Chapter Four
Winter was coming to Sonoran Mexico, Heath thought, even if it did not bring the promise of frost normally associated with the season. Instead the days were warm – not hot – while the nights comfortable, with breezes bringing in the scents of sage and pinon. It was the second week of November, and Heath had been sure he would be if not home, at least headed in that direction.
Instead, a collapse at one of the tunnels where they were installing the new pumps, had delayed the work that needed to be completed. The only benefit Heath saw was that the incident had happened the day after his dinner and private conversation with Frau Werner. He had woken up the next day with a headache, as he remembered that he had had another glass of the delicious Austrian wine after she had left him at the table.
Heath had risen early, in spite of the headache, not wanting to face the Innkeeper after their evening. He was sure that she would not want to face him either; Magda Werner had been more open with him than he had ever expected. It was probably the wine that had loosened her tongue so much. In any case, the collapse of the tunnel kept him out at the mine for over a week.
When he saw Frau Werner again, she was her polite, self-contained persona that he had seen most of the time. Heath though found himself, late at night recalling the personal details she had shared with him during their conversation. There was so much more he felt like he wanted to know, about her, Franz, and her father. He was also curious about her country of Hungary, a land he knew nothing about at all.
Those musings though did not last long before his mind came back to Sharon and his heartbreak. However, Frau Werner's comments about what her life had been like, after her marriage, gave him pause for thought. When Heath took Frau Werner's experience, and related it to Sharon, he gained understanding as to why she had turned him down.
On the rides back and forth from the mine he had given the matter a great deal of thought. Because of Frau Werner he understood the enormity of what he had wanted Sharon to do, in agreeing to the marriage. It would mean turning her back on everything she had known, to face a world that wasn't familiar. Yes, she would have him, but Heath was honest enough to admit that with his work she would be alone at times.
It was at the beginning of November that an idea came to him, about how to deal with the situation. January was a slow month for farmers and ranchers; it would be perfect for Sharon to come up to Stockton. She would have a break from the chores at her uncle's farm, so it would not be a hardship to the family.
His plan was to have his friends the Lennox's invite her to stay with them. George and Francis Lennox were an older couple who had taken him under their wing right away, after he came to the Barkley's. Francis said that he reminded them of their twin sons, who had died at Gettysburg. They were also very old friends of the Barkleys and had been the first in the valley to welcome and acknowledge him.
Francis was kind and motherly, and George doted on her greatly. They lived in a good-sized house, overlooking the river. They entertained a great deal and were very active in civic and charitable activities. Heath reasoned that it would give Sharon the chance to see what his – and would be her world – was like.
Heath recalled how she had said she loved him, even as she had had tears in her eyes. Sharon had broken off their engagement out of her love for him. He wanted her to understand that him marrying her would not hurt him in the least. She was so kind that he knew everyone would adore her right away, not caring about her past or religion. Stockton was not Boston, Heath reasoned, and Sharon needed to see that.
It was that plan that had put bounce back into Heath's step that second week of November. Well that and the fact that in two days he would be heading home to Stockton. He had already decided to ride only part of the way, to where he could pick up a spur of the railroad that would take him and Charger into Los Angeles. From there he could secure a first-class cabin for himself and premium stabling for his mount on the journey north.
He entered the lobby and saw Tio Pedro – Tia Flora's husband – who helped out at the Inn, behind the front desk. The older man flagged him down, and Heath greeted him pleasantly. They exchanged comments about the weather, before the man produced with flourish a cream-colored envelope that almost glowed against the weathered, wrinkled brown hand of the man.
As Heath took the envelope, he recognized the fine black script with his name and address; it was written by Victoria. He turned the heavy vellum envelope over and saw the ranch brand embossed in the blue sealing wax that she used for her personal correspondence.
It came to him that he was still standing in the lobby, holding the envelope in his hand, as Tio Pedro regarded him with puzzlement. Heath, even as he wondered why Victoria had sent the letter to the Inn, instead of in the pouch of documents that came to the mine every week, nodded in acknowledgment to the elderly man and tipped him several pesos.
After climbing the stairs Heath put the envelope on the bed, wanting to get cleaned up before he read the missive. It was an hour later that Heath, feeling refreshed after a bath and having changed into clean clothes he retrieved the envelope from the bed. He took it over to the sitting area, and after pouring himself a drink from a table in the corner.
