The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  Frisco rubbed his cheek even as a rueful smile spread across his face. “I wish I’d had a father to teach me the same. Then I wouldn’t have to protect myself from young ladies like you.”

  “Well, maybe you spun me around one too many times. I can’t be held liable if I’m too dizzy to stand up straight.”

  “Then allow me to help you,” he said as he offered his arm.

  It was a respectable gesture, she supposed. Proof that he was as pleased with the evening as she was.

  “I’ve never apologized for what I said to you before the race.” His voice was low and even as they walked along the riverbank. “I had no right to evaluate you in the first place, and when I did, I did it poorly.”

  “Your words hit the mark,” Caroline admitted. “I haven’t been at ease since I returned. In fact, I never cottoned to Galveston either. The city was too confining. Sure, there’s excitement and activity, but I couldn’t enjoy it because I was too busy making sure I enjoyed it the correct way. In society, you can’t react honestly.”

  “And that’s why you came back?” he asked.

  “With the whole country talking about the run, I had to come back, but everything had changed.”

  “Or maybe you had changed?”

  “But I haven’t. Not really. Yet everyone scorns me like I’m some fragile lady who’s going to dry up and blow away with the first windstorm.”

  “No one scorned you tonight.”

  “At the party? Of course not, because they’re the same sort, trying to impress society. Your friend Patrick’s wife, though, did you see her?” Caroline’s throat tightened as she watched for his reaction.

  “She was cooking,” he said. “Busy getting dinner served.”

  Caroline shook her head. “She didn’t want to know me. That’s the truth. I have to prove that I’m one of them.”

  “And settling a homestead will do that?”

  She ran her finger over the button on the cuff of his sleeve. She didn’t want to revive the argument. Not while the night was still golden with contentment.

  They’d arrived at the house. Frisco held the door open for her. At first she feared that he was going to stay, but he motioned to the lamp.

  “Get it lit first, and then I’ll go.”

  “It’s late, and you have a long walk back.” She struck a match and held it to the wick. The light swelled and filled the room.

  “After the ruckus we raised tonight, maybe everyone will sleep in.”

  “Not the roosters.” Caroline placed the chimney over the flame, then went to the door.

  He’d taken to studying her again, and this time his swarthy features looked perplexed. “I should curse you,” he said. “What’s wrong with me?”

  He didn’t look like he was in a cursing mood. Her senses sharpened. If he decided to take liberties, would she have the fortitude to resist? She couldn’t be sure, but she was willing to find out.

  With a sweeping bow, Frisco removed his hat. “I had a pleasant evening, Miss Adams. Thank you for the gift of your company.”

  “It was a gift I enjoyed bestowing.” She dipped a small curtsy. “You know, after all these years, it seems that I’ve had misconceptions about you too.”

  His eyebrow jogged, and his lips spread into a smile. “Do tell.”

  “I thought you were a dashing, reckless, romantic figure who would forever remain out of reach. A hero to be admired from afar.” She lowered her eyes to the flame of the lamp, but when she raised them, his smile had vanished.

  “And now what do you think?” He reached for her. Caught the tips of her fingers in his.

  Even though they were in the warm shelter, a chill ran through her. “You aren’t so distant after all,” she said. “Be careful, Mr. Smith. I might have a game of my own.”

  “I expect nothing less of you, Miss Adams.” With a quick squeeze of her hand, he stepped back and waggled the door handle. “You’ll lock this as soon as I leave?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I don’t want anything to happen to my supplies.”

  “They’re in good hands.”

  “For now,” he said. And then, with a wink and a smile, he was gone.

  Chapter sixteen

  It had been a long two days, but productive. The reins jangled as Amber urged Gunpowder across one more homestead and on to home. Gunpowder’s tail swished away the flies as Amber rotated her parasol to discourage the pesky insects. Bradley hadn’t liked the idea of her riding to Kingfisher alone, but it needed to be done. Until they filed their claim at the land office, they were vulnerable to anyone who wanted to swear possession of it. Someone like Caroline with a dugout completed and crops planted would have a stronger case. Honest people like Amber and Bradley needed the piece of paper to show that they’d been there all along. At least until they had something more substantial than a one-room wooden frame covered in canvas.

