Fifty
Heath was standing at the bottom of the floating staircase when Stevie and Ann came down to tea. He had eyes for Stevie alone. Usually unflappable, he stood with his mouth agape, watching the vision approach.
Seeing her dressed like a woman, he vowed to burn every pair of trousers she owned. Her voluminous gown of lemon tulle brought out her ethereal beauty in a way that men’s clothes never could. The skirt was fashionably flat in the front, showing the outline of her firm thighs with each step she took. It was drawn up into a soft bustle in the back, flaring into a short train.
The bodice skimmed her slender torso, the low décolletage edged with double rows of seed pearls. Her softly curving breasts rose high above the neckline, providing an arresting contrast of pale fabric with smooth, dusky skin.
Ann’s maid had twisted Stevie’s platinum hair into long curls at the back of her head, ornamenting the silken tresses with small yellow bows. Pearl drop earrings dangled from her delicate lobes, a single strand kissed the dark shadowy cleavage that drew Heath’s eyes like a magnet.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
Ann couldn’t stifle a giggle as she stood on the step above them.
Heath raised his gaze to her. “You too, short stuff,” he complimented Ann. His sister looked like a fairy princess in pale blue taffeta. Much too lovely for the likes of Eugene Prickle. “Shall we?” Offering each lady an arm, Heath escorted Stevie and his sister into tea.
Stevie steeled herself against meeting his mother. But she needn’t have worried. India Turner was nowhere to be seen.
The only sign that Heath noticed his mother’s continued slight to Stevie was the muscle twitching in his jaw. He had visited her in her rooms earlier and specifically requested that she come to tea and meet Stevie. It appeared that she didn’t intend to honor his request.
Teatime at Turner House was a joyful affair. The fact that Heath’s mother still refused to put in an appearance had unsettled Stevie at first. But Chap, Kinsey, Emily, Ann, and a host of Turner grandchildren were so open and accepting, she soon dismissed India from her mind and just enjoyed being part of Heath’s family.
“Sorry we’re late,” a masculine voice intruded on the outlandish tale of life in the Wild West Heath was spinning for his nieces and nephews.
Stevie turned to see an exact, life-size replica of Chap. Clinging to his arm, Ginny Turner appeared the flesh-and-blood epitome of southern womanhood. And she was at least six months pregnant.
Heath surged to his feet. “’Bout time you two showed up.” He hugged Rad, then carefully embraced Ginny.
“It’s my fault. Seems all I want to do these days is sleep,” Ginny’s drawl was very like Kinsey’s. She rested her hand on her stomach. Just touching where Rad’s child slumbered appeared to give her pleasure.
“And being the good husband that I am, I have to keep her company.”
Chap and Heath laughed knowingly. From the blush on Ginny’s face, Stevie doubted that her handsome husband allowed her to sleep a great deal when they were in bed together. Stevie found herself blushing as well, remembering what she and Heath had done in his bed just the night before. Reading her expression, he winked slightly.
Rad wasn’t reserved like Chap. He was much more gregarious, blatantly flirtatious, incredibly charming, like Heath. He walked up to Stevie, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her off her feet. He hugged her so tightly that her borrowed corset creaked. When he placed her on her feet, he planted a firm kiss on her cheek. “Has that kid brother of mine made you my sister-in-law yet?”
“Damn, Rad, you could’ve at least let me introduce her before you swept her off her feet.” Heath made the necessary introductions, then took Stevie’s hand. Unconsciously, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “And no, she’s not your sister-in-law. I haven’t been able to get her to accept my honorable proposal. That’s why I brought her home. Hoping that we could all gang up on her and force her into it.”
Ginny and Kinsey exchanged glances. “Hah,” the southern ladies said at the same time. They knew from experience that God had not created the woman who could refuse a Turner when he set his mind to winning her. The love shining in Stevie’s eyes told them that she was no different from the rest of the female race. She was a goner.
Kinsey stepped forward and took Stevie’s hand from Heath. She led her to a low sofa. “You’ll get no help or pity from us, you scoundrel,” she said to Heath. “You haven’t even bought her a ring.”
“Pitiful,” Ginny clucked, taking a seat on Stevie’s other side. Emily and Ann voiced sisterly support of the other women. Stevie just blushed.
“What’s got their back up?” Rad asked.
Heath shrugged, bewildered. Chap looked away guiltily. He had told Kinsey about Stevie’s pregnancy. Obviously, she had told Ginny. If he didn’t watch his plain-spoken wife, she would be calling Heath on the carpet and demanding a wedding within twenty-four hours. That wouldn’t do at all. Stevie would never forgive him. And since she would be his sister-in-law for the next fifty years or so, he hoped they could be friends.
