Texas Lucky (35 page)

He got up to sit beside her and put his arms around her, and he held her tight for a moment. Then he finished his drink, pulled back the covers on the bed, and motioned her to join him.

He wanted her to sleep close, with her head on his shoulder, and she did so.

And dreamed of Curt.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Though the manager of the cattleman’s club was polite, Tess sensed his disapproval as he led her to a private room at the rear of the building.

The floor, pungent with the smell of wax, gleamed in the light from crystal chandeliers above, and the walls were covered in scalloped velvet paper.

It was not quite ten, and since the club did not open before noon, Tess was spared having to encounter any of the members. It was bad enough having to feel embarrassed in front of the manager, Mr. Maltby.

“I hated to have to bother you, Mrs. Thorpe,” Mr. Maltby said as he paused outside a closed door, “but the doctor felt you should be notified of your husband’s”—he hesitated—“illness.”

The minute she entered the room, Tess knew Wendell was no more sick than she was.

He was drunk.

She could smell the whiskey on him before she even got close.

She walked across the thick Persian rug to the four-poster mahogany bed with its lace canopy, stared down at him, and asked, “How long has he been like this?”

Mr. Maltby hedged, “I sent a message to you yesterday.”

“I know that,” she acknowledged, straining to keep sarcasm from her tone. “But I have a ranch to run and couldn’t leave right away.” Actually, she could have, but felt no guilt for not having done so. After four months of marriage, she was accustomed to Wendell spending almost all his time in Dallas drinking and gambling, and it was not the first occasion she had been summoned to take him home after a particularly heavy binge that sent him to bed for a few days.

“I asked how long he’s been like this.”

“A week. Usually he sleeps it off during the day, then wakes up and sends for a valet to draw his bath and press his clothes. Then he’s right back in the card room at night. But this time he just kept drinking and passing out again.”

“I see.” Tess glared. “Well, if you’re used to it, why did you send me word he’s sick?”

Despite how he lifted his chin in disdain, he sounded as though he regretted having to explain. “This is not a hotel, Mrs. Thorpe. The reason we have bedrooms”—he waved his arm to indicate the surroundings—“is to accommodate potential members arriving from out of town. We have allowed your husband to use them as a courtesy, but I’m afraid other arrangements will have to be made. We have a large contingency of investors arriving from New York soon, and we need all the rooms.

“So we hoped,” he continued, “the board of directors and myself, that is, you could take your husband home for a while, or, at least, get him checked into a hotel.”

Exasperated, she asked, “Well, why couldn’t you do that, Mr. Maltby? I told you—I have a ranch to run with over a hundred thousand head of cattle to see to, and—”

“I have tried,” he interrupted with an exasperated sigh, “but your husband can be quite difficult. He argues about how much money he spends here, and—”

“How much he
loses
is more like it,” she coldly pointed out. “And don’t try to tell me the board of directors don’t get their share of the winnings, because you’re right—this isn’t a hotel. It’s a glorified saloon for snobs.”

She turned to go.

“Mrs. Thorpe, wait. You must do something about your husband.”

Tess whirled to look at Wendell with mixed emotions.

He had been good to her, kind and generous.

The house he had built was grand—two stories, fifteen rooms, with a wide columnar porch, and it was staffed with servants to serve her every need.

He had also constructed several large barns and stables and allowed her to increase her herd as she saw fit as well as hire as many hands as she wanted.

And Tess ran it all—with the help of Granger, whom she had made foreman.

So there had not been time to worry about Wendell’s addiction to gambling and drinking.

In addition, theirs had always been more or less a business relationship, anyway, and though Tess would never admit it, she did not care what Wendell did. She treated him with respect, welcomed him when he did come home, and made things pleasant for him, but when weeks went by and he stayed away, she just didn’t worry about it.

Mr. Maltby cut into her musing by gently suggesting, “I can get some of the help to carry him to the hotel down the street. It’s not as nice as this, of course, but it will be adequate for his needs.”

“You will do nothing of the kind,” she scathingly informed him. “I will not have my husband humiliated by having him carried down the street like…like a common drunk. He will stay here until he awakens on his own, and then you can talk to him like a man and explain the situation, and I am sure something can be worked out.”

“But—”

She left him with a swish of silk petticoats and gingham skirt.

Deciding since she was in Dallas she might as well do some shopping, she had her carriage and driver take her down the street.

Passing the bank where she had once been turned down for a loan and where she had first met Wendell, she could not help thinking how things had changed since then. Now it was her husband’s money that people were asking to borrow, because he was one of the largest depositors there.

Glancing through the window into Maxwell Jernigan’s office, she felt a bit smug to know Wendell’s money also helped pay his salary—and then she froze in her tracks.

Curt was there, visibly upset as he appeared to be arguing with Mr. Jernigan over something.

Afraid others would notice her staring, Tess moved on, although she could not stop wondering what it was all about.

She had not seen Curt since the day of her wedding but could not deny thinking about him more often than she cared to admit.

Dallas was teeming with cowboys returning from trail drives, and she hurried to finish her shopping so she could escape the bedlam and noise and get back to the ranch.

She decided she would have the cook prepare a nice dinner, anticipating Wendell would come home for a few days once Mr. Maltby made him angry by telling him he could not sleep at the club.

Coming out of a store, Tess was surprised to hear someone calling her name and turned to see Maxwell Jernigan walking toward her.

“Such a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Thorpe,” he greeted her, and obsequiously kissed her hand. “Are you meeting Mr. Thorpe for lunch? May I join you?” he boldly asked.

