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Authors: Martha Hix

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BOOK: Magic and the Texan
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“I was afraid of that.”
 
 
The candlelit church was empty, save for a pianist whose fingers never seemed to hit the right keys.
Bethany stopped for holy water, then strolled down the aisle. The big piano sat left of the rail where Bethany had pledged her heart to Jon Marc, even though God hadn't been listening. Her lips moved in prayer, that someday she would become a bride in the eyes of the Almighty.
If that day were to dawn, then accord must come to La Salle County. Terecita López might not hit the proper ivories, but she could hold the key to peace.
The dancer wore a cotton skirt, as scarlet as a painted lady's lips, and a white peasant blouse. Her long hair flowed down her back. She stopped striking keys.
Whirling around on the piano bench, she said, “Ah. It is the bride of Señor O'Brien. Wearing britches. Did you not know ladies should wear skirts?”
“Don't accuse me of being a lady,” Bethany returned lightly. “I'd like to think of myself as simply a ranch-wife.”
“I would like to think of myself as a lady. Or at least a good piano player.” Terecita sighed. “What brings you to Santa Maria tonight?”
“We—I've returned Sabrina. She'll be safer here.”
“Yes, safer.”
Bethany approached the fledgling musician, then gestured to the bench. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sit down.”
Scooting next to Terecita, Bethany touched an ivory, but not hard enough to make a sound. “When a woman is in love, it's peace she seeks. I love Jon Marc. Do you love Hoot Todd?”
“Sometimes.”
That brought a chuckle. “Men can be aggravating, can't they? Occasionally they're lovable. Other times, we could pinch their heads off, couldn't we?”
“A stiletto slicing their throats is what they deserve.”
“Would you kill Hoot?”
Terecita shook her head. “I wish
mi viejo
calm. It pleases me that you gave Chico pause to think about his deeds.”
Bethany tried not to snicker at Terecita mixing “old man” with boy. Yet the import of that statement sunk in. “How much did he tell you?”
Terecita patted her hand. “Do not worry,
amiga
. I will tell no one.”
Bethany would have to take her at her word, since she had no other choice. Terecita's promise didn't evoke a great deal of confidence, nevertheless.
This visit isn't about you.
“Would you kill Jon Marc?” she asked.
“Many times I considered it. He embarrassed me in front of the other whores in Laredo. He shamed me so much that I couldn't stay there. I had nowhere else to go but here, where I am always reminded of my shame.”
“I feel in my heart Jon Marc didn't mean to shame you. He did not share his body—”
not much, anyhow
“—before marriage.”
Terecita's eyes rounded. “You mean it wasn't just me?”
“He thinks you're quite lovely.”
A smile brighter than candlelight lit Terecita's round face. “Since he is married now, do you think he might be interested in a threesome?”
“He believes in fidelity of marriage.”
“Oh.”
“Terecita ... do you know about Peña?”
“Yes. He is dead. At Señor O'Brien's hand.”
“Unfortunately, yes. But my husband wants no more bullets to fly. That's why we must speak with Hoot. Where is he, Terecita? Where can we find him?”
“He and his
discipulos
gather at Salado Creek, at the cabin once used by Luis de la Garza.” Terecita chewed her bottom lip. “Señora . . . Chico is a bad man in many ways, but he is good in others. He does not believe children should be touched by wicked hands. Tell him . . . tell him Peña wanted to buy Sabrina for a night.”
Shocked—sickened!—Bethany murmured, “Surely you didn't.”
“I would
never
give my daughter into wicked hands. I want the best for her. That is why she lives here at the church. That is why I decided to allow you to sew clothes for her. And to let my child visit the nice lady who smiles at her. I was wrong that day, when I ordered you not to help her.”
“No hard feelings.”
“Thank you, señora. I hope you understand why I must send her away with the orphans. For her own good.” Tears glistened in Terecita's black eyes. “Someday, my Sabrina will be a lady.”
“You needn't send her to the orphanage. Jon Marc and I will educate her, Terecita. We'll find a good school. There's no need for us to lose her.”
“Do you mean that?”
“With all my heart. And with my husband's approval.”
“My prayers are answered.” The mother hugged the aunt, saying, “
Mil gracias
, señora. You are a fine lady.”
Complimented to the core, Bethany smiled.
“Go, señora. Do good for Sabrina. And for us all.”
There was no chance that Jon Marc would allow Bethany to confront Hoot on her own. She hoped whatever powers she'd used on her brother would hold, at least once more. She shoved up from the piano bench. “Good-bye, Terecita.”
“Vaya con Dios.”
