The Texas Ranger's Secret

But Hodge hadn’t shown yet. Maybe the sidewinder was waiting for the weather to blow over.

Wherever the elusive horse thief might be holed up at this point, Gage meant to find him and turn him in or die trying. After that, he’d ride off into the Davis Mountains downstate and live his life alone, far away from so-called civilization. Far away from pity. Far enough to make sure he became a burden to no one.

That was the only way he could deal with accepting a future he’d wish on no soul.

He had tracked his longtime adversary here, ready to put an end to their six-month cat-and-mouse game before he gave his notice that this was his last manhunt as a Texas Ranger. He’d always brought in his man before. He didn’t plan to fail his captain this time either.

Hodge had managed to stay out of sight so far. Gage suspected the viper was playing it slippery until things settled down from the recent bank robbery and town-burning attempt that were so fresh in everybody’s mind here in High Plains. The thief probably wished he’d headed some other direction when he found out about the recent crime spree. Hodge liked rattling about his feats and the wait to pull his next theft must have been eating at his ego.

That was the one thing Gage could count on. Lack of bragging rights would lure Hodge from his snake den to make a quick strike before things got too dull. Gage knew that was when he’d catch him off guard. The outlaw had been curled up and cozy too long now. Gage sensed the man would be getting anxious, and the woman pacing across the street might just be the pretty twist of petticoat Hodge would use to carry out his next crime.

He sure hoped not, but she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d had to lock up.

As a man who saw the world as dark and the people in it as ready to do whatever they could to get away with something, Gage rarely gave the benefit of the doubt. He’d learned the hard way that a woman could be just as nefarious as any man.

But a man was his focus now. Gage rubbed the scars beneath and around his eyes, feeling the raised flesh and vowing vengeance once more upon the man whose actions were forcing him to choose a new way of life for himself. Being a Ranger was everything to Gage. If he lost that, he would be nothing. His failing eyesight would take his soul, his heart, his whole life. If a man looked weak, he’d forever bow down to others. Gage couldn’t bear the thought of losing his whole identity.

Stanton Hodge had stolen something far more precious than the horses Gage was tracking him for.

He pushed aside his self-pity, and despite the clouded day and the threat of rain echoing in the thunder that rumbled above, he squinted hard to define this new arrival’s approximate age.

Long years of riding saddle all over Texas made distances seem farther than they appeared, but she couldn’t have been more than forty or fifty feet from where he stood. Still, he couldn’t quite catch the color of her eyes or whether she had freckles. All he noted was that she was in her late teens or early twenties, and she had stealth to her walk, which revealed a long stretch of legs and decent health.

Maybe she would prove the break he was looking for in the case. Hodge often chose a young, impressionable gal able to travel fast.

Gage decided he’d watch her, find out her identity and make sure she was not sister, sweetheart or any other connection whatsoever to the man he would bring to justice.

The wind got up again, wailing through the alley and buffeting him hard enough that he had to rock back and forth on his spurs to catch his balance. A quick glance at the pretty lady revealed she fought the gale, as well, swatting down her billowing skirt.

A loud crack of thunder echoed across the sky. Then within seconds, large pellets of rain splattered the ground, leaving rows of golden eagle–sized dots. Grayish-yellow clouds dipped so low he could almost touch them, signaling their weight would not be contained any longer. High Plains was about to receive an onslaught of hard, pounding rain that would become a gully washer by the time it ended. Best to seek shelter until the Texas sky finished its tantrum.

Most folks took heed and headed inside the closest door available. Not the newcomer. She put her hat back on and glanced up at the sky, swiping at the dangling feather as if it were a pesky fly biting her. The wind suddenly spun her around so fast she fell to her knees. Gage bolted toward her to help, but she jumped to her feet and shook the dust from her skirt.

The steam of her anger seemed to radiate across the thoroughfare as the downpour came, soaking her from hem to haphazard hat.

The bull of a blacksmith ran out of his quarters and spoke to the woman. Gage halted in his tracks, waiting to see what she would do. The smithy pointed to his home, but she shook her head and elected to disappear inside the livery instead.

