Dorothy Garlock (37 page)

“I told you I didn’t want him to know anything about that.”

“You told me nothing of the kind; and if you had, I would still have used my own judgment and told him the truth.”

“I didn’t want him to know until he was older.”

“How old were you when
you
knew?”

“That was different. I had Ben.”

“Bucko has you and Luis, and me . . . for a while.”

“Another thing. I don’t want you spending so much time with him. He’s getting too attached to you. You’ll leave here and he won’t understand.”

“All right, but
you
tell him, Mr . . . . ah . . . Calloway. You tell him to stay away from me. Try to explain
that
to him, if you can. But I’m going to teach him while I’m here, and when I go, Jacy will take over the lessons. He’s too bright a child to let remain ignorant.” Her voice was cold and distant. “The other children in this valley should be taught, too,” she added bitterly. “You brought them here; it’s your responsibility to see to it.” She turned away from him and made her way up the dimly lit stairs to her room.

Aware that he stood below watching her, she firmly closed the door, felt her way in the darkness to the table, and lit the candle. She heard the pounding of boot heels on the stairs, and by the time she turned he’d flung open the door. He ducked his head and stepped into the room.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you . . . like I’m something beneath your contempt!”

Johanna raised her brows. “You put your own value on yourself, Mr. Calloway.”

“And don’t ever again go to my men and ask them to take you away from here! I won’t be shamed in front of those who work for me. Is that clear? When the time comes for you to go, I’ll take you myself and be glad to be rid of you!” His loud, angry voice boomed against the tin ceiling.

“Very well. That sounds like a reasonable request. Now, please leave my room.” Her body was so tense that she felt as if her heart would stop beating, but her eyes caught his and held them defiantly. It was the first time in weeks she had looked him full in the face. It was a face she didn’t know. His eyes were sunken and blazed with bitterness. His cheekbones stood above hollowed cheeks shadowed with several days’ growth of beard, and a vein in his temple stood out prominently and throbbed with each beat of his heart. It was the boniness of his face and the wolfish snarl of his twisted mouth that held her attention.

He scowled, then ran his fingers through his unruly hair, but he didn’t move.

“I asked you to leave.” Her voice was as icy as her eyes.

He stared at her as if he had not heard her.

She put her hands behind her to hide their trembling and encountered the hairbrush on the table. Her tense fingers gripped the handle and her cool control broke.

“Get out!” she shouted and flung the brush. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

He looked at her searchingly for a moment, his eyes probing her angry ones. Then he backed out the door, closing it behind him.

Johanna threw herself on the bed and sobbed. She hated him, she told herself, and she hated herself for what she’d just done. “No,” she moaned aloud in her misery. “I don’t hate him. God, help me—I love him!”

*  *  *

The week before Thanksgiving the weather turned cold. The pumpkins were gathered and put in the cellar and corn was husked and shelled. Some was set aside for hominy and some ground into cornmeal. Johanna was grateful for the extra work to fill the hours.

Now she spent an hour each morning with Bucko before sending him down to the bunkhouse or over to Rosita’s. She did her best to explain to him that she was spending too much time on his lessons and neglecting her housekeeping duties. The little boy accepted the new routine but seemed dejected and was less talkative than before. Reluctantly Johanna admitted to herself that Burr was right—Bucko was becoming too dependent on her company. It would be easier for him when she left the valley if she gradually weaned him away from her now.

Jacy’s baby was due in a week or two. She had settled nicely into her new home and was so glowingly happy that Johanna was sure she would be content with Luis and the baby when she was gone. Two familes had moved to Luis’s ranch, and one of the women came in each day to help with the work and to be with Jacy while Luis was away. Johanna’s heart was lighter each time she returned from a visit with her sister. It had worked out well. Their coming to the valley had been right for Jacy . . . but oh, so wrong for her.