“You, too,
amiga
. Go with God.” Lifting her eyes, Bethany added a silent prayer. That He wouldn't turn his back, wouldn't make her husband pay for his wife's many sins.
If You guide us through this, I will repay you. In whatever way You require.
 
 
They found Hoot Todd and his desperadoes at a line shack on the Salado that rightly belonged to Rancho Caliente.
“We come in peace,” Jon Marc said when a mean-faced brigand opened the cabin door; he and Beth stared at the business ends of a dozen or so six-shooters, including the leader's.
This was not the smartest undertaking Jon Marc had ever delved in. He didn't like the idea, especially with Beth at his side. Hoot Todd couldn't be trusted.
Nonetheless, Jon Marc had known if he hadn't agreed to find this lowly gang, she would have done it on her own.
“Raise your arms, O'Brien.” Hoot did his showpiece trick, twirling both revolvers on forefingers, then leveling them at Jon Marc. “Xavier, get his gun. Beth, you packin' a weapon?”
“None but my sharp tongue.”
“Ain't she great?” Hoot grinned so big that his eye patch lifted a fraction of an inch.
“Yeah, my wife is great,” Jon Marc answered, as Todd's minion divested him of pistol.
Bandits inched forward, a trio sidewinding behind Jon Marc and Beth. He stepped backward, but not soon enough.
Todd stirred one gun barrel. “Tie 'em up, boys.”
Damn.
I should've gathered my men to back this up
. Jon Marc's fists flew; they did no good. The bandits descended like locusts, had him and Beth in strangleholds in no time.
Magic went only so far.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hoot Todd, order your men to untie me and my husband. This instant!”
“Can't do that, Beth. O'Brien done us wrong, killing Peña. Can't let that go unpunished.”
Hemp rope ate into Bethany's arms and legs, as she knew it must burn her husband. She turned a frosted glare on the
bandidos
, who jeered and laughed, while sucking down tequila and smoking cigars. Her cool eyes settled on Hoot Todd. One of those revolting stogies clamped between his teeth, he tilted a straight chair back on its rear legs, resting pistols and hands on his thighs, his forefingers not moving from triggers.
She and Jon Marc might be outnumbered, might be tied up like animals on their way to slaughter, but she still had her tongue. “Hoot? Would that be your given name?”
His chair snapped to four legs. “Now, Beth . . .”
“Tell someone to open a shutter.” If only she'd listened to Jon Marc, Caliente men would have been outside, ready to make things right, in case they continued to go wrong. Every once in a while, a wife ought to listen to her husband.
“You're going to choke us to death with cigar smoke. Really, Mor- ... Hoot, you don't want that on your conscience.”
“Crack a shutter,” he ordered one of the men, who didn't look much different from the rest, outside missing an arm.
“Thank you,” she said primly, while Jon Marc cautioned her in a low voice to be careful. “Hoot, I'm going to ask again. Would you please have these ropes dispensed with?”
“Xavier, Morales, take off the ropes.”
Jon Marc uttered, “Amazing.”
When Bethany shook free of the bonds, she said to her brother, “We're here to talk peace, Hoot Todd. Just you, me, and my husband. May we have some privacy?”
A pistol waved. Hoot motioned his head toward the door. “Wait outside, amigos.”
The desperadoes cried foul, yet they eventually took their leave.
“You want a drink, Beth?” Hoot asked, once the associates were out of the shack.
“Yes, I believe I do. Pour my husband one, too.”
“I'm not interested in his liq—”
“We're just going to have a nice neighborly drink, husband,” she interrupted, wishing she could thump Jon Marc's antagonistic head.
Hoot blew dust out of two glasses—Bethany cringed to think what might have roamed the bottoms—then poured generous shots of tequila. He handed them over.
She looked into the glass, not to check for small varmints. She recalled her wedding picnic, when last she'd tasted the potent juice of cactus. Would this night turn out better than that one? If her prayers were answered.
Jon Marc spoke. “Todd, my wife wants peace. I want it, too. What can we do to stop our feud?”
She was proud of Jon Marc for asking. It hadn't been easy, swallowing pride to beg his enemy.
“Peña weren't the smartest hombre to come down the pike,” Hoot replied, “but he was ours.”
“Your men would back down,” Jon Marc mentioned, “if you gave the word.”
“Nope. Won't do it. Did talk 'em outta skinnin' you. You can be thankful for that.”
A shiver raked Bethany.
“What if I give that corral of horses, down the creek?” Jon Marc took a sip of tequila. “Would that call it even?”
“Nope.”
“Look, Todd. I know you've had a bone to pick, ever since Wilson ran you off the Caliente. But you got the better of him, burning him out like you did. When is enough, enough?”
