To Kiss a Texan

TWELVE

ALLIE WATCHED THE OLD MAN CAREFULLY. GRAYhair hung past his collar, and his eyes were the color of the whiskey he drank. He raised a hand, weathered with age, and lightly brushed her cheek as reality of the present straightened his stance.

‘‘I’m sorry.’’ He tried to pull his emotions back into a body and mind too fragile to hold them in check. ‘‘There for a moment I thought I was looking at a woman I knew fifty years ago. You’re her spittin’ image, girl.’’

Wes tried again. ‘‘You are Sheriff Maxwell Hardy.’’ The words were far more a statement than a question. ‘‘I’m Wes McLain.’’

The elderly man nodded. ‘‘I’m Max Hardy. Retired sheriff. I’m the one who sent you the letter. Thought it was a fool thing to do at the time. Never dreamed you’d answer so fast.’’

He paused and stared at Allie again. ‘‘We’ve been looking for a survivor of the Catlin clan for years. Everyone but me gave up long ago, but I still go over to the Rangers’ office in Austin and check the reports now and again. Hoping.’’

‘‘You found the message posted by my sister-in-law, Nichole McLain?’’ Wes pulled a chair out for Allie then motioned for her to sit down. He did the same as he waved the bartender for drinks.

‘‘I’ve followed a dozen dead-end trails looking for one child.’’ Hardy returned to his chair, but his gaze never left Allie’s face. ‘‘I was one of the men who found the burned settlement back in ’52. We’d had a skirmish with the Comanches near the Sabine River and figured they were still angry when they came across Catlin and his people. The bodies had been burned but, near as we could figure, one was missing. One child. We weren’t even sure if it was a boy called Jimmy or a girl called Allie. The Catlins had a kid every spring, regular as clockwork. Near as I remember, Jimmy wasn’t even a year older than Allie.’’

‘‘Then, if she’s a member of the Catlin family, her parents are dead?’’ Wes had hoped he’d find a parent still living who would take her in with loving arms.

‘‘She’s Allie Catlin,’’ Hardy whispered. ‘‘Looks just like her grandma did when I first saw Victoria. I’d been hired as a scout back before the Republic. We brought part of Austin’s original three hundred settlers from the San Marcos River to the lower part of the Lavaco. About a dozen families. They was all afraid of the Karankawas then, hadn’t met up with the Apaches and Comanches. Most of them were upper-class, educated people. They didn’t take to the hard life.’’

The old man leaned back in his chair as his mind slipped into the past. ‘‘I remember it being powerful hot that summer, with the river sluggish and trees so thick with Spanish moss you had to fight your way to the water. I was heading down for a drink when a little slip of a woman came running toward me yelling like she was about to be scalped by a war party.’’

Hardy laughed, a low rumbling kind of sound that comes from one who laughs little in life. ‘‘Well, with my gun in one hand and a knife in the other, I hurried to save her. But the little lady didn’t need saving. She was so mad she grabbed my gun and disappeared into the moss.

‘‘A minute later, I heard a shots. Then, before I could follow, she was out of the foliage trading my empty gun for my knife. This time, I followed only a few steps behind. The sight I saw when I reached the river is as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday. There sat Victoria Catlin, proclaimed as one of the fairest beauties in the South, straddling a gator. She was stabbing him with my knife like she was fighting for her life, but that old gator was already dead.’’

Hardy raised one bushy eyebrow and winked at Allie. ‘‘She was still swearing and steaming when I pulled her off the poor critter. It seems the alligators down by the river loved the settlers’ hunting dogs for dinner. Only this one made the mistake of eating Miss Victoria’s pet.’’

Wes smiled. ‘‘Sounds like she was quite a woman.’’ He couldn’t help but think of Allie sitting atop Vincent about to stab him.

Hardy shook his head. ‘‘Miss Victoria is quite a woman. Outlived so many husbands she had to enlarge the family plot. Never took a one of their names after the first. Always said it wasn’t worth changing her monogram for something as temporary as marriage. Bore six children by Catlin, three boys and three girls.

‘‘The girls all died before they were grown. James, her oldest, was killed in the raid in ’52, like I said. Darron died at Shiloh. Michael, her baby, is in his forties now, but he doesn’t cast much of a shadow as a man. I figured if I could ever find James’s one survivor, Victoria’s only grandchild, she might die thinking she’d done something worthwhile in this life. From the size of the bones, we figured either Allie or James Junior lived.