“I’m afraid I’m not meeting him.”

“Then let me take
you
to lunch.”

“No, I really have to get back.”

He tipped his hat and gave her his most fawning smile. “Well, another time, perhaps, and please give my regards to your husband.”

“I’ll do that.” She took a few steps, then yielded to impulse and whirled about. “Mr. Jernigan, may I ask you something?”

He was quick to answer, “Of course. Anything, Mrs. Thorpe. You know the bank is always happy to oblige, and—”

She spoke quickly, lest she lose her nerve. “I happened to see my neighbor, Mr. Hammond, in your bank a little while ago, and I noticed he seemed distressed. I do hope there isn’t a problem.”

“Oh, there’s a problem, all right,” he said with severity. Then, glancing around to ensure no one could overhear him breaching customer confidentiality, he continued, “He’s lost his breeding stock, and the money he made selling his herd this year isn’t enough for him to restock. The bank isn’t about to loan him money just on his land, especially when we’ve got more applications from those without risk than we can handle.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard,” he said when she stared at him in bewilderment. “After all, as you said, he’s your neighbor on the range, and hoof and mouth disease spreads, and—”

She grabbed his arm and squeezed “What did you say?”

“Hoof and mouth disease, Mrs. Thorpe. It’s bad. Very bad. It spreads faster than a flash flood in a dry arroyo. Normally it can be caught in time and stopped from spreading by getting healthy stock away from the sick and killing off the infected cows. But as I understand it, Mr. Hammond was on his drive when it struck, and there was no one around to discover it till it was too late. He had no choice but to kill the rest of the herd and burn the pasture.

“The worst part,” he continued, frowning with feigned concern for Tess’s benefit, “is that he can’t sell for two years till buyers are sure the meat is good. So he wants to borrow the money not only to get a new herd going but to tide him over till he can sell again.”

Tess was instantly struck with sympathy. As a rancher herself now, she knew how he had to feel, and her heart went out to him.

“Why can’t you make him a loan?” she demanded.

Patiently, he explained, “The bank would have to wait till he could sell his herd before he could pay anything back, and like I said, that would be at least two years. Maybe more. And I’m afraid it isn’t bank policy to go that long without collecting on a loan.”

“How much did he ask to borrow?”

Mr. Jernigan looked surprised that she would ask but obliged, “Five thousand dollars.”

“Loan it to him.”

“But—”

Tess was adamant. “Loan him the money, Mr. Jernigan.”

He shook his head. “But bank policy—”

“To hell with bank policy,” she shocked him by cursing. “I know how he must feel, because”—she could not resist the barb—“I was once turned down by your bank, too, remember?”

He gave a somber nod.

“So loan him the money,” she persisted.

“If it were up to me, I would, as a favor to you, Mrs. Thorpe,” he hastened to add, “but I cannot go against bank policy.”

Tess supposed she understood that and had to accept it. “Very well. Then I will tell you what you can do. Take the money he needs from my account.”

“Your account?” he reeled ever so slightly. “But Mrs. Thorpe—”

“You heard me, Mr. Jernigan,” she said doggedly. “My husband keeps more in my account than I need.”

“But it would be two years before he could even begin to pay you back, and—”

“Not
me
,” she sharply corrected. “The
bank
. He is not to know it’s my money, understand? You are to make him believe you changed your mind. Then, if he fails to repay, I am good for it. It’s really quite simple, Mr. Jernigan, and I’d appreciate your taking care of it right away.”

“But your husband might object.”

“Let me worry about that.”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t know…”

“If you don’t,” she crisply informed him, “I will go to the bank this very minute and close my account. Do I make myself clear?”

He hesitated but a second. “Quite clear, Mrs. Thorpe,” he said with a trace of annoyance. “I’ll see to it at once.”

Back at the ranch, Tess quickly changed clothes, had Saber saddled, then rode out to find Granger where he was overseeing the stockpiling of winter hay.

Without a preliminary greeting, she ordered, “I want all my land bordering the Hammond ranch burned at once. Gather all the hands and tell them to stop what they’re doing and get right to it.”

“Are you crazy?” he insolently retorted. “What for?”

“You didn’t know Mr. Hammond lost his herd to hoof and mouth disease?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, I heard a little something, but—”

Tess was fit to be tied and furiously snapped, “You should already have done the burning, Granger.”

“Well, his land’s so far off, and we don’t have any cattle grazing over there anyway.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m taking no chances. Now stop wasting time and set those fires.”

With a disgruntled shake of his head, he set out to obey.

A few hours later, Tess watched as the sky turned red from the burning grasses.

All other work on the ranch had stopped, as she had ordered, and all hands were sent to the area to be sure the fire did not get out of hand.

It would take most of the night, she estimated, and with the day wearing on, she decided to have Frank, the chuckwagon cook, prepare and serve the evening meal out on the range.

She had just come from the kitchen beside the bunkhouse when she was stunned to see Curt riding in—hard.

He galloped right up to her, stopping so abruptly his horse reared up on his hind legs to paw the air wildly.

“What—what are you doing here?” Tess asked uncertainly, backing away from the sight of his angry face.

He swung down off the horse, grabbed her arm, and steered her into the closest barn.

Once inside, with the shadows falling, his fierceness was not so blatant, but she could feel the heat of his fury as he hoarsely said, “I don’t want your goddamn charity, Tess. Don’t you ever humiliate me that way again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, frantically wondering how he had found out.