Phoebe's Valentine Read online

  Both children did as they were told and William provided the useful information, “It’s probably her stays, sir. She laces ‘em too tight.”

  Jack didn’t have time to register his aggravation at the ridiculous woman or his amusement at the boy’s candor before the little girl slapped her brother’s arm and cried, “William Finnerty! How dare you say ‘stays’ to this gentleman?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Sarah,” William told her in a voice clearly bespeaking brotherly disgust.

  Before the argument could continue, Jack interrupted. “Let’s not worry about what caused her to pass out right now. Did you say your name was William?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, William, why don’t you and your sister unlatch the canteen from my saddle, dump the warm water out of it, and fill it with cold water from the stream. Stay at the stream until I call you. We’re going to need the cool water to rouse your mother here.”

  “That lady ain’t our mother, mister. That’s Aunt Phoebe.”

  Sarah began to giggle. “She’s not anybody’s mother. She ain’t even married!”

  Before he could stop himself, Jack muttered, “Southern gentlemen must be getting smarter these days.” Then, irked with himself for allowing his anger at the woman to color his dealings with the children, he said, “The two of you just go on now. I’ll call you when I’m ready for the water.”

  As soon as he was sure they were occupied with their task, Jack positioned himself between the fallen damsel and her charges, so as not to alarm them, and began to unbutton her dress. Fortunately, the garment fastened down the front so it wasn’t a difficult task.

  She was hot as barrel of live coals, he realized as he felt the skin of her chest. And she was sweating like a hog. Jack shook his head, amazed that anybody would dress herself in such uncomfortable clothes on purpose and then try to drive a wagon across Texas.

  Against his will, he admired the delicacy of her fine-pored skin and the creaminess of her complexion. Her camisole and shift were thin and darned in spots and molded to her flesh by her body’s moisture. He had to swallow. She was a belle, all right, and one apparently fallen on hard times. He snorted. She’d probably never done a day’s work in her life.

  Since he had a small flask of water fastened to his belt, he dampened his bandanna, flapped it in the air in the slim hope of cooling it off, and laid it against Phoebe’s forehead as he set to work on her corset, grumbling as he worked.

  “Criminy, I’ll never understand why women put themselves through this torture.”

  His eyes kept straying to the swell of bosom peeking over her camisole and shift, and he found himself enticed in spite of his aggravation. It had just been a long time, he decided.

  Phoebe sighed when she felt the precious coolness of something damp against her overheated forehead. It took a few seconds longer for her to recognize the deep rumbles overhead as belonging to the voice of a gentleman. Then, when her eyelids fluttered open and she saw the black-haired stranger bending over her and realized he was unfastening her corset hooks, she panicked.

  Oh, my God!

  In a frenzy, she tried to remember where she was and to ascertain where a weapon could be secured. She’d used a skillet on the dastardly Yves Basteau, but she was certain they were no longer camped beside that wretched fire. Since her brain was murky from her faint and she could think of no more useful alternative, she began to struggle.

  “Stop it!”

  The villain had the gall to sound angry, as though she had no right to protect her virtue. Well, Phoebe would have none of that. Furiously, she tried to rise only to have her head swim. Before she could faint again, the monster’s strong hands grabbed her shoulders and he eased her to the ground.

  “Stop struggling, damn it. I’m trying to help you, for God’s sake.”

  “By undressing me?” Phoebe had never shrieked before in her life and knew the noise to be unladylike, but she was enormously disconcerted.

  Her tormentor gave her a hard shake. “Yes, by undressing you, you little fool!”

  “Take your hands off me!”

  He gave her another shake to shut her up and whispered savagely, “God bless it, stop struggling. You fainted because your damned corset was laced too tight, so I took it off.”

  “Oh.”

  Phoebe knew there was something wrong with his logic but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what it was. Her head still swam. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that to struggle further would be useless, yet she was also a Honeycutt. Nobody had ever been allowed mastery over a Honeycutt. Sherman, perhaps, was an exception, but what could one expect from a Yankee with a whole army at his back?