Gage’s curiosity got the better of him as he watched the blacksmith dash home. Feather Hat’s stubbornness made him wonder why she refused the better place to wait out the rain. He’d met Bear and his wife not long ago. Both were kind people who seemed to be well liked by everyone. That meant Feather Hat wasn’t from around here. She was a stranger who didn’t know them well enough to trust their hospitality. All the more reason to find out her identity and connection to Hodge, if any.

Soaked to his boot tops, Gage took off at a dead run for the livery. If she questioned his presence there, he would just tell her that he’d taken shelter in the nearest place he could find. That should allow at least some polite conversation between them and maybe he might learn a few things about her.

He stepped out of the rain and shook water from his duster, then tilted his hat to empty its brim. The sound of a match being struck against wood flared his nostrils as the pungent odor of sulfur and hissing kerosene filled the air.

“Ouch, that hurt!” exclaimed a female voice, then, “Oops! No! Oh, please, no, not that!”

Instinct made Gage look for a stove or a lantern, but reality flared in front of him as flames crept up one of the stall walls.

She had dropped the match.

* * *

A low, angry voice cut the air like a whip. “See if there’s water in any of those buckets. Hurry!”

Willow heard the man’s command before she saw him. He didn’t sound like Bear. Not taking time to look at him or wonder who he was, she did as instructed and ran into the first stall ahead of her. Sure enough, one of the water buckets remained half-full.

“Here’s one.” She thrust the pail toward him and assumed he would take it.

“Throw what you’ve got over the flames and grab another,” he ordered. “I’ll beat out what I can with this.”

She heard him beating something against the wall and, with a quick glance backward, realized where he’d come from. He’d taken off the trail coat she’d noticed earlier when she studied him in the alley.

Will Ketchum to the rescue, she thought, wishing this stranger could be the man she dreamed might someday come true.

“I—I broke my nail when I struck the match against the board.” She shook her forefinger, embarrassed that such a small pain had caused all this. “It made me drop the match.”

Horses whinnied in their stalls, their powerful legs dancing to get away from the threat that sent gray vapor spiraling into the air.

The stranger kept beating his coat against the wall. Orders fired in rapid succession. “Find another bucket, lady. Be careful. Don’t go near the horses. They’ll stomp you to death. Got to get this out before it reaches the loft. That hay goes up, we’ll all go up with it.” One glance in her direction told her he wasn’t worried about the finger she still held up.

She hurried, only to find nothing in the next three stalls. All that remained were the feed tins with the horses. Thunder roared overhead and a crack of lightning rent the air, telling her that it had struck close by.

Please, Lord. Don’t let this happen to me. Don’t let me burn down the livery on the first day here. And while it’s raining, at that. If You’re going to let it rain, let it be enough to put this out, please.

“There’s no more. What do I do?” She searched for the blankets Bear had said were stored somewhere and found them on a shelf above where her baggage had been set.

Why hadn’t she just grabbed one of them to keep warm instead of trying to light a lantern so she could see to make a proper fire in the potbellied stove?

She’d made a fire, all right.

Willow grabbed a blanket and shook it open to help him beat out the flames. A daddy longlegs spider ran across her hand. She screamed in fear.

The man raced toward her, swatted the spider away and exchanged his now-charred coat for the blanket.

“That kind of spider isn’t poisonous even if it bites you,” he assured her as he ran back and attacked the flames even harder.

The fire seemed to be climbing faster.

“Take empty buckets,” he insisted. “The trough is outside closer to the blacksmith’s quarters. Bring back what you can carry without spilling. Fast as you can. And don’t worry about your nails.”

Nails were the last things on her mind. Being burned or bitten occupied her every thought. She grabbed the pails and ran, determined to carry both back full and in time. She spotted the trough quickly and the first bucket wasn’t that hard to fill. The second proved almost unmanageable once she was done and tried to lift both.

With every step, the water sloshed over the sides until she had to take slower ones to keep from spilling it. Her pulse raced, thrumming in her ears, lodging in her throat in a dry knot that felt as if it were drumming to her heartbeat.

