The Texas Ranger's Secret
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Gage nodded. “I checked it close enough. It’ll hold.”
“Good. Then I have a request for you.”
“Name it.” The smithy was being fair about the whole situation. Anything Bear asked would seem trivial to building a wall.
“I have some mail that needs to be delivered to Daisy and her sister. Wished I’d heard them before they took off for home. I guess I was so concentrated on the mail I didn’t hear them come or go. But I do have it sorted enough to give them theirs. Daisy’s been getting all kinds of correspondence since making wedding plans, and what with her intended inviting half the territory, who knows if these are important letters to read before the wedding or not? I’m a bit surprised Miss Willow’s received one so soon.”
“Somebody wanted to make sure the letter was here on her arrival. Wonder why,” Gage speculated aloud.
“Hard to guess,” Bear answered, “but if you agree to deliver the letters for me, maybe you can discover the answer to that. I wouldn’t have to leave Pigeon by herself and you could find out from Daisy if her brothers-in-law plan to be at the wedding. If she says they will, you could ask them yourself if they want the work. Sometimes they do. Sometimes you couldn’t pay them enough to keep them inside anywhere.”
Gage understood that. He’d spent his life reading trails. He understood the wide-open and limitless distance and felt cooped up anytime he was inside. Losing his sight would definitely narrow his ranging space.
No time to feel sorry for himself. He could get his hat sooner if he delivered the letters, maybe get back in time to get it cleaned up and dried enough to attend the ceremony.
Quit kidding yourself, Newcomb, he told himself. You’re hankering to see Willow sooner than you thought. There was no reason whatsoever not to wait until morning to make the delivery. He could speak to the Trumbo brothers at the reception. If they didn’t attend, somebody would know where to find them. From what he’d heard and seen of them, the brothers weren’t exactly men who kept themselves inconspicuous.
Surely no letter was so important that it was worth disrupting the preparations for the wedding or putting himself in danger of revealing his weakness. What if the rain continued for most of the evening and he lost his way in the downpour? How would he explain that to anyone and offer a logical reason without arousing speculation?
One nagging thought kept bothering Gage. What if that insistent letter to Willow had anything at all to do with Stanton Hodge? A wedding might be perfect to bring the snake out of his den to strike while everyone in town was distracted.
He couldn’t take the chance on waiting to find out.
Then again, he could be wrong, and she could have no connection at all to the man.
Gage finally rose from the rocker. There was only one thing a Ranger could do.
Sink spur and ride saddle till he found the right road to take.
“Hand me those letters. I better get them on out there while I can. Looks like it means to give us a good dunking or three before the clouds move on past.”
Bear disappeared into the next room and returned with both envelopes. “Here you go. Hope it’s worth the trouble you’re putting yourself through.”
“By the way, I need to mention one more thing.” A chill swept over Gage as he moved away from the warmth of Bear’s hearth. “If you see a man fitting this description, would you keep me posted? Not quite six foot, red hair long enough to tie back. Green eyes, if you can ever get him to look you in the face. Both hands are scarred but he’s fair with a pistol. Deadly with a whip.”
“A wanted man?” Bear opened his door to let Gage leave.
Gage stepped outside and faced the blacksmith. “More than most. One way you’ll spot him easy—when he grins, he’s got a shiny tooth. Considers himself a ladies’ man and likes to show it off as some kind of prized nugget he won from a miner.”
“What’d he do?”
“Rustled horses.”
“You plan to kill him?”
Though Gage could legally take justice into his own hands, he shook his head. “He’ll face a judge.”
“Were they your horses?”
“No.” Gage stared Bear straight in the eyes, not caring that his scars were in full sight. “He stole my future. Worst kind of thief there is.”
Chapter Four
Willow was surprised to discover she had been assigned a room by herself. From the number of people now living in Daisy’s house—Daisy, Snow, Ollie, Thaddeus and a family housekeeper named Myrtle—Willow had assumed she would be sharing accommodations with somebody.
Sharing a room with her sisters all her life and listening to them breathe at night had always given her the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t alone. Working in Atlanta and renting a room at the boardinghouse had been a real challenge because she had to brave the night noises alone. Something she knew she must conquer at some point if she was to ever make a success of living on her own.
For tonight, Daisy and Snow would be only a room or two away, so it wasn’t as if she’d really be alone in a houseful of strangers.
Snow liked everything kept in perfect order and free of clutter. Willow did, too, but it wasn’t something she quite managed. She took a look around the room. Her soggy dress lay in an emerald pile on the braided rug next to the quilt-covered four-poster bed. As soon as the children had toted in her baggage and left her alone, she’d quickly changed. An inspection of her belongings in the damp baggage had offered one blue frock that seemed dry enough to make her presentable for the rest of the evening. She would have to heat up Daisy’s irons and press the remainder of her clothes before she had anything to wear to the wedding.
A small washstand connected to an armoire housed a flowered pitcher and matching bowl that provided water and a place to wash the remaining soot off her face and hands. The towel she’d found in one of the drawers now stretched across the quilt, streaked with evidence that she’d arrived looking like a raccoon that had rummaged in a chimney full of cinders.
