Wild Texas Rose (27 page)

“ 'Tis difficult for an old man to admit the error of his ways.” He paused, waiting for Mariah to retort, but she didn't. “I realized what a bloody fool I've been all these years,” he went on in the Norman French and English mélange of a typical Guernseyman.
“Le Bon Dieu
gave me a sweet daughter, but I was too blind to appreciate ye. I blamed ye for yer
mère's
indifference, and that is unforgivable, but I do want ye to know I'm sorry for all I've done.”

The hostility of twenty-three years formed into one small tear, and it rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away, and her animosity was gone forever.

“I can forgive you. I do forgive you. I ...
Je t'aime,
Papa. I love you.”

“Je t'aime, ma fille.”
Joyfully he wrapped his beefy arms around his youngest child. For the first time since Anne McGuire had died, he cried.

Mariah's tears of felicity mingled with his, and she gave a prayer of thanksgiving.

“I wish
maman
could know about this,” she whispered. “She'd be so happy.”

He pulled back to grasp Mariah's shoulders. “I want ye to know, I loved your
mère.
For all our arguments, I did adore her. If I could have her back, I would mend my ways.”

Mariah recalled days gone by. Her father was of the rascal sort, and despite the strict Calvinism of his faith, he had always been ready for dancing and merrymaking. And for his wife.

“Papa, you're not old. Why don't you marry again?”

His cheeks turned red. “Well, m'girl,” he said, changing the subject, “tell me about yerself.”

She gave him a summary, emphasizing her love for Whit and the trouble besieging Trick'em. “I must get back to my duties, Papa.”

“Aye. And I want ye to know I'm proud of what ye're doing for this town.”

“I never thought I'd hear you say that.”

“Ye've heard it.” Mack frowned. “But those Tullos people sound dangerous, Daughter. Ye'll need all the men ye can get. Now, 'tisn't my custom as a
connétable
to carry a gun, but ye know I'm a good marksman. Almost as good as ye! Let me go with ye and the Rangers.”

“D'accord!”
She gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Papa, you're splendid!”

“I'll fetch the lads from the public house, and we'll collect our horses from the livery and meet you back at the sheriffs office.”

 

 

Back at the jail, Whit reclined on his cot and thought about Mariah and her visitors. He knew she had been happy to see her brother, but what about her father? The old man had given her hell in the past, Whit recalled. Since he had traveled across the Atlantic to see her, though, the elder McGuire must want a reconciliation.
For her sake, I hope so,
he thought.

As for Joe Jaye's brother, Whit had mixed feelings. The fellow, unlike his brother, seemed to be the decent type, but on the snooty side, which was to be expected. Near as Whit could recall from bull sessions with Joe, Reginald was a viscount, too, through some connection with a grandfather.

Personalities aside, Whit was troubled. The nobleman wanted to bundle Mariah across the Atlantic. Although she had declined, Whit wondered if civilization wasn't the best place for her. This thought clawed at his heart. He didn't want to lose her, but if she stayed around Trick'em, she was liable to get into more trouble than she could handle.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, he raked his fingers through his hair. Would he lose her, anyway?

Mariah returned to the jail five minutes later and came to Whit's cell. From the beaming expression on her face, Whit concluded–correctly–that she and her father had patched up their differences.

“All my life I've yearned for his acceptance.” She reached through the bars for Whit's hand. “I feel as if a burden has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“I'm happy for you,” he replied. “Wish I could do something about this weight on my shoulders.”

“Trust me, Whit. I'll find Joseph's killer.”

“That wasn't what I meant. Mariah ... go back to Guernsey.”

The stubborn look he had come to know settled in her features, but this one held hurt, too.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she stated flatly.

Whit's speech of persuasion died in his throat, for the McGuire men, Reginald Atterly between them, entered the office. Dirk McGuire ambled over to give his sister a kiss. Logan McGuire, one eye closed, puffed on a pipe and kept his distance while assessing Whit. Joseph's brother poured himself a shot of rye.

“While we were refreshing ourselves, we heard some disturbing news. You're in this jail for the murder of my brother.”

All eyes turned to Lord Atterly.

“Reggie ...” Mariah rushed over to him. “He's innocent.”

Suddenly, Slim Culpepper burst through the door. His cheeks were red, and he was breathless. “Miz Mariah,” he said, huffing and puffing, “we've got trouble! Dodson and his men are headed for . . .”

Slim paused to suck in a draft of air, and Whit froze. Don't let her get involved! he prayed.

“Dirk and I will help you, Daughter.”

Mariah rushed to the gun cabinet, retrieving rifles and ammunition. “Slim, talk! Where are the Rangers?”

The deputy formed words, but no sound left his throat. He reached for a pitcher of water and guzzled a drink, but still couldn't speak. Reaching for a pencil, he scratched something on a scrap of paper, handing it to Mariah.

