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Authors: Stolen Ecstasy

BOOK: Hannah Howell
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“I can hardly wait.” Even though her tone of voice was sarcastic, she smiled slowly, realizing that she meant every word.
Chapter Twelve
 
A
S THE
W
ALSH RANCH CAME INTO VIEW
, Leanne felt the knots in her stomach tighten. Owen and Hunter, beside her on the wagon seat, kept up a constant stream of conversation, often drawing Jed and Charlie, riding alongside them, into the talk. It was meant to keep her from getting nervous. She felt almost guilty when it failed.
“Well, I’ve damn well run out of things to say.”
Leanne looked at Hunter and almost laughed despite the case of nerves that made her feel almost sick. “No? Truly?”
He gave her a mock scowl. “You weren’t even listening.”
“Nonsense. Every pearl of wisdom, every jewel of wit is emblazoned on my mind.”
After a brief glare at a chuckling Owen, he gave Leanne a quick kiss, laughing softly when she blushed. “Sassy. That’s what I want to hear.” He spoke quietly, trying to keep his words as private as possible. “That sharp-tongued temper of yours will be the best weapon you have against whatever nonsense my mother tries. If she scents a weakness, or thinks she does, she will push all the harder.” He sighed and draped his arm around her shoulders. “I wish I was taking you to a happier home. I also wish I could say I’d be right there for you every minute, but for a while I can’t be.”
“What you’ll be going after is far more important than trying to spare me some discomfort.”
She meant what she said. The words, however, did not calm her nerves or instill the strength she would need. Only to herself would she admit that one of her strongest concerns was that Hunter would start to listen to his mother if the woman decided against her. She knew she should have more faith in Hunter, but she had already been cast aside by her father, Charity, and the whole town of Clayville.
The wagon was just pulling to a halt after running a gauntlet of welcoming greetings from the ranch hands, when the door of the large house burst open. Out strode a man she knew had to be Hunter’s father. Sloane Walsh was an older, more weathered, and slightly grayed version of Hunter. When three younger men followed close on his heels, she decided the man had left his stamp on all his sons. Behind them strolled a lovely older woman—fair, straight, and elegant. At her side was a young girl who not only held the woman’s looks but mimicked her way of moving. They remained on the veranda, hands clasped, as the men strode to the wagon.
“Damn, Tarrant, you’re looking good.” Sloane embraced his eldest son as soon as Hunter hopped down off of the wagon seat.
Since Hunter was occupied in a round of hearty greetings, Owen helped Leanne down and murmured, “See, little Leanne? It’s all going well. You can stop worrying about Hunter now.”
Startled, she looked at him. She had the sinking feeling that he could see straight into her heart to all she kept hidden from Hunter. Then Hunter was tugging her by the hand to meet his father and brothers. She was a little puzzled when he did not immediately introduce her.
“I’d like you to meet a few people.” He signaled Jed and Charlie forward and introduced them. “These two helped me bring in Watkins. Sebastian feels certain whatever charges may be against them will be dropped. I was hoping we could find them some work.”
“We can always use more hands, especially at this time of the year,” Sloane said. He pointed toward a tall, thin Mexican lounging against the corral fence. “Just saunter over there to Ramón and tell him I’ve hired you on. He’ll see to you.” As soon as the pair left, he looked at Hunter. “Where are your manners, son? You should’ve introduced the lady first.”
“I was saving the best for last. This is Leanne Summers. I’ve asked her to be my wife.”
After an initial start of surprise, the Walsh men offered congratulations that she felt were honest ones. They greeted her with all the charm any Southern gentleman could aspire to and she felt a little of her nervousness ease. Nevertheless, when Hunter draped his arm around her shoulders, she could not fully resist the urge to edge closer to him.
