Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (48 page)

      
He gritted his teeth. “I only encountered Edith by accident, and I told her I’d never see her again.” A thought flittered across his mind—Charlee seemed to know Edith was the whore he'd been seeing on Soledad Street.

      
Before he could think that through, she snapped back, “Some farewell! But then you do have your original whore waiting for you in her town house. You must really like the Latin type, all that black hair and big tits. I'm surprised you ever had the faintest inclination to seduce me!” With that parting sally, she wrenched free of his grasp and struggled to regain her footing, slipping and splashing furiously in the pool.

      
The two men on horseback had sat frozen in horror and incredulity during the entire exchange in the park. Asa was the first to emerge from slack-jawed shock and leap down to run the short distance to the fountain. He attempted to extricate the flailing, swearing girl from Slade's entangling limbs. Charlee was in such a rage that her small, slippery body was exceedingly difficult to grasp. After two tries, during which process he thoroughly drenched himself, the older man finally succeeded in helping her to stand up and step over the rim. It was miraculous there was any water left in the fountain.

      
Charlee looked for all the world like a half-drowned kitten, with green eyes spitting fire and great sodden masses of bronze hair spilling in a waterfall down her shoulders. The once crisp mustard silk shirt and brown linen skirt clung to her in wrinkled lumps. A small cluster of wild daisies she had fastened in her hair now trailed down her back, scattered through the tangled tresses like yellow confetti. While Asa helped her to keep her balance, she wrung most of the water from her seemingly thousand-pound skirts.

      
Slade, in the meantime, began to unfold himself from the cold limestone floor of the fountain, being very careful not to make any more precipitous moves. “Half the bones in my body must be shattered,” he complained, gingerly edging toward the rim of the basin.

      
“I'm sure you'll live,” Charlee snarled, “much to my sorrow and the joy of all the loose women in Texas!” With that parting remark she whirled to stomp back toward Patchwork, only to have her skirts nearly knock her down once more as the force of their water-laden weight sent them flying in the opposite direction from her legs. Asa steadied her as she limped off with the shreds of her dignity trailing behind her in a series of puddles and flower petals.

      
Slade watched her, too bone-weary to be angry any longer, but too cold and sore to see any humor in the situation. When he stood up and stepped onto the dry pavement, his boots let out a loud, whistling squish as the imprisoned water inside oozed between his toes. A muffled giggle echoed from across the fountain. He looked straight into the wide brown eyes of the small
Tejano
boy who had sat solemnly still through the entire fiasco. Jim glared fiercely for a moment. Then seeing the mirth struggling to escape from the child's artfully immobile face, he let out a long sigh and grinned at the lad, who returned the smile.

      
“
Buena suarte con su novia, señor
” he called after Slade as the hapless man squished up the street.

      
“
Gracias, niño
. I'll need all the luck I can get with her, that's for sure,” he replied grimly.

Chapter Twenty

      
Charlee dismounted behind the boardinghouse, where she was greeted by the returning Hellfire, who had mysteriously vanished on one of his private expeditions that morning and so had missed the picnic. Although his mistress had saved him some meaty chicken bones and hunks of cheese, she was in no mood to lavish the bounty on him in her present infuriated state of mind.

      
He sniffed her sodden clothes and detoured around her wet person with obvious distaste. “Just another self-centered male, off philandering like your friend. See if I feed you, you moldy bag of orange fur,” she snapped. With that, she fled into the kitchen, while a subdued Weevils lugged the picnic gear back into the house and Asa took the horses to the livery stable for a rubdown.

      
Charlee spent the next several days awash in new humiliation. Word of her disastrous fiasco had not spread through the Anglo community, only because the encounter had taken place in a
Tejano
section of town; but even if the likes of Suzannah Wilcox or Paul Bainbridge didn't know of her degradation, Charlee knew. To have leaped on that harlot like some common woman of the streets herself—what would Deborah say! And then to get into a wrestling match with Slade in a public fountain. Her litany of woes was too long to admit hope of deliverance.

