Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (18 page)

      
Deborah caught the girl's speech correction, and appreciated her natural grace and good bone structure. Charlee must have come from a good if highly unconventional family. Her own background had been considered unacceptable by some, Deborah thought bitterly. A kinship arose between the two women, who at eighteen and twenty-six had lived more than many a person twice their ages.

      
“I think I can advance you enough on your salary to purchase a few simple work dresses and other essentials, Charlee. You'll have to dress like a lady if you want to be assistant manager of this place. From what Jim Slade tells me, you're a wonder in the kitchen and know a great deal about running a big household. With twenty boarders most of the time, believe me, I need help along those lines.”

      
Her warm smile softened the blow about having to wear dresses, and Charlee was interested in what her job might be. “I can cook, and I even hunt and butcher out my own kills.” Just as she said that, her face clouded in remembrance. “Oh, I just realized I still owe Slade most of a year's supply of game,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

      
“That's a lot of hunting,” Deborah replied in amazement. “However did you learn to shoot?”

      
“My pa and brother took me with them back in St. Genevieve County, in Missouri. I can knock a squirrel from a tree at two hundred yards,” she added proudly.

      
Deborah pondered this, then asked, “But why do you owe Jim?”

      
“For Patchwork...my horse. I couldn't let him just give her to me, so we worked out a deal, sort of.” She suddenly shifted her eyes to consider the cat, who had now deserted Deborah to sit serenely in the center of the bed.

      
“How long did you stay at Bluebonnet, Charlee?” Deborah was beginning to draw some conclusions about Charlee’s feelings for the handsome young rancher, but she kept them to herself for the present.

      
“Oh, a couple of months, more or less. I don't rightly recall,” she said, with careless bravado that rang false even to her own ears.

      
On an impulse, Deborah walked over to the uncomfortable girl and took her small hand. “Charlee, how would you like to become a lady, as grandly dressed and smoothly polished as Tomasina Carver?”

      
Charlee’s cat-green eyes widened and she let out a small gasp of surprise. “Oh, no, I mean, I could never...I don't want to be like her...I...'' Her words trailed off.

      
“I know you could never be like her, Charlee. I wouldn't want you to, but you could learn how to dress and act the part of a young belle in polite society. Maybe you'll have a gaggle of young men come calling. You have the potential to be a beauty.” As she spoke, Deborah examined Charlee's hair, noting the way the brightening daylight coming through the window turned its rich tan strands amber, red, and bronze. She took the ugly knot of braids down and unplaited it, then stood back to examine the girl's profile and figure. “Yes, yes, you can do a very great deal, if you want to.”

* * * *

      
“You rotten, no-good bastard! You took her to town and dropped her off on a boardinghouse doorstep like a stray puppy you had no more use for!” Lee was as close to tears as he could get without humiliating himself, yet his fury drove him to even greater emotion. All else failing, he took a roundhouse swing at Jim Slade, who ducked deftly and backed away.

      
“Cool down, Lee. You're acting loco.” Slade blocked another blow.

      
“How could you do that to her? You seduced her, didn't you? Deny it—I dare you! You dishonored Charlee, slept with her so the whole ranch knew, and then forced her to leave.” Lee stood still now, his slim shoulders shaking, while he clenched and unclenched his fists.

      
Slade put up a conciliatory hand, trying to reason with the infuriated youth, who had accosted him first thing that morning after he found that Jim had taken Charlee to San Antonio the previous night. “Look,
mano
, I don't deny I acted like a fool—all right, a dishonorable fool—but it's over and done with now. I can't change what happened.”

      
“You could marry her—you
should
marry her,” Lee accused.

      
Slade shifted impatiently. “I'm already engaged to Tomasina, Lee. We've set a wedding date for this October.”

      
“Dammit, you're a fool, blinded by a pair of big teats while you let the real woman for you slip away!”

      
“Real woman, shit! She's a skinny little tease with a foul mouth and even fouler temper. Don't compare Sina with Charlee McAllister, Lee!” Slade was fast losing his temper, too.

