High Plains Passion

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  Relief set Dylan's heart pounding. “Thank the Lord you're here, West. I thought I was going to have to deputize Billy Fulton.”

  “He'd do an enthusiastic job,” Jesse pointed out.

  “Yeah, but the poor kid is scared of guns. Anyway, West, your telegram and Fulton's endorsement have me intrigued. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

  “Well,” Jesse began, “I've been working the last five years as a bounty hunter, so you can see I'm qualified. You need a deputy?”

  “Oh, yes,” Dylan replied. “We're in one hell of a mess here.”

  “So I understand,” Jesse replied. “I'll be honest, Sheriff, I'm not too happy to hear my hometown is having trouble. What's going on?”

  Dylan raised his eyebrow at the man's blunt assessment. “I'm not too happy myself, West. This is my town now too, don't forget. What have you heard? This whole damned mess started with a train robbery back in December. Kristina Williams – Kristina Heitschmidt and her husband Cody, our new pastor – were nearly killed, but those two brave folks managed to save a few passengers from the robbery. Her brother died that day.”

  “Wait,” West interjected, “Cal Heitschmidt came back?”

  “He was on that train,” Dylan replied. “No one knows why, and he's not around to answer those questions anymore.”

  Jesse lowered his eyes, his shrewd stare turning sad. “He was like a kid brother growing up. I practically lived at the Heitschmidts'. Bet James took it hard.”

  Dylan nodded. “If it wasn't for Becky, I don't know how he'd have gotten through.”

  “Wait, what?” Jesse now looked shocked. “What about Becky? What Becky?”

  “Sorry, I mean Rebecca Spencer Heitschmidt. She and James have been courting for a while, and they got married last month. Another of the crazy things that happened around here was that her dress shop was firebombed. If James hadn't gone in there and pulled her out, she would have died. It was a diversion because the robber gang attempted to break one of their own out of the jail.”

  “My head is spinning. Hold on. So you're saying two violent acts have been committed against the people of our town, in addition to both Kristina Heitschmidt and Rebecca Spencer getting married. Where have I landed, the moon? What happened to the sleepy town I left?”

  He turned to stare out the window into the dusty street.

  Dylan gave him a moment to gather himself. At last the youth returned his attention to the sheriff, his eyes skating around the room to take in the rough planks, the iron bars, the scarred desk scattered with newspaper. “Anything else?”

  “Well, the robber we caught was hanged a few months back. He threatened the whole town with vengeance, especially Cody and me.” Another reason I should be careful with Lydia. These bastards are smart and tricky. I might not be around to love her much longer. “And since his death,” Dylan continued, his voice rough, “I've been getting threatening notes. All are postmarked Pueblo, Colorado.”

  Jesse sighed. “Well, if they're holed up in Colorado, maybe you have some time to regroup. Why do you need a deputy?”

  “Because my last one was killed at the train robbery,” Dylan replied bluntly. “Wade Charles. Hell of a thing. Left a wife and four little children behind. I hate to replace him, but I can't run this town with only one deputy.”

  Jesse lowered his head in acknowledgment of Dylan's damnable position. “Well, I'm here if you need me. I need a more stable job.”

  “Well now, hold on, West,” Dylan protested. “I need to know more about you. I know your friends can vouch for your character, but what about your work? After the excitement of the open trail, why on earth would you be in a hurry to settle down? Apart from train robbers, policing this town is pretty dull.”

  “I know,” Jesse replied with a wry grin. “I met a girl…”

  “Ah, the perennial story,” Dylan teased, though honesty forced him to admit to himself that meeting a girl really did change everything. “But girls come and go.”

  Jesse grinned. “Not for me,” he admitted. “Not anymore. Addie is special.” He cleared his throat. “She's also in a family way. So ready or not, it's a settled town and family life for this bounty hunter.”

  Dylan bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Oops. Well that I can certainly understand. You might want a stable life for your wife and kid.”

  Jesse nodded. “Once we get married, yeah.”

  “Oh HO!” Dylan exclaimed. “Sure you want to spread that around? This fella has big ears.” He indicated the cell.

  Angus gave him a dirty look. “I have per…” He belched. “Perfectly elegant ears. From my mother. She's from Europe, you know.”

  Jesse laughed out loud. “Angus Fulton. You still spreading that tale around? Know what I heard? Your elegant mother came from a whorehouse in Europe.”

  “You take that back, Jesse West, or when I get out of this cage, I'll…”

  “You won't remember a thing,” Jesse shot back. “You're soaked. Haven't you learned yet that you can't hold booze? There's no shame in it, you know.”

  “Shut up, West.” The man sank onto the dirty bunk, swearing under his breath.

  “Huh,” Dylan said, impressed, “I guess you really are from around here. Is that true about his mother?”

  “Who knows? I just say it to rile him up. Works every time,” Jesse said, his eyes sparkling.

  “I like your style, man. Okay, let's give this a try. You are planning to stick around for the long haul, right?”

  “Of course,” Jesse replied. “Thank you, Sheriff. I'm sure glad we were able to work this out.”

  “Me too,” Dylan agreed, extending his hand to his new deputy. “So when can you start?”