  “There now,” the beast said as he lifted Phoebe right up off the ground and snatched the undergarment away from her sticky shift. Then she watched as he flung it over the boulder. It sailed through the air like an eagle, and she swallowed hard when it disappeared from sight. There went her modesty.

  “That’s better,” the evil man announced.

  Phoebe glared at him for a full minute, working at the buttons of her frock, too indignant to form words. When she did speak, it was to say, “I believe you are a Yankee, sir.”

  Under normal circumstances, she would never have made so monstrous an allegation. But what else could this hardened, black-hearted person be?

  “You’re damned right I am, lady.” He sounded as if he was proud of it.

  She scowled at him, the threat of wrinkles forgotten in her consternation at being at a Northerner’s mercy. The cool breeze on her damp flesh felt like heaven, though. Phoebe sighed in spite of herself. She was appalled when she heard him holler over his shoulder, “All right, kids, you can bring the water now.”

  “What?”

  “Your niece and nephew went to get you cool water from the stream. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “But they can’t see me like this,” Phoebe cried, aghast. She fumbled with the buttons of her bodice, trying to fasten the last of them over her bosom, but was only moderately successful.

  “Why not? I’ve seen you like that, and I’m not even related.”

  He grinned, and it was only then she noticed he had the wickedest blue eyes and the lushest black lashes she’d ever seen. “How dare you, sir?”

  “Oh, I dare a lot of things, lady,” Jack Valentine told her.

  Then, as if to prove to her he wasn’t exaggerating, he bent and kissed her. Right on the lips.

  Chapter Two

  Jack hadn’t meant to kiss her. It was only that she irritated him so much, with her southern accent and idiotic ways. He didn’t linger over the kiss because the children were tripping up to them with the water, but he wanted to. Her lips felt like heaven; they were the sweetest and softest he’d ever tasted. He caught her wrist a scant second before her open palm could connect with his cheek.

  “How dare you?”

  Her voice throbbed with outrage. Jack felt a moment—only a moment—of regret over his ungentlemanly behavior. He stared into her furious brown eyes and had to gulp twice before he said with a fair assumption of nonchalance, “You’ll get over it, lady.”

  Sarah’s gasp brought his attention to Phoebe’s niece. “Aunt Phoebe! You’re unbuttoned in front of a man!”

  William said nothing, but his big-eyed stare let Jack know that he, too, was profoundly shocked.

  Phoebe struggled to sit up again, but Jack held her down. Her voice was frosty when she said, “This man is a Yankee, children. Of course, he can’t be expected to know right from wrong.”

  Jack’s gaze paid a visit to the heavens. “God.”

  Little Sarah looked at Jack in honest horror. “A Yankee?” She whispered the two words as though she considered being a Yankee worse than being a venomous snake.

  “Are you really a Yankee, mister?”

  Jack was sorry to note that William seemed suddenly to regard him with suspicion. He took the canteen from the boy’s hands and began to wet his now
-dry bandanna with the cool water.

  “Not all Yankees are devils,” he muttered.

  Phoebe said, “Ha!” Sarah clasped her hands behind her back in patent terror, her blue eyes round as dinner plates. William appeared dubious.

  “Listen, why don’t you go on back to the stream, kids. You can keep cool there while I work on your aunt.”

  The two children nodded. Neither one of them seemed to want to talk to him now that they knew he was a Yankee.

  “Why are you getting rid of the children? So you can ravish me in peace?”

  Jack could tell she was trying to sound defiant. He shook his head, aggravated because her suggestion sounded so appealing. “I don’t have any intention of ravishing you. I just thought you might not like the kids to see you naked when I try to get you cooled down before you die of sunstroke.”

  “Naked!” The word popped out from between her lips as sharp as a bullet, and Jack winced.

  “Damn it, will you stop screeching? I don’t know what you think your charms are, lady, but believe me, I’d sooner bed a scorpion than you.”

