Paxton Pride (41 page)

Karen arched out her stomach in exaggeration. “What happens, sir, if he turns out to be a she?”

“Wouldn't dare,” Vance said, grinning. “The Paxtons breed boys. Let the others get girls.”

“Vance Paxton!” Karen twirled from him, putting Jared's desk between them. “That's terrible. That's a terrible thing to say.”

“Truth. Come here.”

“I will not. Any …”

“Come here.” Grinning, he darted around the desk for her, barely missing a handful of skirt as she skipped playfully behind a chair.

“You are conceited, vain, egotistical, arrogant …” Vance hooked a foot under the chair and slid it aside, leaving Karen nowhere to run. Suddenly his arms were around her again, his mouth seeking hers “… and I love you, Vance. I love you so much.”

“Oh! I
do
beg your pardon.” Vance released Karen abruptly, startled by the voice. The butler stood in the doorway, glancing down the hall to see how Vance had gained entry. “Mr. Paxton. I didn't hear you come in.”

“Sheehan, would you have some lunch brought for Mr. Paxton, please? He's had a long, tiring ride.”

The butler nodded, smiling. “Of course, madam. In ten minutes, if you please.” He disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

“Looks like you've become part of the family,” Vance chuckled.

“I'm in my element.”

They sat together in the sun parlor. While Vance ate Karen recounted her adventures of the past six weeks, beginning with the party for Marvin Rutledge. The Undersecretary had brought disturbing news from Washington. Barrett Hampton's business was sorely affected by the depression. He had been forced to cut back drastically, ended up losing the house in Washington and had to move back to New York where he could exercise close personal control of the trembling remnants of the Hampton fortune. With the house went any further immediate chances for political speculation, and while they were by no means destitute, neither would Iantha be able to indulge her extravagant nature.

Washington society had been shocked to the very foundation by the brutal murder of Angie Leighton followed by Earnest Leighton's incriminating disappearance. The scandal had undoubtedly provided ample fodder for more tea party gossip sessions than the city had seen for some time, and while many an indignant matron decried the foul deed, as many more muttered “Good riddance,” beneath her breath.

In short, Karen chattered on about parties and being pregnant, about Bertha and Jared and, slyly, the banker's hopes for Vance's political career. Vance said little and concentrated on the food, the first really good meal he'd had since before leaving on the extended scout for Jaco. Most of the information Karen thought so interesting didn't concern Vance in the slightest and though he nodded and appeared to be listening he was really thinking of what a fool he'd been to bring a saddle horse for a woman in her present condition. The meal finished, he broached the subject but Karen only laughed, insisting that riding horseback would be no more traumatic nor uncomfortable than a jostling, bumpy trip in a buckboard.

Bertha, whose attitude toward Karen had changed abruptly since the night of the party, was the first to arrive. She made a wonderful show of greeting Vance and wishing he and Karen could stay longer. Uncle Rutty, Karen had called the Under-Secretary. Almost like family. And the girl was staying at Bertha Green's house. My, how burdens turn to blessings in disguise, the banker's wife reflected, smugly considering how her social position in the community had been elevated beyond that of her envious friends. Karen Olivia Hampton—Paxton too, of course—of Washington was her house guest

Jared arrived just before dinner and visited with Vance over the evening meal. Anxious to be alone with her husband, Karen picked nervously at the meal. Finally the conversation lagged and Vance excused himself. Karen self-consciously accompanied him upstairs, trying hard to ignore Bertha's knowing smirk. A tub of hot water was waiting for Vance and as Karen watched he stripped and plunged into the water with a groan of relief. “Six weeks on the trail. You don't know how good this feels.”

Karen knelt by the tub and began to scrub him with a sponge, reacting sharply when she noted the new scar, still red around the edges. “How did you …?”

“Apache. It's all right now.”

“But you could have …” Her face was white. “… you could have …”

“I didn't.” He noted the tears in her eyes, drew her face close to his. “Hey, no call for that. I'm all right.”

