Travis (17 page)

Kate stared after them. Yes, it was Violet all right, Duke’s favorite whore. How in the hell had Violet gotten from Kansas clear down here to Texas, and what was she doing in pigtails and dressed up like a schoolgirl?

Kate went to the balcony railing, frowned as she stared after the pair, who were now walking across the saloon floor toward the swinging doors.

Kate had been Duke’s favorite, replacing a pretty blond girl named Emily, who had become a hopeless drunk and been thrown out in the street. But Duke soon tired of Kate and then she’d been replaced by the beautiful Violet and Kate had had to move on to a series of lower-class dumps like this, the old Cattle Drive Saloon.

She hated Violet for replacing her and wondered now if Duke and his hired gun, Slade, knew where Violet was. Maybe there could be a reward in it for the person who told him. Kate smiled to herself, watching the men laughing below her as Violet tried to talk the tall Texan into leaving. Kate decided she would keep this information to herself until she could use it for her own benefit.

 

 

Travis could barely stand on his feet, but he was very aware that men were laughing all around him. “Violet, this is no place for a young girl.”

“Or you either,” she said firmly and began to lead him.

He turned and looked back at the whores on the balcony. “I’ll be back, ladies.”

“No, he won’t,” Violet said and led him out the door.

He stood outside taking deep breaths of the fresh air. “You just embarrassed the hell out of me back there, you know it?”

“I wouldn’t be the first kid to drag her daddy out of a saloon.”

“I’m not your daddy, damn it.”

She started leading him toward the house. “You’re drunk, Travis. Just come home and sleep it off.”

“I was just going upstairs with a lady, and—”

“I know what you were going to do.”

“No, you don’t. A kid like you don’t know anything. She just kissed me, that’s all.”

They had reached their doorway. Now they paused and she looked up at him. “A kiss? Is that what you’re complaining about? I’ll give you a kiss.”

Before he was aware of what was happening, Violet put her arms around his neck, pulled him very tight against her soft curves, and then she kissed him.

He couldn’t ever remember being kissed with such passion and expertise before. He was astounded, and for a moment, he only stood there while the girl pressed her warm body against his and kissed him, really kissed him.

Then he took a deep breath and returned the kiss as her tongue went into his mouth and he felt its wet warmth against his lips. No woman had ever kissed him with such passion and he pulled her so tightly against him that she might not be able to breathe. He wanted to pull her inside him, kiss her deeper and deeper. Their tongues met and his hand went to her breast inside her dress and his manhood came up hard and throbbing. He had never wanted a woman like he wanted this one. He could feel her heart pounding hard against his chest and he pulled back so he could swing her up into his arms. All he could think of was getting her to a bed, a hayloft, anywhere where he could lay her down and make passionate love to her.

“Travis?” she whispered, looking up at him with those wide violet-blue eyes.

Her voice brought him out of his frenzied stupor. “What—what in God’s name am I doing?”

He pushed her away from him, both of them breathing hard. “I must be very drunk or a very sick bastard to grab a kid like you and—”

“You’re just drunk.” She seemed to regain her composure and look around while adjusting her dress. “We’d better get inside before anyone sees us.”

“God, yes. This town would lynch me in a heartbeat if they caught me fondling and kissing a thirteen-year-old girl.”

“Forget about it. In the morning, you won’t even remember this. Let’s go in.” She had him by the arm as she opened the door and they stumbled inside. “Be quiet and don’t wake the kids.”

He was drunk, there was no denying that. He stumbled along in the dark, letting her lead him to his bed, where he collapsed.

“I’ll take off your boots,” she said, “and in the morning, you’ll be fine except for a hangover.”

He closed his eyes to keep the dark room from swirling around his head. The gentle touch of her hands pulling off his boots was the last thing he remembered.

 

 

Violet stood up and looked down at him. He was already out cold. With any luck, he wouldn’t remember the kiss in the morning. If he did, she’d lie and tell him he’d imagined it.

How could she have been such a fool? She had always wanted to kiss him and she’d given in to the temptation to keep him from thinking about the saloon girl he’d been about to bed when Violet had arrived.

Shaking with jealousy, she went to her room and got ready for bed, trying to forget that he had been about to make love to another woman. Violet had never wanted a man to make love to her before; she had just endured it as the price she had to pay to survive. But now she wanted Travis, and she’d painted herself into a corner. How could she let him know she was almost twenty without explaining? He would hate her for being a whore.