Intent on charming them out of their pique, the men joined their ladies.
Kinsey served tea as the children ran wild. When the hellions grew quiet, it drew the adults’ attention.
India Turner walked through the door. She spared her grandchildren not so much as a glance. It was as if all the air were sucked out of the room. Slowly, she made her way to the circle of adults. Her first words were not of welcome, nor did she sit. Rather, she regarded Ann harshly and spat out, “You did ask Eugene and his sister to tea as I told you, didn’t you?”
Ann squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. “No, Mother. I did not. I wanted to spend a pleasant afternoon welcoming my brother and his lovely friend. Eugene will join us for dinner. As for dear Eugenia, frankly, the woman gives me the creeps. I didn’t invite her to dinner. Nor do I ever intend to invite her into this home.”
Heath stood stiffly and pulled Stevie up beside him. “Mother.” He paused until he gained her attention. “May I present my fiancée, Miss Stephanie Johns. Stevie, my mother.”
Stevie excused Heath for introducing her as his fiancée. In the face of India Turner, she needed all the legitimacy he could lend her. When she found a pleasant smile and pasted it on her face, her lips felt numb, along with the rest of her. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Turner.”
India took her time, scrutinizing Stevie from head to toe. She did not return her cordial greeting. “You failed to tell me that she was an Indian.” Her observation sounded quite like an indictment.
Heath stiffened but Stevie stilled him by gripping his hand. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Indian. Comanche.” There was such pride in Stevie’s voice that everyone in the room admired her even more than they had a moment before.
Everyone save India Turner. India pulled her skirts aside, as if she couldn’t bear the thought of brushing against Stevie. Hardly necessary considering she still stood some six feet away from her.
“Ann, inform me when Eugene arrives. And do change out of that blue gown. It does nothing for your sallow complexion.” With that, Heath’s mother turned on her heel and quit the room.
They all stood in stunned silence for a moment. When Stevie was certain that she had given India time to make her way back to the east wing, she made her apologies. Head high, she walked from the room.
“Excuse me . . .” Heath began.
Kinsey restrained him. “Don’t, Heath. Give her some time alone.”
The look of rage mingled with hurt on Heath’s face touched them all. Ever supportive, Emily patted his arm.
“Stevie’s strong,” Kinsey continued. “It’ll take more than a snub from the old bat to do her any real harm. Besides, it wasn’t so bad. As I recall, she had me kidnapped. And I survived . . . and even married her son.”
Rad chuckled flatly. “Just in case Mother’s up to her old tricks, we’ll all keep a close eye on Stevie.” It was a sad state of affairs, but they all realized Rad’s jest held some merit.
Heath nodded and resumed his seat. But his attention was not on the conversation his quick-witted siblings batted back and forth as a means to regain some of the earlier joy that had characterized their reunion. His thoughts were upstairs with Stevie.
He closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the chair. If Stevie needed proof that white society wouldn’t accept their marriage, that they would be persecuted for her ancestry, his own mother had just provided it.
That evening, when Stevie joined the family in the parlor, she was not dressed in the lovely silk gown Ann had loaned her. During the afternoon she had decided that if she were to be accepted, it would be for who she really was.
Proudly, she entered the room dressed in Gentle Fawn’s wedding gown, her platinum hair braided into one long, silken rope, tied at the end by a short length of rawhide, a beaded headband circling her forehead. Nestled between her breasts was the necklace containing a lock of her mother’s hair.
As Heath approached her, she noted that he was impeccable in black evening wear. Love, pride, and masculine approval was shining in his sapphire eyes. She relaxed visibly. “I’m glad you changed. You look beautiful.” He hugged her affectionately and whispered into her hair, “Your mother and Gentle Fawn would be very proud.”
The evening passed in a blur. The highlight for Stevie was when she met General Turner. The consummate gentleman, he had stood to his feet—albeit a bit unsteadily due to his ill health—bowed over her hand, then much as Rad had earlier, engulfed her in a bear hug.
“Now I see why you spent so much time out west, son.” He squeezed Heath’s shoulder. “You’ve chosen well.”
Those simple words pleased Heath and Stevie as no other.
After the general’s sound endorsement of Stevie, Mrs. Turner sat quietly in her chair, aloof, sullen. The only time she spoke the entire evening was when she greeted Eugene Prickle.
As for Ann, she ignored her lackluster fiance altogether. Until dessert, when she announced to her family—and Eugene—that she had no intention of marrying him, now or ever. It was immediately apparent that she had the unspoken but tangible support of the Turner men.
Red-faced, Eugene informed Ann that he would give her time to reconsider, then left the house. Her mother cast her a fulminating glare and retired to her room without a word. Needless to say, the evening was over. As Ann predicted, Chap and Rad closeted themselves in the library with their father.