Heath had stocked it with his favorite bourbon, along with a fine French cognac that Jarrod had introduced to him. Jarrod had sent a bottle of both down with his luggage; Heath had purchased some glassware in town. He wasn't a big drinker but did like how he could finally enjoy the smooth bourbon anytime the inclination came to him.
Victoria's letter – at least the first page – dealt with ranch matters, town gossip, and Audra's travel plans. He was glad to read that Audra would be home by Christmas; Heath was sure that if Sharon came up in January, his sister could help show her around. Other than that, the letter seemed very mundane and Heath was trying to figure out why Victoria had even bothered about sending it. Only when he started reading the second page did he understand the purpose behind the note.
Heath, I need to share some news with you that I received yesterday from Kilkenny Farms. It concerns Sharon and I want to make you aware of it before you return to the valley. Jimmy sent us a wedding announcement, that Sharon had married a cousin of theirs, newly arrived in America from Ireland. I know that you had deep feelings for Sharon, and when you returned from Kilkenny Farms, back in September it was clear that something had happened in your relationship.
I did not pry, nor will I now, being respectful of your feelings and private matters. My only reason for writing this letter is so you can hear it directly before you come home. All of us, Jarrod, Nick, Audra and the entire ranch are looking forward to having you home for Christmas. We are your family and will be there to support you no matter what – you have enriched our lives in so many ways. Everything happens for a reason, even if we do not always understand why at the time.
Heath realized that he had been holding his breath since he saw Sharon's name on the letter, and he exhaled before drawing a ragged breath in. He read Victoria's words three more times, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Sharon married? To some cousin? And not even two months after he had left? He had no problem reading between the lines – her family had conspired to make sure that she stayed within the fold.
He finished the small bit of bourbon in his glass, and rising he strode over the table, and poured himself a generous helping. The dark amber liquid filled most of the glass, but it took Heath no time at all to finish. His heart hurt – not just hurt but felt like it was constricted so tight he was not sure if he could breathe.
It came to him that all of his plans, for Sharon to come up to Stockton, weren't going to happen. She was another man's wife, and off limits to him. Clearly Granny Callahan, Jimmy, and everyone else in the settlement had orchestrated Sharon's marriage. He raged inwardly with anger, but somehow could not feel mad at Sharon.
The confidences that Frau Werner had shared with him had given insight into what Sharon was experiencing. Yes she loved him, but her family and Ireland was all she'd ever known. Heath had no problem seeing how a distant cousin, familiar and knowing her customs, religion, and family could appear attractive. Heath though was left alone and broken hearted by the events that had transpired.
Suddenly the last thing he wanted was to be in his hotel room – it mocked him of the dreams he had had while staying here. Sharon had been in his mind almost all the time, and now that she was married Heath wanted to clear his mind of her. He gathered up his gun belt, and wallet; putting the latter into his vest pocket and buckling the former around his waist Heath left the hotel and went towards the town square.
The fountain was sluggish, and Heath took bearings quickly; he wanted to drink – drink to forget what he had read. By now he knew the saloons and taverns that the miners all went to, so he wanted to avoid those establishments. He was Management after all, even if he had a broken heart. Three streets off from the main square he found a small cantina that advertised cold tequila and hot tacos.
In truth Heath could have cared less about food, just wanting mind numbing alcohol. The place had the bonus of being a hole in the wall, only patronized by downtrodden locals and shady characters. Heath strode through the swinging wooden doors, making a point to walk heavy so his boots echoed on the floor. As he approached the bar he glared coldly around the room, as he took his Colt peacemaker out of the holster to adjust the gun barrel.
In his past life, before he was a Barkley, he'd spent way too much time in these kinds of places and knew the quality of the patrons. When he arrived at the bar two men skedaddled out of his way, and he took a seat, spreading his arms on the bar. In colloquial Spanish he asked for the best tequila as he put a gold American dollar on the counter. It would guarantee him at least a bottle if not more – his plan was to drink his pain away.
Magda Werner was in her bedroom in the far corner of the Inn, enjoying the fresh breeze coming in with the scents of the Sonora. It was so different than her native Hungary, or the Austria she had known before coming to the New World. Only because of Franz – her beloved Franz – had she been in Austria and then Mexico. She missed him so much, and when she said her prayers in the morning and evening she always prayed for him.
