Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (27 page)

      
Slade awakened slowly, dimly aware of a sense of loss after the small, soft warmth had left his side—a woman, Charlee. He could still smell the faint hint of wildflowers in the room. It wasn't a dream. She had been here last night, hadn't she? He sat up, shaking his head and running one hand over his side, which by now only ached dully. He'd taken no laudanum last night, he was sure. “That was no drugged fantasy,” he said to himself, chuckling ruefully.

      
As he became more alert, all the details of their erotic night together came back to him. God, what a wild, passionate little creature she was! She was like a cactus flower, her delicate beauty surrounded by protective thorns. He'd been pricked by those thorns on more than one occasion. Yes, she was his Cactus Flower.
His
—Slade suddenly realized how possessive he had become overnight. He was sure they had exchanged no words of love. He'd made her no promises. But he had seduced her again, and he couldn't even plead that he'd been drunk this time. Why did every event, every quirk of fate seem bent on drawing him to Charlee McAllister?

      
His ruminations were disturbed by a call of nature, which he quickly answered. Then, he scrounged through her closet until he located his breeches. The shirt must have been bloodstained beyond redemption, he surmised. Running a hand over his beard stubble, he decided a wash and a shave were in order. He padded down the hall to the men's washroom and cleaned up amid good wishes for a quick recovery. Feeling too weak to hazard the stairs after his exertion, Slade walked unsteadily back to Charlee's room and sat in a chair by the window. He was peering out at the street below when the sudden pounce of Hellfíre caught him unawares.

      
The orange blur landed neatly on the windowsill after leaping cleanly past his outstretched legs. The cat didn't touch him, but he was so startled that he jerked back, painfully twisting his injured side.

      
“Hellfîre and damnation,” he swore at the cat, glaring into slitted green eyes that stared back with much the same color and fire as Charlee's own. Smiling to himself, Slade relaxed and reached a tentative hand to the feline, allowing him to sniff and accept or reject this peace overture.

      
Crooking his fringed ear, Hellfîre squinted and approached the proffered hand warily. After several experimental sniffs, the cat suddenly snaked out an abrasive tongue and planted several licks across Slade's knuckles.

      
Scratching the cat's chewed ears in amazement, Jim chuckled. “So, I'm all right now that I have her scent on me, am I? Well, just remember, my scent is on her, too.”

      
The bedroom door opened and Charlee backed in carrying a tray laden with a stack of steaming buckwheat cakes and a pot of fragrant coffee. She was wearing a pale green muslin dress, plainly cut but softly curving to her petite body. Her bronze hair cascaded down her back, held loosely in place by a matching green ribbon. Softly flushed from climbing the stairs with her heavy tray, she looked the picture of feminine grace and delicacy. As he quickly moved across the room to help her with her burden, he wondered how he had ever thought her boyish or plain.

      
“What are you doing up?” Charlee felt a jolt as his warm hands covered hers, taking the tray from her and depositing it on the bedside table. She felt the blush heat her cheeks as she looked at his cleanly shaven face. “You've shaved,” she added idiotically, unable to think of anything else to say.

      
He smiled dazzlingly. “I went down the hall and Mr. Rubins was kind enough to lend me his razor. I could hardly be abed all day, unless, of course, the chef could be persuaded to forsake her post for the duration...”

      
At that insinuation, she turned to fuss with the food on the tray, saying, “You may not be interested, but I've worked up quite an appetite.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she went crimson with mortification.

      
Shaking with silent laughter, Slade stood behind her and put his hands on her slim shoulders. Planting a kiss on her neck, he whispered, “I've worked up an appetite, too, but let's eat first.”

      
She whirled, intent on chastising his levity or fleeing, she was not sure which; but then he caught her chin in his hand and forced her to look in his eyes. The glinting devilment of his humor was contagious, and immediately a bubble of laughter escaped her.

      
He bent and kissed her nose, then moved over to the bed and reclined against the headboard, hands behind his neck, feet crossed at the ankles. “Now, wench, what about those buckwheat cakes?”

