Lacy (46 page)

The other man chuckled. "Good for
you."

"I'll take good care of her,"Turk said
solemnly. "And I love her, if that matters."

"I knew that when you braced Wardell in the
cafe," Cole replied dryly. "Takes some kind of guts to confront a man
like that."

"He's not so tough. Not when it comes to
Katy. I don't like him," he added firmly. "But I guess I'm grateful for
what he did for her."

"I felt rather sorry for him," Cole
said quietly. "What we have, he'll never know."

Turk was silent for a long moment. "I want
to buy that land on the bottoms from you and build on it. Katy will want her
own house."

"You can have the land," Cole said.
"I'll make you a wedding present of it."

"I'm overwhelmed,"Turk replied, and
meant it. "But how can you afford to do that when you've in over your head
already?"

"I got a loan." Cole grinned.
"I'll make it now.. .You wait and see."

"Oh, I know how you are when you set your
mind to something." Turk nodded. "I won't bet against you." He
glanced at the hot chocolate and lifted an eyebrow. "Midnight snack?"

"Something of that kind. Aren't you
leaving?" Cole asked as he picked up the mugs.

"I guess so."Turk sighed. "Well,
good night."

"Sleep well."

"I don't think it would do much good to
return the sentiment," Turk answered as he opened the back door. "You
need to bolt those damned slats down."

Cole's eyes flashed, but before he could get the
words out,Turk was safely out of range, still chuckling.

Christmas morning dawned cold and fair, and just
after the regular worship service in the small church in Spanish Flats, Katy
was married to Turk with the whole congregation beaming approvingly at them. In
her long white dress with its high lace collar and satin train, a white Spanish
mantilla covering her face that Turk lifted reverently to kiss her, she was
beautiful. Turk told her so, several times, when they danced at the house where
a small reception was held.

Marion Whitehall was blossoming in the
affectionate atmosphere around her, and with the emotional turmoil reduced to
a bare minimum, she was settling physically into a much less strained routine.
Her health had improved to the point that her doctor even dared extend his
fatal prognosis to a stretch of years, if Marion were careful. Indeed she would
be, and now she had grandchildren to look forward to.

Faye hadn't come to celebrate with them, but
Christmas was special all the same. They ate a hearty dinner of turkey and ham,
and exchanged presents. Lacy's, from Cole, was a new wedding band, with a
raised relief of roses, that touched her heart. Hers to him had been a new
watch, and a new chain to hang it on.

Late in the afternoon,Turk and Katy caught the
train at Spanish Flats to San Antonio for a brief honeymoon, and they promised
to see Faye while they were in town.

She'd pretended that she was supremely calm, but
Katy had butterflies in her stomach when she and Turk were shown into their
elegant room with their luggage.

It would be her first intimacy since the night
Danny had died, and Katy had misgivings. She wasn't at all sure if she was
going to be able to go through with it. If she couldn't, how would her marriage
survive?

IN SAN A
ntonio
, Faye
was still half in shock after having Lacy's
cousin Ruby read Ben's letter to her. It was postmarked Paris, France, and in it Ben recounted his small successes, including the forthcoming publication of a book
he'd written. He was doing very well, he wrote, but he still felt unhappy about
the way he'd treated

Faye. She was very special to him. He wanted to
take care of her and the baby, if she'd let him.

Faye was touched, but there was plenty of water
under the bridge now. She had her independence and a life of her own. She
didn't have to be dependent on anybody. Besides, she was learning how to read
and write. Who could tell what opportunities might present themselves once she
was literate!

She couldn't write back. It had obviously
escaped Ben's mind that she couldn't even read, that she would have to have
somebody read his letter to her. He'd always been thoughtless. It wasn't
malicious, but it was an indication of how insensitive he was to other people.
She might like to see him again, but not until she was on equal intellectual
footing.

Later that day, she went to Ruby and asked her
to write to Ben for her. She thanked him for his interest, but told him that
she was enjoying her independence and could do without his help. It was a cool,
polite little note that would say much more than words. She smiled to herself
as she went to bed that night. She did wish she could be a fly on the wall when
arrogant Ben Whitehall discovered that the silly little country girl he'd left
behind didn't want him. She didn't doubt that it would come as a shock.

In fact, it did. Ben read it three times before
he realized that the handwriting couldn't be Faye's, because Faye couldn't even
read. He groaned as he got up from his desk and paced the room. Why hadn't he
remembered that? It must have been one more strike against him where Faye was
concerned.

He'd done an excellent job of messing up his
life, he thought.

Not only had he ruined his relationship with his
family, he'd alienated the one woman who'd ever really loved him.. .the woman
who was going to have his child.

His twenty-first birthday had come earlier in
the week, without a word from home. It was Christmas, and he had no one to
share it with except the pert mademoiselle who lived down the hall. That wasn't
the appetizing proposition it would have been just a week ago. He was homesick.
He missed Texas. He wondered if his mother was still alive, because no one at
Spanish Flats had answered his letter. Cole was probably still mad at him. His
elder brother wasn't a forgiving man.

He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair
and stopped to check his wallet for the advance he'd been given on his book
contract. He had enough for a small celebration, he decided. God knew, anything
was better than sitting here brooding about his mistakes.

