Under a Texas Star (5 page)

She gave the Señora a questioning look.

"They belong to Señor Strachan," the woman said. "He left them here."

"Oh."

"He and the Señorita are very close friends."

Marly wondered how close.

"I will leave you, Señor Landers. Señor Fred will be up soon. He will see to your needs."

"Señora de Vegas, could you tell me something?"

"Si, if I can."

"Are all the ladies here..." Marly stalled, unsure how to put it.

Señora de Vegas blushed. "Some of the ladies who are employed at The Oasis are fully employed. Many are not. If you are wondering, I am not employed here as such."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean
―"

"I know what you meant," she said with gentle dignity. "Señorita Jezebel has kindly let me stay, since my husband was killed a year ago. I try to help out. The Señorita calls me her den mother. Please let me know if you need anything."

As the door close
d behind the Señora, Marly let out a long sigh and slumped onto the bed, stroking the velvet coverlet as she gathered her thoughts.

What was Jase doing downstairs? Was he still with Jezebel?

A campfire and a starry sky would suit her fine right now. A cup of Jase's coffee would be heaven.

A soft tap on the door interrupted her reverie. Before she had a chance to answer it, Fred came in, leading a parade of shirt-sleeved waiters bearing cans of hot water, while he carried a tray laden with sandwiches, cookies, milk and a pulp western.

As the waiters filled the tub, Fred arranged the repast on a side table, folded back the bedding and fluffed the pillows. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a young man loaded down with a stack of thick white towels. On top was a blue striped nightshirt. Fred took the pile and dismissed his entourage. The towels he placed on a chair beside the tub. The nightshirt was laid out on the bed.

"If you will produce your laundry, Master Landers, I will have it taken away with the we
t towels later.
All
your laundry." He gave Marly a hard stare. "I assure you, we will have clean clothes for you by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Will you require anything else, Master Landers?"

"No, sir. Thank you, Mr.―"

"Fred."

"Thank you, M
r. Fred."

"Just Fred."

"Thank you, Fred.

He bestowed a sympathetic smile on her, then left the room.

Alone, Marly bolted the door against further intrusion.

By the time she had soaked, scrubbed, dried and dressed, Marly was starving. She ate half a roast beef sandwich before combing and braiding her damp hair. Then she climbed into bed with the dime novel in one hand and the remainder of the sandwich in the other. That's how Jase would have found her if she hadn't locked the door.

"Open up, you infernal brat!" He gave the door a good rattle for emphasis. "If I gotta break this lock, it's comin' out of your hide."

Marly crawled out of bed and headed across the cold floor.

Opening the door, she scowled. "Oh, it's you."

Jase strode into the room. "I take it you're comfortable."

"Uh huh."

She hopped back into bed and stuffed the last bit of sandwich into her mouth.

Fred and his young assistant entered the room. The boy drained and cleaned the tub, while Fred laid out shaving gear.

"Sir," he said, his cultured accent more obsequious than ever, "Miss Jezebel invites you to make use of her apartment tonight. I can have a bath drawn for you there if you prefer."

"My thanks to Jezebel," Jase said, "but I'll be quite comfortable here."

"As you wish."

Fred whispered instructions to the boy, who went off immediately, taking the wet towels and Marly's laundry with him.

"Sir?' Fred pointed to a chair.

"I can shave myself."

"Please, sir. I've seen what happens when you shave yourself."

Marly sputtered on a mouthful of milk.

Jase grumbled something unintelligible and sat down.

"I'm thinking I'll keep a moustache," he said.

"As we well know, Master Jason, a moustache does not become you."

"That was years ago."

Marly watched in fascination as Fred lathered Jase's whiskers. Despite Jase's protests, the moustache was the first to go.

When she had first met Jase, she assumed he was about the same age as Doc Pincus, who was old enough to be her father. Clean and trimmed, she put him at Sheriff Langtree's age, which she knew to be thirty-two because he once told her that he was twelve years her senior.

Fred was right. Jase looked better clean shaven.

