Moon Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (54 page)

      
His shrewd eyes assessed her. “I cud see th' two o' you'd started ta get friendly thet night. After th' fireworks when ya first laid eyes on Lucia, I don't mind sayin' I wuz glad ‘bout thet.”

      
“It took me a while longer to see what a natural pair you two would make,” Deborah said, smiling.

      
Joe shook his head vehemently, causing his black hair to fly like a shaggy fringe about his shoulders. ‘There's where ya git off th' trail, Deborah. She's a lady, no matter whut them murderin' Comanch done ta her. An I'm just a breed. Got me no schoolin', none o' them fancy airs like a
caballero
, nosir.”

      
“Joe, we could work on making you into a perfectly acceptable
'caballero.'
I've had a pretty considerable of experience in making sows' ears into silk purses,” she said impishly, recalling how she'd made Charlee McAllister into the belle of San Antonio. “That is, if you really care about Lucia. She deserves a chance for happiness after all she's suffered.” She waited while Joe appeared to consider.

      
“Whut do I have ta do?” he said at last.

      
“We begin by throwing that in the fire.” Deborah gestured to the leather pouch filled with chewing tobacco. “On second thought, not the fire—it'd stink up the whole house. We'll bury it!”

      
Joe clutched the pouch like a beloved friend. “Ya cain't mean it?”

      
One look at her eyes, now turned steely, convinced him she did, indeed. With a hangdog sigh, he handed the sack to her.

      
Working with Joe over the next several days helped take Deborah's mind off Rafael. If Charlee had been a challenge, she found Joe to be significantly easier in some ways, but more difficult in others. There had been so much Charlee had to learn about how to walk, speak and dress. Joe's naturally courtly manner was good enough, with minimal polishing, to stand him in good stead at Renacimiento. He need not dance, pour tea, nor learn to curb his swearing in polite company. He already exhibited far better control over that vice than Charlee ever mastered in all the months Deborah had coached her!

      
Getting Joe to bathe, however, proved difficult. Not that he had ever been dirty, for he washed in the creek every evening; but it was a fast swim without benefit of soap. In very cold weather, he informed her, he made do with a simple sluice in a washpan! Women sat in tubs, not men—at least not intrepid Texian frontiersmen! Too much soap and hot water would weaken a man's virility! Did he question her husband's virility, she countered? He soaked in the tub that night…with soap.

      
Next, she taught him how to clean his teeth and cut his nails, even pare the dirt from beneath them! Once he had quit using chewing tobacco, his mouth no longer smelled like the inside of a cave and his smile became positively dazzling.

      
The greasy buckskins had to go. Micah had several good shirts, sent by his mother from Santa Fe. They were slightly too small for the youth, who had grown since leaving home. They fit Joe's lean, wiry body perfectly. Deborah shortened a pair of Rafe's clean buckskin breeches and took in the side seams.

      
“Why, Joe, if I weren't already married, I'd steal you away for myself,” Deborah teased with a twinkle, admiring her handiwork.

      
Earlier, while Lucia was upstairs immersed in her bath, Deborah gave Joe's freshly shampooed hair a neat trim. All cleaned up and dressed in his new finery, he looked surprisingly handsome in a rough, Texian way. Without the long stringy hair and ragged cloth headband, his facial features were clean cut, and his smile was beautiful.

      
“I feel like an old fool, tryin' ta be a Galer...Gal—whut did ya call thet feller?”

      
“Galahad,” Deborah supplied gravely. “Now, why don't you wait for Lucia out in the courtyard. I'll shoo Adam upstairs and keep him occupied and send Lucia out as soon as she comes down.”

      
When Rafe arrived at the corral, he turned Bostonian over to Micah and asked where he could find Joe. He would talk over his dilemma with his friend before deciding what to tell Deborah. The youth's face spread with a broad grin and he replied that Joe was up at the big house. “You might have a hard time recognizing him, I think.”

