Virgin Fire Read online

  After that he had asked if they might go riding the next afternoon, and Jessica's brief balloon of happiness deflated, for she just couldn't and had to explain that she was afraid of horses and only rode a bicycle.

  "A bicycle?” echoed Mr. Parnell dubiously. “Can't say I've ever been on one."

  "It doesn't matter,” Jessica replied sadly. “Mine's been stolen anyway."

  Somehow or other she found herself telling him about her father's refusal to buy her a new one, which proved to be embarrassing because Mr. Parnell said, rather disapprovingly, that her father had money enough to replace her stolen bicycle and should have done so. Naturally Jessica had to defend her father. She and Mr. Parnell even got into a little argument about it, although the last thing she wanted to do was argue with Mr. Parnell. Jessica decided unhappily that he must think them a very peculiar family. No doubt, he wouldn't want to see her again.

  However, once they reached the house, he invited her to the theater, and she was so pleased that she accepted without even asking her mother's permission. Fortunately, when she floated in with the news, Anne said, “How nice, Jessica. Is something interesting playing?"

  "I forgot to ask,” Jessica replied.

  "Justin, look at this.” Anne waved her hand at the bicycle sitting in their hall beside the hat rack, resplendently nickel- and gold-plated with elaborate carving on the metal parts, semiprecious stones embedded, ivory handlebars, laminated wood trim, and a leather seat. The instruction booklet that accompanied it announced importantly that it was the top-of-the-line Columbia Model 41 Woman's Safety Bicycle.

  Justin viewed the machine and scowled. “I told her she—"

  "—couldn't have a new bicycle,” Anne finished for him. “Well, Mr. Parnell obviously thought she should."

  "Parnell sent her that?” asked Justin, astonished. “The thing must have cost a fortune."

  "Of course it did,” said Anne, “and she'll have to give it back. It's hardly proper for her to accept such an expensive gift. But I can tell you, it will break her heart. The girl's starry-eyed over him."

  "She is? After just one dinner? And why's the fellow sending her expensive presents? If he thinks—"

  "Justin, no matter how smitten Jessica may be, she's an extremely intelligent girl. If he's a fortune hunter, she'll realize it."

  "I suppose you're right,” said Justin. “Has she seen it yet?"

  "No, she hasn't, and this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't refused to replace the one that was stolen."

  "People can't expect to have every damn thing they take a fancy to,” said Justin defensively.

  "Jessica doesn't take a fancy to that many things, Justin. She's not Penelope. I wish you'd remember that."

  He sighed and slumped into a chair in the parlor. “No, of course she isn't,” he agreed. “She's a good girl. It's just that every time she asks for something, I hear Calliope telling me that my first wife—that bitch—” his voice went gravelly with bitterness “—was spoiled by her father's indulgence. I'm so damned afraid of turning Jessica into her mother that I—"

  "That won't happen, Justin,” said Anne earnestly. “Jessica's nothing like Penelope. If anything, she takes after your mother, and your mother's father. She's of that same pragmatic, scholarly turn of mind that Cassandra was."

  "Well, if she's like my mother, why the hell can't she ride horses instead of bicycles? You'd never have caught Cassandra Harte riding a damn fool bicycle wearing bloomers and a straw hat."

  "Now, Justin,” said Anne, laughing, “they're not bloomers; they're knickers, and they're what fashionable girls wear to ride bicycles, which are all the rage. Heavens, they have bicycle races—where is it?—Dallas, I think."

  "Who'd want to see a bicycle race?” muttered Justin.

  Anne shrugged, then sobering, added, “As for horses, she'll never be a horsewoman. If you'll remember, the poor child had nightmares for months when that ill-tempered roan scraped her off on the fence and broke her arm. I've never come closer to taking a whip to a child of mine than I did the day Ned dared her to get up on that horse."

  "She was a brave little thing at the time. Hardly shed a tear."

  "It might have been better if she had,” said Anne. “I rather imagine she was trying to win your approval."

  "She's always had my approval,” said Justin. “I just can't understand why she hasn't got over her fear of horses."