“Fires are such cowardly things,” Bethany interjected. “Hoot, you're way too noble for fires.”
Jon Marc slanted a look that asked if she'd lost her mind. “That fire wasn't my idea,” Hoot said slowly.
“Then whose was it?” Jon Marc wanted to know.
“That don't make you no never-mind.”
“It's not too late for a showdown,” Jon Marc challenged.
Bethany's heart tripped. “No more showdowns. The last one wasn't even a fair duel. Hoot, Peña ambushed my husband, not the other way around. The law of the West says a man has a right to defend himself. But that's not important right now. You ordered your underling to run Jon Marc ragged, but Peña ambushed him instead. Simply didn't listen to you, did he?”
“Peña was a mite hotheaded.”
“Unruly minions can sure make a legend look bad.”
Hoot rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You reckon?”
“I most certainly do. By the way, did you know Terecita says Peña was downright evil?”
Hoot took a thought-filled drag. “What did Terecita say?”
“Peña had a habit of buying young children for illicit purposes.” That was an exaggeration. But if he'd procured Sabrina, he could have very well done other children wrong. “I understand this sort of worm isn't even respected in prisons.”
“Peña never did nothin' like that,” Hoot objected.
Jon Marc looked as sickened as his wife had been at the church.
“Terecita swears he offered money for Sabrina.” Bethany roused a suspicious mien in her brother. “You figure she lied?”
“Naw.” Hoot's face went ashen. “Terecita wouldn't lie.”
Jon Marc spoke. Quietly. “Seems to me, a man like Peña doesn't deserve to be mourned.”
“Or to have his death avenged,” Bethany appended.
Hoot shook his head. “I don't rightly know what to think.”
“What time is it?” Bethany asked, the Peña ploy having gone awry.
Now both men looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, then Hoot got a knowing gleam in that single eye.
“Did you know your pretty little wife give me a present?” Hoot dug in his shirt pocket. “This.”
The fob watch dangled from its chain, light from the lantern dancing off gold.
What was he up to? she wondered. Was this a challenge? A threat to expose her as a Todd?
Bad gamble, girl
.
Hoot looked at the gift lovingly. Jon Marc had never frowned as deeply. Bethany decided not to borrow trouble.
“I'm waiting for the time, Hoot,” she said.
“Near on two in the morning.”
“No wonder I'm so tired.” She feigned a yawn. “Land's sake, the hour is too late for chats. Why, if I don't get my beauty sleep, I'm liable to be too tired to bake a nice lemon pie tomorrow.” She paused while Hoot smacked his lips and Jon Marc flattened his. “Did you know we have company from Memphis? They brought enough sugar and lemons to make a dozen pies.”
“Ain't et no lemon pie since the Oklahoma Territory. Nobody's ever got enough sugar 'round these parts to bake one.”
“I've got sugar. Flour, too. You got any lard, Hoot? I haven't had a chance to render any. Must have it for pie crust. Maybe Padre Miguel has some.”
“Would you hush about sugar and pies?” Jon Marc glared, his mind obviously on why she'd given Hoot an expensive gift.
“Sure would be a shame, if I was too busy fighting off a feud to bake pies tomorrow.” She lifted her glass toward Hoot, as if in salute, but cast a glance at Jon Marc's wary countenance. “Husband, do you remember promising our vaqueros a feast to celebrate our marriage? Do you suppose we could get one organized in the morning?”
He jacked up a gold-dusted eyebrow. A moment slipped by before he twitched a shoulder, falling in a line, albeit crooked. “Don't see why not. Catfish Abbott is mustering the Caliente men, as we speak. He may have them at ranch headquarters already. May not stay put. Catfish being a worrywart, he's liable to wonder what's keeping us. You did tell our guests we were meandering this way, didn't you?”
Men! Why were they as difficult to handle as greased pigs? Here she was, skating like a hog on ice, yet her pigheaded husband made veiled threats. What could she do but support him?
“I did.” She nodded, although she hoped it wouldn't set Hoot off. “I said we'd check your horses, here on the Salado.”
Hoot sucked his teeth.
“Sure would be a shame, if they had to come all this way, just to turn around for a celebration,” she said. “Why, I bet Padre Miguel would be so pleased at eating lemon pie he might even bless the meal. Would you like to join us, Hoot? Terecita and Sabrina are welcome. Your men, too. We'd be like one big happy family. A good Catholic miracle.”
Hoot sighed. His eye woefully downcast, he holstered his six-shooters. “This county'd get downright civilized.”
“Which no doubt will bring writers here, in search of stories about the wild days.”
“That'd be nice,” her brother murmured.