      
Coming toward the hacienda from the rear, Rafe saw Joe on the patio and knew at once the reason for Micah's cryptic remark. “I'd almost take you for a town man, not Joe De Villiers,” he said, eyeing his friend's transformation in puzzlement.

      
“Rafe! When'd ya get back? Deborah's been worryin' somethin' fierce.” Noticing the way his partner stared at him, Joe's face took on a beet red flush. “Er, wal, Deborah's been learnin' me how ta act 'n dress good 'nough ta be ‘round ladies—Don't you go sayin' nothin', neither!” he added belligerently as he watched the beginnings of teasing laughter dance in Rafe's eyes.

      
“Why, Joe, I always thought your manners were just fine. So did Lucia. My wife hasn't been giving you any trouble in my absence, has she?” he questioned in mock gravity.

      
Joe rose to the bait. “Don't you go sayin' nothin' agin Deborah! She's been helpin' me—that is, she—oh, shit...” He trailed off as he saw Lucia come out the backdoor headed in their direction.

      
Fresh from her bath with her hair in damp ringlets about her temples, she looked like a vision to Joe in her simple white blouse and red skirt. But her eyes flew to Rafe and she walked past Joe without even seeing him. “Rafe, you've been gone so long! Deborah is frantic with worry.”

      
“Where is Deborah?” he asked, his troubled gaze traveling toward the house.

      
“Upstairs with Adam,” Joe replied crossly.

      
Sensing his friend's anger and puzzled by his uncharacteristic behavior, Rafe reached a decision. “I need to talk to her.” With that he turned and headed toward the house.

      
No use worrying this any longer or dragging Joe into the tangle. I have to face it now.
His expression grim, Rafe climbed the stairs, heading in the general direction of splashing and laughter. Adam had just gotten out of the tub and Deborah was rubbing him with a towel as he squirmed and shook like a playful puppy.

      
“Who's getting wet and who's getting dry?” Rafe asked, and was rewarded with a delighted squeal from Adam who flew into his father's arms, trailing an unraveling bath towel across the floor.

      
“Papa, we missed you! Next time I wanna go along 'n catch wild horses, too!”

      
Tousling the wet curly hair, Rafe replied, “Maybe next time. But now, you get dressed for bed.” With that he set the boy down and gave him a playful swat, sending him toward his room where a clean nightshirt was laid out.

      
“You're back so late, Rafael. Did you have supper?” Deborah asked.

      
He looked at her, standing so near, yet so far away, his beautiful Moon Flower.
I cannot lose her
. “I'm not really hungry,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. “I've missed you, wife,” he whispered, burying his face in the silky curls falling around her neck.

      
Deborah could smell male sweat, horse, and leather, all the familiar scents of her husband, the Texian rancher. Eagerly, she embraced him, sensing the hesitance and tension in him. “And I have missed you, beloved,” she whispered back.

      
“I'm sorry, Moon Flower,” he said painfully, unable to frame an apology for his curt and distant behavior.

      
“Only share your trouble with me, Rafael,” she pleaded.

      
He nodded silently. They tucked their son in bed and Deborah went downstairs to have Dom fetch some bathwater for her trail-dusty husband.

      
When she came into their room with a small tray laden with leftover dinner, Rafael was immersed in a tub, vigorously scrubbing off days of grime.

      
“I'm afraid your arrival quite spoiled my matchmaking plans for tonight, but we'll have to be patient,” she said, depositing the tray on the bedside table.

      
“Matchmaking...Joe and Lucia?” he asked incredulously.

      
“Yes, but Joe's sulky because Lucia was more interested in scolding you than noticing his transformation.”

      
Rafe considered the possibility for a moment, shaking his head in wonder. “I never would have believed the two of them, but seeing what you've done with him, I guess it could work.”

      
“He's been in love with her for years, just as she's been in love with you, Rafael,” Deborah said gently.

      
He looked up at her suddenly, trying to read the emotion behind her words. “I never—”

      
“I know. Lucia told me and I believed her, but she's been so besotted with her unrequited love that she's missed a chance for real happiness with a man who adores her,” she said as she headed toward the tub with a towel.

