Wild Texas Rose by Martha Hix Page B

that. She turned serious. “Mariah, are you packed for our journey?”
    â€œAll set. Whenever you and Mr. Reagor are ready, so am I.”
    The dark head that had been bent over his plate jerked upward. “You’re still going?”
    â€œI most certainly am. We made plans.” Mariah added emphasis to her last word. “And I’m not one to break plans. Are you wanting to welsh on them?”
    â€œDamn.” Holding his arms over his chest, he glowered. “You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?”
    Mariah lifted a shoulder while closing her mouth around a bite of egg.
    His jaw was rock hard with anger. “Just remember what I said last night. I’m on to your tricks. And if you don’t behave yourself, Joe will be the first to find out.”
    â€œMy, my, Mr. Reagor. Are you a tale-carrier?”
    â€œI, um, think I’ll get packed,” the third party to the argument announced, but no one was listening.
    Leaving the dining room, Gail furrowed her brows. She knew Whit and his behavior. Nonchalant detachment was his usual treatment of his ladies. No woman raised his ire, much less got her hook in him–even Gail’s mother had tried that. Now Mariah had him on a line, Gail was certain, and all she had to do was reel him in.
    â€œI guess it’s about time,” she murmured, and decided to do her part in furthering the match.

Chapter Six
    A half hour after the dining-room fiasco, the wagon pulled out of Dublin. Gail led the team, Mariah rode at her side, and Whit was astride Bay Fire. Mariah spent the rest of the day, plus the next two, wondering about her sanity. Why had she insisted on his escort? He alternately ignored or snapped at her, the knave.
    The proper course would have been to follow her original plans–Lord, how she hated that word!–and continue on to Trick’em by stagecoach. Of course she had done no such thing. This was a matter of pride.
    Though the memory of Whit Reagor’s kiss was a force to be reckoned with, her anger boiled each time she remembered his accusations. Apparently he had thought she wouldn’t fight for her good name. Ha! No one could tag “ ’Fraidy Cat” behind her name, either. And no arrogant, conceited ... handsome Texan could run her up a tree ...
    Which was where Fancy could be found this Wednesday morning. Covers pulled to her chin, Mariah lay on her pallet in the wagon, listening to Whit as he tried to coax his cheeky feline down from a tree adjacent to their campsite.
    Naturally he’d brought the cat along, probably to annoy Mariah. And so it had! Fancy had been caged when the Conestoga had rolled, but Whit had insisted on her freedom while they were camped. The feline had made the most of those hours, keeping her fangs trained on Gus, and Mariah had spent a good bit of her time keeping feathers and fur apart.
    Her female companion had been helpful in her quest. Initially Mariah had had her doubts about Gail, but she now considered her a friend. On the trail extending westward from Dublin, there had been plenty of opportunity for the two women to begin to understand each other, for Whit, opting to ride his sorrel stallion, had refused to join them in conversation.
    â€œWell, Mariah, reckon we ought to help rescue Fancy?”
    She turned to the yawning Gail, who, with sleep filming her dark-blue eyes, stretched her arms above her head.
    Propping herself up on an elbow, Mariah frowned. “You can. As far as I’m concerned that cat can stay up a tree.”
    â€œMy sentiments exactly.”
    â€œDamn you to hell.” Whit’s bellows filled the covered wagon even though he was yards away. “Stay up there. Stay up there all day. Do whatever you please, you wench you, but I’m not gonna stand here, hollering and begging you to get off your high horse.” He shouted a further invective to the cat, then ordered: “Ladies, get your backsides outta