So there was nothing else to do but pretend she was only thirteen years old and one of the orphans. Sooner or later, he would want a woman again and head back to the saloon . . . or maybe he would marry one of the eager respectable women in this town. There didn’t seem to be any good answer for this mess she’d created. Hot tears gathered in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She dabbed at them awkwardly. She never cried, not since her little brother, Tommy, died at the charity hospital with her holding his small hand and begging him not to leave her.

After that, Violet had hardened her heart, knowing that to survive in this tough world, she would have to guard her soul so that no emotion ever came to the surface. Yet now here she was crying over a drunken Texas Ranger who she could never have. Tonight, she’d had just a glimpse of what love could be with a man she really loved and could never have. It hurt so much.

Violet drifted off into a troubled sleep and in that sleep, she dreamed that Travis had carried her into his bed and made passionate love to her, thrilling her in a way that she had never known.

She awoke at dawn, breathing hard and terrified that Travis would remember last night and ask questions. Oh God, what would she say if he did?

Violet got up and put on the light yellow dress. Since Travis was working, she now owned two dresses. She picked up the blue one and sighed. It was torn down the front from last night’s encounter with Leroy Jenkins, but maybe she could mend it.

The June morning was warm, and since it was Sunday, she went into the kitchen and began to mix flapjacks and fry bacon. Within minutes, the smell drifting through the house had awakened all the children and they were gathered around the table. Even Growler was there, sitting up and waving his paws in the air.

Violet laughed. “I’ve fixed enough so even the pooch can have some. Houston, run and milk the cow and feed the livestock. Is Travis awake yet?”

“Nope,” answered Harold, “I walked past his door, but all I heard was snoring from inside.”

“Him sick?” Bonnie asked.

“Uh, maybe,” Violet answered, avoiding their eyes. “As soon as Houston gets back, we’ll eat. Then why don’t you all get dressed and go on to Sunday school and I’ll join you in time for church?”

“Sure,” said Kessie.

In a few minutes, Houston came in from the barn with a bucket of milk. Violet began to dish up flapjacks.

Harold had syrup on his mouth. “Travis going to church?”

“Uh, he may be too sick,” Violet said, pouring foaming glasses of milk. She sat down and helped herself to a plate of flapjacks and reached for the butter and syrup. Biting into a slice of crisp bacon, she thought about last night and worried about how much Travis might remember this morning.

Kessie grinned at her. “You make a great mama, Violet. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could live like this from now on?”

“We can’t do that, silly,” Houston corrected her. “We need a full-grown mama for Travis to marry.”

Violet winced at the thought and poured thick cream in her coffee. “We’re all doing just fine right now and if someday Travis wants to marry, he’ll pick out a girl himself.”

“You.” Bonnie pointed with her spoon. “You Violet be mama.”

“Stop feeding Growler all your bacon,” Violet scolded.

Harold paused and cocked his head. “I can hear Travis groaning from the bedroom. What’s wrong with him?”

“Maybe I’ll give him some castor oil,” Violet said, a little annoyed with Travis for last night’s drunken spree. “Now if you kids are through eating, go out by the pump and wash the syrup off your faces, then get ready for Sunday school.” She surely didn’t want the children around if Travis came into breakfast and suddenly recalled what had happened last night. “Now go on with you.”

Dutifully, the children trekked out to the pump to wash up and then into the house to get dressed for Sunday school.

“I’ll be along in time for church,” Violet promised and she heard the church bells tolling in the distance and pushed the kids out the front door. Then she thought to yell after them, “Don’t let Growler into the building—make him wait outside. I don’t think the preacher will like a dog lying under the pews scratching fleas.”

The kids laughed and waved back, Growler trotting along beside Bonnie.

Violet closed the front door and took a deep breath. She heard Travis banging around in his room, putting on his clothes. She could only hope he remembered nothing.

She went into the kitchen and waited. In a few minutes, he stumbled into the kitchen, holding his head and groaning. “Damn it, I must have really cut the wolf loose last night.”

“What?”

He blinked. “It’s Texan for getting drunk.”

“I believe you did,” she said primly and poured him a cup of strong coffee. She thought a minute and added a splash of whiskey. “How about some breakfast? Maybe some nice scrambled eggs.”

He looked toward the stove and shuddered. “I don’t think so.”

She handed him the cup of coffee and he took it with a shaky hand. “How about some flapjacks with lots of syrup and butter?” She gave him her brightest smile.

For a moment, he turned a little green, swallowed hard and then shook his head. “Coffee, just coffee.”

