Velvet Thunder (38 page)

“Pardon me, sir.”

Eugene started as if the man speaking to him discerned his thoughts. The afternoon sun limned the intruder. Eugene shifted in his seat to get a better look at the man interrupting his thoughts. He was middle-aged, tall, handsome, with blond hair. He was dressed smartly in unrelieved black. But it was his black eye patch that intrigued Eugene. It lent him a sinister air.

“Yes?”

Judge Jack gestured toward an empty chair. “May I?” Eugene nodded.

Judge Jack broke the tense silence. “I believe we have a common interest.”

Eugene lifted his weak chin disdainfully. “Since we are complete strangers, I can't imagine what that might be, sir.”

Jack had paid dearly for the information regarding Eugene and his sister. He needed a local partner, someone who had the run of Turner House. And the prissy gentleman peering down his aristocratic nose at him was his best bet. “We both want something from the Turners. And we want it badly. In fact, I would venture to say that our very survival depends on it.”

A frission of fear and anticipation skittered down Eugene's spine. The man across from him was ruthless, he could see that. But desperate times called for desperate measures. “I'm listening.”

 

 

“I know Mama would lock me in my room for the next year if she knew.” Ann sighed dramatically, lying across her bed. “But I want to have one last lark before I'm sold into slavery to that sorry excuse of a man. I'm going to do it tonight, Stevie.” She paled as if she had said too much. “Please don't tell Heath. He'll sit on me if he finds out.”

“I don't know anything about gentlemen's clubs, Ann. But they don't sound like the place you should be.”

“I imagine they're like your western saloons. Have you ever been in one?”

Stevie remembered her eventful visit to the Silver Dollar. “Once. And Heath almost drowned me afterward.”

“Tell, tell,” Ann chortled, coming up on her elbows.

Stevie related the incident with a great deal of embellishment. She left out the fact that she had caught Heath in the act of kissing a soiled dove. After all, Blue was reformed now, and it had been an innocent kiss in the first place.

Ann wrapped her arms around her waist and flopped over onto her back. Her pink gown disappeared in the fluffy pink bedspread and post drapes that billowed at her every movement. “Oh, I envy you.” She bounded off the bed. “I have a disguise. Wait'll you see.” Ann's top half disappeared into an enormous armoire. She withdrew a small suit of men's clothing. It looked somewhat like the ensembles worn by both Heath and Chap.

Stevie had to smile. The look in Ann's eyes was absolutely devilish.

“I can get another suit. You could go with me. The men will closet themselves in with the general after dinner. Heath won't know you're gone. We'll slip into the club and just hide and watch. Don't you want to know what goes on in those bastions of male domination?” she finished theatrically.

Stevie now knew what it meant to be between a rock and a hard place. Mentally, she listed the pros and cons of participating in Ann's daring escapade. The gentlemen's club sounded like the kind of establishment that would draw Judge Jack like flies to a pile of cow manure. If he weren't there, she could ask around. Oh, she wouldn't speak to the patrons. But surely there were serving girls she could question. At least she guessed there were. Her experience with gentlemen's clubs was rather limited, she reflected wryly.

If she discovered the judge's whereabouts, she wouldn't confront him. She would come back and tell Heath. They could capture him together. With the judge behind bars where he belonged, she and Heath would be free to begin their new life.

Also, she would take her derringer and bowie knife. She could protect Ann. There's no telling what would happen if the girl went alone. Heath's sister was precocious, but she was green as a gourd. Stevie would be doing the Turners a favor, watching out for their sweet if somewhat willful daughter. That might even get her in India Turner's good graces.

Despite her rationalization, she knew good and well that Heath would wear her fanny out if he discovered what they were up to. He was protective of her in the extreme. And he didn't even know that she was carrying his child. In the end, Stevie decided to go. Her pa always said people did exactly as they pleased; this was no exception. “All right. I'll go.”

“Oh, Stevie, you won't be sorry. It'll be great fun.”

“First we have to get through tea and dinner.” And I have to meet the formidable India Turner, Stevie added silently.

“I'll run dress for tea. Be back for you in a flash.”