  She brushed a fly off her face. Not that she thought Caroline was dishonest. Not really. But she was hardheaded, just like Amber’s fiancé. And Amber was caught in the middle.

  A hawk swooped down ahead of her and snatched up a furry rodent for dinner. One less thief to raid her supplies, Amber reckoned. At least she hoped it was a mouse and not a rabbit. They would need all the rabbits they could get if they were going to have enough to eat before their crops came in.

  But they had the land. Amber had the paper in her pocket, and it was registered at the land office as well. It had been two weeks since the race. She hadn’t expected the line to be so long, but it looked like many others had done as she had—waited until the first rush was over before venturing off their homesteads. And then she’d made her wait even longer. When she got up to the front of the line, a man in chaps and boots had offered her five dollars if he could take her place in line.

  Amber only hesitated a second. Five dollars? She pocketed the money, then went to the back of the line and waited again. If she wasn’t worried about leaving their farm unattended, she would have stayed all day waiting in line for those wages.

  She knew the moment they stepped hoof on her property. What was it that made this square of grass different from all the others? Love? Less than two weeks until the wedding. Ten days, to be exact, and she’d be Mrs. Bradley Willis. Then she’d have another certificate in her pocket, telling her that her plans had come to fruition.

  But here was another wrinkle.

  The man saw her riding up—he must have—but instead of coming forward to greet her, he darted into her house. With grim resolution, Amber folded her parasol, tucked it into her saddle roll, and took out a pistol. She’d dealt with claim jumpers ever since the twenty-second of last month, but for the most part, they were merely argumentative. No one had wanted to ambush her in her own home.

  The four posts of her house covered the same amount of space as a wagon bed. Wooden crossbeams stretched from post to post and supported the oiled canvases that Bradley had nailed into them. One canvas had a hole cut for the stovepipe, and that stovepipe was wisping out smoke. There was someone inside. She hadn’t imagined it.

  Staying on her horse, Amber rode around to the flap that served as a doorway. Gunpowder’s ears twitched as she tried to figure out what was happening. Amber laid the pistol on her lap but kept her hand on it.

  “Come on outside,” she called. “I know you’re in there.”

  The wind blew the flap open. She caught a glimpse of a man’s legs before the canvas settled down again. Her breath was short and choppy. Her knees knocked against the saddle.

  “No use in hiding,” she tried again. “I’m not leaving.”

  What could he be doing? She didn’t have anything of value in there. Her parents would bring her trousseau with them for the wedding.

  And then she smelled the turnips frying.

  Amber flexed her hands and loosened the reins. She squinted at the flapping tarp. “Come on out,” she said. “I’ll let you finish your dinner, but I’d feel better if I got a look at you
.”

  The canvas lifted. The trespasser was dirty, tired, and not much more than a boy. He held her only tin plate in one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. When I found no one here, I thought perhaps you’d absconded. Looked to take this claim for myself. When I saw the vittles, I knew you’d be back, but I was so hungry, I couldn’t help myself. Some turnips and potatoes. I didn’t take anything else, I swear.”

  He seemed like a harmless sort, but Amber preferred the safety of her mount all the same.

  “It’s been a spell since you’ve eaten?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Came for the race but didn’t prove out. Since then I’ve been wandering, looking for work. People everywhere are hard-pressed to feed themselves, much less take on a hand.”

  That might be her and Bradley once his military pay ceased. She nodded in understanding. “Get finished and move on out. As you can see, I don’t have anything to spare either.”

  He shifted his weight to one leg as he took another bite of food. “That’s a fact. If you need some work done for the meal, I’m happy to oblige.”