“We must add Isabel Marin and Mr. Short to the party list,” Bethany said. “We wouldn't want to leave anyone out. Should we tell Liam to leave Stumpy at the post office?”
“I don't believe this,” Jon Marc muttered.
“Tomorrow, would you be kind enough, husband, to read from one of your poetry books? I think entertainment would add the right touch.” Provided Marcus Johnson stubbed his toe and fell in a well before reaching the Caliente. “Perhaps we should have the feast at church, since Terecita could play piano for us.”
“You're dithering,” Jon Marc said.
She cast him a shut-up glare. He had no idea how difficult it was, trying to change a miscreant brother into a solid citizen . . . when she couldn't outright appeal to Hoot's sense of Todd.
“I don't wanna hear Terecita play nothin'. She's awful.”
Smiling sweetly at Hoot, Bethany gave an alternative. “Perhaps we can talk her into a castanet recital. Any of your men handy with a guitar?”
“Jaime plays the violin. He's the one ain't got no arm.”
“Mind if I ask how he does that?” Bethany inquired.
“Uses his toes.”
“Jesus H. Christ.”
“Hush, husband.” She gestured toward her brother's clothes. “Be sure and tidy up before you come calling. Tell your men to, too. Our Memphis guests are quite refined.” She angled a smile and a bat of eyes at Jon Marc. “Does your grandfather know any writers?”
“Hundreds.”
“My boys won't wanna celebrate. Peña is dead. And he was one of us.”
“You work on that, Hoot.” Recalling something Isabel had once told her, she piled on rationale. “I've heard violent death is an honorable estate in the Mexican culture. Harks back to the Aztec days, when the winner in ball games had the opportunity to be sacrificed to the gods. You put it that way, and I'll bet your boys will see the light.”
“I want them horses—all of 'em,” Hoot announced. “Or we ain't made peace.”
Jon Marc nodded. “They're yours.”
Bethany smiled, relieved. And she couldn't help a selfish thought. Exactly what sort of peace would the perfect and saintly Miss Buchanan have brought to La Salle County?
I'm better for here than she would have been!
 
 
The crisis was indeed averted. Jon Marc entered a fog of disbelief. Beth had dithered Hoot Todd into compliance. And he'd gotten his desperadoes to go along with it. A fine string of horses was a small enough sacrifice, Jon Marc reckoned. Peace would be nice. More than nice.
Her efforts tired Beth out. He heard yawn after yawn as they rode León and Arlene back to the Caliente.
Her husband knew a subject certain to open her eyes. “Where did you get that watch?”
“It was my father's,” she replied, yawning.
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“Must you argue everything?”
“Guess not,” Jon Marc answered.
“
Querido,
I promised Pip he could see Sabrina again. We can't let him go, not until after the party. It wouldn't be fair.”
“You're not playing fair.”
“Seems to me, I get results.”
“Braggart.” Jon Marc turned León down the trail to their home. “All right, wife. You win. Fitz and party can stay until after the get-together.”
He expected her to say something, worried him when she didn't. Glancing to his left, he saw her . . . asleep atop Arlene.
Back at the house, he carried his wife into the bedroom—she never opened her eyes—and he stretched out beside her, too worn out for anything but sleep. Yet his last thought before snores took him was,
She is an amazing woman
. A good Catholic miracle.
Too bad she was out of bed when he awakened . . .
They might have tried a piece of peace.
By midafternoon, Padre Miguel had said grace over the laid-out feast.
Bandidos
gave an obligatory prayer for Peña's soul.
“¡Viva, Peña!”
echoed, after the last of the Todd gang made the sign of the cross on his chest.
Jon Marc figured it might get nasty, if honorable death were to lose out to good ol' brush-country revenge.
Not so.
Hoot Todd sidled up. “Made 'em see reason, like your pretty little wife done asked me to. You sure got a nice woman, O'Brien. Wish I could find me one like that.”
Getting territorial, Jon Marc frowned. “Don't get any ideas about stealing mine.”
“What? You crazy, O'Brien? She's my—” Todd thumped his chest. “She's the same as a sister, right here in my heart.”
“Keep thinking like that, and maybe this truce will hold.”
“Well,
cuñado
, that's rightly what I plan to do. Say, where's that feller done knows all them writers?”
Jon Marc pointed to Fitz. Todd sprang to the invalid chair and offered a cigar that was accepted.
Why had Todd called Jon Marc brother-in-law? That was not the sort of thing one quibbled about during a cease-fire, if Jon Marc had any sense. Anyhow, if Todd wanted to call himself brother to Beth, what was the harm in that?
BOOK: Magic and the Texan
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