Texas Born (38 page)

Jenny needn't have feared. By the time one of
the ranch hands brought word to Tex that a woman was ensconced in
the western fields beyond the house painting a picture, his
interest was captured. He went out on the porch and looked over to
where she was at work. He could not see much; she was too far
away.

He grinned to himself and shook his head.
Ever since his wife, Yolanda, had died, women had been beating a
path to his door. Some of them were blatantly forward, others
staged elaborate 'accidental' meetings. In one way or another they
were all full of intrigue, and they were all after the same thing.
But this was the first time a woman had ever come here under the
pretense of finding something to paint.

'Original,' he murmured to himself. 'Very
original.'

He glanced up at the sky. He could tell it
was around three-thirty. In another three hours sunset would come.
She wouldn't be able to paint at night; it would be interesting to
see how she would handle that.

He sent for one of his ranch hands. 'Go see
what she's up to,' he instructed, 'but don't tell her I'm
here.'

'Should I send her away?' the young cowhand
asked.

Tex looked at him in surprise. 'What for?
She's here, isn't she? And a woman. I might as well make the best
of it.'

And as the ranch hand walked off, Tex
thought:
All women are the same. Stupid and transparent. They
all want something from me, but none of them get anything, except
the putas from Mexican Town. They, at least, are honest.

Does this one think she's any different? If
she does, she s in for a vast surprise.

But it would be he who would be surprised,
for he had no idea that he was dealing with someone as evilly
clever as himself—someone on his very own level.

As time crept by, Jenny was not so sure she
would ever come face-to-face with Tex Sexton. She was beginning to
realize just how skimpy her plan of action really was, and how it
depended on so many variables she had absolutely no control over.
For instance, any one of the ranch hands could have ordered her off
the property. One came out to her, but she'd vaguely hinted
something about having gotten permission. He grunted, looked at the
sketch she was coloring in, scratched his head in bafflement, and
ambled back to the house. To get Tex Sexton, she hoped.

At a few minutes after five, Tex Sexton went
back out on the porch and gazed across the fields. She was still
there painting.

He summoned one of his hands. 'Go over and
invite her to dine with me,' he said. 'And before you go, have
Carmen set another place for supper.'

The hand nodded and did as he was told.
Fifteen minutes later he knocked on the door to Tex's study. 'She
'declines,' ' he drawled.

Tex rose to his feet, clasped his hands in
the small of his back, and paced his study thoughtfully.

An invitation to the house had always worked.
Was it possible that she
was
different?

It was six o'clock and nightfall was fast
approaching when Tex went back outside. He looked up at the sky and
nodded to himself. The light had already changed significantly. The
edges of the clouds were tinged in a pinkish glow, and the shadows
the setting sun cast were long.

He glanced thoughtfully toward where Jenny
was painting. Initially it had been his plan to wait until dark to
see exactly what she was going to do, but suddenly he felt the
restless urge for the company of a woman. Her declining the supper
invitation had meant either of two things—she was playing hard to
get or else she really had no interest in meeting him—something he
had trouble believing.

Curiously, somehow the thought of her out
there brought an aching excitement to his loins. It had been two
whole weeks since he had last been with a woman. In fact, earlier
in the day he had contemplated sending for one of the
putas
from Mexican Town, but when he'd heard that there was a woman
practically outside his front door, he'd decided against it.

His hands in his pockets, Tex strode across
the front yard, skirted the pond, and headed out to where she stood
painting, her spine erect, one hand resting on her hip. Even from
this distance, with her back turned to him, he could tell that she
had a lithe body which even the plain, severe cut of her riding
outfit could do little to disguise.

Jenny had decided not to play the flirtatious
female; she knew that plenty of women had already tried that— and
failed to win him. No, she would be feminine, but vigorous and
proud too. And she would keep her back turned to him, showing her
face only at the last possible moment—to dramatic advantage.

When she heard someone approach her from
behind, her heart skipped a beat.
Was it him? Or was it another
of his flunkies?