She had no interest in going back to Austria – Franz's family hated her and blamed her for his death. Hungry held no attraction for her either; her parents and brother were dead, her two sisters married and living in a different part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Magda was not dumb, and knew that her position in Mexico, as the owner of a successful business, was so much more than what she would have ever had as a housemaid in Austria-Hungary.
Tonight, she was indulging in her private escape, of reliving her time with Franz in their boudoir. She had the amethyst silk night dress on, over which she wore the robe of the same fabric trimmed with dark purple lace and tied with a dark purple satin ribbon. Magda could still remember when Franz had brought the beribboned box to her, bearing the name of Vienna's best modieste.
He had commented that the colors matched her eyes and added that she was as beautiful as their Empress. Magda knew that she shared the same coloring as Kaiserin Elisabeth; that and her features had made Franz's female relatives hate her even more. They were all stolid peasant folk, with fair hair and pale blue eyes.
The gift had taken her by surprise, but when Franz had explained about the chance to follow Baron Karl to the new Empire it made sense. Today would have been their fifteenth wedding anniversary; it was hard to think back to that time, when her sixteen-year-old self had married the great love of her life. Franz had not been dead for a year, but she missed him and mourned him profoundly.
Now sitting in the room they shared, in his gift of the amethyst silk nightdress and peignoir, she sipped her second glass of slivovitz. It was the luscious plum brandy native to not just Hungary but the Slavic regions of the Empire. Baron Karl had brought several cases with him, along with fine Austrian wines, and French cognacs. The Baron, barely a young man of twenty-five had only been looking to establish his own livelihood with the Archducal brother of the Emperor.
She refilled her glass, for the third time, and sipped the lovely plum brandy – the same brandy that she and Franz had shared so often at night, when their duties were done. Now though it was just melancholy with memories of her lost life in Hungary, the old world, and the loss of her Franz. Magda, gazed at herself in the mirror, as she took her russet hair down from its heavy bun.
Magda shook her head, as her fingers raked the scalp, liking how free her hair felt. When she looked in the mirror again, she saw the red tresses hanging around her body seeming to dance with the flames from the fire. She stood up and cast her robe off in a quick gesture – just what Franz would have done if he had been with here. The amethyst silk night dress clung to her figure, the deep V plunging between her breasts, the dark purple lace trim and ribbon tie barely containing the lush cream-colored orbs with the rosy tipped nipples.
Slowly she let her hands caress the satin – first at her waist and then moving up to her bosom. Magda sighed with passion and regret – if Franz had been touching her everything would be fine. She took a lingering look in the mirror before she turned back to her dressing table. There she saw the decanter with the plum brandy, and her empty glass.
She had a decision to make – if she stopped now she would only have a minor headache in the morning. On the other hand, this was her anniversary, and she wanted to relish the occasion. Magda thought about the kind of celebrations she and Franz would have been honored with, in Austria. His family might not have liked her, but after fifteen years she hoped they would have been kind to her.
Of course, if she'd produced a child – a son – her background would have been forgiven; that she had no doubt about. Magda wondered at how she had never been schwanger; her mother had birthed four children, and she knew that one of her sisters had six children. In the opinion of Franz's family it had been Magda's fault that she'd never born a child.
The memory of Franz's mother – the head housekeeper of the palatial house of the Baron in Vienna – caused her to curl her lip. And then she poured herself another glass of the plum brandy, while she chuckled to herself. Magda knew exactly why the Austrian servants did not like her, and when the petty slights threatened to overcome her, she grasped the medallion around her neck. It was her talisman reminding her of her birthright.
Her memories were suddenly interrupted with the sounds of banging and crashing down in the lobby. Magda finished her glass of slivovitz in two gulps and strode out of the room, wanting to shut down the disturbance in the lobby. She had well paying guests who valued peace and quiet and knew her duties as the Innkeeper. In her haste to quell the disturbance she left her robe on the chair next to the dressing table.
Heath had spent the last three hours drinking heavily, and only when the cantina had closed was he turned out on the street. He vaguely remembered one of the pretty young barmaids sharing a plate of tacos with him. Other than that, all he'd cared about was tequila; now it was after midnight, and the entire town was shut down.