  "Well, she hasn't and won't, so please, please stop expecting her to show signs of turning into Penelope. She's not going to do that either. You've got to go easier on the child, Justin. Be more generous with her."

  "It's not that I don't love her,” Justin muttered.

  "I know that, but I'm not sure Jessica does."

  "Of course she does!” he exclaimed, shocked.

  "Just show her more often,” Anne advised. “As for the bicycle, I want you to go out and buy her one. In the meantime I'm going to send the one in the hall back myself. I'll just write a little note to Mr. Parnell, telling him how kind it was of him to send it and explaining that I didn't want to disappoint her by letting her see it when it's only proper that she send it back. In the meantime, you'll—"

  "—get her a bicycle,” he agreed.

  "Good.” Anne smiled. “Do you know what I thought of when I saw that machine in the hall? I thought of the time you brought me the saddle, and I imagine you remember what happened after that."

  Justin did. They'd gone out riding to test the saddle and ended up making love in the first grove of trees they came to.

  "I've a mind to march right over to Mr. Parnell's rooms and ask if he was married."

  Justin flushed. It was a question Anne hadn't asked him until too late, and the misunderstanding had led them into scandal and heartbreak because Justin, who was married to Penelope at the time, had taken it for granted that Anne knew.

  "Fortunately, Jessica has more sense than I did."

  "Do you regret what happened between us?” Justin asked.

  "Of course not,” said Anne. “I adored you then, and I still do. Now go out and get your daughter that bicycle."

  Justin Harte smiled at his wife and temporized, “Later, sweetheart. Thinking about that afternoon I brought you the Goodnight saddle, it's put me of a mind to go upstairs."

  Laughing fondly, Anne said, “Justin, you're an irresponsible father."

  "Maybe,” he replied, “but I'm a fair to middling husband."

  Travis read Anne Harte's note, glanced at the bicycle that had just been returned, and decided he must have made a social error of some kind in sending the gift. Well, he thought philosophically, you didn't grow up on the streets of Fort Worth, the plains of Texas with Joe Ray Brock, and finish off your education in the oil fields and then expect to turn out a perfect gentleman, but he'd have to watch his step. He didn't want to offend the girl.

  Still, they could have bought her a bicycle themselves. They had the money, and she was as nice a young woman as you'd expect to meet. A hell of a lot nicer than her natural mother. Was that the problem? Did Justin Harte dislike Jessica because she was Penelope's child?

  Chapter Three

  Jessica and Travis made their way up the stairs and across the splintered floor to their seats, where they had twenty minutes to wait before the performance of East Lynne began. Her father had declared before they left that anyone who set foot in the Haynes Opera House was a fool because the theater was bound to collapse and dump them into the grocery housed below it. Travis had taken that warning in good part, and Jessica would have gone with him had her father said the sheriff was planning to shoot down the cast and jail the audience.

  "I love melodramas, don't you?” she asked enthusiastically once they were seated.

  "Not particularly,” Travis admitted. “They seem pretty unrealistic to me. In real life the hero and heroine don't always marry and live happily ever after, and the villains don't always get what they deserve.” Then he added broodingly, “Although sometimes they do."

/>   Jessica felt somewhat confused. “If you don't like melodrama, why did you want to see East Lynne?"

  Realizing that his remarks about marriage and happy endings weren't particularly well timed for a man involved in a whirlwind courtship, he replied, “I wanted to spend the evening with you."

  His answer so enchanted Jessica that she couldn't think of anything else to say and stared happily at the painted theater curtain as if she had a life-and-death interest in its mist-shrouded temple and its three rather awkward muses.

  Travis, however, curious about the outcome of his gift, asked if her father had ever relented and bought her a bicycle.

  "Why, yes, he did,” said Jessica. “I was so surprised, because Papa doesn't usually change his mind, but he got just the one I asked for, the Overman drop frame. It's so cunningly designed that my skirts can't get caught and torn in the chain or the rear wheel,” she explained.