Stevie was hardly aware of Ann's exit. She was planning ahead. Soon she would begin her campaign to convince Heath's mother that she was good enough to marry her son.

She sighed heavily, thinking of the monumental task before her. After tea and dinner with Heath's mother, infiltrating the gentlemen's club should be like a walk in the park.

Heath was standing at the bottom of the floating staircase when Stevie and Ann came down to tea. He had eyes for Stevie alone. Usually unflappable, he stood with his mouth agape, watching the vision approach.

Seeing her dressed like a woman, he vowed to burn every pair of trousers she owned. Her voluminous gown of lemon tulle brought out her ethereal beauty in a way that men's clothes never could. The skirt was fashionably flat in the front, showing the outline of her firm thighs with each step she took. It was drawn up into a soft bustle in the back, flaring into a short train.

The bodice skimmed her slender torso, the low décolletage edged with double rows of seed pearls. Her softly curving breasts rose high above the neckline, providing an arresting contrast of pale fabric with smooth, dusky skin.

Ann's maid had twisted Stevie's platinum hair into long curls at the back of her head, ornamenting the silken tresses with small yellow bows. Pearl drop earrings dangled from her delicate lobes, a single strand kissed the dark shadowy cleavage that drew Heath's eyes like a magnet.

“You're breathtaking,” he whispered, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

Ann couldn't stifle a giggle as she stood on the step above them.

Heath raised his gaze to her. “You too, short stuff,” he complimented Ann. His sister looked like a fairy princess in pale blue taffeta. Much too lovely for the likes of Eugene Prickle. “Shall we?” Offering each lady an arm, Heath escorted Stevie and his sister into tea.

Stevie steeled herself against meeting his mother. But she needn't have worried. India Turner was nowhere to be seen.

The only sign that Heath noticed his mother's continued slight to Stevie was the muscle twitching in his jaw. He had visited her in her rooms earlier and specifically requested that she come to tea and meet Stevie. It appeared that she didn't intend to honor his request.

Teatime at Turner House was a joyful affair. The fact that Heath's mother still refused to put in an appearance had unsettled Stevie at first. But Chap, Kinsey, Emily, Ann, and a host of Turner grandchildren were so open and accepting, she soon dismissed India from her mind and just enjoyed being part of Heath's family.

“Sorry we're late,” a masculine voice intruded on the outlandish tale of life in the Wild West Heath was spinning for his nieces and nephews.

Stevie turned to see an exact, life-size replica of Chap. Clinging to his arm, Ginny Turner appeared the flesh-and-blood epitome of southern womanhood. And she was at least six months pregnant.

Heath surged to his feet. “'Bout time you two showed up.” He hugged Rad, then carefully embraced Ginny.

“It's my fault. Seems all I want to do these days is sleep,” Ginny's drawl was very like Kinsey's. She rested her hand on her stomach. Just touching where Rad's child slumbered appeared to give her pleasure.

“And being the good husband that I am, I have to keep her company.”

Chap and Heath laughed knowingly. From the blush on Ginny's face, Stevie doubted that her handsome husband allowed her to sleep a great deal when they were in bed together. Stevie found herself blushing as well, remembering what she and Heath had done in his bed just the night before. Reading her expression, he winked slightly.

Rad wasn't reserved like Chap. He was much more gregarious, blatantly flirtatious, incredibly charming, like Heath. He walked up to Stevie, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her off her feet. He hugged her so tightly that her borrowed corset creaked. When he placed her on her feet, he planted a firm kiss on her cheek. “Has that kid brother of mine made you my sister-in-law yet?”

“Damn, Rad, you could've at least let me introduce her before you swept her off her feet.” Heath made the necessary introductions, then took Stevie's hand. Unconsciously, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “And no, she's not your sister-in-law. I haven't been able to get her to accept my honorable proposal. That's why I brought her home. Hoping that we could all gang up on her and force her into it.”

Ginny and Kinsey exchanged glances. “Hah,” the southern ladies said at the same time. They knew from experience that God had not created the woman who could refuse a Turner when he set his mind to winning her. The love shining in Stevie's eyes told them that she was no different from the rest of the female race. She was a goner.