As he gazed around the silent town, he realized that he was as alone physically as well as mentally and emotionally. Heath decided he needed more alcohol and recalled the bottles of bourbon and cognac in his hotel room. By now he was drunk, but he could still walk he thought, and after a deep breath managed to recall how to get back to his hotel.
He did not realize how unsteady he was on his feet, until he tripped over the threshold of the Inn. As he fell, he knocked over a corner table with a decorative clay sculpture. Heath stiffened his spine and worked hard to contain himself; he was a man who knew how to handle his drink. However, as he tried to stand up, his legs would not respond to what he was trying to do.
"Kopf hoch Herr Barkley! You are betrunken!" Magda arrived in the lobby and saw the man sprawled out on the tile floor. He had always, even during their dinner, been nothing other than upright. To see him sprawled out so badly made her aware of what a bad state he was in. While one part of her wanted to feel sorry for him – he so looked like her late Franz – she had an establishment to run.
"You need to retire to you room now." Magda announced, coming over to him. Her plan was to help him stand up, but he was heavier than she had thought. She suddenly had a flashback to Baron Karl's coming of age party, where Franz who was close to the young man had shared in the festivities. Her husband had ended up in pretty much the same state; the next morning he had been apologetic, and they laughed and cuddled together.
"No I don't want to go to bed; I want to drink. I am all alone." Heath was vaguely aware that he was being helped up. Even as he made his statement, he became aware of the softness and scent of the woman next to him. He let his body move against hers, as he put his arm around her shoulders – creamy smooth shoulders that showed purple lace straps and a gold chain glowing in the candlelight.
"Herr Barkley you have had more than enough to drink – you need to go to your room." Magda was working hard to push down the desire coursing through her body that Heath's touch was arising. It felt so long since she had had Franz's touch on her body. Her mind was in turmoil – she needed to get the American upstairs before he disturbed her other guests. There was though the rising flame of desire coursing through her body that the man's touches was arousing. It suddenly came to her that she was in her night dress – a satin garment fitting tight to her body with a decollate neckline.
Magda cajoled Heath upstairs, trying not to focus on the gleam in his eye, or the emotions coursing through her body. When they arrived at his room she was taken by surprise when he scooped her up in his arms swept her into the room.
"Sharon love – you are here! I thought you were married!" Heath did not understand how he had found himself in the room at the Inn with Sharon. His eyes – unfocused because of the drink – saw the reddish hair flowing over the shoulders. He could not believe that Sharon was in his room, and in a tight-fitting purple satin night dress.
"I am not Sha.." Magda could not finish the sentence, as Heath gathered her against him, kissing her hard and deep. His tongue plundered her mouth, as he let his ardor overcome him. Sharon was not another man's wife – she was his! He forced himself harder against her, pinning her to the mattress to make sure she was his.
Heath's kiss pushed Magda over the edge; she had spent the last two hours drinking while thinking of Franz and what would have been their fifteenth wedding anniversary. For almost a year she had been celibate while mourning her husband; theirs had been a passionate union. The desire was what had made her able to endure Austria and the slights put on her.
With no hesitation Magda had let Heath carry her into the bed, where he reverently removed the amethyst satin night dress. His hands moved over her body as Franz's would have; Magda let the plum brandy and memories of Franz overcome her.
Heath could only think of Sharon and what their wedding night was going to be. It puzzled him that he was enjoying the occasion, even as he could not remember the wedding ceremony. As he raised himself above her in bed, her red hair splayed over the pillow, Heath decided that not remembering the ceremony was no matter. The honeymoon was all that counted, and he moved to consummate their union. His last memory was of fireworks and a feeling of peace before he fell asleep, snuggling with Sharon.
Magda woke from a light slumber, and for the first time since Franz's death she felt happiness. The feeling did not last though, as she realized that she was not in bed with Franz. While she had had several glasses of plum brandy, it was not enough to black out exactly what had happened. The ignominy of her situation came to her with cold clarity – she had slept with a guest of her Inn.
If word ever got out, she would no longer be running a first-rate establishment; Magda knew how things worked. She thought about everything she had worked so hard to accomplish, and how it could all be for naught. Magda became aware that Herr Barkley – which is out she referred to him – was sound asleep. A plan came to her, about how to save face and the reputation of her Inn.