Free Magic and the Texan by Martha Hix

those six months. Where were Miss Buchanan’s letters? Perhaps tucked away in the bedroom? “I’ll look tonight.”
    For now, she’d address herself to homemaking.
    Hands on her hips, she eyed the parlor area and its crush of furnishings, including a beast of a piano. Should she take the liberty of rearranging the room? Best not. It wasn’t hers.
    â€œSeñorita?”
    Bethany recognized the small voice that came from the open doorway. Smiling, she said in Spanish, “Welcome, Sabrina.”
    It was a joy, visiting with the eight-year-old. Sabrina took a chair at the eating table. Her hostess and aunt offered a handful of dried figs, and the hazel-eyed girl ate them. Recalling the orange they shared on her first day here, Bethany asked where Hoot Todd got tropical fruit. Apparently saplings could be had across the border. Would Jon Marc agree to buy a few, during his trip to Laredo?
    As well, Sabrina agreed to try some canned turnips. And loved them. What would Jon Marc think about that?
    â€œI have a blouse for you,” Bethany said later, after fetching the folded garment. “Would you like to try it on?”
    â€œ Sí , muy gracias.” Sabrina beamed as she ran a hand along lawn fabric. “This is nice, señorita.”
    â€œSabrina, do you speak English?”
    The girl nodded her head of tangled, tea-colored hair, replying in a variance of the Queen’s English, “Señor Hoot, he no like me to speak Spanish.”
    â€œDo you see him often?”
    Again the girl nodded. “When he no stealing the cattle and the horses, he stay at the house of my mamí. Terecita send for me. She say I need to know my papa.”
    â€œIs he good to you?” Bethany asked, worried for her niece, as she helped Sabrina slip thin arms into blouse sleeves.
    â€œWhen he no mad, he good. He scares me.”
    From what Bethany had heard of the bandit, he stayed in a general state of uproar.
    â€œWhy don’t I brush your hair?” Bethany offered.
    While Sabrina scooted into position, as a child would with her mother, her aunt dug the late Naomi Todd’s hairbrush from her reticule to pull the bristles through tangled locks. Winding a ribbon into braids, just as Mrs. Agatha Persat used to do for her, Bethany made up a ditty, keeping it clean. “There lived a young lady who was not content-a, when she wasn’t feeding many pigs and a sow called Ha-sint-a.” She tickled young ribs, drawing a squeal of delight. “But Sabrina had a friend—oh, my, I do contend! —who’ll give hugs or kisses to no end. Be it spring, or summer, or wint-a.”
    Sabrina giggled and threw her arms around Bethany.
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    Jon Marc strode into the parlor in time to hear Beth recite a rhyme to Sabrina, their backs to him. He smiled, despite the aggravation that hadn’t left him. Such a familial sight. By letter, Beth hadn’t sounded anxious for motherhood, beyond a mention of, “It’s my duty to present you with heirs.” He’d taken that with a grain of salt, so this display salved the doubts he’d kept hidden.
    The moment he started to make his presence known, Sabrina asked, “You are happy, pretty bride?”
    He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, listening to Beth reply, “I am lonesome for the ears of another female.”
    He cleared his throat to call Beth’s attention. As she whipped around, shamefaced, and lunged to her feet, the child scrambled to stand, and he said, “Sabrina, Padre Miguel will be looking for you. Go. Now.”
    The girl left, pausing only to grab her gift blouse.
    Beth tried to leave, but Jon Marc caught her arm. “Don’t be telling tales out of school,” he warned. “I won’t have my business reaching Terecita. She’ll relay it to Hoot Todd.”
    â€œI was wrong to speak with the little girl.”
    â€œYou got that right. Dam—” Scowling, he