  He noticed her face flame with embarrassment as he continued to dab cool water over her, but at least she quit struggling.

  “You don’t have to be insulting,” she muttered as he placed his hand on her forehead to test for fever.

  “You’d rather I rape you?” The devil made him say that; he was sure of it when she stiffened and her eyes began to glitter suspiciously. He suspected tears and was ashamed of himself.

  “Of course not!”

  Although her declaration was hot, he knew she felt defeated, and a reluctant twist of sympathy knotted his innards. He began to bathe her arms, only to have the rag snatched out of his hands.

  “I’ll do that.”

  Deciding not to fight her, he sat back on his heels. “Will you tell me now why you trusted your lives to Yves Basteau and how you managed to get yourselves out here alone and lost on the Texas plains?”

  With a fair degree of hauteur, Phoebe said, “We bought the wagon and mules in Austin. Yves Basteau said he knew the way and would be happy to guide us to Santa Fe. Of course, he charged us an extravagant price, but he said the way was treacherous and that anybody else would have charged twice as much.”

  “He was undoubtedly lying.”

  A sigh preceded Phoebe’s next words. “I expect you’re right, sir.”

  “And Yves Basteau’s not a Yankee, either.”

  Bristling, Phoebe was about to snarl again when she decided it would be useless. “When it became clear Yves Basteau was a man of low breeding and lower morals, we took the wagon and left him at last night’s camp.”

  “You just up and left? He didn’t argue?”

  Phoebe stared up into those dratted blue eyes, as clear as a summer’s day and every bit as inviting, and muttered, “He did not awaken when we left.” There. That said everything needing to be said about that matter.

  She looked up to find him watching her closely. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t look at me, sir.”

  “All right. I’ll fix you a bed in the wagon and we’ll drive it to the river and camp there tonight.” Jack got up and dusted off his trousers.

  “What?” Phoebe sat up in alarm only to have the world turn black. When she opened her eyes, the stranger loomed over her menacingly.

  “Damnation, woman, will you stop being stupid? You passed out from the heat, for God’s sake. Sunstroke can be fatal, and you need to rest. Just lie there and be still, and maybe we can get you on your way again if you stop pulling stupid stunts.”

  “But—but, I don’t understand, sir. Surely you don’t mean to accompany us to Santa Fe!”

  “Why not? I’m headed there, anyway. And the three of you will never make it without help. You’ve already proved that.”

  Phoebe gulped hard as his words settled like vinegary wine in her stomach. Oh, but it was hard to accept charity from this man.

  “We’ll pay you, sir,” she told him stolidly, although she knew not how she’d keep her word.

  “Don’t be any more of a fool than you can help being, lady. I don’t need your damned money.”

  Phoebe glared at him. “Nevertheless, a Honeycutt has never accepted charity before, sir, and I don’t intend to break the tradition now.”

  Jack Valentine stood again and looked down at her. With a wicked stroke of his black mustache, he said, “We’ll think of some way you can pay me back.@ He strode away to the accompaniment of Phoebe’s shocked gasp.

  Sweet Lord, have mercy. Phoebe opened Jack’s damp bandanna up and pressed it against her face, wishing she could hide behind it until they’d made it safely to Santa Fe.

  But such a benevolent fate could not be. Except for her uncle Fred and aunt Mae Forrest in Santa Fe, Phoebe and her niece and nephew were alone in the world. If they didn’t make it to Santa Fe, she had no idea how they’d live. William and Sarah were certainly too young to fend for themselves.

  As for herself, Phoebe harbored no hope but to survive in her new home. She’d finally given up her futile struggle to keep the family farm in Georgia. It was gone now, sold to a carpetbagger scarcely in time to prevent its being taken over for taxes. The profits she’d realized from the sale had been barely sufficient to buy supplies for their trek to the territory.

  Not that there had been much hope of the farm ever becoming productive again. The house itself was only half there, victim to the viciousness of Sherman’s army. Phoebe’s sour memories of endless days toiling in the fields and sleepless nights spent worrying amid the smell of charred wood played tag in her head until she wanted to scream.