As she finally reached the livery, she had to set a bucket down to open the door but forgot to move it back far enough to allow her enough space to enter. Not now, she prayed. Please let me prove helpful. I’ve got to save him. The horses, too.

What to do? What to do? Willow took one boot and scooted the bucket backward. It inched away. Another scoot. Too hard this time. The bucket tilted.

“No, don’t spill!” She couldn’t keep her prayer silent. Her boot hurried to sweep around the pail to prevent it from turning over. She misjudged the distance and ended up stepping directly into the tin container, sloshing water everywhere.

Willow grabbed the door and jerked it backward as she removed her foot from the almost empty bucket. One would just have to do for now.

She gathered the remaining pail in hand and ran toward the cowboy, relieved to see his battle with the fire had taken a turn for the better.

He emptied a bucket on the flames.

Where had he gotten that from? One of the horse stalls? How brave!

“Move out of the way,” she shouted, wanting to let him rest a moment while she took over. It was the least she could do.

Instead of stepping aside as she threw the water from her pail, he turned.

A faceful of her helpfulness drenched him just before the liquid hit its true mark, extinguishing the threat of fire.

“Oh, my,” she said, dropping the pail as her hands shot to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that, mister. Honestly. The bucket was so heavy and you didn’t... I mean... I guess my aim was off.”

He sputtered and tipped the brim of his hat so the water could run off. Before he settled it back on his head, he wiped his eyes with his forearm and blinked hard. “Actually, your aim was perfect, pretty lady. Your timing stinks. You could use a little improvement there.”

His admonishment hit her right where she hurt most—her past. Her need of a better future. But she heard the truth in his criticism. Timing was everything. It might just be the one skill she needed to learn in order to improve all the others she wanted to handle better.

After all, learning to do everything right the first time would sure make everything easier and save her lots of embarrassment.

Question was, she wondered as a possibility sparked in her mind, did he have the necessary skills to teach her what she needed to learn—and would he even want to?

Looking up into his warm eyes, she thought for a blink she saw laughter. Would he be someone who’d help? Someone who’d understand? Or someone who’d judge?

Chapter Two

The barn burner grabbed another blanket off the shelf and carefully fanned it out, he supposed to make sure no more critters had set up house among the folds. She approached Gage as if she meant to cover him with it.

“Here, let me help you dry,” she offered.

He allowed her close enough to smell the hint of some flower that had wilted and lost part of its fragrance. Peach blossoms, maybe. Dying on the vine. Probably the effect of the long stage ride on whatever perfume she wore mixed with her sodden clothing. Sweat didn’t smell any prettier on a woman than it did on a man.

Gage waved away her effort, not wanting the blanket’s coarse material anywhere near his face. After six months of suffering from the tender flesh beneath his eyes and not being able to wear a bandanna over his nose all winter, he avoided anything getting close enough to cause further pain. “I’m fine. Keep the blanket for yourself. You’re wetter than I am. You didn’t get that much on me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to soak you.” Feather Hat looked genuinely apologetic.

“Won’t be the first time I got water thrown in my face. Besides, I was still wet from the rain.”

“I’ll make it up to you, sir.” She wrapped the fresh blanket around her. “Just as I plan to replace the wood for Mr. Bear.”

“Just Bear.” Gage gathered the pails and returned all but one to the stalls. The horses were calming down now that the fire was out and the haze of smoke moved higher into the rafters. “Bear and his wife, Pigeon, prefer you call them by their first names. The Funderburgs probably won’t let you repay them for the damage or they’ll make it easy for you to repair it. They’re good people.”

“Good people deserve respect, too.” Her gaze swept to the charred wall. “I’ll make it up to them. I’ll figure out some way.”

He didn’t know her from seed to high cotton, but the determination in her eyes impressed him. She meant business. Bear was about to get himself a new livery wall. Maybe he could lend a hand in helping her fix it.

