Wild Texas Rose (28 page)

Conchita lifted her eyes to the sheriff. “I was the one who stabbed Senor Jaye. I am responsible, not
mi padre.
I will not let him hang for me.”

“I promise you no one is going to hang. You acted in self-defense, and your father was protecting his child. No one will blame either of you.”

 

 

The local citizenry, as Mariah had predicted, understood the motives behind Joseph Jaye's death, and they rallied around the pitiable girl. The evening after Conchita's confession, her parents were brought back to Trick'em, and Pablo was formally exonerated of the crime.

Many people stepped forth and donated money to the Martinezes. The fund was augmented by the very generous donation of Reginald, the Viscount Atterley, who was ashamed of his half brother's wickedness.

Rued by her past actions toward Pablo, Mariah apologized to him for her verbal barrage, and he was graceful in the acceptance.

The Mexican family set out for San Antonio to make a new start.

Reginald took guest quarters at the home of his newfound friend, Whit Reagor. Gail Strickland was there, too, nursing her injured husband back to health.

A week later, and after much grousing about his landlocked state, Dirk McGuire left for Galveston, where he planned to secure a job as a boatswain's mate.

Not once since that night of the Strickland's fire had Whit spoken to Mariah, not even when she'd unlocked his cell for the last time. He had simply turned his back and left the jail. Left Mariah alone with her self-recriminations.

She knew her loss was of her own making. And forever would she pay.

Mariah faced the future without Whit. There was nothing left for her in Trick'em. Mariah had no desire to farm Joseph Jaye's land; the fewer reminders she had of that debaucher, the better. She'd refused the proceeds of his London townhouse, and as for schoolteaching, she could do that anywhere. With her heart so empty, though, she did not even have the desire to follow her calling.

And now, on a Saturday night, she sat in the porch swing at Birdie Turner's boarding establishment. She turned to Mack and said dully, “Reggie is leaving tomorrow for England.”

Mack stopped cleaning his newly purchased six-shooter. “I'll miss him.”

“I was thinking we should go with him.”

“What about your job? That Slim
homme
is still recovering from his wound and isn't able to take over for you. And didn't he say he wanted to go back to ranching?”

“He's able to carry out the duties; he had but a minor wound, for heaven's sake. And he did say he'd wear the badge until someone else is hired.”

“I wouldn't mind having the job meself. It appeals to this aged lawman's spirit of adventure.”

“You want to stay here?” she asked incredulously.

“Oui.
As Sheriff of Coleman County.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” she said. “I was hoping you'd go home with me. To Guernsey.”

“Why Guernsey? I thought you hated it there.”

“No, I don't,” she answered. “It's home.”

“Will ye leave without telling yer man ‘God be with ye'?”

“He doesn't want my goodbye.”

“Do ye have so little faith in him?”

Faith. That ragged word. “I have all the faith in the world in him. He has none in me. Deservedly so.”

“Ye're wallowing in self-pity, girl.” Mack arched a russet brow. “And ye're too easily defeated.”

She lifted her chin. “I am not.”

 

 

Whit Reagor should have been happy. He had his freedom, but freedom to do what? Mope around the ranch, shouting at his employees, friends, and family? Although he and Gail had never been closer since their heart-to-heart talk on the night of the fire, Whit was lost without Mariah.

Sitting behind the desk in his book-lined study, he half listened to Gail as she harangued him about his foolishness.

Her injured leg healed, she perched easily on the edge of his desk, her arms crossed. “Well, are you or are you not going to swallowed that damned pride of yours, and apologize to Mariah?”

“I'm not.”

“You should see yourself when you tighten your jaw like that. Pigheadedness is written all over your face. So what if she broke her word? You're no paragon of virtue, Whit Reagor. You've broken a few promises along the way.”

The truth of her words chafed at his collar. “Don't you have anything better to do than harass me?”

Not to be deterred from her purpose, Gail replied, “Not at the moment. We owe Mariah a debt of gratitude for saving my life. That Hicks character was fixing to kill me, you know.”

“I know. You've told me so a thousand times. But I don't want to see her again.”

