Wild Texas Rose by Martha Hix Page A

roiled Gail’s stomach. Pouring herself another cup of coffee, she noticed Mariah had barely touched her food. Gail felt sorry for the woman who kept taking covert, though haughty, glances at Ole Tight Jaws.
    Join a long line of the brokenhearted, Gail wanted to say.
    She watched the redhead dab her lips with a napkin, then take a dainty sip of coffee. Gail’s sympathies deepened. The lady was class. Joe Jaye had been some sort of prince or something in England, but he was nothing in Coleman County. Since he’d squandered his money on devil’s rope, everyone knew he was as penniless as Pablo Martinez, the poorest Mexican in five counties. Poor Mariah was in for a shock.
    Gail laid her spoon on the saucer. “Mariah, I apologize for last night.”
    â€œThink nothing of it. Many people were enjoying Lois’s fine punch.”
    â€œI didn’t mean that. I meant for what I said.” Doggone it! Why had she alluded to Whit? The subject of her warnings was women-talk and shouldn’t be spoken around Ole Tight Jaws. “We can talk about it later, if you’d like.”
    â€œThere’s no need for further discussion,” Mariah replied, her eyes warm as she smiled at the younger woman. “Think nothing of it. Really.”
    Gail’s estimation of the redhead rose to an even higher plane. Her curiosity was piqued, though. Why would such a fine lady marry that snoot Joe Jaye? She decided to ease into finding out the answer. “Lois told me you’re a schoolteacher...”
    â€œOh, yes.” Her voice was warm and tender. “I love children.”
    â€œIs Mr. Jaye going to allow you to teach after–” Gail saw the prudence of switching the topic again, seeing as how Whit had warned her against mentioning the farmer’s dire straits, and he was turning his head slightly to drill a warning look her way.
    On top of that, why point out Coleman County had more than its share of schoolteachers?
    Her next question was addressed to Whit. “Ready for the cattle drive up to Dodge City?”
    â€œJust about.” He turned back to his plate.
    â€œWhen will you leave?” she asked while observing Mariah’s closed lips.
    â€œThe herd’s leaving after roundup. I’m not going.”
    â€œWhat!” Gail couldn’t believe her ears. “You’ve never missed a trail drive.”
    â€œI am this time.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIf it’s any of your concern, Gail Ann, I’ve got other things to do. We’ve got a drought, remember?”
    â€œWell, excuse me, Sour Puss.” She eyed the other woman. “Do you know anything about Longhorns, Mariah?”
    â€œNothing. But I am familiar with Guernseys.”
    â€œMilch cows.” Whit curled his lip. “Sissy cows.”
    â€œI beg your pardon,” Mariah said hotly.
    He speared a piece of meat. “You heard me.”
    Gail had had enough of his behavior. “I think you owe Mariah an apology!”
    He downed another cup of coffee and continued to avert his eyes. “Tell you what, Gail Ann Strickland. I’m gonna put you in charge of heaven and music. When I want your goddamn opinion, I’ll whistle.”
    â€œKiss the south end of a north-bound horse, Whitman Reagor.” She noticed Mariah was chewing her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Gail loved an audience. Her hangover ceased to bother her. Dramatically she brought her hand to her chest. “My, my. Hasn’t the conversation deteriorated?”
    â€œActually,” Mariah replied, “I’m enjoying it. And I’m in total agreement with you.”
    â€œThank you. And pay no attention to Mr. Reagor. He really can be a bear at times. Let’s hope his attitude improves, though, before we have to spend four whole days riding with him in his gaudy new covered wagon!”
    She watched Mariah glance at Whit. Neither of them commented. Well, Gail thought, so much for