One afternoon Johanna wandered down to check the almost bare garden plot and paused at the corral to watch the cowboys break a dun-colored stallion. A whoop went up from the men as she approached, and she climbed onto the rail just as the stallion broke away from the opposite fence and bucked his way to the center of the corral. His sharp hooves stirred up a cloud of dust in his frenzy to rid himself of the man clinging to his back. One moment the cowboy was there, the next he was arcing high in the air before crashing to the ground. Seconds later he was up again and scrambling over the fence, slapping his floppy-brimmed hat against his leg and enduring the good-natured joshing of his friends.

“I don’t see you galoots a-tryin’ him. All you’re doin’ is a-runnin’ off at the mouth and a-ridin’ the fence.” He climbed onto the rail and sat beside Johanna.

“That was a hard fall. Are you hurt?”

“’Twarn’t nothin’, ma’am. Would’a been if he’d’a got a hoof on me. He’s a wild ’un. Never lets your get settled in, just takes off a-rompin’. He’ll make a good ’un once he gets whapped in shape. He can turn on a dime and give ya a nickel to boot.”

Several cowboys were still trying to rope the bucking horse. Finally they had the mustang caught between two ropes. They held him fast while a bowlegged
vaquero
ran to his head, tied a handkerchief over his eyes, then grabbed one of his ears between his teeth.

“I feel sorry for him.”

“Ma’am,” the cowboy snorted, “that grulla ain’t the one t’ feel sorry fer. He’s a heller, that ’un.”

Paco called down from where he was perched on the fence, “Señora, your man, he gonna try him.”

Burr settled himself firmly in the saddle, his long legs locked against the heaving sides of the animal and his feet planted in the stirrups. His work shirt was open to the waist, revealing his hard-muscled chest and a binding of white cloth about his middle.
Oh, God,
Johanna thought frantically,
that wound isn’t healed enough to take this kind of punishment!
For a fleeting second his eyes locked with hers, then he wound the reins around his gloved hand and tugged at his hat. Not a flicker of surprise showed on his face at seeing her at the corral fence. He said something to the cowboy who was holding the horse’s head. The man leaped back and dived for the fence, taking the blinder with him. The grulla stood for a fraction of a second, then exploded into the air like a coiled spring released. The animal twisted in midair and came down on all four feet with a bone-jarring crash that set off a convulsion of frenzy.

A whoop went up from the men on the fence. The longer Burr stayed in the saddle the louder they yelled encouragement. With cold-blooded determination the mustang went into a frenzy of contortions, and Johanna held her breath as Burr was whipped back and forth. Through the swirling dust she saw the horse leap up, his hind legs lashing out to splinter the rail behind him. He landed on the run and circled the corral, wheeled, and headed around before charging the fence once again. Burr yanked the mustang aside before he crashed into the rail. The eyes of the beast were wild and rolling, and he screamed with rage and shot into the air again, then stood on spraddled, quivering legs.

Burr sat the horse for a moment, then called softly, “Come get me off.”

Two loops were put over the horse’s neck and pulled taut. Slowly and painfully Burr climbed from the saddle. The white binding around his middle was stained with blood and his jaw was clenched with pain. His squinted eyes passed over Johanna without expression. The cowboys whooped and exchanged money. Not until the air escaped from her tortured lungs did Johanna realize she had been holding her breath.

Johanna walked past the house and up the path toward the smokehouse. She needed a quiet place where she could gather her thoughts and calm her nerves. It seemed to her that she had been living in limbo for the past few weeks. She and Burr did no more than acknowledge each other when they met for meals. At first Ben had tried to heal the breach between himself and Johanna, but days ago he had given up and retreated behind a polite silence. Now it was the waiting period. Waiting for Jacy to have her baby. Waiting to know her sister was well and happy. Waiting to leave the valley and make some order of her life.

*  *  *

Isabella stood close to the wall of the smokehouse. She could faintly hear the shouts of the men at the corral, and she could see the dust rising as the vicious hooves of the horses being broken raked the soft earth inside the enclosure.

Her heart pounded. The
gringa
was coming up the path. The pale
puta
who had taken her man was walking straight to her death. Isabella was glad. Let the bitch go unsuspecting to the stream and the Apache warrior who waited there!