‘‘James told me once that he ordered his wife to send the children to the woods if trouble came. So I spent the best part of a week looking, but no child. By the time we caught up with the war party, they’d traded off any captives.’’

Allie listened without expression to the old man’s story, not allowing hope to grow within her. She’d lived through too much to believe anything good was about to happen. The man seemed to think she had a brother named James, but that didn’t sound familiar to her. She remembered a boy, but James or even Jimmy didn’t seem to fit as his name.

Hardy looked at her, his whiskey eyes liquid with unshed tears. ‘‘Will you go with me to see Miss Victoria tomorrow? I’d give half of the time I have left on earth to see her face when she looks at you.’’

She glanced at Wes, but he was staring down into the drink a bartender had brought him. Allie didn’t know what to do, but it seemed to matter so much to the old man that she nodded.

‘‘I’ll call for you at nine.’’ A touch of the manners he’d learned in youth laced through Maxwell Hardy’s voice. ‘‘Thank you, Miss Allyce Meghan Catlin. After all these years, a simple letter brought you home.’’

‘‘I’ll be coming along,’’ Wes interrupted. ‘‘Just to see that she’s left in safe hands. She’s been through a great deal. I promised her that much.’’

The old sheriff looked at Wes as if he were intruding. ‘‘All right, Mr. McLain. I’ll call for you both. The ranch is about a two-hour ride from here. I assume you have horses, but a bullet I took in the leg a few years back prevents me from riding in anything but a buggy.’’

Hardy stood and gathered his gloves and hat to leave. He downed the last of his liquor. ‘‘Don’t tell anyone else in town why you’re here. There are those who might give quite a lot to see that no grandchild of Victoria’s ever reaches her ranch.’’

He left without explaining.

Wes ordered two bowls of the new kind of stew, called chili, he’d learned to eat on trail drives. They didn’t say a word as they waited. Wes drank another shot of whiskey and Allie stared at her hands. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to get her hopes up. He’d heard stories of families rejecting captives who’d lived with the Indians. He’d even seen a father once turn his back on his two daughters after they’d been returned to civilization. They were better off dead and, as far as he was concerned, they were, the father had said. The girls had cried and clung to him, but he’d pulled away and left them without another word.

Wes didn’t want to think about such a scene happening with Allie.

The boy who’d brought the tub to their room carried out two huge bowls of chili. He set them down in front of Wes and hurried away as if still embarrassed by the maid having struck him in front of Wes and Allie.

Breaking the silence, Wes mumbled, ‘‘Eat up,’’ as he shoved the first bite in his mouth. ‘‘They say this stuff was invented because the meat turns bad on the trail drives. Put enough peppers and chili powder in with it and the hands don’t notice.’’

Allie didn’t look at him as she tasted the meal.

The boy returned with a glass of milk for her and another whiskey for Wes.

‘‘Thanks, kid,’’ Wes said.

The boy faced him with a man’s measure of courage. ‘‘Not kid. My name’s Jason.’’

Wes always allowed a man, even a young one, his due of respect unless he proved he didn’t deserve it. ‘‘Thanks, Jason. Tell your mother this is mighty good chili.’’

Jason stood an inch taller as if bracing against the north wind. ‘‘I ain’t got no ma or pa.’’

Allie looked up. ‘‘No tribe?’’

He knew what she was asking. ‘‘No one, but I don’t need them. I’m fine on my own.’’

He was on the edge of manhood, too old to ask for a handout and too young to earn his keep.

‘‘Well.’’ Wes chose his words carefully. ‘‘We’re new in town and need a little advice. If you’d allow me to buy you supper, I’ve a heap of questions I need answering about the locals.’’

Jason brightened. ‘‘I know everyone in these parts.’’ He hesitated, glancing at the bowls, then smiled. ‘‘I suppose I got a slow enough spell to help you out.’’

In less time than Wes thought possible, the boy had fetched his own bowl of chili and a glass of milk. But he waited to eat until he’d answered a few questions.

While the boy ate, Wes learned all about the people called Catlin. According to Jason, Maxwell Hardy was an old sheriff down on his luck. He might be too poor to afford a full bottle of whiskey, but he was still more gentleman than any man in town.

Jason had heard of Victoria Catlin, but never seen her. Folks said the last time she left her house was to bury her son from the war. Some said she was crazy, others thought she’d just got tired of living and was holed up waiting to die. She had a little mouse of a sister who came in for supplies now and then.