      
Only one thing heartened her in her lonely misery; her courses had come last week. At least Slade had not planted his seed in her. Charlee shuddered to think what such an unwanted pregnancy would have meant—leaving San Antonio and her boardinghouse. She was a respectable woman of property in this city, and she planned to stay here among her friends. No man, least of all a ruthless, womanizing bastard like James August Slade, was going to disrupt her life henceforth. Charlee made a solemn vow never to become a prisoner of her body or be tied to a man by his child as Deborah had been.

      
Tragic, brave Deborah, her friend and mentor. Thoughts about how she was faring at Rafe's ranch frequently crossed Charlee's mind in the following days. She hoped for a letter but realized the post was so uncertain she could not reasonably expect to hear for weeks, even if Deborah had the opportunity to write. If only Rafe Fleming loved her enough to make her happy as she deserved. Considering her present feelings toward the deceitful male of the species, Charlee had scant hope for her friend's wellbeing.

      
For several weeks she worked hard at the boardinghouse and immersed herself in a routine that allowed little time for social life. Since her one disastrous foray to a church service the past summer, she had avoided the Sunday morning prayer meetings held whenever Reverend McGuire or Preacher Morrill made a swing through San Antonio. However, Miss Clemson, who always attended the raucous spiritual entertainments, came home the second Sunday after Charlee's dunking debacle with Slade, bursting with the latest gossip.

      
“Tomasina Carver has simply up and vanished,” the prim, plump old lady had said, her rheumy eyes alight. She had followed Charlee back into the kitchen before the midday meal, catching her in the midst of slicing a glazed ham. Swiping a sliver and quickly popping it into her mouth, she avidly licked her lips.

      
Charlee was not sure whether her guest relished the superb smoked meat or her succulent gossip more. But she was positive she did not want to hear about Jim Slade or his ladylove.

      
“I tell you, it's all over town. Jim Slade's gone back to his ranch, her house is all sealed up, and the servants were dismissed with a month's pay. Mrs. Wilcox told me one of the maids told her that her mistress ran off with some English nobleman or prince or something!”

      
“How sad for Mr. Slade, after he so nobly nursed her back to health,” Charlee said without apparent interest, continuing to slice the juicy pink meat in neat, even slabs.

      
Miss Clemson sniffed. “Well, if you ask me he got exactly what he deserved after staying in the same house with her, unchaperoned and all. You're well rid of that wild young ruffian, mark my words, Miss McAllister.”

      
Charlee almost cut her finger, then put the knife down in agitation. “I never had him to be rid of him, well or otherwise, Miss Clemson. I was merely his cook for a while.” She turned and began to carry the tray to the dining room.

      
The rotund little spinster kept on her heels like a panting dachshund hot on the scent of a fresh bone. “Of course, my dear, I didn't mean to imply anything; but he has come here, and I did once hear him ask you to marry him...that is,”—she reddened at her gaffe—“Mr. Schwartz and I could hardly escape hearing your heated words right in that hall. I only assumed that you were upset over his shameful relationship with Mrs. Carver. After all, you never accept gentlemen callers anymore.” She paused reflectively and then blurted out, “Say, you aren't secretly married like Mrs. Ken—Fleming was, are you?”

      
Charlee almost knocked a glass over as she placed the large platter in the center of the table. Sighing, she straightened up and said, “No, Miss Clemson, I assure you I have never been married. Nor do I ever intend to be,” she added darkly under her breath.

      
So, his ladylove had flown the coop, she thought to herself later that afternoon. She was alone in the ice cellar, storing some perishable foods from dinner, and had plenty of time to consider what Tomasina's disappearance meant. Prince or nobleman, indeed! Slade probably hired some trustworthy
Tejanos
to spirit her safely out of Texas before she was accused of murder and treason. He had protected her and kept her from facing her just punishment, even though doing so meant he must lose Tomasina forever.

