Wild Is the Night (41 page)

“Next week!” Mitchell shouted, ushering them out. “We’ll be getting another shipment then!”

“But I’ve been waiting…”

“What in tarnation do you want me to do, give birth to it?” Mitchell asked, successfully subduing the rest. “Now would you all please vacate the premises? Fess Tyson or not, I have work to do!”

The remaining townspeople obeyed, muttering under their breath. Even the loungers who normally spent the day whittling on the porch departed, hoping to find someone they knew who would share
Passion’s Price.
As soon as they all cleared out, Mitchell whipped out a copy he’d kept for himself, one that had been paid for in full by Luke Parker.

Amanda’s husband would get his copy soon enough. And this was one of the perks of owning the only store south of Dallas.

“…and I have to admit, Amanda, this is your best work yet. The book is wonderful. It is so real, so touching, and so amazingly sensual that I couldn’t believe you had written it. You are destined for greatness, Amanda.
Passion’s Price
will soon be considered a classic. I eagerly look forward to the new Fess Tyson, and I congratulate you on your triumph.”

Tears filled Amanda’s eyes and she reread the letter, letting the words sink in. The goal she’d struggled toward for so long was finally within her reach. She’d written a book that warranted literary merit, and the taste couldn’t have been sweeter. Eagerly, she whipped out the copies of reviews that her editor had included with her letter.

“…fantastic plotting, rich emotion, excitement flowing through every line, reminiscent of Moliere.
Passion’s Price
is one of the best literary offerings this spring.” The New York Sun.

“…luridly sensual yet compelling. Fess Tyson will shock and astonish you.” The Philadelphia Public Ledger.

“The excitement of the West combined with a love story in the manner of Dumas. Written by the shining star of the frontier.” The Baltimore Star Herald.

It was all too good to be true. Amanda folded the letter and put it inside her bosom, then picked up a lantern and ventured outside to the convenience, the one place she knew she wouldn’t be disturbed. This time was hers, and as selfish as it was, she wanted to enjoy it alone. She placed the lantern on a hook and then sat on the wooden bench, reading and rereading the letter. All by herself, she laughed, cried, smiled, and looked at the reviews all over again.

She’d done it.

She didn’t see Luke until she was coming out of the outhouse. He was coming across the field, still carrying the iron brand he had been using. He saw her expression and dismissed a cowhand, then came toward her.

“You all right, Amanda?”

She heard the concern in his voice and her smile dazzled him. “Look.” Shyly, she handed him the letter and reviews. She felt so vulnerable. This was a part of her life she had never shared with anyone, and now the news was so good that she wanted to spill it out like a paper cup sodden with rainwater. But she really wasn’t certain how Luke would feel about all this. She’d intimidated men before with her mind, and although Luke was different, she was dimly aware that he might not care for her notoriety. Standing first on one foot, then another, she waited impatiently until he’d read everything, and then looked up with a grin that melted her heart.

“Jesus, Amanda, that’s great. Goddamn, I’m so proud of you!” He swung her up into his arms, heedless of her embarrassment or her faint struggles.

“Put me down, Luke Parker!” she shouted.

“No, I won’t. And I’m taking you out to the best restaurant this town can offer. This calls for a celebration. You’ve worked so hard, Amanda. It’s time to have some fun.”

“But the ranch…” Amanda glanced worriedly toward the stalls where Luke had been working. “I know how busy you are.”

“Not that busy,” Luke corrected her. “Just give me some time to get cleaned up.” He put her down, swinging her like a child in her father’s arms, and Amanda couldn’t think of a time when she’d ever been so filled with joy. Luke draped his arm around her waist and walked with her toward the house, still looking at the letter.

“I heard some of your books came into town. I’d sent for mine, but I guess it’s been delayed. I can’t wait to read it.”

Amanda stiffened, but she forced herself to relax. She’d have to learn to trust. She’d come to that conclusion in the last twenty-four hours, after thinking about what he’d said. What did she have to lose by giving it a try? She had everything to gain—real happiness, a father for the baby she carried, and the opportunity to love Luke Parker. Perhaps tonight she’d even get up the courage to tell him about the child. He had a right to know, but she didn’t want him committing to her just because of that. If only she could forget that poster….

