Wild Texas Rose by Martha Hix Page A

replied, remembering the feelings for her brothers as opposed to those for Lawrence.
    A young sandy-haired man strolled up who was vaguely familiar to Mariah. Then she remembered. Slim Culpepper. The odious cowboy who had called her “purty” in front of the Double Inn.
    â€œCan I have this dance, ma’ am?” he asked, but she declined his offer.
    Gail set her cup aside. “Slim, I’ll dance with you.”
    The two whirled onto the sawdust, and Mariah tried not to glance at Whit and his lady friend ... but her eyes moved as if they had minds of their own. He was bending down to listen to something Barbara had to say. Mariah could take no more.
    Quick as her feet could carry her, she departed the barn. She took a shuddering breath of bracing air. How was she going to get through the next few days, being in such close proximity to Reagor, who had no problem turning from one woman to the next in the blink of an eye?
    â€œHave you no shame?” she asked herself aloud while ascending the porch steps. “Within minutes of deciding to break Joseph’s heart, you’re all over Whit, like butter on bread.”
    Trying to get a grip on herself, she glanced from side to side. The covered veranda ran the length of the two-story boardinghouse’s front porch. A porch swing hung from the ceiling and two rockers faced the road. Climbing roses grew up the rails and amazingly to a woman from the cold climes of the English Channel, the scarlet roses were blooming. She walked over to pull a stem gingerly toward her nose.
    â€œSmell sweet, don’t they?”
    Whit. Whit! Gail had been wrong. He was here. But maybe he’s made a detour to pick up a smoking jacket, Mariah thought facetiously. Or maybe he’s after an extra set of clothes in case Barbara tosses him on his behind again.
    â€œI love roses,” Mariah said, her tone benign.
    â€œBetter enjoy ‘em while you can. There aren’t any roses in Trick’em. ’Course, once you get there, the story’ll be different.”
    â€œThat’s the kind of thing a man says when he’s courting a woman.”
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œYes–Ow!” Mariah slapped her wrist. Beneath her fingers she felt a small insect. “Something bit me!”
    â€œProbably a red ant. Let’s get into the light and I’ll look at it.”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary,” she replied, remembering his arm around Barbara. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”
    â€œNot tonight. And I said I’m going to look at your wrist.” His voice brooked no argument.
    A calm satisfaction settled in Mariah’s veins. He wasn’t sleeping with that blonde, at least not tonight, and she couldn’t help but be pleased.
    His big hand settled against the small of her back, and Whit led her into the kitchen, where a hurricane lamp glowed on the round center table. Music from the barn filtered through the room, a soft and romantic melody.
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    Dance music swimming in his head and a grin spreading his face, Slim Culpepper strode toward Lois Atherton’s house. He had seen Whit headed this way, and Slim needed to talk with him. Earlier this evening Reagor had offered him the job of top hand, and he was ready to accept the rancher’s offer.
    He stepped onto Lois’s back porch, the one leading to the kitchen. His fist poised to knock on the door, Slim peeked through the windowpane. “Would ya look at that?” he whispered to himself.
    There wouldn’t be any job talk tonight; Reagor there had his hands full with that purty Brit gal, and from the plumb daffy look in the lucky devil’s eyes, Slim reckoned he had better get gone.
    As Reagor took her wrist in his palm, Slim left.
    Gently, Whit turned Mariah’s wrist first one way, then the other. The scent of roses, sweet roses, drifted to him. “Looks like an ant did get you,” he commented huskily. “It’s