Heath said he’d join them in a minute, after he escorted Stevie to her room. He was unusually quiet, she noticed. When they stood facing each other outside her door, he took both her hands in his own. “Hon, about Mother . . .” He trailed off.
“There’s no need to talk about it. I understand. And it really doesn’t matter to me what she thinks.”
“All the same, I must apologize for her.”
She squeezed his hands. “Apology accepted.”
He kissed her then, soundly, with an air of desperation. It was as if he were trying to convince her how much he loved her.
She responded in kind. Despite what she said, she was hurt by his mother’s ill treatment. The feeling of insecurity that plagued her was foreign but understandable. She was far away from home, missing her children and her father, pregnant, and unmarried. She had definitely felt better in her life physically and emotionally. And was it any wonder?
Heath sensed her need and sought to fill her with his love. He kissed her hungrily, his mouth open and giving. He thrust his tongue into her dark, sweet cavern, over and over, mimicking what he wanted to do with his maleness.
She was instantly caught up in his passion. Grinding her lower body against him, she stood on tiptoe and threaded her fingers through his hair.
They were ravenous, starving for each other. For a time they indulged themselves. Heath skimmed her body with his hands. She was nude beneath the bleached animal skin, so he could feel every curve and crevice. Bunching the buckskin in his clenched fists, he raised the fringed hem to her upper thighs. Instinctively, he slipped his thigh between her legs.
Moaning, she ran her hands across his shoulders, over his back, down his spine, flattening her palms over his tensing buttocks. She dropped her head back over his arm, giving him greater access to her throat. He trailed hot, wet kisses down the sleek column. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her until her soft, moist, skin rested on his thigh. She raised her head and gasped. Over Heath’s shoulder she saw Ann just inside a doorway, watching them, wide-eyed.
Stevie had never moved as quickly in her life. She lurched backward, righted her dress, and placed her palms on Heath’s chest as if she were holding him off.
He was lost in the throes of passion. The jolt back to reality momentarily stunned him.
She raised a hand to his cheek. “Honey, your brothers and father are waiting for you downstairs.” His eyes were somewhat dazed. “What will they think if you’re gone too long?”
“You’re right.” His voice was thick with unappeased desire. He blessed her with a smile that curled her toes inside her soft moccasins. “I could come back later.”
Stevie wanted to groan at least, cry at most. Heath had set a fire in her that was raging out of control. But she had promised Ann. She couldn’t allow Heath to come back tonight. Maybe, after they got home, she could sneak into his room. “As much as I’m tempted, sweetheart”—she lowered her voice so Ann wouldn’t hear—“as much as I want you, I’m really exhausted. I fear I’ll be dead to the world as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How thoughtless of me.”
She could see that Heath was disappointed. When she opened her mouth to reassure him, he bent to kiss her again, this time tenderly. It moved her more than the passionate embrace they had exchanged earlier. He lifted his head and she dropped her lashes to hide the unfulfilled desire shining in her eyes.
He touched her cheek gently. “I love you, sweetheart. Sleep well.”
She nodded. “Good night.” Raising her gaze, she watched him as he walked away. Before he disappeared around the corner, she ran to him. “Heath, wait.”
“I knew you couldn’t resist me.”
She could see that he was teasing her. “I just wanted to say”—she lowered her voice—“I love you too.”
His smile lit up her heart. Brushing her lips with a gentle kiss, he vowed his love again, then whispered, “Good night, sugar.”
By the time she reached her room, Ann was standing outside the door, dressed in a man’s three-piece suit, holding her top hat, gloves, and cane with one arm. With the other she held a similar outfit for Stevie.
Stevie blushed furiously.
Ann actually laughed. “All I’ve got to say is you two had better hurry and get married” was her sage advise. “Mama says society frowns on babies born out of wedlock.”
If only she knew . . .
Leon, the young driver who had provided the gents’ clothing for Ann and Stevie, halted the carriage outside the gentlemen’s club. The street front was cluttered with expensive carriages drawn by blooded horseflesh, the owners spending a relaxing evening at their club.
“Pull around the corner and wait for us,” Ann instructed. “We won’t be more than fifteen minutes. I just want to see what it’s like inside.”
The boy regarded her worshipfully. “Before you’re leg-shackled to Eugene?”
Arm tossed her head defiantly. “Over my dead body.”
When Leon was out of sight, Ann and Stevie mounted the stairs. They never made it inside the club. Soaked handkerchiefs covered their noses and mouths as strong hands dragged them back down the steps into the discreet black carriage that awaited them.
The last thing Stevie saw before she lost consciousness was a black eye patch.