She held her paintbrush between trembling
fingers, quickly dabbed it in the jar of water, soaked the soft
bristles in red paint, lifted it to the canvas, and—

'You're trespassing,' a deep, deceptively
lazy voice drawled behind her.

'Oh!
' Jenny gave a squeal of surprise,
as though she had not heard his approach; simultaneously she
artfully jerked her brush across the paper, leaving a thick
bloodlike streak across the pale wash. 'Oh, no!' she wailed in
dismay. She placed her hands on her hips and eyed her work
morosely. 'Now look what you made me do! It's ruined!'

'It's not very good anyway,' he said with a
humorous chuckle.

She whirled around, fighting to keep from
showing her recognition. 'What do
you
know about art,
anyway?' she snapped derisively with a toss of her head.

'I think I should be the one asking the
questions,' he said, raising his eyebrows with mild amusement. His
eyes swept her from head to foot. On his way over, it had occurred
to him that, unlikely though it was, she just
might
be a
young woman out for an afternoon of painting: from the cut of her
outfit, she had certainly tried to give that impression. But the
face which now regarded him with flushed irritation was seen to its
best advantage in the darkening reddish light of the sunset, and
her robin's-egg-blue eyes, framed by thick long lashes, had never
looked more enticing. Her figure was slender, but there was nothing
boyish about it. The collar of her plaid shirt, although
high-necked, was unbuttoned down to her bosom, which would have
looked obscene had she not tucked a lace handkerchief strategically
inside.

His gaze lingered on her bosom. There was
something decidedly feminine and overwhelmingly ripe about her, and
at the same time she looked young and vulnerable. But it had been
her snappish outburst, her taking the offensive, which appealed to
him mightily. That, coupled with her flashing eyes, had done it.
She was so startlingly different from the fawning, sloe-eyed women
constantly favoring him with their glances that he found himself
instantly drawn to her like no woman he had ever met.

She turned away suddenly, well aware of his
smoldering gaze. Tilting her head, she regarded her ruined picture.
'Maybe you're right,' she conceded grudgingly. 'It isn't very
good.' She tore the paper off the easel and crumpled it. 'I'm
afraid I just don't have the talent it takes.'

'Then why do you paint?'

She turned to him slowly. 'What else is there
to do around here?'

He eyed her levelly. 'You'd be
surprised.'

'Oh ho.' She laughed hoarsely. 'That isn't
what I meant at all.' She tightened her lips. 'Well, if it'll make
you feel any better, I'm sorry for having trespassed. Now, I think
I'd better be leaving. It's getting late.' Quickly she stooped over
and began gathering up her things.

Suddenly she felt strong fingers clamping
around her wrist like a vise. Then he pulled her up and turned her
around to face him.

'Let me go!' she hissed, struggling
fiercely.

He laughed, pulled her close, and kissed her.
She pressed her lips tightly shut. When he let her go, she took a
faltering step backward. 'Animal!' she hissed, wiping her mouth
with the back of her hand. 'You're an animal!'

He chuckled with amusement. 'It's what you
wanted, isn't it?'

She said coldly, 'How would
you
know
what I want?'

'Simple. You came out here, didn't you?' He
continued to regard her shrewdly. 'Don't tell me you didn't notice
the sign warning off trespassers? I could have had you shot.'

She raised her chin boldly. 'You wouldn't
dare!'

'I would dare. I happen to own this property.
I'm Tex Sexton.'

'And I'm Martha Washington!' she countered
nastily.

She watched him turn and start to walk off.
She licked her lips with apprehension.

Now was the moment, she knew. Now or never.
An opportunity like this would never present itself again. If
Sexton didn't catch her in the act of contriving the accident, then
everything would turn out fine. She had aroused him, she sensed,
and in no small way.

Don't turn around
, she willed him
silently.
Whatever you do, Tex Sexton, just keep on walking and
don't look back.

Slowly, keeping her eyes on him, she reached
into her pocket for the prickly burs and slipped them under the
saddle, and then mounted. The mare protested against the stabbing
pain and kicked out with its hind legs. Then Jenny tightened her
lips and viciously drove her steel spurs into the mare's sides.