      
Ever since he was a boy of eight, Lee Velasquez had worshiped Jim Slade. Now, to see the man he had looked up to like a brother do such a terrible thing to the girl he loved like a sister was more than he could bear. Snarling an oath in Spanish he launched into the older and larger man with the vengeance of hell, landing several blows before Jim was able to wrestle him to the ground, where they thrashed furiously.

      
“Dammit, boy, you're getting too big to play like this.” Slade was surprised at the wiry strength of the young man. In a few years he'd be a fighter to be reckoned with. Jim's jaw ached abominably and his right eye throbbed wickedly. The kid was getting too good! By the time Slade had subdued Lee, both of them were covered with mud and panting heavily in the dank, musky air.

      
“Now,” Slade said, facing the murderous glare from the obsidian eyes glowering up at him as he knelt on the boy's chest, “let's get a few things straight. I'm not marrying Charlee, but I didn't just run her off Bluebonnet. We should never have stayed together in the same house. It's not the right place for her.”

      
“And I suppose that boardinghouse is, huh?” Lee interrupted sarcastically.

      
“As a matter of fact, yes. It's run by a truly kind woman, a real lady who just might teach that hoyden some manners. Deborah Kensington's given her a good job. She'll treat her well.” Slade rose and knocked what he could of the muck off his body.

      
“You seduced her and took her innocence! You have to marry her!” Lee knelt on the ground, still glaring at Slade, poised, waiting for a reply.

      
Jim sighed in defeat, heartily sick of the whole fiasco. “Look, even if I was crazy enough to ask her, she'd refuse. In case you hadn't noticed, we really don't like one another very much. She left here telling me to marry Sina and be damned. She never wants to see me again. She hates me, Lee, and I can't say I blame her; but guilt isn't a very good reason to ask someone to marry you. Just cool off and think the whole thing over. Go talk to Charlee and ask her how she feels, if you don't believe me. But remember, it's between her and me to settle.” Slade reached a hand out to the kneeling youth, who took it grudgingly and was pulled to his feet.

      
Lee whistled. “You're gonna have one hell of a shiner, Jim,” he said with the faintest trace of a smirk. “All right, I'll go talk to her. Someone's got to keep communications open between you two fools until you come to your senses.”

* * * *

      
The noonday heat was far too intense for anyone to be abroad. It added to Tomasina's already sizzling temper, but she had to talk to that fool Ashley. After the disaster at Slade's dinner party the other evening, she could envision that moron Montaldo unwittingly giving away Markham's whole role in their operation here. Montaldo was a pompous ass, but Ashley was supposedly a skilled agent. Men, she thought disgustedly. All of them were fools! Well, perhaps not all. Jim Slade just might be a great deal more threatening and clever than she had previously intuited. Before, her anxiety had been sexual, a very private and personal fear. But now, she realized it might have far more significance. She must discuss that with Ashley as well.

      
She had sent a servant with a note early that morning. They were to meet in the usual place, Don Felipe Rojas's city house just off the Main Plaza. His wife, Doña Serafína, was a vapid romantic whom Tomasina cultivated as a friend. Don Felipe was an idealistic firebrand who lived for the day the Mexican flag would once more fly over Texas. In the past several years, Tomasina had concluded they were both great fools; but their house was large and well situated for her clandestine meetings with Ashley. He could slip in a side entrance and join her in the garden, well hidden from the street by high courtyard walls. What was more natural and innocent than for the widow Carver to visit her old friend Doña Serafína for luncheon?

      
The real drawback was that she must, on occasion, actually sit and converse with the vapid old bat, just to keep her happy. Today, Tomasina decided to have a severe headache and beg off lunch after seeing Ashley.

      
“What do you mean ‘my clumsiness’? Aren't you being just a bit presumptuous, my love?” Ashley Markham's brows arched with his sardonic query. Damn the nasty chit, to berate his espionage skills! When she was a mere virgin schoolgirl, he had been a master of the game!