“For crying out loud, Whit Reagor, someone ought to take a peach-tree switch to your ankles.”

He forced humor. “Yes, and someone ought to paddle you for lack of respect.”

She stuck her tongue out.

“Gail ... are you sure it doesn't bother you, my taking so long to tell you the truth?” They had had this conversation before, but Whit needed one last reassurance.

Her demeanor turned solemn. “It doesn't trouble me now, but I was ... Well, after Lilibet told me about you, I was hurt. I was pretty awful about it until lately. Here was this man who gave me attention and affection but never said the words I wanted to hear.”

“And you took it out on Ed and on the bottle.”

“Right. But that's in the past, where it belongs. My husband opened my eyes to many things that were blinding me.” Circling the desk to drop a kiss on the top of Whit's head, she continued. “And speaking of my husband, I'd better check on him.”

Whit squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For finding the strength I always knew you had. And for being you.”

She scoffed at him. “Aw, get outta here with that mush stuff. Use it on someone who'd appreciate it ... like Mariah.”

Gail departed the study.

Alone once more, Whit listened to the grandfather clock strike nine. Over and over, he thought about his foibles. Yes, he'd broken his promise to Lilibet. All these years he'd kept his oath, only to learn she had told Gail the truth. Yes, he'd betrayed Joe by stealing his woman. Whit didn't regret that. Yes, he had done Mariah wrong by demanding she be something she wasn't. She would never be anything but her own woman.

But, down deep, he loved her for what she was. Independent, spirited, practical. Was it too late to swallow his pride? Would she forgive him, and let him make amends for the past?

A knock sounded at his door and Mariah glided in. His heart pounding against his chest, he stood. She had never looked so beautiful ... nor her eyes so unreadable.

Wearing a peach-hued frock of crossbar lawn, she had styled her rich burnt-auburn hair atop her head in a mass of curls. Roses, soft and sweet, wafted to him as she approached.

“Hello, Mariah.”

“Whit,” she said with a nod. “I'm here to say goodbye. I'm leaving for Guernsey tomorrow.”

“That one time I was here,” she said, “we never made it to your study.” Her hand swept in the direction of the lined shelves. “Books?” “Where do you think I learned about Thomas More and Prester John? I like to read.”

“Do you still tutor Carlos?”

“Yeah. It's rewarding.”

“I'm on to those same rewards. In St. Peter Port, of course.”

“Is that all you want out of life, teaching?”

“No. I'm hoping for a husband and children.”

“Just any husband and children?”

She moistened her lips. “Of course not.”

“How many children?”

“Several.” Mariah glanced away, then back at Whit. “Well, I really must be going.”

“Before you do ...” He took a step toward her. “I want to thank you for saving Gail's life.”

“I did it as a labor of love. She's my friend. And I know about ... Whit, why haven't you been honest with her?”

He blanched. “You know?”

“I do. She told me.”

“And you're not bothered by it?” he asked.

“Why should I be? I see it as all the more reason to love her.”

Mariah's compassion was all the more reason to love
her.
He decided to take the biggest gamble of his life. Now was the moment he'd draw the line ... and hope she'd step over to his side by refusing his offer.

His thumb at the sensitive point behind her ear, he said, “I owe you a debt of gratitude. If you'll accept it, I'd like very much to give you the money for your own schoolhouse in Guernsey.”

She moved away, turning to the bookshelves. “All right. I accept. On two conditions.”

His hopes plunged to the soles of his boots. “Which are?”

“One, that you forgive me for being such a terrible thorn in your side.”

“You have been, but there's nothing to forgive.” Whit took a step toward her. “Unless you can see your way clear to forgive
me
... for a lot of things.”

“There's nothing to forgive. You expected something from me I wasn't able to give,” she said. “I've never been biddable.”

“I know.”

“You're hardheaded, too, cowboy.”

He touched a lock of the hair that had always fascinated him. “Never said I wasn't.”

“You asked me to choose between saving Gail's life and coddling myself, and I still think I made the right decision.”

“Well, Red, you've never been biddable.”

“And you've always been a bitter, irritating man who can't forget yesterdays and get on with today.”