What he’d heard of Michael Catlin wasn’t good. Folks still talked about the wild pranks he pulled in his youth. Sheriff Hardy kept him out of jail more than once and, talk was, Hardy went to Mexico about ten years back to keep Michael from swinging for murder.

Michael came back wilder than ever, and Hardy returned with a bullet still lodged in his leg. Brady was too quiet a place for the likes of Michael Catlin. This youngest, and only living, son of Victoria just passed through once in a while.

When they’d all finished their meal, Wes thanked the boy and walked out of the saloon with Allie only a step behind. He was halfway to the landing when he noticed she was no longer following.

Wes turned around to find her still in the lobby. She stared at the staircase as if it were on fire and he’d ordered her to climb.

‘‘Come on up, Allie, unless you plan to sleep with the horses.’’

To his shock, she turned and vanished out the front door of the hotel.

She was almost to the stables before he caught up with her.

He was careful not to touch her. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. ‘‘Allie, where’re you going?’’

She stopped so suddenly he almost ran into her. ‘‘To sleep with the horses,’’ she answered in a tone that let him know she thought his question a strange one.

Standing in the center of the muddy street, Wes watched her go. He didn’t know what to say. He’d just spent far too much money making sure she had a nice room, and the woman preferred to sleep with the horses. She had to be related to Victoria Catlin. She was every bit as crazy as a woman who’d fight an alligator over a pet.

Wes walked back to the hotel for his things. He couldn’t very well let her sleep in the livery alone. As he retrieved his gear and headed down the stairs, he realized this would probably be the last night he’d spend with her. Not that it mattered to him, but he’d grown used to having her near. She was a bushel of trouble, but she’d probably be as close to a wife as he’d ever have. If he didn’t need money so badly, he might just stay around and make sure she was treated right.

But he had to find the treasure and buy enough cattle to restock. He’d wasted too much of his life waiting to get started. Now was his time. The treasure might be a long shot, but it was time for a long shot to come in.

Wes entered the barn, thinking about exactly what he’d do with the money from the sell of the gold. He planned to send half to Vince, no matter what the stubborn man told him. Then, with the rest of the money, he’d buy as many head as he could, wait out the winter, and start counting calves next spring.

One lantern, nailed to a barrel in the center of the room, cast light over the stable. A half loft hung over one corner for hay storage. Most of the stalls were empty.

‘‘Allie?’’ Wes called as he walked the length of the barn. She didn’t answer, but a dusting of hay rained down from the loft, telling him where she was. ‘‘I thought I’d stay with you since you won’t go back to the hotel room.’’ He tried to make his words sound casual.There was no use pestering her about her insanity. ‘‘If you don’t mind.’’

He started up the ladder.

The lantern light reached only half the hayloft, but he could see her as he climbed. She didn’t turn in his direction as she spread her blanket over the hay.

He looped his saddlebags over the railing.

‘‘Now, don’t be worried about tomorrow,’’ he said, thinking she was probably planning to run again. ‘‘I know it seems a strong possibility that this old woman is your grandmother, but if she’s crazy you don’t have to stay.’’ He didn’t add that he had no idea what he’d do with her if this didn’t work out. ‘‘There’s bound to be another place for you if this doesn’t work out.’’

He stepped from the ladder and passed the blanket he carried from one hand to the other. ‘‘I’ll sleep by the door. That way, you’ll have no reason to be afraid here in the barn.’’ He flipped the blanket over his shoulder and put his foot back on the ladder.

She looked at him then with those huge blue eyes that always struck him with the intensity of their emotion. She appeared to be about a flea’s-width away from crying.

‘‘Or,’’ he fumbled for words, ‘‘I could bed down next to you for warmth. It’s not a cold night, but it might get that way before morning.’’

For a time, she watched him and he wasn’t at all sure she cared. Hell, he didn’t even know if he did. He was pretty sure they’d gotten past the point when she thought about killing him in his sleep, but he wasn’t sure she wanted to cuddle.

Finally, she made her choice by taking the few steps to him and lifting the blanket from his shoulder. She turned and spread it over hers.

Wes needed a little conversation, even if it was his own. ‘‘Well, all right. I guess I could sleep up here and keep you warm. I’ve no objections. I mean, after all, in the eyes of the law, we are man and wife. There’s nothing wrong. ’Course, some folks might think it strange that we have the best hotel room in town and choose to sleep with our horses. But I’m not saying a word about that.’’

