Desert Bloom by Ronda Thompson

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Desert Bloom

Dorchester Publishing

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-8439-4943-0

Chapter One

Mr. Dobbs, the stagecoach driver, scowled up at her. "I done
told you I can't fix it, miss. The axle is broken. We'll have
to wait until someone comes along to give us a hand."

She glanced around the surrounding area. The heat made hazy
lines rise from the barren ground. A few short mesquite trees
and dozens of cacti dotted the flat, desolate countryside. In
the distance, buzzards circled the sky. She'd been banished to
hell, that's all there was to it.

"I'm thirsty," she complained. "Not to mention about to melt
in this heat."

Sighing, the driver lumbered to his feet. "Why don't you climb
back inside the coach and loosen your clothing. You can pull
the drapes down. No one is gonna see you way out here in the
middle of nowhere anyhow."

Her back stiffened. A gentleman would never say as much to a
lady of good breeding. And a lady would never take such vulgar
advice. Lilla glanced toward the coach. She could hardly
breathe in her tightly laced corset.

"Perhaps I will take a short respite from the heat. Might I
have some water?"

"I gave you half a canteen this morning," he grumbled. "I've
used it to bathe my face and wrists,"she snapped. "I would
like the canteen refilled."

The man's gaze slid away from her. His face turned red.
"Didn't figure it'd take us long to reach Langtry. I didn't
refill my water barrel at Tascosa."

"What?" She clutched the lace collar at her throat. "Are you
telling me we have no water? That we're stranded in this
desert in scorching heat and you didn't-"

"I have a full canteen," Mr. Dobbs interrupted. "It's just
that, well-"

"Just that what?" she demanded.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. A moment later he smiled
at her. More than the sight of his toothless grin unnerved
her. She didn't care for Mr. Dobbs, and he didn't care for
her, that had been an immediate understanding between them.
"Nothing," he answered. "Let me help you inside the coach.
I'll fetch my canteen down for you." His offer surprised her.
Lilla supposed the man did possess a few manners, crude as
they were. "Thank you," she said, then allowed him to help her
inside the coach. She unrolled the dusty canvas flaps that
served as curtains. At least they blotted out the glaring sun.
A moment later a dirty hand holding a canteen was thrust
through one curtain.

"Here you go, ma'am. Drink sparingly, because I don't know how
long we're gonna be stuck out here."

Lilla took the canteen and cringed at the thought of placing
her mouth where his had been. She sat the receptacle beside
her on the seat. Although she wasn't thirsty, just the thought
of having to ration the water made her mouth dry. She lifted
the canteen, uncorked the top, used the skirt of her dress to
wipe the spout and took a sip. The water burned her throat.
She coughed. Her eyes watered and her nose ran. Yanking the
drape back, she stuck her head outside.

"What's wrong with this water?" she rasped, her throat on
fire. "It tastes horrible!"

The man's brows shot up. "It does?" He wrinkled his forehead.
"Guess you just ain't used to Texas water. It has a little
kick to it is all." His mouth twitched beneath his scraggly
mustache. "Are you sure the water hasn't been poisoned?" It
wouldn't surprise her if the man had decided to do away with
her.

"That water's fine. Have a few more sips. You'll see it's not
so bad."

Casting him a skeptical glance, she retreated back inside the
coach. She took another sip. It burned just as fiercely as the
time before. She choked, sniffed loudly and tried again. The
third sip went down smoother, but rather than cool her, the
tainted water only made her more miserably aware of the heat.
Unfastening a button or two on her high-necked gown wouldn't
hurt.

After her fifth sip, Lilla had to agree with the crusty old
stage driver. The water didn't taste that bad. She'd
unfastened her gown all the way down the front and loosened
the drawstring at the top of her chemise. Her feet were
burning up. The fashionable kidskin boots were tight, pinching
her toes together. She glanced around the empty coach. Did she
dare remove her boots?

Another sip or two of water and she did dare. She removed her
shoes, and barely hesitated before taking off her stockings,
as well. Lilla wiggled her bare toes and giggled.

"You doing all right in there?" Mr. Dobbs called from outside.

"I'm doing jus-s-s fine."

She thought she heard the man snicker. Maybe she'd giggled.
Strange, but Lilla felt rather lighthearted given her
circumstances. Her father had banished her to Texas ... due to a
slight problem concerning her attitude about his business
partner, Wade Langtry-her ex-fiancée.

Just the thought of Wade chased Lilla's gay mood away. The man
had made her the laughingstock of St. Louis, jilting her to
marry that hellion Camile Cordell. The Prickly Pear-that's
what the inhabitants of the town called her-had to be the most
unfeminine woman ever to live. And Wade had chosen her!

Lilla sighed. It was bad enough that she'd been jilted;
becoming a laughingstock was unbearable. Once Wade and his
buckskin-garbed wife had left town to head back to their
ranch, people began to whisper behind their hands. They
giggled when Lilla passed them on the street. Even Gregory
Kline, a suitor whom she suspected of wanting her only for her
father's money, had abandoned her.