Her back was to Whit, so he couldn't see her expression. “Mariah, what does it say?” he asked.

She didn't answer.

After taking another swallow of water, Slim croaked, “We'd better hurry.”

Dirk took a rifle. “Will you help, Reggie?”

He waved a palm, then dropped into a chair. “I won't follow my brother to be buried in this godforsaken place. I'll stay here.” He imparted a look of disdain at Whit. “I'll keep an eye on my brother's killer.”

“Mariah,” Whit said. “Come here. Please.”

“Wait for me outside,” she told her posse. A rifle on one arm, she hurried to Whit.

“Don't go,” Whit demanded in desperation, ignoring Atterly's arch look. “Let the men handle it.”

For a moment he thought she would consent, but she squared her shoulders and said, “I have to do my part.”

He grabbed those shoulders, trying to shake sense into her. “No, dammit, no!”

“Whit, listen to me. Tullos and his gang are raiding . . . I'm sorry, but it's Gail.”

Gail! Fear gripped Whit with a strangling hold as his hands dropped to the sides. He was torn, ripped to shreds, by conflicting loyalties. Gail needed to be saved. Mariah was an excellent shot, and zeal spurred her toward Tullos. Which one did he sacrifice, the woman he loved or the daughter he had never been able to claim?

“Whit? I know it's an awful shock. To me, too. Gail is my dearest friend, and I promised to look out for her. I won't desert her.”

Forcing rational thought, he came to another solution. “Unlock the cell, Mariah. I'm taking your place.”

“Heaven forbid,” Reginald put in, but was ignored.

Mariah said to Whit, “I won't. You won't. We can't break the law.”

He had never been more furious than at this moment. Futilely trying to spread the bars, he raged, “To hell with the law! Open this goddamn door. Now!”

Mariah opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it and whirled away. “We'll discuss this after she's safe. Right now, I'm wasting precious time.”

“If you walk out of here, it's over between you and me. Over. And I've never been more serious in my life.”

“Fine.” Again, Mariah spun around. “You ought to know by now ultimatums don't work with me.”

Chapter Twenty-five

The night was moonless, crosswinds were blowing. Mariah, her kinsmen, and the deputy had to advance slowly lest their mounts lose footing in the rocky, cactus-dotted terrain leading to the Crazy Hoof Ranch.

She refused to grant self-pity free rein, for there would be time for heartbreak after Gail was saved and Tullos and his outlaws were brought to heel.

At long last, the journey ended. It seemed as though eons had passed since leaving Whit behind, but in reality the trek had taken no more than an hour.

She ordered her companions to stay back while she found Big Dan Dodson. “You know my whistle, Papa ... Dirk. Wait for it.”

“Aye, Daughter.”

Creeping forward, she discovered the Ranger captain crouched behind a wagon which stood about thirty feet from the two-story rock house. Except for intermittent explosions of gunfire, not a light brightened the palpable blackness.

“It's bad, Miss Mariah,” Big Dan said.

“What happened?”

“I was told by the cook ... she found me and my men, you see. Well, anyway, Mrs. Tullos wormed her way into the house on some sort of pretext. She pulled a gun on Mrs. Strickland, and the poor woman's leg prevented her from fleeing. As near as I can figure, Tullos and two others were lying in the weeds when Ed got home. Strickland is wounded.” Big Dan pointed toward the house. “Six of his hands are dead between here and there.”

Now wasn't the time for emotions, yet Mariah was gripped by the hand of dread. “Is... Gail still in the house?”

“Yes. They're holding her hostage.”

Mariah's hand tightened on the Winchester as she agonized over her friend. Whit's daughter. But she couldn't allow agony to last, not now. “What about Tullos?”

“He's in there with the rest of them.”

Think. Mariah. Think.
“How many men do you have, Captain Dodson?”

“Three, including myself. Reimschissel and his partner took bullets.”

“I've brought three more men, plus myself. We have them outnumbered.” She paused. “We'll have to get into the house.”

“Too dangerous. Mrs. Strickland's life is at stake.”

“I'm aware of the risk.” She whistled. Quick as a flash, her posse gathered around. “Here's the plan. Inch closer to the house, all of you, including your men, Captain. Keep me covered while I go in.”

“Daughter, you can't do that alone.”

“I didn't plan to, Papa. You're light on your feet. I was hoping you'd go with me.”

He clasped her shoulder. “I'm with ye,” he said.

Pleased, she smiled. “Keep me covered.”

To a round of gunfire, she and Mack made an arc, rushing to the side of the house. A sharp sound from the east wing, like a woman's laugh, reached her ears as she came to the rear corner. Temperence Tullos, no doubt.

Mariah and Mack moved carefully, more by feel than by sight, around to the back. They stepped onto the porch, and the boards creaked. She stiffened. Again guns fired, and she took advantage of those sounds to open the door. The acrid smell of gunpowder bit her nose as she entered the kitchen.