You will
she told herself. Her only other option was a life alone. Every time she thought back to her school days, or those long, lonely days at the boardinghouse, she knew one thing for certain.

She could never go back.

Fess Tyson had learned the meaning of love, and thus was forever changed.

The Lone Star Hotel boasted bright red carpeting, gold paint on the ceiling, and flickering gas chandeliers that lent an elegant dimness to the eating establishment. Waiters clad in dark trousers and white shirts that resembled uniforms brought steaming pewter dishes and brimming glasses of wine to the table. A stage stood in the center, draped with red, white, and blue bunting, and a velvet curtain was tightly closed with a lush promise of entertainment.

Amanda sat with Luke, entranced by the setting, her neck craning from one sight to another as she tried eagerly to take it all in. Clad in a simple rose gown with nary a bustle nor a hint of a corset, she nevertheless looked radiant. Her eyes, enhanced by the color, gleamed, while her cheeks bloomed with pink. She’d swept up her hair into a careless knot that allowed charming tendrils to escape and frame her face, softening the intensity of her stare and the piercing intelligence in her eyes. Dazzled by the hotel and excited by the night out, she looked like a child, enchanting everyone who could be enchanted with her smile.

Luke was bewitched. “You look gorgeous,” he commented, once again amazed at the transformation from a dusty and ink-stained genius, whose dress always bore some marking of Aesop’s, to the charming woman who sat across from him.

Amanda flushed, pleased at the compliment. “Do you really think so? I wasn’t at all sure about the dress. Aileen took me to Lacey’s dressmakers and made me order it. It really is a contradiction, don’t you think?”

“What is?” Luke was afraid to ask.

“That we garb ourselves for male attention and then act as if we don’t want it,” she explained, her nose wrinkling in thought. “As a species, our mating practices leave a lot to be desired. It is perhaps a good thing that women don’t have to wait to come into season.”

“Why is that?” Luke choked, trying not to laugh.

“Because,” Amanda continued seriously, “we put so many obstacles in the path that we’d never propagate the species. Why are you laughing?” She stared in genuine puzzlement as Luke, unable to restrain himself, broke into a deep, masculine chuckle, then drank quickly of the wine to stop it.

“Amanda,” he said when he could speak, “I love you. And if we weren’t here with a room full of strangers right now, I’d take you in my arms and show you just what I think of our mating practices. And yes, I’m damned glad we don’t have to wait for women to go into season.”

The look in his eyes warmed her and Amanda felt a pleasant flush spread through her blood like hot honey. She put her hand over her belly, thinking of the wonderful secret she’d kept these past weeks, and suddenly wanted to share it. She turned to Luke, but the curtain parted and a well-dressed man stepped through the velvet and into the orb of light in the center of the stage.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said when the clapping had died. “Welcome to the Lone Star Hotel. Tonight, we have the best damned singer this side of Indian Country. Will all of you give Honey Bee a warm welcome?”

The applause grew thunderous, then gradually dimmed as a beautiful young woman stepped into the center of the stage. Dressed in a scarlet gown decorated with pure white feathers and glittering jewels, she captivated the men without saying a word. Fascinated, Amanda sat on the edge of her seat, trying to get a better view. The singer, a glorious brunette with a too-slender body that was enhanced by padding, walked slowly and seductively to the front of the footlights. Fiery gems sparkled from her hair and throat, and as she raised her arms to sing, the men fell silent.

“The old west, the old time, the old wind singing through—the red red grass, a thousand miles. And Spanish Johnny you!”

Amanda smiled as the beautiful woman sang of the Spanish mandolin player. And although the woman’s voice sounded sad and strained to her, the men almost fell out of their chairs trying to get a closer look. Honey simply had to raise a hand and they held their breath. Her dress, barely covering her breasts, seemed to hold them mesmerized, while tiny round circles of paint decorated her cheeks like a china doll’s. She was too far away for Amanda to see her expression, but when the singer pulled up a chair and stepped onto it, exposing one leg clad in sheer black hose, the men went crazy.

