Chapter Three
Damn it to hell and back!” Cole swore under his breath, or at least he thought he swore quietly. In fact, his cussing was so loud and so lusty that his landlady opened the door and came into his room. She was a widow who had inherited the house on the death of her husband, and even though she had had many offers, she wanted nothing to do with another husband. She’d told Cole that she was happy having men to talk to but not having them kicking her in bed at night.
“What is wrong now?” she asked in that tone of a woman who had been married for a long time and had decided that there was little difference between children and men.
“Nothing I need any help with,” he spat out, his back to her. He was completely embarrassed that he couldn’t seem to button his shirt, much less his trousers, with his right arm in a cast and a sling. And on top of the awkwardness of using his left hand, it hurt like a son of a gun.
Immediately his landlady understood what his problem was, came around him, and began to fasten his clothing as though he were her son. Of course she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top buttons, mainly because in an effort to keep his pride intact, Cole had lifted his chin and straightened his back as stiff as the barrel of a rifle.
Mrs. Harrison smiled indulgently up at him and thanked the Lord she had not remarried. “You remember that little girl who came to see you several days back? The one you rescued at the bank?”
“I’d hardly call her a girl.”
“At my age I can call anyone a girl.”
He doubted if Mrs. Harrison was forty-five, but she liked to pretend she was older: it gave her an excuse to offer to the many men who asked her—and her money—to marry them.
She gave him a motherly push to get him seated in a chair and then began to put his socks and boots on. Cole hated what she was doing, and he knew he could do it himself, but at the same time he rather liked this attention. Maybe he was getting old. He knew where this thought had come from, so when he spoke, his voice was sharp. “What about her?”
“Her sister came to town.”
“Rowena?” he asked, startled and showing far too much curiosity.
“I guess that’s her name. You know the whole family?”
“I don’t know anything about them. And I don’t care, either. They aren’t my concern.”
To his great annoyance, his gossipy landlady didn’t say another word. Finally, Cole had to say something. “I hear she’s a looker.”
Mrs. Harrison tried to keep her mouth from twitching into a smile, letting Cole know that she knew he wanted to know everything. She didn’t quite succeed, but they both pretended she was talking because she wanted to and he was listening to be polite.
“She is the most beautiful woman in the world. She has to be. You should see her. She got off the train today—from her own car, mind you!—and every man within a hundred feet stopped dead in his tracks. She is a stunner. And as nice as can be. When four men fought over who was going to carry her bags, you’d have thought that no man had ever offered to carry anything for her before, she was that gracious. Acted surprised, even. Of course a woman that beautiful didn’t start out as an ugly duckling. It took her years to get that pretty, so you know she’s had boys fighting to carry things for her all her life.”
Cole wasn’t sure why, but this overlong tribute to Rowena’s beauty annoyed him. “Yes, yes, I’m sure she’s beautiful, but how is Miss Latham? She wasn’t hurt in the fracas, was she?”
“You mean did all those cowboys carryin’ the bags trample her? They almost did, but the sheriff—”
“What was he doing there?”
“He came runnin’ out to welcome this beautiful woman. You know, this is an awful thought, but if she had an inclination toward dishonesty, she could make a fortune. She could come into one end of a town, everybody’d rush to see her, and her partners could rob the other end of town blind and get away scot-free.”
“Would you spare me your criminal plans? I wasn’t asking about a herd of stupid cowboys who think any woman who’s clean is beautiful, I was asking about Miss Latham and the bank robbery. You do remember that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting so snippy about,” she said, straightening up after pulling his second boot on. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Unless you’re sweet on that little Miss Latham.”
“I’m not sweet on any woman. I was interested, that’s all.” But he knew that wasn’t all. Damn it, he couldn’t help it; he felt sorry for the little thing. What would it be like to be near a beauty like her sister? And what was that sister doing here in Abilene? Couldn’t she leave her plain-faced little sister alone instead of following her around the country and showing everyone the great difference between the two of them?
“Are you all right?” his landlady asked.
“Of course I’m all right,” he snapped, then fumbled with his watch as he tried to put it in his pocket and nearly dropped it. He fought a wave of pain when he caught it with the fingers of his injured right hand.
“You should get back into bed.”
“And you should mind your own business.”
She stiffened her back. She was used to men wanting to hear all the gossip in town, then pretending they had no interest in it, but Cole’s bad temper was more than she cared to deal with. “Suit yourself,” she said, her nose in the air.
Chapter Four
Even as Cole raised his hand to knock on the door of the room the hotel euphemistically called the Presidential Suite, he felt as though he should run away. This was none of his business; he had nothing to do with the sharp-tongued Miss Latham and her pushy sister. It had been four hours since his landlady had told him of the arrival of the beautiful older sister of the plain Miss Latham, and during that time Cole had heard of little else from the townspeople. He’d heard how the elder sister was so sweet and kind, so unaware of her incredible beauty.
Yeah, Cole thought, like a buck is unaware of a hunter. Like one gunfighter is unaware of another gunfighter entering town.