Well, he'd been run out of town for blackmailing Wade in order
to get the deed to the Circle C ranch, she amended, but still,
her choices in men reflected poorly upon her judge of
character. The only two men who had paid her serious court
might have both been handsome, and seemingly refined in
manner, but one was nothing more than an ex-gunfighter, and
the other, a greedy blackmailer.

At least Gregory paid for his crimes. The man had been
completely ruined after the incident. He'd been snubbed by her
father and fired from further dealings with the cattle
company. Gregory had even sent her letters begging her to ask
her father for a second chance, and declaring his undying
devotion to her, but Lilla had ignored them.

Snorting disdainfully, Lilla tugged at her damp clothing.
Gregory loved money much more than he could ever love a
flesh-and-blood woman-and the heat reminded her that was just
was she was. She slipped her arms from the long sleeves of her
dress. Although it was not cool by any means inside the coach,
her upper half felt considerably more comfortable than her
lower half. A moment later she struggled from the dress
altogether. She removed her hat then scooted down against the
seat, placing her bare feet upon the seat across from her.

The position and lack of clothing made her feel better, but
not comfortable enough. Another sip of water and she pulled
her petticoats up to her knees, almost exposing the lace
around the edge of her bloomers. Her legs were quite nice, she
admitted. Nothing about her personal appearance caused her
embarrassment. She'd been called the most beautiful young
woman in St. Louis. The most sought after, as well. The
perfect ornament to decorate a gentleman's home.

But, obviously, something was wrong with her. Maybe he'd never
loved her, but it still hurt when Wade cast her aside. During
the past year, she'd become the pitied "other woman" in
society's eyes. In self-defense, she'd said less than ladylike
things about the Langtrys. Whenever an opportunity arose for
Lilla to remind the decent citizens of St. Louis that Wade
Langtry was nothing more than an ex-gunfighter, and that
Camile Cordell couldn't pass herself off as a true lady if her
life depended upon it, she had done so with relish.

She'd become much too free with her criticisms, and her
father-who was, after all, in business with the Langtrys-had
found out about her bad mouthing. As punishment, he'd told her
he was sending her to the Texas Panhandle to learn some real
manners. Lilla snorted. As if anyone in this cursed land knew
the first thing about social etiquette. Which was another
reason her father had sent her. Not only had she been
instructed to learn better manners herself, she was supposed
to help teach them in Margaret Pendergraft's new charm school.

Pendergraft, who had formerly taught in St. Louis, had
recently married an old ranch foreman by the name of Hank
Riley-the very foreman who had run Camile's Circle C before
Wade took over. Ooh, just the thought burned Lilla's britches.
Now both couples-the Langtrys and the Rileys-had moved out to
found a new town not far from the Circle C, Langtry, Texas.

Lilla supposed Wade and his wife planned to populate the new
town all by themselves. The Prickly Pear-Camile herself-never
did anything by half measures. She had presented her husband
with not one, but two children, a boy and a girl, and all in
one shot.

"Typical of her," Lilla muttered. She hiccupped and snatched
up the water canteen. The liquid moved smoothly down her
throat this time. Always, Lilla had striven to be perfect-to
make her father proud. Her mother had died giving her life.
The least she could do was be perfect for her father's sake-to
gain sainthood in his eyes, the way her mother had.

Taking another swig from the canteen, Lilla wondered what her
sainted mother would think of her current predicament? There
she sat, broken down in the middle of nowhere, forced to drink
tainted water and that wasn't the worst of her experiences
thus far upon her journey. Her mother would surely turn over
in her grave if she knew her sheltered daughter had earlier
shared the coach with a painted lady.

Sheltered, but not naive, Lilla had guessed the woman's
profession the moment she'd laid eyes on her. Thank goodness
the soiled dove had departed at the last stop, admitting she'd
changed her mind about Texas and planned to return to
civilization. Lilla wished she could do the same. Her father
had refused to give her the required funds to return home at
her whim. He'd told her she would have to earn her passage
from her income helping Margaret at her school for young
ladies.

Lilla laughed while raising the canteen again. Imagine the
belle of St. Louis forced to labor for a living! It was
ridiculous ... and for some reason, humorous at the same time.
She giggled, wiggled her bare toes and burst into song.
She had no idea where she'd heard the bawdy tune, and
certainly understood a lady would never repeat the vulgar
words that bounded from her lips. But Lilla didn't feel much
like a lady at the moment. In fact, she felt wonderfully
uninhibited. Free for the first time in her life to shrug off
the responsibilities of propriety, the difficult task of
achieving sainthood in Miles Traften's eyes, and simply be
herself.

* * *

Grady Finch removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow.
He could use a drink at Sally's Saloon to settle the dust in
his mouth. First, he had to see the banker in Langtry. He had
money to add to his growing nest egg. Money he planned to use
to buy a nice stretch of land from the Langtrys-the Lord
willing and the creek didn't rise.

