Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) Read Free Page B

the press of this crowd she has too many people to cope with already. Later.”
           Slade waited and brooded for almost a week, then rode into San Antonio once more and reined in Polvo by the big stone and mortar house on Soledad Street, just off the Main Plaza. When old Don Simon had died, the house had gone to his daughter and her husband. Now the young widow resided in the lovely Spanish mansion, where she had first met Jim Slade.
           From her sitting-room window Tomasina watched him dismount with the careless ease of a man born to ride. “So, Diego, at last you come to me,” she breathed low, then gave a soft, exultant laugh.
           At Jake's funeral mass, she had watched Jim surreptitiously. He seemed older and more guarded. Well, it had been six years. But his long, lean body with its corded muscles still resembled a young cougar, poised, restless, ready to lash out. Dangerous. Yes, even as an uncertain youth Jim Slade had been dangerous. As a man of twenty-five, he would be a most formidable enemy. Ashley had better take care, she mused.
           Tomasina considered her silver-gray dress trimmed with jet beads. She inspected her appearance critically as she smoothed the rustling pale silk. The subdued colors of mourning favored her gleaming black tresses and clear ivory skin. Patting the thick coil of hair at the nape of her neck, she glided to the door.
           Tomasina made a grand entry. As she descended the spiral stairs to greet Jim in the foyer, she remembered their first meeting. It had been noisy with music and laughter, the joyous sounds of life. Soon it would be so again.
           As he watched her float down the winding steps, Jim fought a sudden impulse to spring up and clasp her ethereal beauty in his arms. Get a hold of yourself, Slade—you're not a green boy anymore, he told himself. He stood patiently at the foot of the stairs, his lips twisted cynically into a half smile.
           His face was harder than she remembered. A premonition flitted through her mind, but she dismissed it once she felt the warm, callused clasp of his long fingers curving around her small, pale hands. “Diego, how good of you to come.”
           He raised her hands to his lips in a brief, brushing salute, then disengaged gently and stood back to look at her. “Mourning becomes you, Tomasina. I'm very sorry about Jake.”
           Noting with satisfaction that his eyes lingered on her body, Tomasina nodded gravely and ushered Slade into the vast sala. “I had a kind and indulgent husband, as we both know, Diego.”
           “And a rich one,” he replied evenly, lifting one thick golden brow.
           She smiled serenely, ignoring the barb. “Rich, yes, and much older than I.”
           “He was a decent man, Sina. I honestly hope you made him a good wife.” He ignored her invitation to sit beside her on the settee and went to a small window, where he stared through the iron grillwork.
           “And why ever shouldn't I have been a dutiful wife, Diego?” Tomasina gave a mock pout, watching his back stiffen as he replied.
           “Maybe because you didn't love him.” He turned to face her now.
           “That is not fair, Diego. You presume too much. Just because—”
           “Just because we were once engaged,” he interrupted her. “I thought you loved me, Sina. But then the senator came along and all that changed.” He stared harshly at her stricken face.
           “Perhaps it did not change, Diego. What would you say to that?” She heard a small hiss of his breath as he took a step toward her, then stopped himself.
           “I guess that's what I really came to find out, Sina, not to offer my condolences. I admired Jake, and I feel like a fox in the chicken coop now. I should have waited longer.” He began the restless pacing that had always reminded her of a caged cat.
           “I'm