Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (51 page)

      
His eyes were blazing like golden comets when he raised at last from her quivering, breathless body. She locked gazes with him for a moment. Then as he began to unbutton his shirt and peel it off, her eyes were compelled to dip downward, feasting on the hard, lean contours of his chest and arms. When he stood up and quickly stripped off his pants, she watched the play of corded muscles ripple beneath the golden-furred skin of his belly and legs. He was splendid to look upon; and as he returned her ardent stare, she realized he felt the same way about her.

      
Jim devoured the delicately sculpted little body lying before him, open to welcome him in a drugged haze of passion. It would work; it would be all right. Quickly, he dropped beside her and drew her full length to fuse their burning flesh together. As they rolled over in the welter of covers, his knee came up between her slim thighs, spreading her legs wide. Then, he slid in, untested, but knowing by her writhing, arching movements she would be slick and ready to receive him. She was.

      
With a muffled sob of surrender, she closed her arms around his shoulders and clung to him, raising her face to kiss him blindly as he thrust deeply inside her. After a moment, he slowed their frantic movements, stroking in long, slow, languorous caresses. Sweat sheened their bodies, causing them to slip and slide like satin as they rubbed together in sensuous rhythms that left them both breathless.

      
When he felt her stiffen, he raised his head and watched her small, slender body redden and convulse in orgasm. Then, he spilled his seed deeply within her in completion of the act and collapsed onto the bed, rolling her from beneath him but continuing to hold her fast.

      
Charlee slowly came back to earth, leaving the magic, dizzying heights she had just visited. She felt Jim's warm protective body pressed comfortably against hers as he softly stroked her hair, pushing the perspiration dampened locks back from her forehead. She felt content and at peace until his words jarred her.

      
“Now, if you aren't already pregnant, a few more times like that ought to do the job,” he murmured into her hair as he nibbled playfully on an earlobe.

      
She shot bolt upright in bed, with her hair flying like an iridescent curtain around her shoulders. “What do you mean, do the job,” she shrieked in mortification. “I was so gratified last week for my deliverance, and now I'll have to wait and worry another month! Ooh, let me go, you...you womanizer, you!” She struggled to get free, swearing and spitting furiously like a cornered puma cub; but he rolled her easily back down onto the bed, laughing all the while.

      
“Look, my prickly Cactus Flower, get it into that pretty little head that you're not leaving here...ever.” His golden eyes were no longer laughing now but glaring down into her green ones with possessive anger and impatience.

      
“And just how do you plan to keep me here? Lock me up like a prisoner? Make me into your cheap, live-in harlot? Isn't that more in Edith LeBeau's line of work? I'm sure she doesn't have to worry about getting pregnant!”

      
“In case you hadn't noticed, it wasn't very difficult to...ah...persuade you to stay a little while ago,” he answered arrogantly as one hand trailed leisurely down her bare torso, lightly fingering the slowly fading splotches, clear evidence of her surrender and fulfillment. “Anyway, I'm not interested in Edith, only one small, green-eyed waif with changeable colored hair and a rotten temper. I plan to marry her, fool that I am.”

      
“Even if you lock me up for a year, you can't make me marry you,” she gasped back.

      
“I think I can,” came his silky reply as his large, warm palm came to rest protectively over the concave hollow of her belly, “after you begin to swell with my child. Then, you'll have to marry me, Charlee. Think of the scandal if you didn't.” He shook his head in mock reproof.

      
“You're insane! This isn't a...a heathen seraglio in Turkey. This is Texas and it's the nineteenth century. Why, Asa and Lee—”

      
“Work for me, and will do what they're told.” He cut her off abruptly, finality evident in his tone of voice. “In case you haven't been listening to them and everyone else around here, they think I should have married you months ago. I plan to rectify that little mistake as soon as I can get you to listen to some sense.”