  Travis had seen that model and considered it greatly inferior to the one he'd got her. He was sorely tempted to say so, but at that moment the management decided that enough theatergoers had taken their seats to warrant displaying the pièce de résistance of the Haynes Opera House, a second painted curtain with a view of trees tastelessly engirdled with the advertisements of local merchants. Travis stared at it with amazement.

  Jessica put her hand over her mouth to hide a grin, for it really was a dreadful sight. However, she couldn't say anything, for beside her sat old Mr. Hans Steinbrunner, who had an advertisement on the curtain. Well, actually she noticed that his announcement was not visible. The curtain was too long for the space it occupied, and Steinbrunner Mercantile, along with several other businesses, lay on the floor out of sight.

  Mr. Steinbrunner noticed this too, for he stood up and bellowed, “You show mein notice, Haynes, or I get mein money back."

  Management promptly rolled the curtain from the top, and Mr. Steinbrunner's section came into view. For the next five minutes the curtain shifted erratically so that the audience could appreciate the messages of all the local businesses represented. Jessica and Travis, peeking at one another like mischievous children, tried to stifle their laughter. Mr. Parnell was so much fun! Jessica thought happily.

  Finally East Lynne replaced the advertisements, and Jessica enjoyed the play thoroughly. In fact, no matter what had been on stage, she would have enjoyed it, for on her right the girth of Mr. Steinbrunner filled his chair and overlapped hers, forcing her to the left edge of her seat and into contact with Travis's properly suited but amazingly hard upper arm. Since she could do nothing about the situation, Jessica simply settled down to enjoy the excitement of this extended physical contact. As they shared chocolates, which melted deliciously on her tongue, and watched the drama, she savored the rough texture of his sleeve against her bare arm and speculated on how those hard muscles would look if she were to see them without their usual covering of shirt and coat sleeve. That was a highly improper speculation, as she well knew, but Jessica didn't care at all, she decided with unrepentant glee.

  In the darkness she thought she could smell him, a hint of shaving soap perhaps and some nice masculine fragrance that might be peculiar to Travis himself. Did men have their own aromas, aside from sweat? The cowboys often smelled sweaty, although she seldom noticed it. She was usually sneezing as a result of proximity to the cattle.

  She glanced up at Travis from beneath her lashes. He had a very determined chin, slightly shadowed with beard; wonderful high, hard cheekbones; and thick, glossy black hair. Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch it. How strange. She'd never thought of touching a man. She glanced at him again, and this time he caught her eye and smiled. Embarrassed, Jessica glanced away, but she could see in her mind that mouth, long and beautifully shaped, and, God help her, she wanted to look again. He was really so handsome, although handsomeness was not something Jessica had given much thought to before.

  Then her pleasantly simmering excitement dampened when she asked herself why a man who looked like Travis Parnell would devote time to Jessica Harte. Was she setting herself up for a painful disappointment? Chastened, she focused her wandering attention on the play, which had reached its height of pathos accompanied by a tragic swelling of piano and violins and a few loud sniffs from Mr. Steinbrunner, who muttered, “Ist zo sad,” to his daughter Gretchen Bannerman, who was sitting next to him. Then he blew his nose loudly.

  Jessica clapped her hand over her mouth, horror-stricken because she had giggled. Had Mr. Steinbrunner noticed? Had Travis? Mr. Steinbrunner hadn't; he was too busy wiping away a tear or two. Travis had and was grinning widely. Staring into his laughter-filled eyes, Jessica had to stifle a whole new attack of giggles, which were hardly suitable to the poor heroine's plight.

  "You didn't explain,” remarked Travis later as they walked home, “that you liked melodramas because they're funny."

  "They're very edifying,” said Jessica primly and started to laugh all over again, Travis following suit and giving her an astonishing, if fleeting, hug. Her heart rate accelerated alarmingly.

  Then as they approached the lights of the railroad depot, several men came reeling out, one of them shouting to another, “Can't get a drink in this town, but maybe we can find a woman."

  Travis pulled her abruptly into the shadows of a large tree at the edge of someone's yard. “Drunks,” he said tersely in answer to her question. “Weatherford's dry, but Fort Worth isn't. The train must have got in."

