The Texan Page 8

  “And what do you think now?” he asked, his laughter ceasing as he released her chin to wrap her waist in his hands.

  “I don’t know what to think about you, Jonathan Cleary.” The words burst forth, accompanied by a sob of frustration, and her hands rose to clench into tight fists against his chest. “You have me totally confused.”

  “Well, that probably makes two of us then,” he admitted, his fingers flexing on her slender waistline. He released her suddenly, then nodded at the patches along the border of the property, where taller grass grew.

  “I need you to tell me how far to mow. If there are flowers there, I don’t want to cut them down. Go take a look, and I’ll make my way in that direction as soon as I finish the middle of the yard. It won’t take five minutes. You’ll be able to sort it out by then.”

  “All right,” she agreed, backing up from the overgrown area he’d left until last.

  It was shady beneath the overhanging branches of the maple trees that edged her property, and she walked along the borders he’d pointed out. Several of the leaves were familiar to her, including a patch of hollyhocks that appeared to be volunteers from last year.

  “I’ll weed this area,” she told him minutes later as he pushed the mower toward her. “If you run that mower through here you’ll make a mess.”

  “All right,” he said agreeably, leaning against the closest tree. “I’m willing to watch you work for a while, just as soon as I put this contraption in the shed.” He was gone only minutes, then found shade beneath the tree once more, sliding down to rest his back on the rough bark, and she saw his eyelids flutter a bit.

  “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

  “A little. I rode a lot of miles over the past few days, and I haven’t caught up on my sleep.”

  “I’ll go fill up your glass,” she offered. “Why don’t you just lean your head back and rest?”

  The pump in the kitchen sink produced clear, cold water from the place deep in the ground where the well had been drilled, and Augusta substituted a quart canning jar for Cleary’s glass, carrying it back to where he waited. It was cooler beneath the maple trees and she blessed the breeze that wafted through the branches.

  He’d slid to the ground, and his hat covered his forehead. One knee was bent, the other leg stretched out, and his chest rose and fell with a regular rhythm as she watched. Propping the jar of water close at hand, she bent to the weeds that cluttered the bed of flowers next to the hedges.

  And watched him as he slept.

  Chapter Five

  Although his eyelids never fluttered, Cleary was well aware of the woman who kept guard over his supposed slumber. She’d pressed him beyond expectations, goaded by her erstwhile suitor from Dallas. And that man bore looking into, he decided, examining his memory for a trace of the meddlesome gentleman. Roger Hampton was not a common name, but he could not recall it. However, his momentary glimpse, that first day, brought to mind a fleeting memory of the face of the man in question.

  The story of Augusta’s brother was another thing altogether. Cleary’s recent activities included his infiltration of a gang of rustlers in Wyoming. A risky business, one in which he’d almost lost his life, he recalled. There at the last, when things had come together with a bang, he’d come close to hanging up his gun.

  But justice in Wyoming had prevailed, and the rustlers were now sitting in cells in that state’s prison. All but one of the men, Gus, who ended up being shipped off to Colorado to prison. The judge had listened to testimony, and had given him a more lenient sentence than the rest of the gang, due to his help on Cleary’s behalf when the chips were down.

  Reading the letter from Augusta’s brother had brought back that particular memory, and his shoulder twitched as he recalled his days of recovery from his injury. He’d watched as the men were hauled off to Laramie; the man named Gus, whose change of heart had given him a better chance for early release, was sent south.

  To Colorado to serve his sentence. Cleary flinched inwardly. The chances of such a coincidence being possible were slight, yet his instincts were on alert.

  Being a U.S. Marshal was an occupation that made a man old before his time. And Cleary was feeling the effects of his job choice. He’d worked with the Wyoming Cattlemen’s Association on his last assignment. Here in Collins Creek, he was operating directly with the local banker, plus a couple of others in nearby cities, under the guise of being a gentleman on hiatus from his usual employment.