“Hardheaded and irritating, I can't do anything about. But I can work on changing the bitter part. I don't want to live in the past. I'd like to have one more chance for today.”

“Would you like to hear my second condition for the schoolhouse?” she asked as she closed the scant distance between them. He reveled in her petal-scented skin, her nearness, her presence.

Her dark eyes locked with the blue of his, and her fingers twined into the black curls at the back of his head. “I'll accept if you'll build it on Crosswind.”

By damn, it wasn't too late! He caressed the curve of her slim waist. “Well, there is a small plot of ground I could spare,” he teased.

“Whit Reagor, are you going to force me to my knee to ask for your hand in marriage?”

“Absolutely not. Marry me, Red.”

“It's about time you asked.”

“Shall we seal it with a kiss?”

She cuddled against him. “I have something better in mind.”

“Brazen hussy.”

“Insatiable beast, lock the door.”

Epilogue

 

All of Coleman County was green. Rains had healed the wounds caused by the previous year's drought. Bluebonnets blanketed the hills and dales, the stock ponds brimmed with water. Barbed wire cordoned off farm land but now in deference to the Western Trail and to the local ranchers.

No more did raiders set fires. No more were cattle slaughtered or fences snipped. Peace reigned in Trick'em.

On this bright April day, Mariah Reagor gave her students early dismissal. She hurried to her husband. Whit was supposed to be overseeing a well-digging project adjacent to the little red schoolhouse, but he wielded a shovel with the rest of the men.

He stopped his toil when Mariah approached, and climbed out of the hole to try to wrap his arms around her waist, then settled his big hand on her stomach.

“How's he doin'?”

“She's doing fine.”

“Glad to hear
she
is doing fine,” Whit replied.

“And I'm glad you finally agree with me.” Her hands on her hips, Mariah looked down into in the hole being dug. “Darling, with all the rain we've had, you're daft to dig this well.”

“I promised you a well, and you're getting it. You know I don't
usually
break my word. Besides, why not dig for water? It won't go to waste.”

He started to bend over and nuzzle his wife's neck, but the sheriffs throat-clearing stopped him.

“Are ye trying to embarrass me?” Mack asked, balancing young Edward Strickland on his hip.

The baby reached for his badge and began to gum it.

“Don't let him put that nasty thing in his mouth,” Mariah said. “You really should take him back to his mother.”

“But I love the wee lad, and I need something to hold till yer babe is born.”

“The ladies aren't enough?” Mariah asked, a brow lifted.

Since taking permanent residence in Trick'em and freeing up Slim Culpepper's return to Crosswind, Mack had made a hit with the widow women and not only for his light step on the dance floor, Mariah knew. Birdie Turner was especially fond of ... dancing.

“Why don't you remarry and have more children?” Mariah asked.

The lawman patted young Edward's behind. “Birdie's a wee bit old for bairns.”

“Are you trying to tell us something, Mack?” Whit asked lightly. “Isn't
she
too old for
you?”

“Aye, and nay. I'm going to marry the Widow Turner. She's a few years my senior, 'tis true, but she's a good cook and likes to dance.”

“Congratulations,” Mariah said honestly. “She's a dear person.”

“Aye, and she's biddable.”

“This one”–Whit put his arm around his wife's shoulder–“will never be that.”

No, his wife would never be biddable. She was as mulish as ever. Forever she'd be chasing after windmills. Her latest cause was to bring the railroad to Coleman County. Whit accepted the fact that a rail line would mean no more cattle drives, but he wouldn't miss them. Matter of fact, he had chosen to stay at Crosswind this spring with Mariah.

During all their time together, Whit had never experienced a dull moment. He had managed to survive some few firecracker-hot arguments, too.

“Mack,” he said, “you'll be bored to tears with a malleable woman.”

The sheriff tickled the baby's chin, drawing a coo and a smile. “Birdie isn't all that docile.”

“Mr. Reagor!” a worker shouted from the hole. “We've hit something.”

Whit leaned over the water well. Black oil oozed at the bottom. He grimaced. “Damn.”

“Such a shame,” Mariah said. “What now?”

“Cover up that useless goo.”