      
He should have married her? He obviously felt morally obligated because of taking her virginity; and now that his precious Sina was gone, he was free to assume his responsibility to her. Charlee choked back aching tears, stubborn pride keeping them at bay while she glared mutinously back at him. “Do your damnedest. I'll never marry you!”

* * * *

      
“Perverse, maddening female.” Slade swore beneath his breath as he sat in Asa's cabin with his head in his hands. Across the table from him, the foreman was pouring two drinks. He shoved one shot toward his young boss, who took it in his hand and gulped it quickly.

      
Asa shook his head as he sipped his drink at a more reasonable rate. “It don't make sense, but then, women never do. ‘Pears ta me if she'll let ya make love ta her, a girl like Charlee must love ya. You tell her?” His shrewd gaze fixed on Jim's slumped form.

      
“Tell her what?” he questioned in irritation.

      
“That ya love her, ya young jackass,” Ketchum replied in exasperation.

      
Slade stopped to think, dumbstruck by the most obvious oversight. He sighed. “No, I don't recall that I ever did, for all the times I proposed to her. Dammit all, Asa, when a man asks a woman to marry him, she full well ought to have the sense to know he loves her! Anyway, she was always in such a temper, I was lucky to escape without broken bones, much less have time to explain my finer feelings to her.”

      
The leonine head nodded dolefully. “ ‘Course, you never have a temper a'tall. Ya just charged in 'n grabbed her like she was a calf ta be thrown 'n branded. Ya courted Miz Sina real proper, Jim. I expect Charlee's worth the same kinda trouble, don't you?”

* * * *

      
Charlee slept alone in her old room the next two nights. Slade had disappeared on some errand or other. Weevils brought her meals but turned a deaf ear to her pleas for help in getting back to town. Everything had been taken care of, he assured her. Gerta Raufíng, her new German cook, was in charge of her boardinghouse while she was absent. Slade had notified everyone that they were getting married and going on a honeymoon to Galveston.

      
Realizing it would do no good to try to cajole Jim's friends, who steadfastly believed she should marry their boss, Charlee decided to use the few days while Slade was gone to plot her escape. Sleep was a long time in coming each night, filled with disturbing dreams of Slade when it did overtake her.

      
She woke the third day to feel the wet, cold nose of the cat nuzzling her affectionately. He had climbed silently into her bed sometime toward morning and finally decided she had slept long enough. Opening one eye, she glared at him. “If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess, you traitor. You were in on this...this conspiracy, weren't you?” she accused.

      
Hellfire looked at her calmly, as if to say, “I did it for your own good.” Then he jumped down and stretched indolently. What a bother humans were.

      
By the time Charlee completed her morning toilette and came downstairs it was after the noon hour. She picked at the lunch Weevils had prepared for her and racked her brains for the means of escape from the old cook's watchful eye. Then, she heard a team and wagon pulling up to the front door. It was Jim and Lee, returned from town with all her belongings. However, there were more items than she owned, she was certain.

      
“What are all these?” She eyed several large, fancy boxes suspiciously.

      
Slade smiled. “Just a few things I picked out for your trousseau, love. If you don't like them, we'll buy you more in Galveston.” He walked briskly past her, carrying a stack of packages upstairs.

      
Lee followed with more packages. When everything was deposited in her room, Jim came down to confront her. Lee and Weevils made themselves scarce.

      
“I have all the clothes I want, thank you, and I won't be needing a trousseau,” she added emphatically.

      
“Be reasonable, Charlee. You can't go around indefinitely in those wrinkled riding clothes. At least look at what I selected and tell me if you hate them.” His smile was guileless and sincere.

      
Charlee felt a sudden tightening in her throat as she looked at him. If only he loved her as she loved him. Staring deeply into those golden eyes, she felt for a moment that he did. When he reached out his hand, palm up to take her upstairs, she was unable to refuse. Woodenly, she placed a small trembling hand in his and he pulled her gently toward the steps.