She glanced at him as she pulled off her boots and placed them by his saddlebags.

‘‘No, not me,’’ he added quickly. ‘‘The barn seems just fine. It’s cleaner than most, and there aren’t enough horses in here to keep us awake.’’

He removed his gun belt and laid it within reach, then took off his vest and boots. When he spread out on the makeshift bed, Allie was still standing near the railing. The light was behind her, turning her hair to warm colors of fall. She untied the ribbon and placed it carefully on the board. Then she removed her dress and folded it over the rough wood.

Wes watched her, thinking how gracefully she moved. He knew she didn’t want to sleep in her clothes, but putting on a gown in a stable seemed strange. She must have thought so too, for she shoved the gown back in her bag and turned to face the bed.

He opened his mouth to tell her that skipping her gown was a wise idea since she might have to get dressed quickly in the morning. But no words came out as Wes watched her move toward him. He’d seen her in a dress and in Nichole’s high-necked nightgown, but he’d never seen her in just her underclothes. In truth, he’d seen very few women in their underthings. At the moment, he could think of none.

The chemise and drawer were a plain cotton, but they fit her body like a glove, molding like a second skin. The straps were an inch wide on her shoulders and bordered in lace. Lace also ran over the top of her breasts. He hadn’t given it all that much thought, but her waist was smaller than he’d guessed. Her hips nicely rounded and her breasts…

Wes looked away. He didn’t even want to think about her breasts. He couldn’t let his mind concentrate on those high, perfectly rounded breasts. ‘‘Maybe you should sleep in your dress,’’ he mumbled. ‘‘It won’t matter if it’s wrinkled.’’

He wouldn’t think of those breasts even if he thought he could barely see the outline of the darker tips.

He glanced back at her, just to check his memory. Sure enough, there was the outline of the tip of what he wasn’t thinking about showing through the cotton.

Allie didn’t answer him as she pulled the top blanket back and crawled in beside him.

Wes didn’t move. He was too busy trying not to remember the way her body looked with only a layer of cotton over it. The cotton wasn’t even covering all of her, he decided. Almost half of her was showing. When she breathed, maybe more. He closed his eyes and tried to calculate the percentage accurately.

Don’t think about them… I mean her, he reminded himself. He took in a deep breath and doubled his efforts as he stared at the ceiling.

An hour later, when she rolled against him sound asleep, he was still wide awake trying to clear his mind. He put his arm out for her to use as a pillow, and she cuddled against him for warmth, pressing the very thing he wasn’t thinking about against him.

Carefully, Wes placed his free hand at her waist, telling himself he was protecting her. He moved his face against her hair, loving the way it felt on his cheek.

‘‘Allie?’’ he whispered, not wanting to frighten her. ‘‘Allie, are you awake?’’

She rolled slightly and looked up at him. The look in her eyes was worry, not fear.

‘‘Everything’s all right.’’ He decided he’d been a fool for waking her. ‘‘Go back to sleep.’’

She placed her hand over his heart and closed her eyes again.

‘‘I was just thinking…’’ He tried to come up with something to tell her besides what had been on his mind. ‘‘This may be our last night together.’’ He was starting to hope so. Otherwise, he might never sleep again. ‘‘And I don’t want to frighten you, but I’d like to kiss you good-bye. You know, now, while it’s just us.’’

He’d expected her to use a few of the words she kept so miserly, but she didn’t.

She raised to one elbow and slowly leaned over him. Her hair draped around his face as she lowered her lips to his in a timid kiss.

Wes was so surprised, he didn’t react. Her lips lingered for a few moments on his, then she pulled away, cuddling back beneath his arm as if there was no more to say.

He lay wide awake as her breathing returned to normal. She was, without a doubt, the strangest creature he’d ever met. Here she was, all soft and feminine beside him, wearing nothing but her underwear that didn’t cover all it should, to his way of thinking, and she was sleeping like she was safe. Maybe she was. He’d never taken a thing from a woman that she didn’t willingly give. But at the rate his heart was pounding, his honor might kill him before dawn.

Moving his hand to her waist once more, he slid his fingers to her back and pulled her gently against him. She melted into his side. Her head moved from his arm to his chest so that now he could feel her slow intake of breath against his throat.

‘‘Allie,’’ he whispered against her hair, ‘‘I thought I might kiss you good-bye.’’

With sleepy eyes, she raised her head.