Isabella’s sharp, experienced eyes had spotted the Indian standing in the shadows, as still as the large boulders that lined the stream. Her eyes had passed over him twice before the outline of his head alerted her to his presence. Unconcerned, she veered off and circled back to the smokehouse. Her intention at first had been to report to Señor Burr; for since the Apache seasonal camp had broken up, the vigilance had relaxed. Surely her discovery would make him proud of her, make him realize that she was better fit to be his wife, have his sons, but . . . no!

She quivered with excitement now as she watched Johanna approach. Señor Burr had scorned her, forsaken her, cast her out for the pale, haughty
gringa
! Señor Burr, the man she loved with all her heart and soul, had even suggested that she marry Paco, the wiry
vaquero
who had been making cow eyes at her for months.

She drew her rebozo closer about her shoulders and braced herself against the hurt as she remembered the warmth of the señor’s kisses. That was all she had to remember, for never would he go further, never would he enter her, always laughing at her insistence, at her passion for him, telling her she was but a child. A child! She was a woman—a woman not to be ignored and ordered away from the stone house like a
puta.
She laughed lightly to herself and her eyes gleamed triumphantly. Let the Apache kill the
gringa
! And then the heat in the señor’s loins would force him to take her and give her his
niño.
Then he would be hers.

Isabella hesitated, reluctant to leave the shadow of the building, yet knowing she should go on down the path and pass the
gringa.
A small fear leaped into her mind. What if Señor Burr should find out that she knew the Apache warrior was lingering by the stream and she had allowed his woman to walk, unwarned, up the path? His rage would be terrible! She tossed her head. It was foolish to think he would know, but suppose he did find out that she had been to the stream; he would never believe she was a traitor. Shoving herself away from the wall, she started down the path toward the woman who walked slowly toward her, her head bent as if deep in thought. Isabella’s hatred burned deeply as she passed Johanna, her dark, smoldering eyes straight ahead, her chin lifted defiantly.

Johanna looked up and saw Isabella coming down the path toward her. It was the first time she had seen the young Mexican girl since she had ordered her out of the house. No doubt Burr was meeting her somewhere else now. Johanna was thankful that she no longer had to suffer her presence. She looked directly at Isabella as she passed her, but the girl clutched her full skirt in her hand and swept past, her face set, her eyes never leaving the path ahead.

Going on down the trail, Johanna let her thoughts wander. She was legally married to Burnett Engelbretson Calloway. Would he divorce her when she left the valley? She knew it could be done, especially by a man with money to pay the high court costs. She searched her mind but could think of only one woman she knew who had been divorced. No respectable man or woman in San Angelo had had anything to do with her. Was that to be her lot in life? Johanna wondered. A divorced woman wouldn’t be allowed to teach school, so the only option open to her would be to sing in a saloon. Of course, Burr had said that he would never let her go. But now he had told her he would be glad to be rid of her. She closed her eyes as the pain of his words pierced her heart.

There was no movement and no sound that she could recall. Abruptly she was swept off her feet. A hand came from behind and clamped over her mouth and nose, and a greasy arm tightened about her throat. She had only a moment of panic before she lost consciousness.

*  *  *

Isabella went to the corral and stood for a moment watching the activity. She passed a word here and there with the
vaqueros,
making sure a number of them knew she was there. When she left the corral she went to the stone house, crossed the porch, and walked off the other side. Sofia was taking the dishtowels off the line on the porch and looked at her coolly.
Another bitch,
Isabella thought.
When I am mistress of this
house, she will bow and scrap to me as she does to the pale
puta.

As she crossed the path leading to the stream she saw Bucko running toward her. He was falling, picking himself up, and running again. She waited for him and grabbed his arm as he attempted to pass her and almost jerked him off his feet.

“Where do you go so fast? Did I not tell you your feet are not made for running, stupid boy?”

“I get Burr . . . Let me go . . . I go get Burr . . .”

“Why you get Burr, you silly mule?”

“Apache . . . at the stream! He . . . get Johanna—” Bucko choked out the words, pulling on his arm to get free of the hand that held him.