      
“I could only have a few things altered to fit you in two days time. All the rest will have to be sewn when Mrs. Mendoza gets here tomorrow.” He handed her one box from the exclusive seamstress's shop, waiting for her to open it.

      
The forbidding Jim Slade seemed as eager and nervous as a schoolboy...or were her senses deceiving her? Gingerly, she opened the box and gasped in delight as a delicate lawn dress lay before her. It was cut very simply, with a scooped neckline and puffed sleeves that ended at the elbow. The color was a soft, pale green, with a darker green sprigged pattern embroidered across the bodice and sleeves. She had been afraid he would try to make her over with the kind of elegant Hispanic clothing Tomasina wore, but this gown was a delightful surprise.

      
“Perfect for a picnic. Asa told me you had a good time on that picnic the other week. I'm sorry I sort of spoiled the end of that day for you, but I want to take you on a picnic today, to make it up.” He waited, tentatively.

      
Thrown off balance by this sudden reversal in the demanding Jim Slade's personality, she pulled the dress from its box and held it up. She was certain it would fit. For the first time in weeks, she smiled at him and said, “The dress is lovely and the day seems perfect for a picnic. I'll go if you wish.”

      
Slade was dazzled by the beauty radiating from that small face but wary of her sudden acquiescence. “I'll see to packing a lunch. Look at the other things while I'm gone and wear the green dress, please?”

      
With that, he departed, leaving her to ponder her next move. If they took the wagon, she would be unable to escape. She needed access to Patchwork, and a head start. No help for that now, but she must keep her wits about her and await her chance.

      
As she ruminated, she opened boxes, bemused by his sudden burst of generosity and the superb taste he showed in his selections. Most of the packages were filled with fabrics and accessories and the modiste's pattern drawings, which showed how the clothes would look once sewn. A riding skirt and two tailored shirts were already made up, as was the green dress and some delicate lawn undergarments. Everything was beautiful, but more important, selected with her in mind, in shades of bronze, red, green, aqua and brown. And the styles were simple, unpretentious, and very decidedly American. At least he had the good sense not to try to make her over into a Tejano’s lady. The last box held yards of diaphanous white silk and delicate white lace trim. It was obviously for a peignoir. Something to wear on her wedding night?

      
Resolutely, she stuffed the silk back into the box. No, she couldn't do it, not knowing she was only a substitute for his real love, a guilty encumbrance he must make amends to by offering marriage. Oh, but how desperately she ached to go along with his high-handed plans, to become Mrs. James August Slade.

Chapter Twenty-Two

      
It was a lovely late fall afternoon, with the sun making its warm arch across the western sky in trailing golden splendor. The breeze was redolent with the scent of pine and sagebrush. The fragrance of cold roast pork, spicy German potato salad, and sharp white cheese wafted invitingly from an overflowing hamper sitting on the wagon floor.

      
Both Hellfíre and Mutt had noses aquiver, edging nearer the basket while warily eyeing one another.

      
“I still think it's a mistake to take both the dog and the cat along,” Jim said dubiously as he heard a faint growl emanate indistinctly from one of their passengers.

      
Charlee laughed. “Hellfire goes wherever he pleases. I don't
take
him any place. And I feel guilty about poor Mutt. Ever since I moved to town, no one's taken him hunting or spent much time with him at all. I couldn't just ride off and leave him sitting there, tail wagging.”

      
He watched her sparkling, animated little face and felt a sudden rush of tenderness. How could he ever have thought to wed any other woman? “You're just too soft-hearted, at least where animals are concerned, lady.”

      
The warm, husky way he said lady made it sound like a love word. Charlee swallowed and looked ahead, nervously, concentrating on the scenery. They were nearing the old mission ruins where he had promised they would picnic. The five missions, beginning with the Alamo, were set at roughly three-mile intervals south from the city, following the meandering course of the San Antonio River. Their destination was the third one, San Jose de Aguayo, thought by many to be the loveliest.