Kinsey stepped forward and took Stevie's hand from Heath. She led her to a low sofa. “You'll get no help or pity from us, you scoundrel,” she said to Heath. “You haven't even bought her a ring.”

“Pitiful,” Ginny clucked, taking a seat on Stevie's other side. Emily and Ann voiced sisterly support of the other women. Stevie just blushed.

“What's got their back up?” Rad asked.

Heath shrugged, bewildered. Chap looked away guiltily. He had told Kinsey about Stevie's pregnancy. Obviously, she had told Ginny. If he didn't watch his plain-spoken wife, she would be calling Heath on the carpet and demanding a wedding within twenty-four hours. That wouldn't do at all. Stevie would never forgive him. And since she would be his sister-in-law for the next fifty years or so, he hoped they could be friends.

Intent on charming them out of their pique, the men joined their ladies.

Kinsey served tea as the children ran wild. When the hellions grew quiet, it drew the adults' attention.

India Turner walked through the door. She spared her grandchildren not so much as a glance. It was as if all the air were sucked out of the room. Slowly, she made her way to the circle of adults. Her first words were not of welcome, nor did she sit. Rather, she regarded Ann harshly and spat out, “You did ask Eugene and his sister to tea as I told you, didn't you?”

Ann squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. “No, Mother. I did not. I wanted to spend a pleasant afternoon welcoming my brother and his lovely friend. Eugene will join us for dinner. As for dear Eugenia, frankly, the woman gives me the creeps. I didn't invite her to dinner. Nor do I ever intend to invite her into this home.”

Heath stood stiffly and pulled Stevie up beside him. “Mother.” He paused until he gained her attention. “May I present my fiancée, Miss Stephanie Johns. Stevie, my mother.”

Stevie excused Heath for introducing her as his fiancée. In the face of India Turner, she needed all the legitimacy he could lend her. When she found a pleasant smile and pasted it on her face, her lips felt numb, along with the rest of her. “I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Turner.”

India took her time, scrutinizing Stevie from head to toe. She did not return her cordial greeting. “You failed to tell me that she was an Indian.” Her observation sounded quite like an indictment.

Heath stiffened but Stevie stilled him by gripping his hand. “Yes, ma'am. I'm Indian. Comanche.” There was such pride in Stevie's voice that everyone in the room admired her even more than they had a moment before.

Everyone save India Turner. India pulled her skirts aside, as if she couldn't bear the thought of brushing against Stevie. Hardly necessary considering she still stood some six feet away from her.

“Ann, inform me when Eugene arrives. And do change out of that blue gown. It does nothing for your sallow complexion.” With that, Heath's mother turned on her heel and quit the room.

They all stood in stunned silence for a moment. When Stevie was certain that she had given India time to make her way back to the east wing, she made her apologies. Head high, she walked from the room.

“Excuse me . . .” Heath began.

Kinsey restrained him. “Don't, Heath. Give her some time alone.”

The look of rage mingled with hurt on Heath's face touched them all. Ever supportive, Emily patted his arm.

“Stevie's strong,” Kinsey continued. “It'll take more than a snub from the old bat to do her any real harm. Besides, it wasn't so bad. As I recall, she had me kidnapped. And I survived . . . and even married her son.”

Rad chuckled flatly. “Just in case Mother's up to her old tricks, we'll all keep a close eye on Stevie.” It was a sad state of affairs, but they all realized Rad's jest held some merit.

Heath nodded and resumed his seat. But his attention was not on the conversation his quick-witted siblings batted back and forth as a means to regain some of the earlier joy that had characterized their reunion. His thoughts were upstairs with Stevie.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the chair. If Stevie needed proof that white society wouldn't accept their marriage, that they would be persecuted for her ancestry, his own mother had just provided it.

 

 

That evening, when Stevie joined the family in the parlor, she was not dressed in the lovely silk gown Ann had loaned her. During the afternoon she had decided that if she were to be accepted, it would be for who she really was.

Proudly, she entered the room dressed in Gentle Fawn's wedding gown, her platinum hair braided into one long, silken rope, tied at the end by a short length of rawhide, a beaded headband circling her forehead. Nestled between her breasts was the necklace containing a lock of her mother's hair.