Meanwhile, the boy had returned with a fresh stack of towels and a second parade of water bearers. Bringing up the rear was one of Jezebel's ladies. She carried a silver tray with a cut glass decanter and two glasses. With a few whispered words, she handed this to Fred.

Fred turned to Jase. "Miss Jezebel is wondering if you would care to share a nightcap with her. She could join you. Or if it would disturb the young gentleman," he cleared his throat, "you could meet her in her private parlor after your bath."

Jase trailed a hand through the hot water in the tub.

"Please let Jezebel know that as temptin' as her offer is, I'm hittin' the sack soon as I'm clean."

"Very well, sir.

Fred gathered the kit and shaving towel. He stayed long enough to make sure the bath was full and Jase's nightshirt, robe and slippers were laid out. Then he retreated with a dignified bow.

Marly took a long gulp of milk. "I love the way that fella talks. What is he doing in a place like this? He should be in the Governor's mansion."

"I think that's where Jez found him." Jase bolted the door and leaned against it. "I can't quite remember which governor."

"Miz Jezebel," Marly said, drawing out the zeds in an affected way, "is awfully persistent. Does she throw herself at all her guests?"

"Not all of them." Jase stripped off his shirt and the top of his long johns. "Just the special ones."

Marly snorted and buried her nose in her magazine. She listened to him undress, resisting the urge to peek, but the sound of him climbing into the tub drew her eyes off the page.

She'd seen plenty of bare torsos in her time. The thickly muscled field hands and soft, smooth boys didn't affect her the way Jase's lean, sharply defined back did. All too quickly, he sank into the tub and she had to hide behind the book so he wouldn't see her blush.

"What's it matter to you anyway?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Why does it matter what Jezebel does?"

Marly shook her head, doubly embarrassed now. "Doesn't matter. None of my concern if a woman wants to make a fool of herself over you."

"Careful. Jezebel is our hostess and my friend."

She bit the inside of her cheek. The reprimand was deserved. That didn't make it easier to take.

"When are we leaving?" she asked.

He sank lower in the tub. "From the look of things, not for some time."

She put aside the book and fixed him with a hard stare. "I thought you had business in El Paso."

"I do. It'll have to keep."

He dunked his head underwater, his knees pushing the cover up. When he re-emerged, he soaped the washcloth and started scrubbing his head and neck.

"The marshal, an ex-Ranger, was shot here a week ago. I've gotta stay and find out who was responsible."

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"Not exactly. I served with him once, but we didn't actually get along."

"Oh."

"Doesn't matter. I still have to investigate his murder. It takes precedence over my other case. Question is, are you gonna stick around with me? Or is your business in El Paso too urgent? I'm hopin'," he flashed a charming grin, "you'll decide to stay."

Marly settled back against the pillows. "I'll stick. After all, I still have time. And who knows what trouble you might get into without me around."

Jase laughed. "How about pouring me a glass of that brandy? Care to join me?"

Marly got up and filled one of the brandy snifters.

"You said I was too young," she reminded him, holding the glass just out of his reach. "Remember?"

"Yeah, well, in public you
are
too young."

He took the delicate snifter from her hand, leaned back and inhaled its fumes. A twist of his lips suggested that he was either laughing at her or himself, maybe both.

"Don't bother telling me how old you really are. Just put a drop of that brandy in your milk. You might like it. Anyhow, you gotta admit," he lifted the glass in a toast, "Jez sure knows how to entertain."

"I suppose."

She poured a generous dollop of liquor into her cup. Sniffing it, she wrinkled her nose and took a cautious sip of the spiked milk. It sent a cold tingle down her back and a hot one down her stomach, making her shiver and flush at the same time.

"Best sit before you fall down," Jase advised.

It was times like this when she just couldn't figure him out.

After all, she thought, he either thinks I'm a boy or he's discovered I'm not. If he thinks I'm a boy, I have to keep him thinking that way. If he knows I'm a girl, then he's pretending not to know, and I have to keep up the act anyhow.

Sighing, she climbed back into bed.

Jase opened his eyes and shot her a questioning glance.

"Just tired," she said.

"Finish your milk and go to sleep. You can turn down the lamp, if you like. I don't need much light to dry and dress."