Wade made him foreman of the new ranch last year. Grady worked
hard to prove himself worthy of the position, but he'd always
had bigger dreams. He wanted his own spread, to be man of
property and influence. A couple more months of scrimping and
saving and he could make Wade and Camile a decent offer on the
land he wanted.

"Reckon we'll have time to do more at Sally's than just get a
drink, boss?" Tanner Richards asked.

Turning in the saddle, he scanned the faces of his hands.
Tanner might have asked the question, but all were anxious to
hear his answer. "Quick as you are, Tanner, I imagine you can
squeeze in time with Meg."

Tanner blushed and the rest of the men snickered. Grady
supposed he owed them town time. They'd all worked hard the
past week.

Sally, an enterprising woman, had been one of the first to
arrive in Langtry. There were other ranches in the area, and
where there were men, there were chances for a woman to make
money.

Grady wouldn't mind a go around with a woman himself, but he'd
improved his past behavior when Wade gave him the promotion.
Being in charge of other men, he figured he needed to set a
good example. So far, he'd managed to resist the charms of the
women at Sally's Saloon.

"Hey, do you hear that?"

Sparks Montgomery had asked the question. The man once handled
dynamite for a mining company-thus the name, and the fingers
missing from his right hand. He also had huge ears that nearly
flapped on the side of his head. When Sparks said he heard
something, Grady knew to stop and listen.

He lifted a hand and brought his men to a halt. The foreman
didn't hear anything at first; then the sound of a voice
floated over the silent plains.

"I got a gal, her name is Annie. Her teeth are gone, she ain't
got any. Her legs are bowed, and they are skinny. But I love
that gal, that gal named Annie." "Is that singing?" Tanner
asked.

"I'd say a sorry excuse for it," Grady answered.

Tanner edged his horse up next to the foreman. "The voice
might not be music to the ears, but it belongs to a female."
Grady rubbed his jaw. "What would a woman be doing out here in
the middle of nowhere?"

Sparks placed his hands over his large ears. "Might be the
only place folks allow her to sing."

Although tempted to cover his ears, as well, Grady kneed his
horse forward. "We'd better check it out."

They came around a bend in the road and saw a coach sitting up
ahead. A wheel was broken. Cautious to a fault, Grady studied
the situation. The cash he intended to deposit in the bank
made him leery of a possible ambush. He halted the group.

"Might be a trap," he said.

"Could be, boss," Tanner agreed. "I've heard tales of sea
witches singing a siren's song to lure unsuspecting ships into
the rocks so they'd splinter and break apart."

All the men, Grady included, cast Tanner a skeptical glance.
The cowhand listened a moment longer then shook his head. "I
don't think that's the case here."

Grady pulled his gun from the holster strapped to his thigh.
"Just the same, we'd better move in slow."

The singing stopped as he and his men rode closer to the
coach. Grady didn't see a driver on top, but spotted a man
below, stretched out beneath the coach.

"Reckon he's dead?" Sparks whispered.

"Might be resting," Grady answered. "No shade anywhere else."

"Why not climb inside?" Tanner asked. "That'd make more
sense."

The foreman shrugged. "I imagine he didn't climb inside
because of the singing."

Tanner frowned. "Or because of the songbird."

"Keep your guard up." Grady dismounted. He crept toward the
coach. Loud snores from the man below the coach replaced the
horrible singing he'd heard earlier. The man obviously wasn't
dead, but he might be pretending to sleep. Grady snuck up on
him, got down on his belly and nudged him with his gun.

The man came awake quickly. His eyes widened. "I ain't got no
payroll on this stage. Nothing worth stealing, mister."

Lowering his gun, Grady said, "I'm not here to rob you. I
thought this might be a trap to rob me."

"No sir," the man assured him. "Got a broken axle is all. I
was waiting for help."

"Guess you found it. Climb out."

Grady crawled back, allowing the man room to exit. He dusted
the dirt from his chaps. The driver scrambled out. That's when
Grady noticed that the snoring hadn't stopped. He glanced
toward the coach.

"How many passengers do you have in there?"

The driver scowled. "Just one. A woman."

Grady lifted a brow. "One woman is making all that racket?" At
the driver's nod, he said, "At least she snores better than
she sings." He turned toward the coach. "Come on out, ma'am.
We're here to help you."

Blessed silence for a moment. A soft snort, and then the
snoring continued. Grady's men had joined them. They began to
snicker. "Sure is a sound sleeper," he commented.

"And a pain in the ass, too," the driver grumbled, then
grinned a toothless grin. "At least she was until she got
herself drunk."

"Drunk?" Grady's gaze snapped back at the coach. "What kind of
woman gets drunk in the middle of the afternoon?"

Tugging at his mustache, the man glanced down at the ground.
"Well, to be honest-"

"Hey," Grady interrupted, having answered his own question in
the space it took the driver to fumble for an explanation. "Is
she the new girl Sally said she's bringing in all the way from
Frisco?"

"New girl?"

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Desert Bloom
by Ronda Thompson
Copyright © 2001 by Ronda Thompson.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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