

His laugh rolled forth and she looked at him warily. “Go get me some more lemonade, sweetheart, or a glass of water from the well. Any sort of liquid will do. I’m still dry.”

She turned to walk away, and his words were a whisper in her ear. “I’ll be back for breakfast, all right. You won’t be getting rid of me, honey.”

Sweetheart. Honey. The simple endearments clutched at her heart as she hurried to the house, hearing the mower’s blade spin behind her. He’d called her names she’d only heard before from her father when he spoke to the woman he adored, in those times when her parents thought their children were abed and out of hearing. Words she’d cherished, knowing how deeply her mother loved him, and how devoted her father was to the woman he’d married.

A woman whose passions she seemed to have inherited.

In the house, a letter awaited her on the kitchen buffet, and a stranger sat, stiffly upright in a chair at the table, a cup of tea before her. “This is Glory,” Pearl said, nodding at the woman who looked as though she were in need of a hiding place. “Came in on the morning train from Dallas.”

“Hello again, Glory,” Augusta said quietly. The new resident had looked healthier the first time Augusta had laid eyes on her, a couple of weeks ago. Now she bore fresh bruises and a bandage on her forehead.

“Ma’am.” Glory’s gaze was fleeting, touching Augusta’s face, then over her shoulder. “Am I still welcome here?” she asked quietly.

“You can share a room with Beth Ann,” Augusta told her, casting a silent request in Pearl’s direction.

“I’ll take care of getting you settled, Glory,” Pearl said. “Miss Augusta’s kinda tied up right now, giving orders in the backyard. And I’m thinking you could use a nice long nap, anyway.”

She picked up the letter from the buffet, and handed it to Augusta. Addressed in a scrawling hand, it was simply sent to Miss Augusta McBride, in care of the postmaster in Collins Creek, Texas. “Bertha brought this from town,” Pearl volunteered. “I was just about to bring it out to you, when I saw you heading for the house. And then I thought maybe you’d like to say hello to Glory here.”

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