After thorough brushes through her thick hair, she’d had to leave the curls down to let them dry and hope they would before morning so she could wear them up for the wedding.
Yes, maybe it was good that she didn’t have to share rooms with Snow tonight. Her sister would gripe on first sight of this mess. But if Snow stayed true to form, Willow should be able to crack her door open just enough to hear her sister snoring all the way down the hall. That ought to be reassuring enough to maintain a sense of ease for the night.
“Are you about finished up there, Willow?” Daisy called from the parlor below. “The meal’s ready and you need to eat while it’s hot. Thaddeus, come to the table, please. Make sure your hands are washed.”
“What about Ollie?” His voice echoed from nearby.
“Worry about yourself, son.”
“Be right down.” Willow glanced at the messy room and promised herself she would tidy up later just in case the children wanted to come in and wish her good-night. She wanted to start things off right with them.
Thinking of asking Daisy about the heating irons, she grabbed Gage’s hat and decided to try her best to press it back into shape.
She exited her room, taking a good look down the hall to find which direction would lead her to the staircase.
“This way.” Thaddeus poked his head around a corner and pointed behind him. “I got lost a couple of nights when I first got here. If you want me to—” he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small knife “—I’ll mark an X on the wall so you’ll remember it’s thisaway.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she told him, hurrying to catch up while counting how many bedrooms she passed so she would remember which one she’d been assigned. Encouraging him to carve a direction would not sit well with his mother. Maybe she’d better ask Daisy if she knew about the knife. “You can put that away.”
He shrugged. “Okay, but don’t blame me if you get lost or fall.”
Images of her stumbling made Willow grab the railing securely once they reached the stairs. No need to take chances.
“Who’s going to fall?” asked Ollie as she swept past Willow, turned backward and straddled the banister. “You can always sli-ide down and have fun!” She gave a rowdy “Yee-haw!” as she slid to the first floor.
Watching her precocious niece the next two months would take some real concentration, Willow realized. The eight-year-old seemed fearless.
“You two quit trying to ruffle your aunt’s feathers and get to the table right now,” ordered a pleasantly plump salt-and-pepper-haired woman who met them at the bottom of the stairs. Dressed in a paisley skirt, butternut blouse and an apron, she carried a picnic basket covered with a checkered cloth.
The delicious aromas wafting from beneath the cloth made Willow’s stomach constrict with hunger and reminded her that she had not eaten since sunrise. Her stomach had churned back and forth with the sway of the coach all day and nearly made her lose breakfast once or twice. She had thought it would take a week for her appetite to return.
“Howdy-do, Miss Willow. I’m Myrtle, your sister’s cook and housekeeper,” the woman said. “I’d curtsy but I got my hands full. I know Daisy’s told you some about me in her letters but we’ll get to know each other well, I expect. Go on in and have you some supper. I’ll be right back.”
She lifted one cowboy boot she wore and scratched the back of her other leg with its tooled instep. Some of Daisy’s leatherwork? Willow wondered.
“Excuse me, I got an itch I can’t reach proper,” the cook apologized. “Now, as I was saying, Shepard takes meals on his own, not with the family, and I like him to eat while it’s hot. I think he prefers being with those horses better than he does us gals, if you ask me. Can’t convince him to come in and join us. And you won’t find me a badgering kind of gal.”
“Aww, you’re sweet on him, Myrtie,” Ollie teased, “and you know it.”
The cook spun on her booted heels and headed out the door, calling back over her shoulder, “Don’t try hitching this old goose to a young gander like that, Little Miss Matchmaker. You’ll run him off, and we need him to stay till your mom and new daddy come back home.”
“I ain’t making no promises,” Ollie warned.
“And I ain’t helping you do nothing. It always gets me in big trouble,” Thaddeus threatened.
“How about we leave poor Mr. Hutton and your cook alone to make their own choices,” Willow suggested, deciding it best to let the children know she wouldn’t allow them to interfere with anything the two employees had in mind while Daisy was gone.
As a hopeful writer, she thought it would be interesting to explore all sorts of relationships. Why couldn’t an older woman fall in love with a slightly younger man? Didn’t older men tend to take younger wives? “I’m sure they both know exactly what they’re doing without any help from us.”
Just as she and the children headed for the kitchen table, a knock sounded at the door. Willow halted and glanced back, wondering if the cook had forgotten something and returned to get it. She hadn’t had time to deliver the basket to the barn yet, had she? But why would she be knocking?
“I’ll get it,” Ollie informed them.
“You two get in here and let Willow answer it,” demanded Snow. “You’re just trying to avoid eating. I’ve already checked the potatoes. Nobody’s done anything to them. You’re safe.”
What in the world did that mean? Willow wondered as both children moaned and obeyed their aunt’s command. Willow crossed the room, opened the door and instantly recognized their visitor, her hand shoving his hat behind her back.
Gage Newcomb.
“What are you doing here?” Her thought spewed from her mouth as if someone had primed a pump in her brain.