As Heath approached her, she noted that he was impeccable in black evening wear. Love, pride, and masculine approval was shining in his sapphire eyes. She relaxed visibly. “I'm glad you changed. You look beautiful.” He hugged her affectionately and whispered into her hair, “Your mother and Gentle Fawn would be very proud.”

The evening passed in a blur. The highlight for Stevie was when she met General Turner. The consummate gentleman, he had stood to his feet—albeit a bit unsteadily due to his ill health—bowed over her hand, then much as Rad had earlier, engulfed her in a bear hug.

“Now I see why you spent so much time out west, son.” He squeezed Heath's shoulder. “You've chosen well.”

Those simple words pleased Heath and Stevie as no other.

After the general's sound endorsement of Stevie, Mrs. Turner sat quietly in her chair, aloof, sullen. The only time she spoke the entire evening was when she greeted Eugene Prickle.

As for Ann, she ignored her lackluster fiance altogether. Until dessert, when she announced to her family—and Eugene—that she had no intention of marrying him, now or ever. It was immediately apparent that she had the unspoken but tangible support of the Turner men.

Red-faced, Eugene informed Ann that he would give her time to reconsider, then left the house. Her mother cast her a fulminating glare and retired to her room without a word. Needless to say, the evening was over. As Ann predicted, Chap and Rad closeted themselves in the library with their father.

Heath said he'd join them in a minute, after he escorted Stevie to her room. He was unusually quiet, she noticed. When they stood facing each other outside her door, he took both her hands in his own. “Hon, about Mother . . .” He trailed off.

“There's no need to talk about it. I understand. And it really doesn't matter to me what she thinks.”

“All the same, I must apologize for her.”

She squeezed his hands. “Apology accepted.”

He kissed her then, soundly, with an air of desperation. It was as if he were trying to convince her how much he loved her.

She responded in kind. Despite what she said, she was hurt by his mother's ill treatment. The feeling of insecurity that plagued her was foreign but understandable. She was far away from home, missing her children and her father, pregnant, and unmarried. She had definitely felt better in her life physically and emotionally. And was it any wonder?

Heath sensed her need and sought to fill her with his love. He kissed her hungrily, his mouth open and giving. He thrust his tongue into her dark, sweet cavern, over and over, mimicking what he wanted to do with his maleness.

She was instantly caught up in his passion. Grinding her lower body against him, she stood on tiptoe and threaded her fingers through his hair.

They were ravenous, starving for each other. For a time they indulged themselves. Heath skimmed her body with his hands. She was nude beneath the bleached animal skin, so he could feel every curve and crevice. Bunching the buckskin in his clenched fists, he raised the fringed hem to her upper thighs. Instinctively, he slipped his thigh between her legs.

Moaning, she ran her hands across his shoulders, over his back, down his spine, flattening her palms over his tensing buttocks. She dropped her head back over his arm, giving him greater access to her throat. He trailed hot, wet kisses down the sleek column. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her until her soft, moist, skin rested on his thigh. She raised her head and gasped. Over Heath's shoulder she saw Ann just inside a doorway, watching them, wide-eyed.

Stevie had never moved as quickly in her life. She lurched backward, righted her dress, and placed her palms on Heath's chest as if she were holding him off.

He was lost in the throes of passion. The jolt back to reality momentarily stunned him.

She raised a hand to his cheek. “Honey, your brothers and father are waiting for you downstairs.” His eyes were somewhat dazed. “What will they think if you're gone too long?”

“You're right.” His voice was thick with unappeased desire. He blessed her with a smile that curled her toes inside her soft moccasins. “I could come back later.”

Stevie wanted to groan at least, cry at most. Heath had set a fire in her that was raging out of control. But she had promised Ann. She couldn't allow Heath to come back tonight. Maybe, after they got home, she could sneak into his room. “As much as I'm tempted, sweetheart”—she lowered her voice so Ann wouldn't hear—“as much as I want you, I'm really exhausted. I fear I'll be dead to the world as soon as my head hits the pillow.”