Be My Texas Valentine (26 page)

Laurel seethed in her soul, and she wondered how much of his anger was with Hunter as a businessman and how much was because he beat him in the mayoral race. She had to work hard to contain her words. “I am not thirteen years old. I’m an adult. I have my own values, and can assure you that I do not fall into bed with any man. I believe I’m capable of cultivating my own friendships. I will talk to whomever I so desire.” She wanted so badly to add, “And neither you nor anybody else will intimidate me into doing something I don’t want to do,” but she held her tongue.

She stepped backward and opened the study door.

“As long as you live in
my
house, you’ll follow
my
rules. If you walk out of that door without heeding my warnings, you’ll never be welcomed back again ... I promise you.”

Gideon Duncan picked up the glass of whiskey sitting on the desk, but never took a drink, just glared at her in a cynical, frightening way she’d never seen before.

Lifting her chin, she replied, “You’ve dictated to me in some form or fashion since I was barely a teenager. I’ve done exactly what you wanted me to do all of my life, and asked few questions. I gave up my twenties and have no intention of doing the same for my thirties. I will find a job and move elsewhere, if that’s what it takes, but I’ll no longer be dictated to.” She wished that she could have added the words “as much as I respect and love you,” but not only would they not come out, they weren’t in her heart.

“You can’t find a job, and without money, there’s no place for you to live. You can’t make it on your own, and I can promise you if you move out of my house, you’ll never see your next birthday,” he said with contempt that forbade any further argument.

The dull ache of foreboding seeped into every crevice of her soul, but with it brought a determination she’d never felt before.

“I don’t need your damnable job. I already have an offer and it comes with a place to live.” She squared her shoulders, turned, and walked out, praying that Melba Ruth Campbell was as true to her word as she’d always been.

“In a room above a saloon, no doubt!” His words echoed off the walls as if they were spoken in an empty tomb.

Glass shattered against the study door, which she’d barely closed behind her.

Fear tightened in her stomach, yet she felt liberated. Although it scared her to death, she was on her own for the first time in her life.

One big problem existed: Did she really have someone to turn to and a place to lay her head?

Chapter 9

Anger dripped from every pore of Laurel’s body as she bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. It took less than five minutes to gather her belongings and pack them in her dilapidated valise. After taking a long, thoughtful look at the garments hanging in the wardrobe, she shut it. She wanted nothing that her uncle had given her.

She closed the door behind her, then walked down the backstairs from the servants’ quarters. Stepping out into the cool spring evening air, she relished its freshness, representing the first real sense of freedom she’d felt in many years.

As she walked away from the cold, heartless house, she let her thoughts wander like a maverick calf looking for his mama.

From the moment her uncle rushed her away from her parents’ graves until a few minutes ago, she had been like a marionette, with her uncle pulling the strings. Even before she was whisked off to boarding school, he’d tried to keep her segregated from people, as if she were some kind of nasty secret not to be revealed.

She had no idea what the townfolks had been told about why she had come to live with her relatives. But by the way they shunned her, it must have been that she was an escapee from a leper colony. The only kids brave enough to stand up for her were the Wilson sisters and Hunter Campbell. Even her own cousin would walk on the other side of the street just to taunt her.

The only normalcy she felt during that time was when she worked very hard in her studies and made good grades, even though she did so more out of fear than her own desire to excel. Her fun times existed when she sneaked away and spent time with Melba Ruth Campbell and her family or the Wilson sisters.

They all treated her like somebody, not a servant.

Only too vividly she was reminded of how Aunt Elizabeth would punish her for the tiniest infraction by having her polish all the silver in the house, although she had servants. It would take hours, and when she’d finally finish, her aunt would always find fault with the job she’d done. It took Laurel years to realize that her aunt was too scared to think for herself, and did as her husband dictated.

Laurel ended up following suit. It was better to do what she was told and ask no questions than to take the verbal abuse. Her uncle knew how to leave scars that could not be seen.