She nodded.

There wasn't much milk left, so she downed it in one gulp, sending another wave of heat through her body.

She turned down the lamp. "Night, Jase."

Marly had little expectation of sleep. The sound of Jase sloshing the water and lifting the lid told her he was getting out of the tub. The lid slammed down and she filled in the visuals.

That
sound was Jase rubbing his hair, neck and face with a towel, while droplets of water ran in rivulets down the valleys of his muscular back.
That
sound was him putting on his nightshirt. And
that
sound was him picking up his brandy glass and setting it on the silver tray.

She could fill in some of the details about his body from what she'd seen. But she had trouble imagining the difference between a young boy needing her help with his pants and a grown man.

She wished she could sneak a peek.

Marly closed her eyes just as Jase extinguished the lantern on her side. A cool draft breezed over her when he pulled back the covers. The mattress shifted as he slid in beside her. His back met hers and the warmth of his body dispelled the momentary chill. A subtle shift and she could feel his taut buttocks pressed against her.

If Aunt Adele could see me now, I'd be damned to hell.

But then, her aunt had already done that, hadn't she?

Chapter 5

Perhaps it was the comfort of a feather bed or the warmth of Marly's body curled up next to his, but Jase didn't wake until an insistent knocking forced him to consciousness. Reluctantly, he crawled from the covers and unlocked the door.

Fred's young assistant greeted him with a nod. He held out a water jug and some fresh towels. "Your laundry isn't quite ready, sir."

Taking the items, Jase said, "Bring us up some coffee, please."

The boy disappeared.

For a long moment, Jase stared at the sleeping Marly. If he slid back beneath the covers again, he wasn't sure he'd have sleep in mind. It had been a long time since he'd found comfort in the arms of a woman. Too long.

With a sigh, he shrugged into the satin dressing gown and put on the matching slippers. He was reading the western Fred had produced for Marly the night before when Marly finally roused.

"Mornin', sleepyhead."

She cracked a stiff smile. "Good morning."

A knock on the door indicated the coffee had arrived. Jase answered it, took the tray and dismissed the boy. Then he sat down in the chair and proceeded to ready two mugs. He pulled the robe tighter across his lap, afraid he might be revealing more than he should.

For a second, Marly looked pained and his smile faded. He had no idea what he'd done to vex her, but the girl was sorely vexed.

"Coffee?"

"I'll get it," she said, starting to get up.

He held up a hand. "You stay put."

Whatever was bothering her, it wasn't modesty. She wasn't wearing long johns, and her nightshirt only came to her knees. He had felt the smooth skin of her legs against his thigh when he woke. She appeared innocent of the effect that contact had on him.

So why was she upset?

Maybe he had unintentionally crossed the line in his sleep. In his dreams, she had practically dragged him across that line, wrapping her legs around him, pressing small, firm breasts against his chest. He had protested feebly, pointing out the impropriety of him taking advantage of her. Marly had laughed and took the decision out of his hands…and into hers. Then it was his turn to takes things in
hand―like her rosy nipples and soft round buttocks.

Had he acted out any part of that very pleasant dream?

"You know," he said, holding up the pulp novel and trying to forget the blasted dream, "this stuff is nonsense. I met some of the men this guy's writ
in' about. They ain't like that. Not half as talented. Not near as noble."

He stirred some cream into the coffee, added a spoonful of sugar and handed a mug to Marly as she sat up in bed.

"I know we have to stay in town," she said. "Do we have to stay here?"

"You don't like the accommodations?"

"You said this place was expensive."

"We're guests."

"Let's not overstay our welcome then."

It appeared Jase wasn't the direct cause of her displeasure.

With a shake of his head, he went back to his chair and took a sip of his coffee. "I suspect you're soundin' like your Aunt Adele, brat."

Marly's lower lip quivered. "I am nothing like my aunt. I just don't like this place."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

When Jase broke it, he dropped his customary drawl and spoke like the well-read man he was. "Don't be so quick to judge, Marly Landers, lest you also be judged."