Suddenly her arms were around his neck and their lips met, crushed by the six long weeks of loneliness and longing. Karen stood abruptly and her eyes shone with voracious hunger as she stripped the gown from her body and stood naked before him. “Just sit back … relax. Let me wash you.” The sponge became a tortuous, erotic tool playing over his chest, abdomen, groin, thighs and calves. The soft caress of her hands was a direct contradiction to the six celibate weeks, and tired though Vance was he responded as she hoped, followed where she led. Then she was in the water with him and he was soaping her breasts and the insides of her thighs, touching the body eagerly waiting for him as softly as possible with work-roughened hands. He could stand it no longer. Rising, the water cascaded from him as she cupped the twin spheres and caressed the rigid staff until Vance shuddered and grasped her hands.

“No more. Not yet. Not yet.” Quickly he pulled her from the water, tenderly dried her with a warm towel and carried her to the bed. Seconds later he was rock hard again in response to the quick fingers which played over him. “My God! I forgot!”

A look of alarm crossed Karen's face. “What?”

“I … I mean we … well, we
can't
, can we?”

Karen giggled, suddenly became serious. “If we don't, I'll never forgive you.”

“You sure it's all right?”

“I'm very, very sure.”

Tenderly he rose over her and, their eyes locked in unity of purpose, eased into the warmth and moistness. Karen's eyes widened and she gasped, caught her breath. “Easy.”

“Mmmm.” The slow rhythm built in long, lazy strokes, culminating in a sweeping release that held them both frozen in attitudes of ecstasy for long, long seconds.

Vance pulled back the covers, opened the warm sleeping gown and stroked the swell of her belly where his son was growing.
My son
…
my son
.

“I must look like a cow to you.”

“You look like a beautiful woman.” He put his ear to her stomach, listened. “Can you feel anything yet?”

“Yes.” When he started to lift his head she held him there, enjoying the warmth and pressure. “Vance?”

“Mmm?”

“I was talking to Jared.” Vance stiffened, certain of what was to follow. “San Antonio is so festive. Not like Washington of course, but in its own way bright and cheerful. And with all the nationalities, almost a smaller version of New York plopped down out here in Texas.”

“I can assure you San Antonio wasn't just ‘plopped'.”

“Jared tells me you're very highly thought of here … and in Austin.”

“I have some friends. From the war. When the reconstruction government dissolves they'll more than likely be elected to take the places of the carpetbaggers and scalawags.”

“You could be one of them.”

“Oh, Karen.”

“It's true. Jared said you could go far.”

Vance sat up, cross-legged, facing her and unconsciously tugging on his moustache as he collected his thoughts. “I don't want to go far.”

“Think of it Austin … living in the capital.”

“Karen.…”

“A few years in the state government and then who knows. Certainly a seat in the House.”

“Karen.…”

“Think of it, Vance. Back to Washington. And not just as an individual pleading a cause, but with real power behind you. And you wouldn't have to be out on horseback for six weeks at a time, or carry a gun.”

Vance uncoiled, leaned over and languorously kissed her, brushing the hair back from her face with his fingers, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts and his head lowering to kiss her again and again in a sweeping arc.

“Vance!” Karen paused to catch her breath. “Vance … no. This is important.”

“I know.”

“No!” she ordered, pushing him away. “You know what I mean. Do you want to be stuck out on that ranch all your life?”

Vance sat up. “Do you want to be Bertha Green? Or Iantha Hampton?” Karen shrank back with the inherent truth of the question as Vance turned from her and fumbled in his vest until he found the makings, shook the tobacco into the paper and rolled a cigarette. A match flared, illuminated a face creased in thought, then winked out with a flick of the wrist. He crossed to the window. Outside the moon shed its pale light over the sleeping town and eerily brightened the corner of the room, silhouetting his stark frame against the night sky. The bed was in darkness behind him but Vance could hear Karen's even breathing. The end of the cigarette glowed fiercely as he inhaled. “I am not stuck … on the ranch. It's where I want to be. It's home.”

“But not to me.”