  Hampton had come too close for comfort with his veiled accusation of Cleary being a bank robber. Seeking out the leader of the group involved working undercover, and Cleary was gaining ground with his infiltration into the network of men who worked outside the walls of respectability.

  And Augusta, bless her heart, had made him cringe with her pointed queries. He’d hoped to keep her at a distance until this whole mess came to a head. But his own needs managed to get in the way, and he’d been mixing business and pleasure. A volatile mixture, indeed, he’d discovered. Especially when a woman such as Augusta McBride was involved.

  He watched her from beneath lowered lashes, his gaze warm on the line of her back as she bent to her task. She sat upright, casting aside a handful of weeds, and inhaled deeply, looking upward with one hand shading her eyes. Probably wishing for the rain clouds to move more rapidly in this direction, he thought. Though her grass was green and the kitchen garden flourished, Augusta’s avowed theory was that if a little was good, a lot was better when it came to watering her growing vegetables.

  Her breasts rose with each breath she took, and he watched, feeling not a twinge of guilt, only the pleasure a man took in observing the woman he’d chosen as his mate.

  And wouldn’t she be surprised, when all was said and done, and he’d accomplished his purpose, freeing himself for the enjoyable pursuit of his lady love.

  Wouldn’t her blue eyes widen with astonishment when he finally was able to offer her his name in marriage, and take her out of the environment she’d managed to get herself involved in.

  And then he pondered that very idea more closely. Getting Augusta out of this house and into his own might be more involved than he’d first supposed. She was closely entangled in the lives of these women. The little innocent, golden-haired woman he’d decided to claim as his bride might be more deeply mired here than he’d first thought.

  He watched as she lifted her forearm to wipe a line of perspiration from her brow, suppressing a smile as he took note of the large garden gloves she’d donned before she began digging in the dirt. They engulfed her hands, making her task awkward, but she persevered. As she did in her every endeavor.

  Her gaze lowered and drifted to where he lay, and he caught a glimpse of a smile curving her mouth, saw her tongue touch her upper lip. Watching her, he felt himself a bit of a voyeur as her eyes swept his lengthy form. Her nostrils flared and her bosom lifted as she caught a deep breath, and her mouth was soft and damp.

  It would never do for Augusta to observe his growing arousal, he decided, impatient with his lusty response to her innocent surveillance of him. He mumbled a bit, rolling to his side, and with a great show of awakening, opened his eyes.

  Her head was bowed over the pile of weeds she’d accumulated, and with a smile, she noted his heavy-lidded attention on her person. With a quick movement she rose, stepped to where he lay and uncapped the canning jar of water she’d carried from the house for his benefit.

  He drank deeply from it, then offered it to her in silence, watching as a rosy hue developed on her cheeks at the gesture. Her fingers curled around the jar and she lifted it to her lips. He watched, veiling his hunger, as she tilted her head back and drank thirstily. A trickle of water touched the corner of her mouth and a drop fell on her dress, forming a circle and staining the fabric over her right breast.

  His gaze touched the spot as he reached for the jar, taking it from her and returning it to his own lips, pleased when she gave the gesture her full attention.


  “I couldn’t have slept long,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture he hoped was nonchalant. “The water’s still cool.”

  “Only fifteen minutes or so,” she said agreeably. “Long enough for me to clean up that whole area.” She pointed to the flower bed she’d rescued from the encroaching weeds, turning her face away from his regard.

  “You do good work, Miss Gussie,” he said lightly. “Now, as a reward for your diligence, how would you like to get rid of those gloves and join me for supper at the hotel restaurant?”

  She glanced down at her oversize gloves with a grin, then nodded slowly as her brow furrowed a bit. He could almost see the wheels of her mind moving as she considered the ramifications of such a thing. “Yes, I’d like that,” she said finally. “But first I’ll need some time to get acquainted with our new guest.”

  “You have a new woman in the house?”

  “She arrived the same time as my letter and, I fear, she got lost in the shuffle. I met her in Dallas. Her name is Glory, and from the looks of her, she’s had a tough row to hoe in order to get here.”