      
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, he on the bed, she sitting next to him on the room's only chair. Then Hellfire jumped down from his perch on the sill with a thud and meandered toward the smell of food, especially the butter slathered across the mounds of brown cakes. Bypassing Charlee, he jumped neatly onto the bed and boldly walked up to Slade's plate.

      
“Hungry, eh? Well, seems to me I did mention something about a churn of butter,” he said, scooping a generous dollop onto his spoon and feeding it to the voracious cat.

      
“Why, you fickle old devil, you! Why did you—” Charlee's accusing eyes went from the blissfully busy cat to Slade. Suddenly, she knew why the cat had finally accepted Jim. Once more she felt the color stealing up her throat and face.

      
With the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he looked smugly at her. She suddenly found herself returning the smile, idiotically, mindlessly happy despite her shyness.

      
They sat wordlessly, tawny gold and cat-green eyes locked in communion, when a sudden click of the door broke the spell. It was flung open and Tomasina Carver swept into the room.

Chapter Eleven

      
Tomasina came to a halt just inside the door, her eyes narrowing as she took in the intimate tableau. Slade sat bare-chested, reclining against the headboard of the bed with that hateful cat perched next to him. Charlee was much too close, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

      
“Diego, I just returned from the ranch this morning and heard you had been shot! I came immediately.”
      
Ignoring Charlee, she swished her chocolate taffeta skirts dramatically and swept over to the opposite side of the bed. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him on the lips in assertion of her position. Let the little tart be warned. After all, Charlee was only a scullery maid!

      
Slade had never seen Tomasina act so forward, and he was certain of what had prompted her boldness. Smiling rather cynically, he carefully freed himself and prepared for a difficult confrontation.

      
As Charlee rose and gathered up the tray, her eyes met his once more. “I’ll take these things to the kitchen, Jim. Just yell if you need help.”

      
Watching the unspoken interplay between them, Tomasina suddenly knew they were lovers. There was a certain intangible tension between a man and woman who had lain together. A murderous fury seized her as she watched the mere slip of a girl vanish out the door.

      
Slade observed the quick flashes of jealousy and calculation play across her beautiful face, realizing for the first time how little he knew her. What a blind spot for a man who prided himself on being such a shrewd judge of people!

      
Quickly, regaining control of her emotions, she turned to confront her fiancé, remembering that she had to walk a tightrope carefully between Jim and Ashley Markham. She sat on the bed and placed one hand, now minus its glove, over his own, which rested limply on the covers. “Diego, are you badly hurt? I feel so guilty that I was not here, but those tiresome men at Jake's ranch got into a fight. I will be so relieved to have you assume the burden of running the place for me,
querido
”

      
Ignoring her question about his injury, he said, “A Comanchero named Rufus Brady, an errand boy for Ashley Markham, tried to kidnap Charlee.” His cougar's eyes skewered her, looking for a reaction to either name.

      
“Why would anyone want to bother with a kitchen maid? Really, Diego, I do not understand.” With her black eyes limpid and her forehead creased in a frown of puzzlement, she looked as guileless as a newborn foal.

      
“I wonder, Sina. You see, Brady didn't get away. I killed him and searched his body. He was carrying a bundle of gold and some very interesting information on ranger and militia movements.” He paused for effect, then continued, “Charlee told me everything, Sina. She overheard you and Markham in the alley yesterday morning.”

      
She put one small beringed hand to her throat in outrage. “That's absurd! She's either lying or she saw another woman and mistook her for me!”

      
“Give it up, Sina. You and that damned English spy were seen at the Rojas place last week, too. I always did wonder why you martyred yourself, spending so much time with that old harpy, Serafina. How long have you and Markham been conspirators—or, should I ask, lovers as well?” Odd that he didn't even feel a flicker of jealousy as he made the accusation.