When one had beauty, one was aware of it. As well he knew. Miss Latham had said he’d been called the handsomest man in Texas, a title which, according to her, he no longer deserved. At the time some newspaper writer, a girl not much better looking than Miss Latham, had called him that, he’d hated the title. But he hadn’t been surprised by it. No one blessed with beauty is unaware of it. All your life heads turn, people do double takes on you. When Cole was a boy, girls and women had wanted to touch his black curly hair, and after he grew up, women had wanted to touch his body. Never in his life had he had trouble getting any woman he wanted.
Until this week, that is. First Miss Latham tells him he’s…What was it she said? Hard-jawed? Squint-eyed?
Anyway, he told himself, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had offered him cash for a job—an incredibly stupid job, but it was work. And now, with a busted arm and canceled contracts, he needed work. He had no intention of pretending to be married to her, but it did look as though she needed protection from a sister so greedy that she wasn’t satisfied until she had the attention of every man, woman, and child in Abilene.
In the two days Mrs. Rowena Whatever-her-name-was had been in town, she seemed to have had some contact with everyone. Cole couldn’t go into a store, a saloon, or even the cathouse without hearing about her. Nina had said she heard that Cole knew the younger sister. “You know,” she’d said, “that washed-out little lady with the brown hair. Can you imagine the same woman giving birth to two daughters that different? No wonder she stopped after the second one.” And Nina had wanted to know if Cole could find out how Rowena made her hair so glossy and soft-looking. “If that woman wanted to take up the profession, she could make millions,” Nina said. “You ought to suggest it to her.”
After a few hours of this Cole had had enough of the talented Mrs. Rowena. He seemed to be the only person in town who hadn’t fallen for her. Maybe that was because he was the
only person who understood her. Beauty was an odd thing. An ugly person and a beautiful one could perform the same bad deed, yet the ugly one would be judged much more harshly than the pretty one. He’d seen that happen time and again. He’d watched members of the same gang, caught in the same holdup, get sentences based on their looks. When he’d heard that ol’ No-nose Wilson had finally been caught, he knew he had no chance of leniency. Wilson was hanged twenty-four hours after he was caught. But the good-looking Billy Whittier had three times conned pretty girls into helping him escape the wheels of justice.
So now this Rowena was charming, and conning, the entire town. And meanwhile she was plowing her meek little sister under. Well, perhaps “meek” wasn’t the correct word to describe Miss Latham, but compared to the attention-hungry Rowena she was spineless.
Of course none of this explained why he was here at the door of Miss Latham’s hotel room now. He wasn’t really thinking of taking her job offer. What kind of job was it for a man to pretend anything? He had always prided himself on his honesty. So how could he even think of taking on a job that required nothing but lies? No guns, no diplomacy, just one lie on top of the other.
As he raised his hand to knock, he had a vision of what he’d see: little Miss Latham waiting hand and foot on her gorgeous, lazy, spoiled sister.
He was not prepared for the dream that opened the door. He had expected sophistication, a woman swathed in silk and lace, a face painted into perfection. Instead, his first sight of Rowena caught him off guard. Her face—her beautiful, exquisite face—was shiny clean, and all ten or so bushels of her auburn hair were pulled back into a fat braid that was draped over one shoulder. Huge eyes the color of a pond in the moonlight—not green, not gray—looked up at him with disarming innocence.
“Hello,” she said in a soft voice that betrayed nothing except graciousness and gentle curiosity. A second later her face somehow became more radiant. “You are Mr. Hunter, the man who saved Dorie’s life. Oh, you must come in. This is an honor. Please sit here. Dorie, do look who is here.”
As yet, Cole hadn’t said a word. He was ushered into the room and given the most comfortable chair. A table with an ashtray appeared next to him, then a glass of whiskey and a cigar, everything seeming to come from nowhere. Within minutes he felt as though this were his home and he had lived here in comfort always.
“How is your arm?” Rowena asked, leaning over him in solicitude. “The doctor says it will be a long while before you have full use of that arm again. It still amazes me that a man who had as much to lose as you did would risk his life to save someone he hardly knew. Never will I be able to thank you enough.”
Cole found himself smiling into those startling eyes of hers and nearly drowning in them. When he spoke he sounded like a green boy. “It was nothing, really. Any man would have done it.” He sipped the whiskey, knowing it was the best he’d ever tasted. Had she brought it from England with her? And the cigar was mild and flavorful. He had never been more comfortable in his life.
“Any man?” Rowena said, smiling. “You are as modest as you are talented and brave. Isn’t he wonderful, Dorie?”
Rowena stepped back to allow Cole to see her sister, and he realized he had been so blinded by Rowena’s beauty and gracious hospitality, not to mention her flattery, that he had not even seen Miss Latham. If he’d thought her drab before, now, next to her sister’s radiance, she was difficult to see. But then, a peacock in full show would have been drab next to Rowena.
Miss Latham was half reclining on a couch, a bandaged foot extended in front of her, and the look on her face made Cole come to his senses. Miss Latham was smirking. She had an I-told-you-so expression on her face that brought him up short, made him look back at the way he had been swept off his feet by the lovely Rowena.
Cole opened his mouth to defend himself. Not that he had been accused, but the silent communication that had passed between him and Miss Latham was loud and clear.