  “By all means, take time for that,” he said quickly. “I won’t interfere in your work, Gussie.”

  “And then I’ll have to speak to the ladies about my letter before I can leave the house, don’t you think?”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea. You don’t want your brother knocking on the door some day when you’re not here, and them not know about him coming.”

  Augusta looked at him as he rose from his resting place beneath the tree. She thought his voice was neutral, neither approving nor disapproving, yet she sensed that they were miles apart on this thing. “I can’t contact him, Cleary,” she said sharply.

  “No, you sure can’t,” he agreed. “But you need to be thinking about what you’ll do when he shows up. And your ladies need to know what they’re letting themselves in for if they allow him to hide out here.”

  “Hide out?” She was defensive now, and her hands clenched as she recognized that her anger was unfounded. Cleary was right, but still she owed Wilson her loyalty. “I’ll give him shelter until he can decide what to do next. I won’t be providing a criminal hideout.”

  “Well, let’s not argue the point, honey,” he said mildly. “I doubt we’re going to come out on the same side of the fence on this one.”

  “I need to go inside.” She turned away, frustrated at the quarrel they’d become involved in. “Are you sure you want to take me out for supper?”

  “One thing has nothing to do with the other, Gussie,” he said quietly. “Yes, I want to take you to the hotel and sit in the dining room there with you. I think you need to be certain you want to be seen with me, since your friend Mr. Hampton has been dragging my name through the dirt.”

  She turned around and shot him a look, and he held up his hands in abject surrender, his smile beneath the lush mustache he wore teasing her out of her mood.

  “I’ll be ready at six, Mr. Cleary,” she said primly, lifting her skirt to climb the step to the stoop.

  He bowed in a gentlemanly manner. “I’ve taken care of the lawn mower, and you’ve done some weeding. Tomorrow, I’ll rake the grass. In the meantime maybe on our way home from the hotel this evening we can search out a goat to eat our greenery.”

  “Ma’am, I’m ever so grateful.” Glory’s eyes were swollen from the tears she’d shed, yet a look of relief shone from those same drenched orbs as she reached out a hand to touch Augusta’s. “I thought I was a goner for sure when Miss Josephine sent out her big bruiser after me. I didn’t know I could run so fast. And once I got in the train station, I think he feared to snatch me up in front of the rest of the passengers.”

  “I told a nice gentleman that I was on my way to Collins Creek, and he escorted me on board the train.” Her face turned crimson as she recalled the event. “Turned out he was a man of the cloth, and he wouldn’t even let me pay my fare. Found me a seat and when the train got here, he made sure I got off.”

  “You were indeed fortunate,” Augusta said quietly. “Had the bruiser, as you called him, gotten his hands on you, you might not have survived. It’s been my experience that most madams do not allow their girls to escape, for fear they set a bad example for the rest of the women in the house.”

  “How much experience have you had at this sort of thing?” Janine asked, leaning forward as if she would hear a juicy tidbit from Augusta’s mouth. “I mean, have you been in a lot of whorehouses?”

  “Houses of ill repute, I prefer to call them, Janine.” Augusta sent a glance of warning at the woman whose needle seemed to fly through the dress she worked on. “I don’t consider you ladies as whores, only women who’ve been caught up in situations you could not escape by yourselves.”

  Janine shrugged. “Whatever you say, ma’am. I only know I’d rather be here than at Lula Belle’s place.” She bit off the thread next to the knot she’d fashioned in the seam of her latest project. “By the way, I may have a chance to work for Miss Clarinda, that dressmaker over by the bank. She told me to bring some of my work over, and she’d take a look at it.”

  “I’ll bet she’ll put you in the back room,” Pearl said glumly. “Women like us don’t sit up front where the decent folks can see us.”

  “Her other seamstress sits in the back room,” Janine said sharply, “and she’s a farm girl from west of here. I don’t mind settin’ there with her, not one little bit. At least I’ll be makin’ money and helpin’ out with things here.”