As Laurel walked along Main Street, she wanted to put her hands over her ears to quiet her thoughts.

She took a deep breath.
That was then and this is now.
She promised herself she’d never speak of the past and look only to the future.

Wrapped in new resolve, she continued along the darkened storefronts. The wind moaned and whispered between the buildings, and the only movement, other than a stray dog, was an occasional cowboy staggering out of one of the saloons either at the insistence of the barkeep or with the assistance of the toe of his boot.

Reality set in. She needed a place to spend the night and be safe at the same time. Running through a limited list, one by one she eliminated each of them.

The Wilson sisters were nowhere to be found, most likely working on their secret project for the library committee. Not to mention their place was much too cramped for another living creature.

It was too dark and dangerous to make her way back to the Triple C all alone. She quickly discounted trying to find Hunter and ask to sleep in one of the rooms above his saloon. Of course, the Sundance was out of the question.

At such a late hour, the only logical place for her to go and not be seen was the stables. The blacksmith would be settled in for the night and he’d never know she was there. She could sleep in one of the wagons, or if worst came to worst, Buckey’s stall. She’d rest until sunup, saddle the gelding, and head out to the Triple C to accept Melba Ruth’s offer of employment.

Her reflection caught her eye in the glass window of the unoccupied Campbell’s Millinery storefront. She pushed her hair back from around her face. An odd, yet warm feeling coursed through her as more memories of better times washed over her. Yet at the same time, a chill ran down her spine.

An idea flittered around in her head. Since Hunter’s sister had married and moved away, the town no longer had a hat shop. Laurel was well versed on headwear, and had written several articles on the fashion of hats. Why couldn’t she open a shop? Once she got settled in and saved every possible penny, maybe she’d do just that. No doubt she couldn’t afford to purchase the building, but surely she could negotiate a monthly rental fee that would be reasonable.

At least now she had a goal for the future. Of course, she’d have to change the name. Staring at the sign above the door, she envisioned
WOMACK
MILLINERY
written across it.

Laurel saw Greta Garrett’s reflection in the window before she got within an arm’s length of her, so she was able to turn around to face the woman as she approached. The look on Greta’s face made it clear that she wasn’t there to invite Laurel to Sunday dinner.

“I want to talk to you,” Greta said in the same hasty, demanding tone of voice she’d had since grade school.

“I don’t have time,” Laurel replied just as Greta grabbed her by the arm.

“Then take time.” Greta stood so close to her that Laurel could smell her breath, which reeked of cheap whiskey. “Hunter Campbell is my man, and if you don’t leave him alone, you’ll regret it.” Her eyebrows narrowed, and she said, “So stay away from him!”

Laurel jerked her arm away from Greta but chose to say nothing, because anything she said would only accelerate the argument.
Be the bigger person
, Laurel reminded herself.

Obviously thinking Laurel’s lack of response was an indication of compliance, Greta whirled and strolled toward the center of town as if she’d just finished a pleasant conversation with a friend.

Why were so many people intent on her keeping her distance from Hunter Campbell and his family? Jealousy fueled Greta’s insecurities, but what were the real reasons behind Uncle Gideon’s demands?

They will not frighten me away!
Laurel said over and over in her mind as she continued down Main Street. If anything, it only solidified her resolve.

As expected when she reached the blacksmith’s shop, there were no lights on, so she came through the wagon yard and found Buckey’s stall near the back door. He might well be a stupid hammerhead, as Hunter called him, but the bay was the only friend she had ... and he didn’t judge her.

She rubbed him down and brushed his black mane and tail. When she was finished, she pulled his saddle blanket from the rails separating him from the horse in the next stall, and headed for the nearest supply wagon, which was somewhat sheltered by a big cottonwood tree. The night weather was perfect. Although the Panhandle was known to have beautiful days and frigid nights during early spring, Mother Nature had smiled down on the town and shrouded it in a warmer-than-usual night.