  Amber sighed. How she’d love to have him plow another row or two, but he was a stranger, and she was all alone. Better to send him on his way.

  “Thanks for the offer. I have to pass for now, but you might find work in Kingfisher. I got paid to stand in line.”

  “No fooling? You’ve been more than kind. I’ll set this plate back inside, and then I’ll go.”

  The young man did exactly as he’d said with a generous amount of hat-tipping and thanks. Still astride her horse, Amber watched him depart. He’d been pleasant enough, but she didn’t like the thought that people were wandering around, helping themselves to the contents of tents. Ten days. Then she would marry Bradley and wouldn’t have to worry about being here alone. Not unless he had to go find work. Hopefully by then they’d live in something better than boards and canvases.

  Her nose twitched. That wasn’t turnips she was smelling. Amber turned to see smoke billowing out of her house. Her jaw dropped as she kicked her heels against the horse’s side and raced to the shack.

  She didn’t remember dismounting or running toward the door. The smoke stinging her eyes was the first thing she knew. The second was that the frying pan atop the stove was ablaze.

  “Never trust a man in the kitchen.”

  But the blaze on the stove wasn’t her greatest concern. It was the piece of canvas behind the stove that had caught fire. Maybe she should have grabbed her bedclothes and pulled everything out of the shack, but instead she attacked the canvas. Picking up their new shovel, she beat at the burning canvas. She turned her face away from the flying sparks, only daring a peek when she felt the canvas give beneath her strikes.

  With her lungs burning and her eyes streaming, she finally got the burning canvas down off the frame. Stabbing it with the shovel, she dragged it away so it could burn at a harmless distance. The fire had scorched the crossbeams. They smoldered. Not safe, not yet.

  She ran back inside the open shack and grabbed a bucket. She’d have to douse everything that had been touched by the flames before she could be sure there was no more danger. Later, after her daily planting was done, she’d have to wash the smoke from her belongings and off her person, but she could only do one thing at a time.

  She’d been so proud of what she’d accomplished in Kingfisher today. She’d gotten her name on a piece of paper, but it had nearly cost her everything else.

  Chapter seventeen

  What makes you think the city lots were claimed illegally?” Frisco held his notebook on his knee inside his tent. Over the last week he’d yet to get one of those chairs, and the tree stump he was using instead wasn’t comfortable.

  Mr. Lacroix kept an eye on the opening as he spoke with a lowered voice. “Don’t you think it a mighty big coincidence that so many of the best lots went to deputies and railroad men? I left from ten miles south of Darlington, and my horse didn’t falter once. Yet when I arrived, there was a welcoming committee already in place, telling me where to go for the empty lots.” He was clean-shaven, or maybe he had Indian blood. His dark eyes strengthened Frisco’s hunch.

  “Maybe they had faster horses than you?” Frisco asked. It was his job to be skeptical. This was a potential legal challenge, not a rousing speech.

  “They’d have to be mighty fine horses to take time off the clock. Do you know what was on their lots while they were standing there pretending to be the law? There were fires with hot coals and ashes. Dirty dishes and scrap buckets.”

  “Any construction?”

  Mr. Lacroix shook his head. “Only tents. Nothing permanent, but their mounts weren’t winded, and the horses had been there long enough to leave their marks as well. I walked up and down every street around town square. I can tell you who hadn’t run at noon, and it’s all the men who are calling themselves the Premiers of Plainview.”

  Now it was Frisco keeping one eye on the flap of the tent, worried they’d be overheard. Patrick was tooling a leather saddle away from the tents and couldn’t hear over the distance, but these kinds of accusations traveled fast. Yet the same thought had nagged at Frisco as well.

  “What do you want to do about it?” Frisco asked.

  “I want you to file a claim on behalf of the regular man against them. I heard that you helped Nesbitt get his plot.”

  “That was a simple case. One man tried to hold a plot for a friend. There was no question of who was in the right there.”