As Sloane Walsh gallantly kissed her hand, she saw him quickly glance towards the veranda. Despite a voice that warned her not to, she too glanced that way. For a brief moment there was a look of genteel horror on the older woman’s face, before her features grew calm but cold. The girl at her side looked curious, then, catching the look on her mother’s face, quickly imitated it.
“Glad to meet you, Leanne,” Hunter’s father said. “We did hear a few things about you from Marshal Tuckman. Your troubles have been all sorted out then?”
“It’s just a formality now, Pa,” Hunter told him. “I want it in writing from a territorial judge.”
“Not a Texas judge?”
“Most of Watkins’s crimes were committed in New Mexico. It’s been decided there’s the best chance to get him hanged there.”
“Well, let’s stop lagging about out here. We’ll introduce Leanne to the missus and Laurie, then set ourselves down in the parlor to chew all this over. Reckon you wouldn’t mind a cool drink to wash the dust down.”
Leanne could feel the tension in Hunter’s arm as they walked toward his mother. She could see it in the faces of the Walsh men as well. She found it sad that this woman’s intractability, her need to change people into what they were not or did not want to be, had drawn such a clear line through the center of a family. Leanne wondered if the woman knew what she had lost. Worse, as she looked into Lorraine Walsh’s chilly green eyes, she had to wonder if the woman knew but simply did not care.
The look the woman gave Leanne told her more than she really cared to know. There would be no welcome from Lorraine Walsh. What Leanne read in that one look was contemptuous dismissal. It stung her pride. Unfortunately, it also plucked at the feelings of inadequacy she was trying so hard to shed. Lorraine gave no greeting, simply stared a moment, then looked at Hunter.
“Did I hear you say you are not yet cleared of charges, Tarrant?”
“You heard me say it is just a formality now, Mother. A signature on a piece of paper.”
“And you have had the audacity to bring three of your outlaw friends into my home.”
“Two friends, one fiancée. And none of them outlaws.”
“And I suppose their pardons are but a formality as well.”
“Pardon implies I’ve done something wrong that needs forgiving. Neither Leanne nor I has committed any crime.”
“I believe it’s my home as well, Lorraine,” Sloane growled as he nudged past her and strode into the house, everyone quickly falling into step behind him. “I believe it’s time you played the hostess. We would like something cool to drink in the parlor, a meal started, and a room readied for Miss Summers.”
“The room next to mine,” Hunter said, glimpsing but ignoring Leanne’s blush.
Deciding that Mrs. Walsh’s lack of protest was no compliment, Leanne inwardly sighed. She did want to be close to Hunter, especially since she would see little of him for a while. It would have been better, however, if Hunter had made his wants known with a little more discretion.
Conversation remained light until drinks were served and Lorraine left. Hunter’s young sister followed her mother at first, but slipped back into the room a moment later. Laurie Walsh was not tied as firmly to her mother as the men seemed to think, Leanne mused as the girl found a seat in the corner of the room.
“Are you sure about getting your name cleared, Tarrant?” Sloane sprawled in a chair, his long legs splayed in front of him.
“Very sure.” Hunter smiled faintly. “And I’ve been called Hunter for over a year. I find I like it.”
“Y’know, that doesn’t surprise me much. You favored it when you were younger too. I’ll see if I can remember that.”
“Do you think it’ll take long to get this Watkins business really finished?”
Hunter looked at his brother Craig, just two years younger, where he lounged against the mantelpiece, a carved marble monstrosity their mother had insisted upon. “Depends on how long it’ll take to get the man tried and sentenced. I have to follow it through to the end. I’m an important witness. Leanne”—he picked her hand up from where it rested next to him on the settee they shared and held it in both of his—“is not needed. She was only a victim, a kind of hostage. Enough of Watkins’s men have sworn to testify against him that Charlie and Jed aren’t needed either. It was felt it would be better for their chances of reprieve if they just stayed out of it. Sebastian will be vouching for them.”