  "But it comes in the afternoon,” stammered Jessica, acutely conscious of his forearm across her waist and his body pressed to hers from behind. A wave of heated response swept over her.

  "It was late today,” said Travis calmly. “Some trouble down the track."

  Jessica was trembling. She'd never been pressed against a man's body, and she was frightened by her own reaction, by her extreme sensitivity to the feel of his upper arm against the side of her bosom. The tips of her breasts were contracting, tingling, and she felt both breathless at the new sensation and embarrassed. What if he knew it? What if...

  "There's no reason to be afraid, Jess,” he said reassuringly. “We'll just stand here quietly while they go their way."

  He might expect to stand here quietly, she thought, panic-stricken, but she felt that she would fall down if he weren't holding her with that forceful arm. Her stomach was fluttering madly, and he had called her Jess. No one called her Jess; certainly no young man had ever thought to be so familiar. Did that mean Mr. Parnell thought of her as some—some loose woman? As well he might, considering the embarrassing fashion in which her wayward body had betrayed her.

  "All clear,” said Travis, freeing her waist as the men lurched around a corner. Jessica blinked because he was offering his arm to resume the walk home as it nothing untoward had happened. On the veranda, he took her hand and asked if he might see her again.

  Jessica shivered with excitement because her mother had given permission to invite him to the pre-roundup ball at their house on the weekend. Now that she knew he wanted to see her again, she felt that it would be quite proper to invite him. She had a lovely gown that her mother had bought her the year before in Washington for a reception at the White House, and Frannie had offered to do her hair, although Jessica was somewhat dubious about that, fearing one of Frannie's practical jokes.

  No matter how understanding Mr. Parnell had been about it, Jessica had not forgotten the commode tour. In fact, Frannie's offer had been in the nature of a peace offering, so Jessica supposed the hair styling might be all right. Any change was bound to be an improvement, and Frannie proposed to give her the Gibson Girl look. Jessica issued the invitation, and he promptly asked for first choice on her dance card.

  She nodded happily. She'd have given him every dance had it been proper.

  With a critical eye Jessica studied herself in the pier glass. She did want to impress Mr. Parnell—a little, at least—and was pleased that her hair looked better than usual. She had never known what to do with it once she
was too old to wear it in plaits or straight down her back. With fearful reservations Jessica had accepted Frannie's offer, but Frannie's hair looked fetching no matter how she pinned it up because it was all glowing red highlights and curls. What would Frannie do with straight, fine, pale, brown-blonde hair like Jessica's? What could anyone do with it?

  Fortunately, the upswept pompadour devised by her sister looked attractive with its straying curls around the face, the work of a curling iron bought for the purpose. Jessica wondered if her father knew about the purchase. After his generosity in buying her the bicycle, he wouldn't appreciate this latest frivolous expenditure. It was a blessing that she already had a suitable gown and hadn't had to ask for a new one.

  But was the gown too daring? She smoothed the fitted waist nervously. It had been perfect for an evening out in Washington and was, in fact, a beautiful dress—pale green tulle over taffeta with appliquéd, pearl-studded velvet leaves and flowers outlining the train and a décolleté neckline that exposed the upper curves of her breasts and the smooth line of her shoulders.

  Her face felt warm at the thought of Mr. Parnell seeing her in this gown. She knew that evening dresses of similar cut were worn in Fort Worth; she had seen them, but on older, married women. Still, at twenty-two she wasn't so young herself, and she liked Travis Parnell. She wanted to see more of him, so tonight he was going to see more of her, she thought, feeling decidedly naughty.

  "Ready, dear?” A smiling Anne Harte studied her eldest daughter. “You look lovely, Jessie. What marvelous taste I have!” Anne herself had chosen as well as paid for the gown. Mother and daughter laughed companionably and strolled downstairs to join the men of the family.

  "Where the devil did you get that dress, Jessica?” her father demanded as soon as he saw her.

  "I bought it for her when I was in Washington last year,” said Anne with a warning frown.