      
“Joe and Lucia, I'll be damned,” he murmured beneath his breath. Then recalling his own dilemma, he began hesitantly, “Deborah, I received a letter from Lily.” He felt her hands freeze as she handed him the towel. “She's married now.” He paused uncertainly.

      
“That should make you happy,” she said stiffly.

      
“Frankly, it is a relief.” He paused and then continued, “Her mother and sister were killed in St. Louis—”

      
“Oh.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “She doesn't want Melanie living with her!”

      
“She thoughtfully sent me the name of a girls' school in Virginia. Melanie could be admitted as white, neatly solving the problem for both of us.” He finished drying off and reached for a gray flannel robe lying across the bed.

      
“But you don't want your daughter raised as an orphan, alone in a boarding school,” she said. Her heart felt torn in two, seeing his anguish, yet afraid of how Lily's daughter could complicate their still tenuous relationship.

      
He tied the belt of the robe with a rough jerk and faced her. “Yes, I guess that's it, baldly put. Once, I would have sent her to Virginia without a thought, but now...”

      
She smiled wistfully. “No, Rafael, as much as you've changed, my love, you were ever the doting papa. You'd never have left your child in the care of strangers, not then, not ever. But now you're willing to bring her beneath your roof and give her your name. I'll make an abolitionist of you yet, my love.”

      
He crossed the room and seized her by the shoulders. “Oh, Moon Flower, I love you so much, I never wanted you to be hurt by my past again. I swore I'd never do this to you, but now, now...” He let his arms drop helplessly.

      
Swallowing the tears clogging her throat, Deborah took his face between her hands and said, “Rafael, I can still see her as a little girl that day when I barged in Lily's house on Rampart Street. She was so small and so frightened. Melanie is your daughter. I'll make her mine, too. Bring her home to Renacimiento!”

Chapter Twenty Nine

      
Deborah scanned the horizon, looking for riders in the hazy distance. No one. It had been over four weeks since Rafael had left for Galveston, taking four armed vaqueros with him. Of course, returning with a young girl would slow them down considerably.

      
“You still frettin' ‘bout thet youngun, Deborah.” Joe didn't even ask it as a question. He strolled across the front yard, following her gaze to the southwest.

      
“I'm afraid so. I—I guess I'm not sure what to expect or even how to act around her,” she said uncertainly.

      
“She'll be a scared twelve-year-old female, thet's all, nothin' fer ya ta get rattled ‘bout.”

      
“As if you haven't been rattled by a certain twenty-nine-year-old female?” she shot back at him without rancor.

      
“Now, thet's different, 'n anyone with the sense o' a half-baked brick'd know it,” he retorted with a touch of pettishness. His suit with Lucia had not been going well, largely because of his reticence in putting it forth. After the unfortunate beginning the night Rafe returned from mustanging, Joe had been unwilling to try again.

      
Preoccupied about Melanie's arrival and what it portended for her troubled marriage, Deborah had not pursued her matchmaker's role very effectively. Considering the sad stalemate between Charlee and Jim in San Antonio, she was not at all convinced of her skill in mending other people's relationships.

* * * *

      
Rafe smiled at the pretty picture Melanie made as she perched on the wagon seat. He could scarcely believe the beautiful young lady riding so primly next to him was really his baby daughter. What an enchantress she'd be in a couple of years! However, he could already foresee trouble. That young
Tejano
, Lee Velasquez, had been struck by her startling poise and promise, he was sure.

      
Darkly, he recalled his surprising welcome in Galveston. Melanie’s ship had arrived a week early and Jim Slade's young friend, there on a horse buying assignment, had apparently rescued her from all sorts of misadventures. Rafe was not at all certain he felt grateful to Velasquez, who had spent the week in Galveston acting as her chaperon—as if an eighteen-year-old boy was any kind of chaperon for a twelve-year-old girl!

      
“Melanie, you've been awfully quiet since we left the steamer,” he said. “Were you daydreaming about young Lee Velasquez?”