“The bastards have reinforcements!”

Mariah recognized Charlie Tullos's voice from the study.

“I told you you wouldn't get away with this,” Gail said.

“Shut up!” Temperence Tullos ordered.

A slap resounded, and Gail cried out in pain.

Mariah gritted her teeth. The rifle that had hung at arm's length was at once high against her chest, the thumb of her right hand tightening on the hammer. Slowly, she and her partner made it to the uncarpeted dining room. Keeping tight against the wall so the boards wouldn't creak, they started into the study.

But her elbow encountered an object, and it crashed to the floor.

“They've gotten in,” Temperence Tullos cried.

A match flared.

 

 

Whit didn't allow the moonless night to slow him. He and Bay Fire knew every rock, every plant, every twist and turn of the trail leading to his daughter. He rode hell for leather.

A half mile from his destination, he caught sight of an orange glow. Fire!

Fear sent arrows through Whit's veins as he rode closer. Gail's house was ablaze! Fed by the wind, tongues of flames licked the windows, the fiery incandescence eclipsing the dark night. Flames popped. The incendiary stench burned his nostrils. Terrified for what lay ahead, Whit charged on.

Please don't let Gail be in there!
He made a vow to himself. If she got through this, he'd make her understand why he hadn't been able to claim her, let her know how much he loved her and always had!

His concerns weren't solely for his daughter. Mercilessly, he dug his spurs into Bay Fire's flanks. “Oh, God, don't let Mariah be in that house!”

He was through with Mariah, but never would he cease being concerned about her. He appeased himself with the rationalization that she had no earthly cause to gain entry. But knowing Mariah ...

Arriving at the house, he yanked in the sorrel's reins, and Bay Fire came to a dirt-grinding halt. Whit jumped from the saddle, drawing the pistol that had been purloined from the sheriffs gun cabinet, and ran forward.

“You won't need a gun,” Big Dan Dodson called out in the agony of physical pain. “Tullos... They're all dead.”

Nonplussed, Whit eyed the Ranger, who was clutching his middle. Around him was a battlefield of felled men. Then Big Dan's body slackened. He was dead.

Saddened for his old friend, Whit grimaced. At the same moment, Gail hobbled over to Whit and tugged on his arm. “Thank God,” he uttered raggedly.

“Not yet,” she cried, “Mariah and her father went back for Temperence. They're still in there.”

A strangled cry vibrated Whit's chest, his worst fear confirmed. Devastated, but not to the extent he couldn't act, he charged into the house. Smoke clogged his lungs, and he whipped a bandanna up over his nose. He had to hope he wasn't too late and could save her.

“Pull harder, Papa! She's still alive.”

About ten feet ahead of him, Mariah and her father were tugging on the inert form of Temperence Tullos. A sheet of fire rolled toward them. Right then Whit would have gladly murdered Mariah McGuire for her misplaced priorities.

Instead, he ignored the oven of heat and the asphyxiating smoke to stomp ahead.

“Help us get her out, Whit!” Mariah shouted.

He lunged on the heavy Tullos woman and hauled her over his shoulder. “Make a run for it, dammit!”

For once, Mariah obeyed, and he gained a modicum of satisfaction. Swaying under his burden and sidestepping the flames, he made it outside and placed Temperence on the ground. Then, straightening up, he faced Mariah. For a second captured in time they stared at each other. Her soot-covered features were cast in orange relief, and there was pain in her brown eyes. Well, he thought, she made her decision back at the jail, and I made mine.

“How did you get out of jail?” she asked quietly.

“Ole Reg helped me break through the bars on the windows.”

“Whatever. You know, you're not the only stubborn person in this world, Sheriff. You ought to know that when I make up my mind, nothing stops me. And I've made up my mind ... about several things.”

A boom rent the air as the roof caved in, that sound echoing the end of Whit and Mariah's relationship. He read sorrow in her features, and knew the same was reflected in his.

Mariah bent over the bleeding woman. He started to turn away, but her, “At least hear what Mrs. Tullos has to say,” stopped him.

“You're not going to make it, lady,” Mariah said. “Save your soul. Did you kill Joseph Jaye?”

“No.”

“The devil will take you for lying,” Mariah promised.

“Didn't . . . kill . . . him.”

“Do you know who did?”

Temperence Tullos shook her head weakly, and her eyes closed for the last time, the words “Oh, Leroy ... my Le–” on her dying lips.

His spirit lost, Whit turned on his heels, and went back to Gail.

 

 

Loss. It weighed heavy in Mariah's heart throughout the next week. Whit was lost to her forever.

Oh, he had gallantly returned to the wrecked jail, of which he and Reginald had agreed to pay for repairing, but Whit was stalwart in his determination not to reconcile with her.