The rest happened so quickly, Jenny
completely lost control. Later she would realize the mare had
reared up and bolted. But that was later. Right now, it was all she
could do to hang on for dear life.

Everything happened in a blur. One moment she
caught sight of Tex Sexton whirling around, and the next she was
racing the devil to the far fence of the paddock, showers of earth
and exploding tufts of grass flying up all around her.

The approaching fence seemed to grow in size
before Jenny's frightened eyes. For an instant she was frozen in
genuine terror. Forgotten suddenly was her well-hatched plan. She
only knew that somehow she had to stop the horse, and quickly.

But the mare had a mind of its own. The burs
tore into its flesh and Jenny's spurs added even more ferocious
pain.

The fence loomed larger and larger, and then
the horse leapt. The ground was left behind as they began to sail
over the white-painted slats.

For a split second it looked as if they were
going to make it.

But Jenny's mare was no jumper. She was a
utilitarian workhorse used to rutted roads and being harnessed to
the buggy. As they flew through the air, its hind legs crashed into
the fence and it lost its equilibrium. Jenny stifled her scream and
tried to throw herself clear, but her left boot had become
entangled with the stirrup and the horse hit the ground in a
scrambling tangle. Jenny landed on her shoulders, was thrown free
of the horse, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs. Her left
leg was wrenched sideways and her entire body was shot through with
pain.

But she didn't utter a sound.

The mare struggled to her feet, but collapsed
with sounds of anguish.

Tex had not wasted a moment. From the instant
the mare had bolted, he had come chasing after them. Within seconds
he was squatting beside Jenny. He lifted her skirt, took one look
at her leg, and gently moved her foot.

She averted her head and cringed as a
thousand blinding arrows of pain shot through her, but she did not
once cry out. She swallowed her moans.

Still silent, Jenny felt Tex slip one arm
under her back and another under her buttocks. 'Where are you
taking me?' she asked in a white-faced whisper.

'Damn-fool woman. What were you trying to do,
kill yourself?'

She shut her eyes.

'That horse needs to be shot. Both its hind
legs are broken. 'Least you don't have a broken leg.'

She opened her eyes. 'It's not broken?' she
whispered.

He nodded and looked deep into her eyes. They
were cloudy and fathomless, and try as he might, he was unable to
read her thoughts. In fact, he could not even tell whether or not
she was frightened.

Somehow the fact that she hadn't once cried
out appealed to him immensely.

He knew then that he had met his match.

It was a few weeks later. The scraping of
cutlery against china rang out noisily in the dining room; from one
corner came the scratchy music issuing forth from the Victrola
Elender had set up. It was dinner hour at the Good Eats Café, and
every table was occupied.

Elizabeth-Anne placed a plate in front of
Sheriff Parker and looked up in surprise as Jenny came in through
the door. Jenny ignored her, looking around the café
disdainfully.

Elizabeth-Anne walked up to her. 'Hello,
Jenny,' she said quietly.

Jenny finally fixed her with a stolid look.
'Is Auntie here?'

'Yes.' Elizabeth-Anne nodded. 'She's in the
kitchen.'

'Go get her for me, will you?' Jenny looked
around again, folded her arms across her chest, and tapped one foot
impatiently on the floor.

Elizabeth-Anne stared at her. Then she
shrugged her shoulders and wiped her hands on her apron. 'Very
well.' She turned and headed to the swinging doors into the
kitchen. She pushed them open and they flapped shut behind her.

Rosa was standing in front of the big hot
stove, ladling spicy hot chili over plates of yellow saffron rice.
Elender was stooped over the table, beating a bowl of egg whites
with a whisk. 'How many more to serve?' she called over her
shoulder when she heard Elizabeth-Anne come back in.

'Seven or eight.' Elizabeth-Anne paused.
'Auntie,' she said softly.

'Yes, dear?'

'Jenny's in the dining room.'