He really had a hangover. Probably he didn’t remember much of anything. She sighed with relief. “Are you sure? Poached eggs and bacon—”

“Please stop yelling,” he grumbled, sipping the coffee. “You make my head hurt.”

“I’ll tell you what makes your head hurt.” She put her hands on her hips, really annoyed with him. “Trying to drink a barrel of booze in that filthy saloon.”

“Oh, yeah.” His brow furrowed as if trying to remember. “And there was a girl in a green dress—”

“And about that time I came to take you home,” she scolded. “A fine thing when a little girl has to come into a saloon to drag you out before you spend all your paycheck.”

He was staring at her now, his cup halfway to his lips. He looked puzzled.

She felt a chill go through her heart. Did he remember after all? If he did, how was she going to explain it away? She should have kept her mouth shut, but she’d been so angry with him over those saloon tarts.

“I don’t remember much,” he mumbled finally and sipped his coffee. “One thing, I do remember is that redhead is a hellova kisser.”

She felt like smacking him with the ladle in her hand. “Please spare these tender ears the lurid details of what you were doing or about to do when I came in there. I’m sure the men in this town are going to gossip like a flock of old hens over a kid coming into a saloon to get you.”

“Yeah, I reckon so.” He was staring at her again.

She turned away and put the ladle in the dishpan. “I’ve got to get ready for church. I’ve put a stewing hen in the oven for dinner and I’ll throw together some banana pudding when I get home. You want to go to church? It looks good to have the whole family there.”

“And deal with all those women who want to find me a wife?” He groaned again and held out his cup for more coffee. “Sometimes, Violet, you act more like a nagging wife than a kid. I don’t feel like going to church and please don’t insist unless you want to see me throw up during the service.”

“I’ll tell everyone you’re sick,” she said and marched off to her room, feeling relieved that he obviously didn’t remember the kiss or pawing her breasts last night. She was still safe in her masquerade.

 

 

She washed and put her hair up with yellow ribbons, got her parasol to keep the hot June sun off her face and hurried to church as the bells began to chime. In the vestibule, Miss Brewster and Miss Knowlen waved to her and she nodded back. As she started to go in to the sanctuary, the banker’s fat wife caught her arm. “Hello, dear, I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

Violet managed a smile. “I know who you are, Mrs. Clay.”

The fine jewels on the fat lady sparkled in the June sunlight. “I’ve been wanting to introduce my daughters to your father. Is he here today?” She craned her neck, looking around.

“I’m afraid not. He’s sick today.”

One of the fat daughters came up to take Violet’s hand. “Oh, maybe I should bring him some chicken soup.”

Mrs. Clay beamed. “Isn’t that nice? Leave it to my girls to try to do their Christian duty. This is Clara and here comes her sister, Myrtle.”

“I’m so glad to meet you.” Violet offered her hand. They were probably both close to forty years old, two old maids looking for a husband. “I think he will be fine, but thank you very much. I’ve got a chicken in the oven at home.”

Myrtle looked disappointed. “Oh, I was going to bring in supper tonight. I make the best liver casserole.”

Violet imagined how the queasy Travis would face a liver casserole. “Thank you, but I’ll manage.”

Mrs. Clay patted her arm. “You’re such a brave child, but you know, your daddy really needs a wife. Everyone in town says that.”

“Uh, I think the service is starting,” Violet said and escaped down the aisle as the choir broke into a chorus of “Roll, Jordan, Roll.” She spotted the kids and slid in beside them. When she looked down, Growler was lying beneath little Bonnie’s feet under the pew. Oh, well, maybe no one had noticed him.

As everyone settled down for the sermon, Violet noted Bonnie was playing with Houston’s small wooden horse and Harold was drawing on the back of a donation envelope. “What are you drawing?” she whispered.

“A ship,” the Oriental boy whispered back. “Someday, people are going to the moon and I might design a ship to get them there.”

It was such a preposterous idea that Violet managed to nod and not laugh. She didn’t think anyone would ever even build a flying machine, much less a ship that would go to the moon.

The sermon was on Jezebel and how she had enticed men with lust and her terrible end. The subject made Violet uneasy and she tried not to squirm in her seat as the preacher talked about saloons, those dens of iniquity that should be closed and the loose women in them run out of town. When she looked around, it seemed most of the men in the congregation were squirming and looking guilty.