  “And there shouldn’t be any question with these men either. I want you to file a claim against a lot on Main Street in my name. I could’ve claimed it had there not been someone there illegally. I’m willing to challenge them and let them explain what I’ve said before a judge,” said Lacroix.

  Frisco tapped his pencil against the paper. “These are serious charges. You’d be turning this town upside down.”

  “Better to do it now before they’re more entrenched. Just think of all the people camping in the streets that they’re trying to run off. If they hadn’t cheated, those people would be building their own houses right now instead of begging for paying work.”

  Like Patrick. How Frisco would like to see Patrick with one of the lots near the square. But could the case be proven? He thought of Ike McFarland and the other deputies. Unless Mr. Lacroix and Frisco could come up with some proof, they were spitting in the wind. Not only working to no purpose, but making enemies along the way.

  “You should know, Mr. Lacroix, that the city has asked me to work on their behalf. That means I’d be reporting to many of the men you are accusing. What if I decide to investigate your case and find that your suspicions have no grounds? Knowing my association with them, are you going to trust my findings?”

  “Mr. Smith, I saw you at the election when they were running the same men through the lines. You told the truth then. I imagine you’ll do it again.”

  He would, if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were guilty. But shadows lurked in the sunniest of places, and Frisco had no desire to upset the applecart when he was trying to hitch a ride on it.

  “Exactly who are you accusing?” Frisco asked.

  “The first man to meet me was Deputy Bledsoe, now the mayor, and Deputy Sorenson, although Sorenson dropped the deputy title fast enough and is now calling himself a banker. Feldstein and Juarez were there too. Cool as an icehouse, directing people where they could set up camp. Made sense, seeing how they were deputies, but it doesn’t seem fair that deputies could compete in the contest.”

  Frisco had thought he’d take notes, but he didn’t want any piece of paper with those names on it. “If they were lined up with everyone else at noon, I don’t reckon we have any cause to complain.”

  “That’s a big if,” Lacroix said.

  “You didn’t mention Deputy McFarland. Do you think he came early as well?”

  Lacroix shrugged. “There was a mess of them a
lready here. I don’t remember him in particular.”

  Interesting. Perhaps he wasn’t involved after all. “You’ve given me a lot to think over,” Frisco said. Besides Mr. Lacroix’s name, his pad of paper remained blank. There was no sense in slandering people until he knew for sure whether they were guilty. “As I said, because of my connection with the founders of the city, I’m not sure I’m the one for the job—”

  “Would you want to live in a city run by crooks?”

  “—but I will consider your case. At the very least, perhaps I can direct you to someone else who could help you.”

  “But you won’t tell them, will you? Not until we’re ready to file against their claims?”

  “Our conversation is protected by confidentiality, I assure you.” The last thing Frisco wanted was for the Premiers to think he was questioning their right to own property in the town they were running. Not until he knew more. “In the meantime—”

  He paused at a noise outside. Over the wind, he heard his name and then Patrick’s answer.

  “This is Frisco’s place, but he’s busy. A client, he said.”

  Mr. Lacroix’s face settled into stubborn lines. “We have company.”

  Could it be Caroline? He hadn’t seen her since the night of the dance—a night he’d enjoyed more than he’d expected. Every morning began with him determined to see her and get her off his property once and for all, but before he could leave Plainview, he got mired down correcting the wrongs others had suffered.

  Frisco closed the cover on his notebook and dropped it into his traveling case. “No worries, Mr. Lacroix. I’ve faced down my share of authorities. If there’s something amiss, you have me on your side.”

  But he wasn’t yet ready to stand behind the allegations.

  His visitor wasn’t Caroline. It was none other than Sophie Smith and her husband. She walked up to Frisco, her short skirt revealing a set of unmatched boots, and shoved a piece of crumb cake into his hands.

  “We need you to do that fancy talking for us.” She brushed the crumbs off her hands and pulled Mr. Wilton closer by the sleeve. “Tell Frisco what the city told you.”