She seemed to be waiting for him to speak or do something and Gage wasn’t sure what. He’d been so focused on determining her odd eye color, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if this really was her true shade. Not quite honey colored, but like brand-new buckskin. Palomino pretty. Something he was glad to have a chance to see before he no longer could.

Gage decided to clean up the mess for Bear and maybe that would give him and the lady some time to get to know each other a bit before she had to go. When he took a pitchfork and raked some of the ashes into the last pail he hadn’t returned, she tried to help by holding the pail steady and managed only to streak her cheeks and hands with soot.

She was about the most interesting woman he’d seen in a long time. Crazy hat and tangled hair, eyes the color of his favorite kind of horse and a smell that could make a man want to stand upwind of her. This woman made some kind of first impression.

He guessed he was like other men, favoring a pretty filly who kept up with her appearance and made him proud to walk beside her, but he didn’t care for fussy women who took preening too far and ate up a man’s time with vanity.

As intrigued as he was by her, he needed to make sure he remembered his primary goal—to learn if she was strong willed on the inside or easily coerced.

Feather Hat had been watching him expectantly, and finally she unwrapped the blanket and spread it over a squared-off bale of straw, then sat. After clearing her throat, she asked, “And you are?”

So that was what she’d been waiting on. His name. Not one to apologize for anything, Gage merely said, “Newcomb.”

She waited longer, then finally asked, “First or last name?”

“Last.”

“You Texans don’t talk much, do you?” She eyed him from head to toe.

Check that question off his list about her. She hailed from another state. “Not much except when there’s something big to say. You from back east?”

“Occasionally.” She shrugged her shoulders.

That got his attention. What was that supposed to mean? She either was or wasn’t. “You care to be more specific?”

“I grew up in Florida, but I tend to move around a lot. I’ve lived north, east, visited the Deep South, Georgia, and now here I am in the West, though I haven’t gotten any farther than Texas yet. Have you been here long?”

He wouldn’t tell her much, just enough to make her feel more comfortable in revealing details about herself. “Been in town for about six weeks now. It’s got a lot to offer if you’re looking for a place to settle. You plan on sticking around or will you be moving on soon since it’s clear you like to wander?”

“I’m here for my sister’s wedding. She’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Oh, so you’re the one.” That explained a lot and helped set aside some of his suspicion about any connection she might have to Hodge. Still, she was the perfect type for his foe to enlist. Better keep watch over her while she stayed. Wouldn’t want her making the wrong kind of friend and not being able to leave when and if she wanted to.

She stood, her fists knotting at her hips. “Does everyone in this town know I’m late?”

“Most everyone, near as I can tell. You’re the source of a good many wagers over at the Twisted Spur anytime the stage is due in. They’ll be mighty disappointed to see you’ve finally arrived. You’ve made some of the fellas a pretty penny this spring.”

“The Twisted Spur?”

“The saloon.”

“Just wonderful.” Her fists unknotted and her palms flung upward. “I’m already the subject of gossip and I haven’t even been here a few hours. I’ll never make friends with anybody in the ladies’ society, that’s for sure.”

Insecurity echoed behind her anger. She wanted people to think kindly of her. From the way she talked, Gage slightly altered his first estimation of her. This woman wasn’t the sort that would easily take up with Hodge. She probably wouldn’t even visit anywhere the thief normally caroused. Still, Hodge wouldn’t let that stop him if he took notice of her and decided to make her a target or an accomplice. Stanton Hodge didn’t care what others thought of him or whom he hurt.

Protective instincts stirred in Gage and he added one more goal to his last manhunt. If she proved as innocent as she appeared, he would make sure the man he tracked did not lure her into his conniving ways.

“Speaking of friends, when will your sisters come after you?” Gage had expected she would have been picked up by now.

Her palms fell back to her side. “Bear said around three o’clock. That should be anytime now, don’t you think? I can go check outside. I noticed a clock on the water tower behind the livery.”

She headed to the door but halted when Gage’s words stopped her. “No need. They’ll probably show up after the rain stops. Might as well keep dry as you can. I’ll go ahead and light the lantern. You warm enough or you need the stove heated?”