“The gold songs, the gold stars, the word so golden then; and the hand so tender to a child had killed so many men. He died a hard death long ago before the road came in— The night before he swung, he sang to his mandolin.”

Even Luke stared, and when the music died, the applause rivaled a Texas windstorm. Fascinated, Amanda wished she could see the woman, or talk to her, but Honey slipped behind the curtain and disappeared as quickly as she had come. Amanda sat back in her chair and sipped her water, thinking of the lovely singer.

And wondering why she’d seemed more like an apparition than a woman.

Mr. Mitchell passed it to Mrs. Mitchell. Grace Brockelman placed it in the corner of her library, next to Shakespeare and the other controversial books. Mrs. Meade passed it to Mrs. Ledden with a whispered warning, and Mrs. Brannigan fainted.

Dog-eared copies of
Passion’s Price
were passed through the town like a plague, and the horrified townspeople reacted with shock, indignation, then anger. The town hall buzzed like a swarm of black hornets as the townspeople gathered there, and the mayor rapped the podium loudly with a mallet, trying to gain order.

“Now now, quiet, everyone! We won’t get anything accomplished like this! Who wishes to speak?” A dozen hands shot up, a dozen furious faces with them. “All right, Mrs. Meade. You speak for the Woman’s Committee. What have you to say?”

Mrs. Meade stood up, looking even more imposing than normal, dressed in somber brown and waving the glossy yellow novel like a righteous banner. “Have you ever read such filth?” She turned to the women around her who nodded, their lips pursed tightly together.

“Atrocious!”

“Appalling!”

“Why, she made us sound like a bunch of hypocrites!”

“Indecent!”

This last came from Elvira Brannigan, who had to fan herself so much afterward that the nearby women’s hats tumbled off. Nodding, Mrs. Meade continued.

“Not only is it indecent and disgusting, it is full of lies. Could anyone read the last part and not recognize Waco? She insinuates that some of us drink!” She glanced at Mrs. Mitchell, who quickly hid her gin bottle. “And that some of us are thieves!” Frank Mitchell nodded, ignoring the suspicious glances of the men around him and the women who’d paid too much for too long. “And what she had to say about the sanctity of marriage!” Mrs. Meade shuddered as if the thought was too dreadful. “I am ashamed that we have taken this woman into our midst and allowed her to influence us. She should be tarred and feathered, and that disgusting book banished!”

“That’s right,” Elvira added. “Think of the children! What will happen if they read such trash?”

“And newcomers,” Simon Ledden said. “We need to attract commerce, and with that damned book, she’ll drive them away!”

“Down with Amanda!”

The chant grew louder, until Jed Brannigan could barely contain the crowd.

Jake stood up, waved his hands in the air and managed to gain some semblance of order. “All right, all right. It’s just a book. The Parkers are good people, and I think we should give them the benefit of an explanation.”

“That’s right,” Jed agreed, glad for the chance to avoid bloodshed. “You all acknowledge that Luke Parker has established himself as a responsible man. And he’s put his wife in her place before. Let’s give him a chance to respond to all this. We’ll ask him to hand her over peaceably, and we’ll bring her to trial. It will be a civil trial, and her punishment will be decided by the people of Waco. I’ll pick a group of men to go out to the Rutherford Ranch and get her. Then we’ll see justice done!”

The people roared, and a dozen males volunteered. Jed selected half, then assembled the men for the ride out to the ranch. Grim-faced, they started for the eastern part of town, wanting nothing more than revenge against Fess Tyson.

Amanda leaned against Luke as the carriage rolled into the stables. A full moon shone overhead, reminding her of the trail days when she and Luke had slept beneath a blanket of stars. Dimly she was aware of the carriage stopping, of Luke lifting her out, but her pregnancy made her sleepy and she enjoyed the luxury of having his arms around her as he took her toward the house.