His hand lifted toward his forehead as if reaching for his hat, then quickly returned to his side. He simply nodded a brief hello and asked, “May I come in?”
She had his hat. He couldn’t thumb it up as any Texan might do in greeting. She’d wanted to have it repaired before she saw him again. “Just a moment.”
Willow turned and called to her sister, “Daisy, are you receiving company tonight?”
Daisy came around the corner, taking off her apron. When she saw their visitor’s identity, she unconsciously reached up to touch the curlers in her hair. “Please do come in.”
Thankful he opened the door the rest of the way himself, Willow kept both hands on the hat and turned her body as he stepped inside.
“Have you been to supper?” Daisy waved an arm toward the kitchen. “We were just about to sit down and eat. Myrtle made plenty. Won’t you join us?”
He glanced at Willow as if seeking whether she had any objections. Not that she would voice them, being that she was just as much a guest in her sister’s house as he was. Maybe this would give her an opportunity to ask him a few more needed questions.
His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. “I’m obliged, Widow Trumbo. I guess it’s time I stop referring to you as that from now on, isn’t it?”
Daisy laughed. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. Now, please, come grab a chair and tell us all why we have the pleasure of your company.”
He gave a brief explanation, ending with, “Mrs. Funderburg wasn’t feeling well and Bear didn’t want to leave her alone, so I agreed to bring the letters to you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that about Pigeon.” Sincerity filled Daisy’s tone.
Chivalrous, Willow added to the mental notes for her character. Thoughtful of others. A new view of Gage was emerging. He was a mixture of behaviors and that made him real. Already she could see ways to improve Ketchum’s character and make readers like him better.
When Gage followed Daisy to the kitchen, Willow quickly deposited his hat on the pegged rack stationed near the front door. Maybe he wouldn’t notice it later among the variety of colored bonnets hanging there, but the hat looked boldly masculine in contrast to the feminine headwear. The crumpled crown couldn’t go unnoticed long. When she finally joined everyone at the table, she was surprised to find Gage remained standing with a chair pulled out for her.
“Thank you,” she muttered, pleased that he was on his best behavior and displaying good manners.
Gage sat down next to her, his long legs accidentally touching hers beneath the table due to the crowded circle of diners. Willow supposed sitting saddled for long periods of riding would bow a tall man’s legs. She’d have to remember that. Willow glanced up and her eyes met his for a brief second before she inched away to give him more room. He certainly looked uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure if it was purely from being crowded.
Daisy scooped roast beef and potatoes with onions and brown gravy onto each plate, offering Gage a man-sized portion. “There’s sweet carrots and celery, too. I’ll let you take what you like and pass the bowl down. Oh, and the sourdough biscuits and butter are sitting next to Snow’s plate. We have mint tea or milk, if you like, or I can make coffee.”
“Whatever’s already made, ma’am. I appreciate any of it.”
Daisy handed Willow two glasses. “The pitcher’s closer to you. Will you pour the milk, please?”
No, Willow wished she could say, not trusting her hand to be steady enough to do a good job. Instead, she snaked her fingers out and latched on to the pitcher’s handle and tilted it to one side, hoping to connect the rim to the top of Gage’s glass without having to actually lift the pitcher.
She hadn’t expected it to be so full and her fingers slipped, sending a splash of milk crashing over the glass to land atop the mound of roast beef on his plate.
She groaned, her eyes closing in utter embarrassment, only to spring open again so she could see what she was doing.
“Here, let me help you,” he offered, his fingers wrapping around hers to take the weight from the pitcher and allow her to pour more accurately. As he leaned into her, their shoulders touched and she became aware of how chiseled his bearded jaw appeared at this angle. The slope of his nose looked patrician and the scars around his eyes were too welted for Willow not to feel a twinge of pity for him.
His shoulders straightened as if he’d taken notice of her thoughts, and he purposefully inched away. She knew she’d overstepped his boundary by staring and was sorry she hadn’t caught herself before he became aware of her gaze tracing his features.
He grabbed his glass in the other hand and tilted it so the milk could flow inside without either of them having to be that close together again.
Willow didn’t know what to do to set him at ease, but when she started to offer an apology, Gage waved away her words. He simply stirred the milk that soaked his plate, mixing it into a thinner gravy that was a lighter shade of brown.
“A little milk won’t hurt,” he announced.
But she’d seen the truth and not heeded the warning he’d given in the livery earlier.
Pity was something he would not tolerate.
* * *
Rain kept a steady beat on the roof and streaked across the window that had been raised to let out heat from the stove. Just as Gage had assumed, the ride back to town would now have its challenges if the storm kept up after nightfall. It was getting hard enough to see in the dark. It would be even harder with the trail further blurred by rainfall. On the other hand, he felt out of place inside among walls. He’d lived so much of his life out in the open and on the trail that he couldn’t wait to be on his way out of here. He had to force himself to take time eating.
He wanted nothing more than to deliver the letters, collect his hat and get back to town before sundown, but he couldn’t ask Willow and Daisy to read the letters until they were ready to accept them.
No one appeared even remotely interested in the mail. Maybe the trip out here could have waited until morning.
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