Immediately Cole put the whiskey and the cigar down and sat up straight in his chair. “I came to see how Miss Latham was after her fright at the bank,” he said. “I hope she is well.” Even as he spoke, he was annoyed with himself for talking to Rowena. What was wrong with him? He’d seen beautiful women before, but then, there was something different about this woman. She seemed unaware of the effect she had on people. She looked as fresh as morning sunlight, as innocent as dew on grass, as sweet as—
“Rowena, I do believe you have another man in love with you,” he heard Miss Latham say.
“How ridiculous you are, Dorie,” Rowena said. “Mr. Hunter came to see you. Look, he can hardly take his eyes off you.”
Some sense of reality was coming back to Cole, and as he looked from one woman to another, he saw that what Miss Latham had said was true: Rowena did love her sister very much. And it occurred to him that Rowena had no idea that her beloved sister was anything less than divinely beautiful. In fact, maybe Rowena saw everyone that way.
For just a second he exchanged a look with Miss Latham that asked that question, and he was rewarded with one of her rare tiny smiles. It was ridiculous, of course, but that little smile made him feel good. It made him feel part of something that no one else was. Rowena might be the one with the looks, but her colorless little sister was the one with the brains.
“Mrs…. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Westlake, but please call me Rowena. I’ve heard so much about you that I feel I know you.”
“Oh?” he asked archly. “Miss Latham has told you about me?” It made him feel good to have caught the younger sister in something. She was too self-assured for his taste, so it was nice to find out that she had been affected by him as much as he had by her.
“Why no,” Rowena said in innocence. “Dorie hasn’t said a word about you, or about what happened at the bank. I’ve heard everything from all the people in town.”
At that Miss Latham gave him a little raised-eyebrow look that told him she knew what he was thinking.
Damnation, but that woman annoyed him! “Rowena, why are you here?” he asked, sounding like a controlling father. He had not meant to ask that. He had no connection with Miss Latham, nor any interest in her. He had toyed with the idea of taking her job offer, but he could now see that it wouldn’t work, mainly because little Miss Latham made him think of nothing but murdering her.
Rowena laughed, and it was a very sweet sound—as he would have guessed it would be. “I’ve come to help my sister make up her mind,” she said with disarming honesty. She had the ability to make a man feel that she trusted him and him alone. “Dorie can never make up her mind.” She smiled at him in such a way that he could feel his socks melting. “You see, Mr. Hunter—”
“Cole,” he said.
“How kind of you,” she said, as though he had bestowed a great gift upon her. She continued. “There’s a wonderful man in Latham—that’s where we grew up and where Dorie still lives—who has been in love with my little sister for years, and I’m going to do my best to persuade her to see the light and marry him.”
Cole glanced at Miss Latham, but she had her head down and was studying something on her skirt. Suddenly Cole realized that there was a bond between him and Miss Latham. Maybe it was slight, but he was pretty sure that what she had told him—about her life, about her sister, about how she felt about this beautiful woman who wanted to manage her life—was something she had never told another human being. Miss Latham had said that Cole was a hero. He knew he was no such thing, but right now he did feel…well, that maybe he could act as her guardian. Maybe he could stop Rowena’s meddling, no matter that she had the best intentions in the world.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Cole said, “what’s this man you want her to marry like?”
“Alfred?” Rowena asked, her eyes sparkling. “He’s a lovely man, very sweet. He’s about five feet four. I know that’s short, but not for Dorie; she’s so little and petite herself, not a great cow
like me who has to have a man over six feet. Dorie is so lucky that she can have any man. Alfred is about forty-three and—”
“Fifty-one,” Miss Latham said, her voice flat, without emotion.
“Oh? Well, a few years won’t matter. It’s what’s inside that counts, and Alfred is a jewel. And, also, he’s already broken in, so to speak. He’s been married and widowed twice, the poor dear, and has three children. Dorie just loves children, and there’s certainly room for them in that big house Father left her. But more important than any of this is that Alfred is mad for her, follows her everywhere. They are so cute together.”
“Like salt and pepper shakers,” Miss Latham said with disgust.
“Dorie, really! Just because Alfred doesn’t have a great deal of hair and has a few birth marks on his scalp does not make him resemble a pepper shaker.”
Cole managed to hide his smile, but when he looked up at Miss Latham, he no longer felt like smiling. What to him was a joke was not a laughing matter to her. There was a reason he had never settled down, a reason he was unmarried at the age of thirty-eight. His own parents had hated each other. His mother had been in love with some dirt farmer, but her father had forced her to marry the man of his choice, and never had two people hated each other more than his parents did. He’d left home when he was twelve years old and never been back since. If his parents were still alive, he could bet they were still fighting with each other.
Now, looking at the luscious Rowena, he had no doubt that what Miss Latham had said was true, that she could charm any man into marrying a plain sister. If Rowena had this effect on Cole, he could imagine what effect she’d have on a short, bald man who had probably never had even a decent-looking woman look at him before. And no doubt this Rowena could make quiet little Miss Latham believe that she wanted to marry a man who reminded her of a pepper shaker.