Chapter Twenty-One

In
a hotel room in San Antonio,Turk was standing by the window, wearing nothing at all. His face was harder
than ever, his eyes full of anguish. Katy lay under the covers, still shivering
as she tried to come to grips with her fear of letting go in a man's arms. All
his skill hadn't managed to ease her trepidation, loosen her locked muscles.
She was in tears, and Turk was furious. It didn't bode well for their future.

Katy dreaded the outburst that was sure to come
as she stared toward Turk. She could feel his anger in the way he'd left her,
the tautness of his nude body a threat in itself. But he hadn't lashed out at
her, and that was puzzling.

"I know you're angry..." she began
hesitantly.

"No," he replied, his voice very
gentle, although he kept his back to her. "I'm not angry, Katy. I knew it
wasn't going to be easy." He had a smoking cigarette in one hand and he
was peering down at the streetlamps with eyes that barely saw, his heart still
shuddering from frustrated desire.

Katy sat up against the pillows with her knees
under her chin, swallowing tears. "I've done so many bad things..."
she began brokenly.

"Oh, Katy," he said softly turning to
look at her with eyes that were quiet and loving. "You've done nothing but
be a victim, sweetheart. Your mind won't let go of the way Danny died. That's
all."

She lowered her eyes to her nervous hands.
"I can't help that," she said in a subdued tone. "I wish I
could!"

He moved back to the bed and sat down beside
her, his body warm against her hip. He was nude, and completely unselfconscious
about it, but Katy's eyes kept darting away as she struggled between
embarrassment and shy fascination. He was still blatantly aroused, which didn't
help, either.

"We're married," he reminded her,
smiling. "It's all right if you look at me, Katy."

"I'm not as uninhibited as I used to think
I was." She looked up at him worriedly. "I loved you, that first
time," she blurted out. "Loved you, wanted you—until there was
nothing else in the world except you. Leaving was the hardest thing I'd ever
done. It isn't what happened to Danny—Well," she confessed, "maybe a
little. But mostly it's that I can't quite believe we're married." Her
face was pale with her fears. "Turk, you never wanted to marry me before.
What changed?"

"The way Wardell looked in that cafe,"
he said shortly. He averted his face. He hated acknowledging the other man, but
it was unavoidable. "He'd have taken you blind, limping, and mindless—any
way he could get you. And then I saw what I'd done to you, and I was scared to
death that you might feel sorry enough for him to accept what he offered
you."

"Nothing.. .scares you," she said
falteringly, with a shaky smile.

He looked at her, his eyes like gray smoke in
autumn. "Losing you does," he said simply. "Something inside me
died when you left here. I didn't even miss it until you came back and all the
colors were there again, all the vividness I'd lost. I ran all the way to the
house, expecting to see you the way you were, all laughter and
mischievousness." He flinched. "And instead, I found an empty shell,
without life or sparkle. I knew that I was responsible for that. You loved me.
I knew it, but I wasn't ready. Rather, I thought I wasn't." He smoothed
back her dark, tangled hair and searched her wide green eyes quietly. "You
don't trust me not to walk out again, isn't that the real fear, Katy? You don't
think I'm committed—that we're married because of guilt or pity on my
part."

She couldn't deny it. Her face gave her away.

He smiled ruefully and belatedly noticed that
his ashes were falling on the old Persian rug that covered the floor near the
bed. He reached for an ashtray and put it out. "Listen,"he said when
he'd finished, holding her gaze, "we've got the rest of our lives. All the
time there is. So don't feel that you have to force yourself to sleep with me,
or that you need to feel guilty because you don't want me yet. I'm in no hurry,
and there'll be no pressure, no matter how long it takes. I love you,
Katy," he said softly, smiling. "And I'm not going anywhere."

The first tear caught her unaware. She felt it
escape her eye, make a warm trail down her cheek that quickly cooled. It was
followed by another and another. Turk held her close and rocked her, pillowing
her wet face against his hair-roughened chest.

"Watering pot," he said accusingly,
with a deep chuckle. "What is it now?"

"You have to be sure," she choked.
"Because I can't leave you again—not even if it's the best thing for you.
I think I might die without you now..."

His arms contracted involuntarily. "You
little fool! Didn't you hear what I told Wardell? That if I lost you, I might
as well be dead, because there was no life without you? It wasn't just words,
Katy. I meant it. Oh, God, I meant it!" He searched for her mouth and
kissed it through the salty tears, groaning as the fever began to burn in him
all over again. He had to pull back while he still could. Katy didn't want
this...

"No!" she protested when his head
started to lift. She caught his full lower lip in her small teeth and trapped
it. "Not now."

The sensations he felt made him shudder. He'd
wanted her before, but never so desperately. He'd been in control the last
time, but he knew instinctively that he couldn't hold back long enough to
please her now. It would be quick and rough, and that was the last thing he
could do to her under the circumstances.

He caught the clinging arms around his neck and
gently pulled them loose. His hands were trembling, like his body.
"No," he said huskily. "Katy, you don't understand. I can't hold
anything back..."

She rubbed her face against his chest hungrily
while her hands felt for the hem of her gown and suddenly wrenched it from her
body. She sat up proudly, inviting his eyes to look at the firm thrust of her
breasts, the taut dusky peaks blatantly signaling her hunger.

"Yes, look at me," she whispered,
shivering. "I used to lie awake at night and remember how it felt the
first time you saw me like this."

His lips parted on a shattered breath. His big
hands cupped her gently and his thumbs rubbed tenderly at the distended
nipples. He heard her gasp, watched her back arch like a cat inviting a
stroking hand.