  “Yes, and once you get established, you may be able to afford a place of your own,” Augusta said quietly. “That’s our goal for each of you.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say, ma’am,” Glory said, digging in her pocket for a well-used handkerchief. “I’m just glad to be here.”

  “We’ll talk about your duties in the morning,” Augusta told her. “In the meantime, you’d better let Bertha take a look at your bruises. I’m assuming there are more beneath your dress.”

  Again Glory’s face turned a bright pink. “Yes. I fell down the stairs, trying to get out of Miss Josephine’s place. And then got my arm pretty near yanked off when I was almost at the train station. That horrible fella caught hold of me and tore my sleeve, but I couldn’t let him catch me.”

  “Well, you’re safe and sound with us. Beth Ann has made room for your things in her dresser.”

  Shamefaced, Glory shook her head. “I haven’t got any things to speak of. Just a sack I scooped up some stuff in. Maybe somebody can loan me a dress so I can wash mine out.”

  Augusta’s heart wrenched as she thought of living in such a state of uncertainty. “We’ll find you clothes, Glory. Janine will sort through the things from the missionary barrel the church ladies dropped off.

  “Now I have something else to speak to you about,” she said, her gaze touching each of the women who sat around the kitchen table.

  The restaurant held a decent crowd, considering that this was a weeknight. Yet, there was a table reserved by a window, and a young, fresh-faced waitress led Cleary and Augusta to be seated there. He held her chair, then moved to sit across from her.

  “I’ll have coffee,” he told the waiting girl, and then looked inquiringly at Augusta.

  “Tea, please,” she said, smiling at the young woman, her gaze remaining on the crisp white apron over a starched black dress as the waitress walked away.

  Cleary held a single piece of paper and offered it for Augusta’s inspection. “They’ve just come up with a menu here,” he told her. “They used to have a chalkboard inside the door. But someone decided they needed a touch of class, and they had Walter Dunnigan over at the newspaper office print these up for them.”

  “I see the special for Thursday is roast beef,” Augusta said. “That sounds good to me.” She handed the menu back to Cleary, and he felt her attention on him as he read quickly through the list of offerings.

  “That makes two of us then,” he said, placing the menu o
n the table. He glanced up and took his napkin from the table as their waitress returned. “Here comes our coffee and tea,” he told Augusta. “If you like, I’ll order for both of us.”

  She nodded, and he placed their order quickly. “I haven’t been here before,” she admitted in a low voice. “In fact, I haven’t been in a restaurant since my parents died.”

  “Lost your appetite?” he asked. “Or were you too busy to take the time?”

  “A little of each, I suppose,” she said, looking out the window to where a few stragglers occupied the sidewalk. “Everyone seems to have gone home. Town’s almost empty,” she said. “It makes me sad to see the lights go out in the establishments up and down Main street, and then only those with nowhere to go are left to wander.”

  “You have a tender heart, Gussie,” he told her quietly, bending to speak across the table. “I’d take your hand in mine if I could without compromising you in public. You make me want to do more than that, to tell the truth. Maybe when we get you home, we can talk about it.”

  She looked up at him, her blue eyes curious. Her mouth, pink and luscious, opened a bit and she touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not sure what you’re saying,” she said in a whisper.

  Her cheeks took on a rosy hue and Cleary made fists of his eager hands, ruing his rampant enthusiasm for the woman. He hadn’t meant to say such a thing to her. A man his age should certainly have more control than he was possessed of these days.

  “Forget I said anything,” he told her. “Let’s talk about your news. You said you’d learned something exciting from one of your ladies.”

  She brightened immediately and in moments had given him chapter and verse of Janine’s opportunity. “This is our first success story,” she said, beaming at him. “And Beth Ann has written her parents, asking to be allowed to come home. I sent along a note with her letter, assuring them of her good intentions.”

  “Will she fit in back home?”