Mariah now sat, alone, in Jackie Jo's Café. She neglected her dinner. How could she eat?

She agonized over the decisions that had torn Whit away from her. On top of her broken vow, she had denied him his freedom to take her place and save his daughter. At the time, Mariah had decided not to compound an alleged crime with a real one. She had chosen her badge over her man's feelings.

Mariah wasn't sure what was worse, her speculations over what might have been or the agony of knowing she could never undo the past. Her emotions were in wrack and ruin.

Her sole thread of hope for emotional salvation was to free Whit of the charges against him and she was back to the beginning. She had been certain Temperence Tullos would clear Whit, but the woman was dead.

Mariah shuddered, recalling that chaotic night. After she and Mack had been discovered in Gail's house, she'd shouldered her rifle to kill T-Bone Hicks. Mack had felled Hicks's partner. Dropping her match, Temperence Tullos had known it was over, even before flames had leaped from the table skirting. Screams of hatred directed at her husband, she'd turned her pistol on him and then on herself.

If the Tullos woman had been truthful, then who had killed Joseph?

Mariah pushed the plate of food to the center of the table. So many people had lost their lives, and others had suffered and sacrificed.

Only Friederich Reimschissel remained of the Rangers who'd garrisoned the Strickland home, and he carried a wound in the leg. Slim Culpepper had received a flesh wound in the arm. Six of his ranch hands gone, Edward Strickland was abed at Crosswind, a piece torn from his left hip.

But in all this darkness there was also light. The remainder of the cattlemen's association had disbanded and for this blessing, Mariah was thankful.

The now-tepid tea brought to her lips, she spied Dirk entering the eating establishment. Smiling, he wended his way through the tables.

“Ahoy, lovey. I bring news. That
fille
Conchita Martinez was found in a convent, and she's waiting for you at Judge McCracken's house.”

Mariah closed her eyes, both in relief and uncertainty. By the time they reached T. Jeff McCracken's parlor, though, she had collected herself and her strategies.

Deceptively gathered as if for no more than a friendly chat, two Texas Rangers and the judge were seated in the wing chairs. Conchita, wringing her hands, huddled against the Victorian sofa.

“I'd like a moment alone with Conchita,” Mariah said, and the men exited.

Already Mariah regretted the things she must say. She had always liked her former student and didn't want to cause her suffering, but this was the crucial matter of Whit's very life.

After several attempts at putting the girl at ease, Mariah asked, “What do you think of Mr. Reagor?”

“I do not know him but to see him.”

I believe her,
Mariah thought. Why, then, was so much of her father's anger directed against Whit? Or was it? Maybe Pablo had used Whit as an excuse.

Mariah walked to a table, picking up a figurine to study it. “I spoke with your father, and he told me he'd do anything to protect his family.”

The girl brought a hand to her mouth and chewed a fingernail.

“He's sorry he bode Mr. Jaye so much hatred,” Mariah lied.

Much more pliable than her father, Conchita took the bait.
“Mi padre
had his reasons.”

Ah, ha!
“Do you think it's right to take another person's life?”

“No, senorita.”

Mariah swallowed, then glanced at the pressed-tin ceiling. She hated to ask her next questions, they were so cruel. “Do you resent your father for killing Mr. Jaye? Will you forgive him when he hangs?”

“No! Don't say that!” Conchita jumped to her feet, bumping her shins against the coffee table. “Papa didn't do it. I killed him!”

“Oh, my God,” Mariah whispered, moving to comfort the stricken girl. Yet she couldn't help the selfish thought that Whit would be free!

For several minutes Mariah rocked Conchita until the tears subsided to hiccups. She handed the fourteen-year-old a handkerchief and a glass of water, prompting her to drink. The hiccups turned to shuddering wails.

“It's okay, sweeting. I don't want to hurt you. I want to help you,” Mariah said truthfully, dabbing the handkerchief under the girl's tear-swollen eyes. “You're a sweet, fine young lady, Conchita, and I know you must've had your reasons for what you did.”

“So awful” was her mournful, wrenching reply.

Conchita drew herself into a protective ball, and Mariah's arm went around her shoulders.

“Tell me what happened, sweeting.”

“Señor Jaye, he ... he did awful things to me. It h-hurt so b-bad.”

Mariah clenched her teeth. May that rapist's soul burn in hell!

Again, tears washed down Conchita's cheeks. “I was sc-scared he'd do it again, and I put a knife in my p-pocket. I did not think I would have to use it, because we were going to leave the farm. But Senor Jaye c-cornered me that night you were to marry him. After Señora Tullos had left. He was very angry, and ... he had some b-barbed wire in his hand. He p-pushed me to the ground. I ... I stabbed him, but he still ...
Mi padre
heard my screams, and h-he hit
el patrón
and grabbed the wire.”