      
Tomasina swished her gray silk skirts impatiently and whirled in anger when a jutting thorn caught the thin fabric and ripped it. Swearing, she pulled the garment free and proceeded down the path through the Rojas's flower garden. Ashley followed her angry, stiff strides and listened while she spoke. “You were milking Montaldo like a cow, far too blatantly. You should know how a fool like him will blather about his good English friend's sterling advice on the defenses of San Antonio. Anyone with half a brain could listen to him and realize what he had told you.”

      
“Who would pay any attention to that stupid old windbag cousin of yours?” Markham looked disdainfully at Tomasina when they paused, facing one another, beneath the shade of the live oak in the center of the garden.

      
“Diego Slade,” was her flat reply.

      
Markham's eyes suddenly narrowed to cold blue slits. “Precisely what do you mean, my dear?”

      
Contemptuously, she sat down on the wrought iron bench that encircled the trunk of the tree and smoothed her skirts before replying. She was hot and tired and thoroughly disgusted with Ashley's intransigence. “I mean that the other night when my dear cousin was holding forth on your sagacity, it was at a dinner party at Bluebonnet. The Sandovals humored him and I'm certain forgot the incident, but Diego listened far too intently and asked unobtrusive, leading questions all the while. Until the British finance a full-scale Mexican invasion of south Texas, do you realize how dangerous it will be to alert Houston to our intelligence work in San Antonio?”

      
“Do you mean that because your war-hero fiancé is a friend of the president's, he might also be Houston's spy?” Markham was drawing his own conclusions now and did not like them one bit.

      
Tomasina rose and paced in agitation. “I'm not certain. It is possible. He goes to Houston City frequently and drops out of sight at odd times. He's evasive about just what he does.”

      
Markham smiled archly. “You mean you can't get your love struck Lothario to confide in you. Tsk, tsk, Tomasina,” he scolded mockingly.

      
Her black eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh, never fear. After we're married, I'll get him to tell me everything, Ashley, everything...” She let her voice trail off suggestively, taunting him.

      
“If he lives to talk, pet,” Markham shot back in clipped anger. Play with him, would she, flaunting her crude Texian stockman!

      
“Don't be petty, Ashley. We need him and the direct connection he has with President Houston. He is still active in the militia and knows the numbers and positions of all the troops, as well as Houston's plans in case of an attack by land or sea. My contacts in Mexico City tell me General Woll is ready to spearhead an invasion across the Rio Grande to San Antonio, then use it as a base from which to take Victoria and Goliad. After that, with naval support from their new armored ships, the forces can destroy Houston City and drive the Texian pigs north, past that wretched city of Austin, into the arms of the waiting Comanche.” Her eyes glittered with malice and excitement.

      
Did she really believe such a fantastic scheme would work? Markham wondered. Aloud, he said, “All of this is contingent on
Tejano
cooperation in San Antonio and British gold, is it not?”

      
“Yes, British gold to buy guns and whiskey for the savages and to equip Santa Anna's army. You get the gold for me and my countrymen. We will spend it wisely, Ashley, believe me. And while you gather intelligence, do be more discreet, will you not?”

      
Markham slipped noiselessly from the garden and let himself out through the wrought-iron grill door at the side of the Rojas mansion. He had much to mull over, the plans from Mexico City as well as his relationship with the highly volatile Tomasina. There was also the matter of dealing with Jim Slade, who he was certain would prove a formidable adversary. Deep in thought, he did not notice the slight figure of a girl across the deserted street, who stopped in midstride and gaped at his secretive departure from the Rojas garden.

      
Charlee was taking a shortcut on her way home from the general store on the Main Plaza. Suddenly, she saw a dapper-looking figure emerge from behind the gate, unescorted. Odd, she thought, that a gentleman would leave from a servants' entrance. His dress obviously bespoke upper class. Then he turned and she caught sight of his face. It was that Englishman, Markham, the one Lee had said was dangerous, who might be a spy!