Rio by Georgina Gentry

the pity,” he snapped. “I just wish Cimarron were here. She’d know what to do.”
    “It’s all right. It’s over now.” She straightened her shoulders, feeling guilty about the handsome farrier who had come at her offhand invitation. She didn’t know what Uncle Trace would think about that.
    “Good. Now we’ll be here another day or two. I’ve got business, buyin’ a few blooded horses and cattle. Why don’t you forget about tonight and tomorrow, you go get Fern, and you two do some shoppin’? I have an account at all the stores. My wife has seen to that.”
    “That’s what I’ll do.” She paused to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Uncle Trace.”
    He mellowed. “Just forget about high society,” Trace grumbled. “You’ve got the wealth and the power of the Durangos behind you. That should be enough.”
    But it wasn’t enough, she thought. She wanted security—to be able to hold up her head in Texas society and never be laughed at or ridiculed again for her Anglo looks and her Mexican name.
    “Good night,” she whispered and went into her room and closed the door. Surely the Durangos and the Foresterscould coexist in peace so she could realize her ambitions. It would be heady to be married to a man of power so that everyone, including those snooty gringa girls, would envy and look up to her with respect. Maybe tonight had been a disaster, but it hadn’t killed her dreams. She wanted security, a big house, and an important husband. If she had all that, no one would dare whisper about her questionable background.
    Edwin Forester. He could offer everything she hungered for and surely he couldn’t be as bad as Uncle Trace said. However, when she tried to think about the elegant gentleman, the face that kept coming back to her was Rio Kelly’s. She remembered the feel of his powerful arms around her, the virility of the man. But he was poor; poor and powerless. Yet she felt shame that she had caused him such humiliation.
    As she drifted off to sleep, the lips that kissed hers were not the fine gentleman’s but the hot, passionate mouth of Rio Kelly.
    The next morning, she and Uncle Trace had breakfast together in the fancy dining room with all the silver, crystal, and snowy linen tablecloths. Today she wore a large white lace hat with aqua ribbons and an aqua, long-sleeved percale dress with a perky bustle. Last night seemed like a faraway dream. She looked around, smiling. “This is the way to live.”
    Trace shrugged. “
Si.
It’s all right, but I prefer the patio at the ranch.”
    That was because he could look out over several hundred thousand acres the Durangos owned, she thought.
    The waiter came to their table and she noticed how he snapped to attention, making sure the coffee, Spanish omelet, and sweet rolls were just to Senor Durango’s liking.Yes, this was the way she wanted to live permanently; waiters and salespeople hurrying to wait on her because she was also respectable and important.
    They finished with little conversation.
    Trace threw down his napkin and nodded to the waiter, who hovered in the background. “Excellent, as usual, Pierre. Charge it to my account.”
    The waiter rubbed his hands together. “
Merci,
sir.” He pulled back Turquoise’s chair as Trace got up and the pair walked outside into the cool spring morning.
    She immediately opened her white lace parasol against the bright sun.
    “Well, shall I call you a carriage?” Trace asked.
    “No, I think I saw some interesting shops down from the hotel,” she answered. “And I’ll send a messenger to Fern to join me for an outdoor luncheon at that new tea shop on Congress Avenue.”
    “Fine. I may not be back until the middle of the afternoon.” Trace nodded and looked toward the new horse-drawn streetcar moving down the street. “I think I’ll try riding that. Austin is certainly up to date.”
    He tipped his Stetson to her and turned to run after the slow-moving vehicle. She watched him get aboard, then