Magic and the Texan Read Online Free Page A

“We will share this.”
    Sabrina beamed. “Thank you, señorita.”
    The child devoured the rest of the orange. A smile on her streaked face, she rubbed her tummy. “I am glad you have a special day. That was very good.”
    â€œWhere did you find such a lovely piece of fruit?”
    â€œSeñor Hoot brought it from Mexico. He gave it to my mother. Terecita is his friend. At the cantina.”
    Hoot Todd gave oranges to his “friend”? How sweet, Bethany thought snidely. “I don’t see a cantina around here.”
    â€œIt’s not far up the river.” Sabrina pointed northwest. “Señor Juan Marc won’t allow a cantina near his land.”
    Good for Jon Marc. The farther Bethany was from saloons, the better.
    â€œWhere do you live?” she asked, not liking the idea of this child being exposed to a tavern.
    â€œI live here. At Santa Maria. Padre Miguel watches over me and the orphans, Ramón and Manuel. He is very nice, the padre. He lets us take care of his pigs.”
    That was a relief, knowing Sabrina had been spared what Bethany knew too much of.
    â€œI must go now. It is time to take care of the little ones. Jacinta, she has many babies.” Before she took off, Sabrina said, “My mother would like to marry your novio. She told me so. But Señor Juan Marc will not marry her.”
    That so? Hmm. Jon Marc banished the cantina to the far side of Fort Ewell, but Bethany figured he knew a lot about the inside of it, as well as Terecita herself. That he had baldly asked Miss Buchanan about morality spoke volumes. He was typical of men. He expected chastity but hadn’t practiced celibacy.
    If worse came to worst in the marriage bed—should they get there—Bethany could counter his arguments with that Bible quote, so popular with Mrs. Agatha Persat, about “thou who art without sin, cast the first stone.”
    Albeit, Mrs. Persat had led the pack, chasing Bethany out of Liberal. So be it.
    Bethany smoothed her skirts and entered the church. Dark, it was dark in here. Several moments slipped by, time in which she heard muffled male voices, before her eyes adjusted to the low light. Not only from those cloaked, unearthly sounding speakers—one a tenor, the other a baritone that had to belong to Jon Marc—she felt out of place, as well she should, in this peculiar place, banked by an altar lit with candles and a statue of a woman holding a baby.
    Where was the church organ, or its piano?
    Surely no one had stolen their keyboard, like Pa did the poor box at Our Lady of Perpetual Help.
    Her experience being limited to a few Protestant services that Mrs. Persat had taken her to, Bethany wondered how to bluff her way through religion. They had all sorts of odd rituals in the Catholic faith, she knew from Miss Buchanan.
    What she couldn’t remember, she’d simply have to invent as best she could, and try not to stumble.
    She followed those voices, walking down the aisle past empty pews. An odd-looking wooden box sat off to the side, the voices coming from there. Jon Marc was in that box with the preacher? Did Miss Buchanan teach you nothing? They aren’t called preachers, and you know it. Why was he talking with a priest in a box?
    â€œWe confess our sins in a confessional,” she recalled the serene brunette saying.
    Was that a confessional?
    What sins did Jon Marc have to confess, beyond Terecita?
    Whatever they were, they couldn’t be as bad as Bethany’s.
    If she were to confess her schemes and sins, would Jon Marc have it in his heart to understand her reasons? He might accept her “as is.” Might even give her a chance to become his wife, somewhere down the line.
    Never happen, the voice of reason screamed.

Chapter Three
    Bethany, having retreated to the buckboard already, breathed in relief when Jon Marc stepped out of Santa Maria and approached with a smile. The wedding wasn’t off. Of