Marly stared into her coffee cup. When she looked up, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Tempted as he was, he didn't let up. "Jezebel makes her bread
and butter from the gamblin'. The dinin' room is gravy―and her pet project. The ladies? Well, that's just a fact of life in a frontier town. There's enough people out there that'll damn this place. I'd advise you do your judging one person at a time."

A t
ap on the door interrupted his homily. It was the boy with their laundry. He handed the stack of washed, pressed and neatly folded clothes to Jase.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Henry."

"Henry," Jase flipped a coin at the boy, "you tell Miz Jez we'll be down for breakfast soon."

"Thank you, sir."

When the door closed, Jase glanced at Marly. "I'm famished."

"Why don't you use the wash basin first?" she suggested, sounding like her old self. "I'd like to finish my coffee. Maybe you could give me back my book."

Marly hid behind Shakespeare, while Jase dressed.

She wasn't reading, however.

Let ye without sin cast the first stone, she thought. Well, I know I'm not without sin and I don't mean to cast stones.

Jezebel and The Oasis went against everything she had been brought up to respect. She had to admit, she would have been a lot more tolerant if Jezebel was indifferent toward Jase. Or if it were not so obvious they shared a history.

But Marly could hardly explain
that
to Jase.

"You need to put that book away," he said. "I'm goin' to check on the horses. I'll meet you downstairs in about twenty minutes. Don't be late."

"I won't."

"And don't worry so much," he added, flicking her chin. "We're good now, right?"

She smiled. "Of course."

As soon as he left, Marly jumped out of bed and locked the door. There was a long, cracked mirror on the wall. The image it reflected mocked her.

"You've been thrown into a deep pond," she told her reflection. "You just have to learn how to swim, that's all."

In the light of day, The Oasis was not nearly as intimidating as it had been to Marly the night before. If she ignored the gambling tables and Jezebel's painting, she could imagine she was in a respectable, albeit fancy, hotel.

A couple of women in calico dresses were cleaning the dining room and a young man swept the floors on the casino side. Behind the bar, a scarecrow of a man polished the cherry wood counter.

When Jase entered with Jezebel on his arm, Marly was washing glasses and chatting with the man she now knew as Arnie Hollis, chief bartender and assistant manager of the bar and casino. She'd learned that the women in calico were younger sisters or daughters of the same women who served and entertained customers the night before. Arnie's own mother had been employed by Jezebel many years previous, before being carried off one winter by the ague. Yes, The Oasis was
―in its special way―a family-friendly establishment.

But when Marly saw Jezebel, she felt anything but friendly.

"Hungry, brat?" Jase asked.

She shrugged. "Suppose. I'll finish here first."

"I'll order for you. Don't take too long."

Jase escorted Jezebel t
o her table and Marly tried to resist the urge to stick her tongue out at Jase's back. Without a word, she returned to helping Arnie.

When the last glass was put away, she approached Jezebel's table, hunger overcoming her distaste of the woman. At least the perfume wasn't too heavy and the coffee smelled good.

Jezebel was recounting the circumstances of Strothers' murder. Neither she nor Jase paid any attention to Marly, though Jase pulled the chair out next to him.

Marly sat, absently fidgeting with the silverware.

"The prime suspect for the murder is Matthew Egan," Jase said. "He's the largest landholder and head of the richest family in the district."

"As far as Matt Egan is concerned, Fortuna is his town. Those of us who disagree don't rub his nose in it. Ellery Strothers wasn't so..." Jezebel searched for a word, "diplomatic. I think he figured that being a former Texas Ranger and the district's duly appointed marshal put him above town politics."

"So a battle of wills resulted."

"I have to admit, I am partly to blame for that. I was the one who pushed the idea that we should have a marshal appointed in the first place."

Marly did her best to hide her shock, but Jezebel's wry twist of a smile indicated that some of her feelings were well-known to the woman.

"Law and order are good for business." Jezebel paused for effect. "To a point anyways. Egan and Baker wanted the town to elect a sheriff, knowing that they could put one of their men in the spot. I could see where that was going, so I persuaded Chet Win
ters―he owns the bank―that a State-appointed marshal would be a better idea. In turn, he convinced the town council and I contacted a few friends in Austin. But you know that, don't you sugar?" She touched Jase's hand. "I made sure you were offered the job
first."