      
As he spoke, Tomasina watched his face. There was no chance of bluffing her way out. Damn Ashley and his careless rendezvous! She decided to take a desperate gamble. Both her hands were in her lap now, shredding an expensive brown silk glove as she summoned up big, shiny tears, letting them fall down her flawless porcelain cheeks as she sobbed and threw herself on Slade's chest.

      
“Oh, James, forgive me. I never meant for you to be hurt, my beloved!” She switched to Spanish, feeling more comfortable fabricating her tale in her native language. “Ashley was wild when that girl saw us. He arranged to have her disappear. I swear, I did not know about any Comanchero. I would never have let such a man try to kill you. You must believe that!” She looked imploringly into his eyes.

      
“Then you'll tell me everything about you and Markham?” His voice was toneless, cold.

      
She took a deep, sobbing breath and began. “I met him in England. I was only a schoolgirl, darling. He was gallant and charming, and I had a foolish infatuation for him. Then I returned home and did not see him again until about a year ago. He is not my lover, James! I do not find his pawing advances at all appealing.”

      
“Then why do you do his dirty work for him?” Slade's eyes were like amber glass as he waited for her to answer.

      
She flung her head back, and with eyes flashing she announced, “I am a patriot, a Mexican citizen. Markham and his government only aid our cause—to free Texas from Houston and return it to us.”

      
He sighed, expecting this to be her reasoning. “Sina, I'm one of Houston's men. I've always supported his government. I fought to drive Santa Anna and his army out of Texas. So did Seguin, Navarro, Zavala—lots of us with Mexican roots. Texas will never be reconquered by Mexico. The British are only playing the game of balance –of- power, pitting Mexico against the United States, for their own interests.”

      
She shook her head, then rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “I...I do not know, James. I used to believe Ashley Markham's lies, believe he and his money could supply an army to raise the Mexican flag over Texas once more.”

      
“By giving the Comanche whiskey and guns, knowing they'll slaughter innocent settlers? That's what he and his friends are doing, Sina.” He took her shoulders in his hands and gently shook her. “Think, Sina. I'm not lying to you. Markham was going to sell Charlee to Iron Hand as a white slave!”

      
She broke down completely then, crying piteously against his chest while he stroked her hair softly and held her, uncertain how much of her hysteria was real, how much feigned. Doubtless, she was frightened. She had excellent reason to be!

      
Finally, she quieted and looked up at him with trembling lips and swollen eyes. “James, I've been a fool, but I am sorry. When I think they might have killed you! I love you more than anything, more even than Mexico. You will still marry me, give me the protection of your name? I promise I will be a good wife. I—”

      
“Sina, I can't promise you everything will be just like it used to be, but I will protect you.” He quirked a crooked grin. “President Houston is rather chivalrous when it comes to the ladies, after all. But you have to tell me everything about Markham's schedule, where he goes, who he meets, everything. He's dangerous, and I mean to stop him.”

      
Briefly, she gave him an edited outline of Markham's activities, the Indians he and his friends dealt with, their irregular rendezvous; she even told him about some shadowy intermediary with connections high in the British Foreign Office, although she denied knowing his name or whereabouts.

      
Jim slid off the bed and paced about, running long brown fingers through his golden hair. Tomasina watched him, still fascinated despite her fear and anger. If she could just get him to marry her, she'd be beyond the law. But would she feel the same glow of satisfaction so obviously radiating from Charlee McAllister this morning? In part, she wanted to find out; in part, she did not. No man had ever had that hold on her. Still, if Jim became unmanageable, there was always Ashley. She listened attentively as Slade gave her instructions.

      
“Go home and wait for Markham to send you a message. Tell him no one believed Charlee and that you're both safe. Then wait until he sets up another meeting with his Comanche friends. As soon as you know when and where, you tell me so I can stop him and his killers for good. And, Sina, when your friends from Mexico let you know anything about their plans, anything like that little romp of General Vasquez's in March, you'd better tell me that, too. Agreed?” He looked at her levelly.