      
“Well, let him pine for her or find a dozen replacements like that LeBeau hussy. I won't sit here and mold any longer!” Her voice echoed strongly in the high-ceilinged underground vault. The resolution in her own words surprised her. Charlee knew she must emerge from her shell and get on with her life. Miss Clemson's absurd speculation about her having a husband hidden in some closet had hit home. Why was she letting a foolish, hopelessly incompatible love ruin her life? Men had flocked to court her when she first came to Deborah's place. Why not again?

      
Not that she necessarily wanted the legal encumbrance of a husband. “If I ever do marry, it will be a man I choose, on my terms,” she pronounced in finality.

* * * *

      
“Tomorrow's the feast of San Juan of Capistrano. You going to San Antonio for the celebration?” Lee looked over at Slade as he unsaddled Liso. The feast was one of the city's biggest and most gala occasions, with a religious procession, the celebration of mass, dancing, and merry making far into the night.

      
Slade, who had just walked down to the corral to look in on the new mares, had greeted Lee's return with little more enthusiasm than he'd shown for anyone since Charlee had returned to the boardinghouse. He grunted noncommittally in reply to the question. The day after the infamous encounter at the fountain, he had returned to the ranch, chastened and uncommunicative. He arose daily before sunrise and worked grueling hours in the saddle, giving himself and the men no respite.

      
Jim had always had a short fuse, but no one crossed the boss these days without treading a tightrope between life and death. Slade was continually preoccupied, and Lee knew the reason was Charlee McAllister. But he also knew better than to bring up her name in Jim's presence. Since Tomasina Carver was gone, it had seemed natural that Slade would go to Charlee and straighten things out. Yet when Asa had brought up the subject, he was given a cold, steely look that forbade any further pursuit of the topic.

      
“I’ll handle it,” was the glacial reply. Everyone walked on eggshells and waited to see precisely how Jim planned to “handle it.’’

      
Seeing the foreman had no luck in his absence, Lee took matters into his hands and openly broached the subject of the feast. Was Jim going to town to see Charlee? By asking, he was risking the full fury of the Slade temper.

      
The chaotic revelry of the festival seemed a natural time for the lovers to be thrown together, but only if Lee could get his hardheaded boss to attend. On the long ride back to Bluebonnet with the brood mares, he had worked out his plan. Placing life and limb at risk, he remarked casually, “I stopped in town on my way home to see how the preparations are going. Big fandango at the Johnson place.”

      
“Lots of dances all over town on the feast of San Juan,” Slade said, swinging his heavy stock saddle over the stall bar and reaching for a currycomb to work on Polvo.

      
“Yeah, but Billy Wilcox's taking Charlee to the Johnsons' place.” Saying no more and avoiding the murderous glare of Slade's cougar eyes, Lee walked out of the stable whistling.
Now let it work
, he thought to himself.

      
Slade had found the waiting exceedingly difficult. But he knew he must give Charlee time to cool down. Who knew, he might even get lucky and find out she was pregnant. Then the whole thing would be automatically settled. As a respectable woman of property in San Antonio, she couldn't slink off with her cat and vanish in the night, as she had tried to do earlier. He had stayed close to the ranch, working himself hard, falling into a good tired sleep each night, trying to think as little as possible about the petite witch in town who had turned his life upside down.

      
Perhaps it was time to take action. He had expected her to pout and brood, lick her wounds, and eventually realize she couldn't live without him. But from all reports, the perverse, fickle little creature was living it up, accepting a veritable horde of admiring bachelors as callers, green boys not dry behind the ears. She was fast becoming the belle of San Antonio once more. As if any of those slick-eared youths could handle a woman like Charlee McAllister! Still, perhaps that was what she wanted—some mewling young milksop she could lead around like a gelded horse.

      
Slade grinned wickedly and said to Polvo, “We'll just see about that, won't we, old boy.”

* * * *

      
Charlee eyed herself critically in the big mirror in Deborah's— no,
her
room, she corrected. “Oh, I do wish she were here,” she wailed aloud, pulling on the waist, then the neckline of her new gown. It had just arrived from the dressmaker early this morning. She had only an hour or so to get ready for the big dance.