The June day was hot, with bees buzzing through the open windows and the scent of roses from outside the church mixing with the scent of candles and sweating bodies. The kids squirmed on the pew and Violet shushed them and Growler yawned and scratched again, his foot hitting the floor rhythmically until people craned their necks to look.

At last the congregate stood and the old organ wheezed and began to play “Amazing Grace.” Violet hoped no one would go down the aisle to get saved today. The kids were squirming and she was beginning to worry that her chicken in the oven at home might be burning.

There were probably a lot of people in the audience who needed to come forward and confess their sins, but the crowd seemed to heave a sigh of relief that no one did and the service could end.

Violet and the children lined up to shake hands with Pastor Smithe.

“Good service,” Violet said.

“Good to see the whole family.” He smiled and then frowned. “Where is Mr. Prescott?”

“Him sick,” Bonnie volunteered.

“Really I think he’s drunk,” Kessie said in a hoarse whisper.

“Kessie!” Violet gasped. “Really!”

The pastor frowned. “People are saying around town that it’s a shame a young girl has to run that house. There’s plenty of eligible women in town.”

She glanced back and saw Miss Brewster, Miss Knowlen, and the banker’s wife and two fat daughters coming her way. “Reverend Smithe, I think we need to be going.”

The pastor nodded his bald head. “Tell Mr. Prescott we missed him and, Miss Violet, would you try to keep the dog from coming to church? I doubt his soul needs saving.” He looked down at Growler, who had stopped in the church doorway to scratch a flea.

“I’ll do my best,” Violet promised.

She and the children were about to walk home when Mrs. Van Mayes came up to her. “So good to see you children in church.” The pretty widow looked around. “And where is Travis?”

Kessie began, “He’s home and—”

“—not feeling well,” Violet said and put her hand over Kessie’s mouth before she could say more. “Come along, children, let’s go home.”

“I was going to invite you all over for Sunday dinner.” Mrs. Van Mayes smiled, but her eyes were blue ice.

“I’m sorry, I’ve already got dinner cooking,” Violet said. “A roasted chicken with vegetables.”

“Such a brave little girl.” Mrs. Van Mayes patted Violet’s shoulder in a patronizing way that made Violet grit her teeth. “Your daddy should really get married so you wouldn’t have to work so hard. It’s not right, a mere slip of a girl having to take on the responsibilities of running a house and raising children.”

“I don’t mind,” Violet said. “Come on, kids, let’s go.”

“Another night then,” the widow said. “I’ll contact your father.”

“He’s very busy,” Violet said, snapped open her parasol and started walking away. “Bye now.”

She glanced back. The pretty widow was staring after her and frowning. She wasn’t fooling Violet. The wealthy beauty wanted a husband and she’d set her eyes on Travis. Well, that wasn’t going to happen if Violet had anything to do with it.

They went home. The smell of chicken and vegetables wafted on the warm June air as they entered. Travis had gone back to bed.

Violet heaved a sigh of relief as she put on an apron and began making banana pudding for dessert. The kids would be thrilled because bananas were rare and such a treat, but Violet had saved her pennies to buy some. “You kids get washed up for dinner and one of you boys see if Travis feels like getting up.”

“Is he still drunk?” Kessie asked.

Violet sighed. “Let’s not be discussing this with the whole town, shall we not?”

“Drunk,” lisped Bonnie, “drunk.”

“I am not.” Travis stumbled into the dining room and slumped down in his chair at the end of the table as everyone else sat down. He looked up at Violet and his expression seemed puzzled.

So he still hadn’t figured out about last night. Good. Maybe he never would.

“How was church?” Travis asked as Violet served up the chicken and passed around the bowl of steaming vegetables.

Houston shrugged. “Something about a bad lady who was eaten by dogs.”

Bonnie made a face. “Growler not eat lady. Growler like chicken.” And before Violet could stop her, she leaned over and put her bowl on the floor so the dog got his dinner, too.

Travis looked puzzled. “Good Lord, what kind of things are they teaching these days in church, anyway?”

“Never mind,” Violet said. “It was about Jezebel.”

“Ohh.” He nodded as if he understood. “Yep, bad ladies.”

Violet felt her face burn. She had been a Jezebel in the past, but now she was trying to change her life and maybe God would forgive her if she did enough good deeds.

Kessie said, “Can I say grace?”

“Certainly,” Violet said as she sat down at the other end of the table.

Kessie looked around at the family. “Everyone must bow their heads and close their eyes and, Bonnie, stop feeding the dog. Now, God is great, God is good and we thank him for this food. Amen.”