After tossing her bag into the bed of the wagon, it took two tries for her to lift herself up. The wagon was loaded with lumber and supplies, but several bags of chicken feed and seeds of some sort lay end to end, making a perfect bed. She lay down, and frankly it wasn’t that much more uncomfortable than the bed she’d been sleeping in. She pulled a rough horse blanket over her, removed her Derringer from her bag and put the weapon under the covers but within reach, then tucked the satchel beneath her head for a pillow.

Lying awake, Laurel looked up at the black ceiling of sky strewn with thousands of glittery stars. An unbelievably full moon sent a cascade of silver light down upon the earth.

Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Tomorrow would bring the first sunrise of the rest of her life, and she’d never look behind her again ... only forward to the future. One as bright with promise as the stars overhead.

Satisfied that Laurel was safely at home, and he’d done what his mother requested, Hunter headed to the Coyote Bluff Saloon. Like any other night, it was filled to the brim with customers. The piano player, complete with a crimson armband on his right sleeve, played as loud as he could but still his tune could barely be recognized over the racket. Thunderous noise meant lots of activity, translating into good profits for the saloon.

The stubble-bearded blacksmith yelled at Hunter the moment he walked through the swinging doors. “Got a serious poker game going over here. Saved a chair for you, Campbell.”

“Andy, you know I rarely pass up an opportunity like that, but tonight I’ve got business to tend to.” He shot the blacksmith an apologetic grin.

Typically, the poker players knew that if he passed up a game, it was only because he had a better offer and that generally included a woman and a warm bed. But tonight was different. The business that he couldn’t get out of his system was the memory of Laurel’s body against his.

Hunter strolled directly to the bar, stopping to shake hands and acknowledge customers along the way. He spoke briefly to the bartender to make sure things were running smoothly, then took a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a glass from behind the bar and headed toward a corner table, where his old friend Stubby Johnson sat nursing a drink.

“Look like you’re fresh off a cattle drive,” Stubby said.

“Should’ve seen me before I changed clothes.” Hunter opened the bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers in each glass, before asking, “Have you seen Greta?”

“Last time I saw her, she was over at the Sundance flirtin’ with any cowboy who’d buy her a drink.” Stubby picked up his glass and took a slug. “You know her, always wantin’ to make a feller happy. Gonna break it off with her?”

“Nothing to break off.”

“Cain’t tell me she means more to you than a good romp in the hay. I’ve known you too long.”

“That’s all it’s been for both of us. Greta’s told that to plenty of studs no matter what she tells the fillies.” After gulping down his whiskey, Hunter refilled his glass. “Might’ve had something if we’d tried harder, but neither of us was much into trying that hard.”

“And I can bet my last eagle that the trying stopped altogether when Laurel Dean Womack got back into town?”

“She has nothing to do with it,” Hunter lied, not only to his friend but to himself, then changed the subject. “Everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Yep. All the men know we’re meetin’ at two and will finalize our plans. Got a couple of volunteers to build the pit, and so far have three cowmen who have donated beeves to put on the spit when it’s finished. Still plannin’ on Valentine’s Day?”

“Don’t see any reason not to. All the women from the ladies’ group were out at the ranch with their heads together, so I have little doubt that my plan worked and they are preparing for a boxed supper and dance.”

“You’re sure of that? You know you scared the pee diddlin’ out of us when you changed plans at the last minute.” Stubby ran his hands through his curly black hair and plopped his Stetson back on. “I thought you’d been nipping on loco weed for a bit, but then when I saw the womenfolk skedaddlin’ outta the Sundance like their bloomers were on fire, I knew what you were doing. All we have to do now is to get the word out to the cowboys and they’ll all be bitin’ at the bit to come to town for beer and barbeque and won’t mind leaving a donation to help pave Main Street. They do like their beer.”

Hunter couldn’t help smiling. “And then they can stay for the girlie festivities if they want. They probably won’t sell many boxed suppers, but the men will want to dance, if they get tanked up enough.”

“Yep, we got our share of pretty calicos here,” Stubby said with a twinkle in his eye.