“They are good men, Mr. Walsh,” Leanne felt compelled to add. “They are easily dragged into things. Once with Watkins, I fear they lacked the wit to think of a way to extract themselves from that man’s web. They aren’t his hired killers.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Pa. They didn’t really come with us to help bring Watkins to justice, although they did that well enough. They tagged along because I had Leanne and they weren’t sure what I was up to. They were watching out for her. However, once they saw I wasn’t off my head, wasn’t going to hurt her, they stayed anyway.”
Hunter explained how Jed and Charlie had been drawn into an outlaw life. “Mostly now, they’re just after a place to stay, regular meals, and a few coins in their pockets,” he concluded.
“I know the kind of men you’re talking about. Good-hearted bumblers. They’ll be just fine here. Ramón will set them straight.”
“I wish to hell someone had wired me when all the trouble started,” Justin Walsh growled, his green eyes narrowed as he surveyed his kin from his chair. “I would’ve come straight home. Wasn’t doing much in New Orleans anyway except tolerating Mother’s kin. I might’ve been able to help.”
“I appreciate the thought, Justin, but there wasn’t much that could’ve been done except get Watkins. I had to be the one to do that, if only because he thought he’d made me one of his. Or so I thought. Truth is, the man didn’t really remember me until I told him I was there to take him back to answer for his crimes.”
Molly Pitts quietly entered to say Leanne’s room was ready. Leanne, eager to wash off the dust from the journey, excused herself and left with the plump, pretty housekeeper. It might be just as well if she left the Walsh men alone for a while, although until Laurie slipped into the room after Molly left, Leanne did not realize the girl was following her. After murmuring a greeting, Leanne turned her attention to washing up.
“Did you really ride with those outlaws?”
“I’m afraid so. I did not have a great deal of choice.”
“Mother says you should have stayed in jail and straightened out the confusion if you were really innocent.”
“That would have been a little difficult, as the sheriff who put me in jail was one of those outlaws.” Watching the girl in the mirror, she saw young Laurie mull that over for a while.
“Mother says you won’t be marrying Tarrant. She won’t allow it.”
“I believe Hunter is a grown man, more than old enough to do as he pleases. I’m sorry your mother does not approve.”
“Mother says you’re nothing but a cheap little whore who thinks to better herself.”
It was an effort, but Leanne forced back her first reaction—a surge of anger that had her wanting to slap that pretty face. The girl was about fifteen and knew very well how those words could hurt, yet Leanne did not think that was really why Laurie said them. There was a look on the girl’s face that gave Leanne the feeling Laurie wanted to hear a rebuttal of her mother’s slander, one she could believe. Leanne wondered if Mrs. Walsh was aware of how precarious her hold was on her daughter.
“Considering the fact that I—er, took up with your brother when I thought he was an outlaw, my intention could scarcely have been to better myself.” Drying off, she moved to find a clean dress.
“Tarrant is an outlaw. And why do you call him Hunter?”
“That’s the name I came to know him by. And he’s not and never was an outlaw. He was falsely accused, made to look guilty by the real criminal. If he was an outlaw, do you really think Marshal Tuckman and all the lawmen congregating in Little Creek right now would let him just ride off?”
Laurie shrugged. “My mother has already picked out a woman for Tar—Hunter to marry.”
“Has she now. I would have thought that, at twenty-eight years of age, Hunter was quite old enough to choose his own bride. I’m sorry, however, that his choice has displeased your mother.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, but I am. Strife within a family is something worth feeling sorry about.”
“You could fix it by going away.”
Buttoning her dress, Leanne looked at the girl. “No, I couldn’t, and I think you know that. The trouble here was well rooted before I set foot in this house. I think my leaving just might make it worse.”
“The judge’s daughter—”
“What judge’s daughter?” Hunter growled as he stepped into the room and eyed his sister with suspicion. “Good God, not Patricia Spotford? Don’t tell me Mother is still harping on that? She’s married anyway.”
“She’s a widow now
and
Patricia Spotford has breeding.”

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