  She’d tried so hard, and all to no avail. And now here she was, sole guardian of her beloved niece and nephew, lost in the wilds of Texas. And at the mercy of yet another Yankee—this time a mean, evil-tongued one, too.

  Gingerly, she tried to sit up, praying her body wouldn’t fail her again. Her head felt as though it might burst. She pressed the fast-drying bandanna to her face when blackness threatened and managed to remain upright. It was a small victory, but a welcome one. Then she had to try not to wince when the vile man hollered, “All set, William?”

  “All set!”

  Phoebe was unhappy to detect a note of complacence in her nephew’s voice, as though he had already accepted this brutish Northerner as a companion, if not a friend. Not for the first time Phoebe felt as though the world as she knew it had crumbled into dust and that the dust was now being blown away by any chance passing wind.

  “Good. Then, let’s go.”

  She didn’t mean to shriek. But she was so shocked when the monster’s rock-hard arms swept her up off of the ground, she couldn’t help it.

  “Will you stop that?” He sounded absolutely savage.

  Phoebe realized her mouth was practically pressed against his ear and that her scream must have sounded very loud to him. Serves him right, she thought, in spite of her embarrassment. Then he began to march toward the wagon and because her balance was so precarious, her arms went around his shoulders against her will.

  “Put me down!”

  “No sooner said than done.” He plopped her unceremoniously onto a blanket spread in the back of her wagon. “Now, lie there and don’t move, or I swear to God I’ll tie you down.”

  “What about the children?”

  “I ate them,” her tormentor snarled.

  She glared at him and didn’t deign to speak again.

  It was her niece and nephew’s excited giggles that finally broke Phoebe’s spirit. Even Sarah sounded happy as the wagon bounced under the weight of boarding passengers.

  “Can I really drive the team, Jack?” Phoebe had never heard William sound so happy. And he was calling the ghastly fellow Jack.

  “As long as you do exactly what I tell you to, Bill.” The awful man’s voice sounded polite and friendly when he spoke to the boy.

  “Be careful, William.” Sarah’s squeal ended in a merry giggle.

  “A
ll ready?”

  “All ready!”

  “Then let’s go!”

  As the wagon lurched into motion and her niece and nephew gave a shout of surprised laughter, Phoebe felt as though her last hope on earth had deserted her. She watched the sky bounce by through the flap of the wagon’s canvas cover, and her heart ached.

  A Yankee, she thought miserably. The children are laughing with a damned Yankee.

  Worry, fright, overwork, and heat exhaustion combined to weaken her so that she could no longer be brave. As the wagon jolted them toward the river, Phoebe gave in first to a good cry and then to a much-needed nap.

  # # #

  When Jack finally pulled the mules to a stop by the river, he and the children might have known each other forever. They were nice kids, for southerners, he decided. He guessed they couldn’t be held accountable for their state of origin.

  They’d driven the wagon ever so slowly in deference to their sick passenger, and it took a good long while to reach a spot where he thought a suitable camp might be made. Big cottonwoods and graceful willows hugged the banks. Boulders perched in the river and seemed to invite the children to scramble up their sides and rest after refreshing themselves in the clear, cool water.

  Jack decided such a diversion would be just the solution to a tricky problem. He’d rather not have witnesses when he had to deal with the fainting maiden again.

  “Why don’t you two strip down to your drawers and go for a swim? The water’s not deep here. Just don’t go past that fallen log.” He pointed downstream to where the corpse of a defunct tree straddled the river. “The rapids start right about at that tree and it’s too rough for you from there on down.”

  “All right!” William seemed delighted at the prospect.

  “I can swim in my drawers?”

  Sarah’s astonishment didn’t surprise Jack much, and he wondered what one called an apprentice belle. A bellette, perhaps? “Sure. Just leave your dress on the river bank and you can swim as easy as any fish.”