“I’ve had enough fire for one day myself, but if you’re cold, suit yourself. You’ll probably do a better job of getting it going than I did.”

She sounded defeated. Something buried long ago that he hadn’t allowed himself to dig up since he was eleven years old twisted inside him. The last thing his father had ever teased him about was having gangly legs and broomstick arms, being a late bloomer.

That day, he’d been expected to watch for signs of the lobo attacking their herd. Gage had tired from his duty and started daydreaming, writing poetry in his thoughts, losing track of time. Next thing he knew, his father screamed at him to shoot to kill. Two cows were down, his father’s leg caught and bleeding profusely in one of the traps set for the wolf. Champion tumbled in a vicious battle with the lobo, the dog’s and the wolf’s snarls jerking Gage to his feet.

All of a sudden, a high-pitched yelp tore from Champion’s throat and he fell backward. The lobo had taken the last breath from the dog’s body.

Gage’s broomstick arms could hardly lift that big old rifle back then, but he vowed to stop the wolf from turning on his father. He kept that vow and his gangly legs and arms managed to get his father home and his dog buried. Two weeks later, he’d buried his father beside his dog. From that day since, he’d never allowed another soul to see any sign of weakness within him.

He couldn’t allow Feather Hat to feel defeated. There was always strength to be learned just from trying. From believing you could do something.

“You did all right.” Not being around much of anyone but criminals, Gage didn’t give compliments easily. “Maybe next time keep your nails clipped shorter.”

She stared at her fingertips. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

Gage laughed. “Is that a fancy way of telling me to mind my own business?”

“Quick study, aren’t you?”

“When I need to be,” he answered, noting the challenge that sparked in those Palomino eyes. He liked that kind of sass.

“You must have a lot of skills at your disposal,” she announced.

If her eyes had been pitchforks, they’d have been raking him from hat to spur.

She must be trying to use one of her better skills on him now. Gage noticed that she suddenly appeared a lot prettier than a few minutes ago, or else the smoke was clearing enough to let him see her much better. Maybe it was just the amber glow of the lantern light causing her to look all soft and her hair to look fluffed up a bit. Her skin could have been carved from a pearl-colored tusk of ivory he’d once seen on a ship in Galveston.

No matter how she’d managed to make herself more attractive, she still didn’t smell any better.

“I’ve got a few skills,” he admitted, deciding he’d let his mind wander way too much on the subject of what he could see of her. “Which one appeals to you most?”

“What if I said all of them?”

Suspicion blazed inside Gage like a fire that had been kindling below the surface and suddenly flared. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he’d first believed. In his wondering about her identity, he’d never considered she might already know plenty about him. Who had told her? Hodge? “Why would you want to know what I can do?”

“I’d like to make you a proposition, Mr. Newcomb.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“True, but you look like a man who knows how to handle himself well. You certainly showed me how to put out a fire.”

“Desperation goes a long way in making a man think fast on his feet.”

“It also goes a long way in making a woman think she’s found the right man to teach her a few things. I’m willing to take a chance that what I need to learn could be learned from you, and I’m willing to pay you to teach me. I have a few questions I’d like to ask, if you can spare the time.”

He had no time to spare for anything but his pursuit of Hodge. “You’ve got me till the rain stops. So shoot.”

* * *

“That’s exactly one of the questions I have.” Willow had been uncertain how to proceed with her curiosity about Mr. Newcomb without his suspecting anything. She needed to learn any of his skills, his ways of thinking, how he interacted with people and why, all without disclosing anything about her pseudonym. “Can you teach me how to shoot, ride, lasso a stump and a few other Texas specialties?”

Her boss was willing to give her a chance to straighten out the mess if she could make Will Ketchum believable. She wanted to prove she could. Maybe getting this Newcomb fellow to teach her some things would prove the answer to her dilemma.

“Any Texan worth his salt can teach you those kinds of things. Even your sisters could. Why me?”

Newcomb thumbed back his hat and it was then that she finally got a good look at his eyes. A knot twisted in her stomach as she tried not to stare, but she knew he heard her gasp.