Jase didn't rise to the bait.

"To add fuel to the fire," she continued, "Strothers was courting Matt's sister Amabelle, against Matt's expressed wishes. He forbade them to see each other. Foolish man. That jest made Strothers doubly attractive to the girl."

Fred appeared with the coffeepot and a basket of rolls. Marly, who had been watching Jase sip his coffee, gave such a look of gratitude that Fred almost smiled.

She split her attention between the rambling report and her sweet roll, the quality of which more than made up for the repeated attempts Jezebel made to get a rise out of Jase.

"The next most likely suspect is Gabriel Baker," Jezebel said.

Gabe had known Matt from the cradle. Together, their fathers had been heroes in the Mexican War and profiteers during the War Between the States, selling cattle wherever they could get the best price. Between wars they rode for a spell, married within days of each other, moved further west and started homesteads in what was then the middle of nowhere. Their sons grew up as brothers. They fought and worked side-by-side, like their fathers before them, and they collaborated in business. They drove cattle and drove out competition.

If Matt Egan was the richest man in Fortuna, Gabe Baker came in a close second. He took Egan's side in the political battle against the marshal. He also had reason to dislike Strothers personally. The younger and more dashing ex-Ranger was of far greater interest to his beloved Amabelle.

"And who can blame the poor child?" Jezebel said, exaggerating her deep-south accent and gesturing broadly. "No offence to Gabe, but he's got as much shape as a plank and he's as sweet-faced as a lemon."

"Strothers has looks, if nothin' else," Jase said.

"They'd have made a pretty couple. Miz Amabelle is 'The Beauty' here 'bouts. 'Course it ain't likely Matt would let his only sister marry a mere marshal. Especially when the Baker ranch runs 'long side theirs."

Marly leaned forward. "How old is Miss Amabelle?"

"I know their folks had plans," Jezebel said, ignoring her, "for Gabe to marry Amabelle. The old men are gone now. Mrs. Egan died long ago. Baker's mother went back East but I'd bet Matt still would like to see the wedding go off."

Jase asked, "How old's the girl?"

Marly scowled at him.

"Seventeen," Jezebel said.

"And Baker?"

"Thirty, I suppose. Word is, having given Old Man Baker a son right off, Mrs. Baker didn't see any reason to give any more." Jezebel shook her head. "Now Mrs. Egan, bless her foolish soul, kept trying to have more kids. I hear that's what killed her in the end."

Breakfast was served, halting the conversation temporarily.

When the better part of the steak, eggs and potatoes had been consumed, Jase said, "Where were Egan and Baker the night of the murder?"

"Matt was entertaining the Minister and his wife."

Marly filed that bit of information away.

Just because Egan had an alibi, it didn't mean he wasn't responsible. He could have told one of his men to kill the marshal. Or, since Egan's men were fiercely loyal to him, they might have done the job voluntarily.

Jase pushed his empty plate aside. "How about Baker?"

"Home alone. Only ones who can vouch for him are on his payroll."

"That doesn't mean anything, one way or the other."

"Personally, I prefer the theory that he was bushwhacked by drifters. I just can't get myself to believe it."

Again, Marly interjected a question. "How was he killed?'

Jezebel shuddered with distaste.

"He was stabbed," Jase replied. "I met with the doctor this mornin'. He kindly made his report while gettin' ready for church. I must say, he's a very organized and thorough professional."

"What did the report say?" Marly asked, glancing at Jezebel.

With an impatient wave, the woman indicated that Jase was welcome to continue with his story.

"Strothers was riding back to town and was knocked off his horse. The doctor found bruises on him from the fall. Then his attacker stabbed him under the ribs, just missing the heart. Given the nature of the wound and the amount of blood soaking the clothes, the doctor figures Strothers bled to death slowly."

Marly pushed down the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf her. She had seen the results of accidents and bar fights, and though she wasn't usually squeamish, the thought of someone being left to die slowly was horrifying.