“Because you won't let it. Elizabeth was happy there.”

“I am not Elizabeth,” she answered softly, punctuating each word.

“I know.” He paused. “I like the feeling of walking out into a clear morning so still you can almost hear the shadows fall from the hills as the sun rises … the smell of a cedar fire … the rush of a hawk as it sweeps low overhead … the startled look in a deer's eyes … and the sound of the river, fresh and clean and sparkling. They are things I cannot give up.”

“And what of me? And our child? Will you give us up?”

He turned instantly from the window, his eyes glowing in the dark. When he spoke his voice was low and ominous, a voice she'd never heard before and didn't recognize. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know, Vance.” And frightened, she didn't. “Only … I … I don't think I'm strong enough.”

“Of course you are,” he said curtly, turning back to the window. His face hardened, unseen in the night, at the implication of her words. “Give
us
up,” she had said. The boy was his son too, if it came to … But that was no answer. He stood in the moonlight feeling the chill bite deep into him, seeing the land beyond the night, feeling the gulf of silence between him and the woman he loved, warm in the bed, and wondered what life would mean without her.

They left two days later. The morning broke brisk and chilly but the rising sun soon bathed them with faint warmth and made their way not unpleasant. Karen rode the sorrel gelding and Vance led the way on his dun. The trunk full of fancy gowns had been left behind to be stored at Green Hill and the remainder of Karen's luggage divided into two large carpetbags and packed, along with other assorted purchases, on the back of a sturdy mule Vance borrowed from a Mexican friend. No more was said of the disquieting discussion, nor was the subject brought up again during the next weeks though the indelible mark of their conversation traced a jagged line across both their minds.

Noon of the second day found them cresting the last rise leading to the ranch. Most of the hands were out working but Harley Guinn hallooed them from the wall as the gate swung open. Karen looked up, waved a greeting in return to the older cowboy outlined against the rim of the hills and the ever green line of cedars.
I'd almost forgotten how beautiful they are. Like being surrounded by Christmas trees
. Her breath formed a cloud in the chill air.
Christmas … only seventeen more days
.

Billy Harmony came out the front door, his face breaking into a wide grin upon seeing them. “Howdy, Miz Paxton. Sure is nice to see you. It purely is. The boys was talkin' just the other night how it don't seem quite right aroun' here without you lookin' pretty an' all.”

“Thank you, Billy,” Karen said, touched by the sentiment. “I hope your arm and side are well.”

“Yes'm. Good as new.” He swung one of the heavy packs from the mule to demonstrate his strength. “Everything's fine, Vance. Got a wagonload a' gear out by the corral. Ted's up the valley at the Split Tree water hole, movin' around some stock the boys missed while you was gone. Said he could use some help.”

“Saddle up that grulla for me,” Vance ordered. “I'll be along soon as I get this in.”

Karen sighed in exasperation. Not back for a whole minute and he's already off to more important matters. Stiffly she stalked to the front door and entered. The spacious front room was warm from the heat of both fireplaces, and from the hidden depths of an armchair in front of the east wall came a tremendous sneeze followed by a deafening bellow as True blew his nose. Maruja came in from the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hand. “Aieee, such a sound. Loud enough to call
el oso
from his den.
Señora!
” She ran across the room and embraced Karen, holding the mug high so as not to spill its contents. True's face appeared around the side of the chair, his look of surprise immediately contorted by another sneeze. “It is good you are back with us. We are lonely here since you are gone. No one to talk to but men. And Marcelina. Ah, but that one. All she can talk of is men.”

“Been quiet for a change,” True grumbled as he approached them. Stepping back from Karen, Maruja handed him the cup without comment. “What the hell is this?”

“Look at her! Aieee,
Señora
. He will be a big son. A true Paxton!” Her face clouded. “
Señora!
You are all right? Such a long ride.”

“I'm fine, Maruja. I feel fine. It's good to be back.”

“I said, what the hell is this?” True barked, staring into the mug.

“Soup,” Maruja answered defiantly.

“I told you to rustle me up some of that chili.”