  “Can you give me a couple of days?” Jesse requested. “I need to marry my girl. It's pretty important. She's already showing, you know?”

  “That's fair,” Dylan replied. “Yeah, be sure you keep your lady happy.”

  Jesse nodded. “I'll get right to that. She's my priority now. I have to make sure she's okay.” Then his cheeks darkened as though realizing he'd said too much.

  Love, Dylan thought. It's good if he cares for her. Life's too short to waste one moment of love. Then he realized how many moments he'd wasted and firmly decided to change his line of thinking.

  “Okay, West. Go take care of business. I'll see you back here in three days – not two, three, you hear? We'll go over basic lawman business, your duties, and the train robber case then.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Jesse replied. “See you then.”

  The young man's grin rivaled the sunshine outside as he clomped across the wooden floorboards and hustled out into the street.

  Dylan sank into his chair and leaned back, laying his boots on the wooden surface of his desk again, this time crinkling the newspapers. His mind barely registered Angus' continued cursing and muttering. Thank the Lord for sending me a deputy. Seems like a good one too. Things may be okay after all. “Two days to marry his pregnant sweetheart.” Dylan shook his head. “Kids these days. Good thing he loves her.” That, of course, immediately turned his mind to his own stalled romance. Maybe it's time to take your own advice, old man, he thought.

  He didn't realize it, but the concept brought a smile to his lips.

  Chapter 3

  Lydia had almost managed to forget that Ilse Jackson had volunteered her café for a meeting. This had eased her mind considerably and allowed her to indulge in her favorite activity – obsessing about the sheriff – but left her a bit underprepared. That was why she found herself that sunny, blistering afternoon in July, rolling up little bites of fruit into flaky pie dough while her finally healthy helper washed the dishes.

  “Are you better, Billy?” she asked the lad as she pinched the turnovers shut. Her damp hair stuck to her forehead and her sweaty dress clung to her skin.

  “Uh huh, yes, ma'am,” Billy replied, splashing happily in the sink. Though his voice slurred due to his impairment, Lydia had long since learned to understand
him. “I was awful sick, but I'm better now.”

  “I was so sorry to hear you were ill,” Lydia told him with all sincerity. She brushed the turnovers with milk and sprinkled sugar on them. “And I'm glad you're better.”

  “Thank you, Miz Lydia. I'm glad to be better and come back to work. Did you miss me?” He grinned, thick lips peeling back to reveal one missing tooth.

  “I missed you so much, Billy,” she replied, popping the turnovers into the oven and turning to the stove to freshen the coffee. Why are you doing this? The oven should have been left to cool hours ago. Now the whole house will be hot all night. You need to decorate that wedding cake while the kitchen is cool so the icing doesn't melt. Who cares what nasty Ilse Jackson has to say, anyway?

  She knew it was too late to argue, so even as she let her mind keep on whining, she set cups and plates on a tray and carried them into the dining room, ready to host this mysterious committee meeting.

  A few ladies had arrived already. Allison Spencer Fulton, looking puffy and uncomfortable with only a couple of months left in her pregnancy, defied convention by turning up in a hastily altered blue gingham dress. Her sister Rebecca Spencer Heitschmidt sat beside her. Also expecting, Rebecca had no trouble disguising her own diminutive bump with a clever turn of the sewing needle, making a social necessity into a fashion statement. Third at the table, Kristina Heitschmidt Williams, looked svelte as always in a plain brown skirt and white shirtwaist, her strawberry blond hair escaping from a normally tidy knot. In the summer sun, her freckles seemed to have grown together in a mockery of a tan.

  Lydia beamed at the sight of her friends. No matter what nonsense Ilse has up her sleeves, these three will see reason. She set the tray of dishes down on the counter, not trusting any of the wobbly tables to hold such a burden without tilting, and hurried over to her friends, greeting them with effusive hand-gestures. They rose to receive sweaty but sincere hugs.

  “Allison, how are you feeling? Where's Melissa?” she asked the sturdy blond.

  “Mrs. Fulton agreed to watch her.” Allison's lips twisted at the thought of her mother-in-law. “I hate to think what that means they'll be doing all afternoon. Probably cleaning the parlor to her specifications. I left Missy napping. Maybe she'll sleep until I get back.”

  “Let's hope,” Lydia agreed. She could barely reach across the expectant mother's belly to hug her shoulders. Then Allison settled back into her chair looking grumpy and miserable.

  All her dreams came true, Lydia thought, and none of it made her happy. Poor girl. Her husband ought to be horsewhipped and his mother tarred and feathered.

  Shaking off the thought, she turned to Kristina. Now here was a woman for whom none of her dreams had come through, and yet she glowed with joy. “How's Pastor Cody doing?” Lydia asked.

  Kristina grinned, showing clean but crooked teeth. Her smiles turned her rather plain face radiant. “He's doing just great. He's wrestling with some tough scripture right now. Expect a wild sermon come Sunday.”

  “Will you have some wild music to go with it?” Lydia wanted to know as she squeezed the taller woman.

  “I think so,” Kristina replied. “I'll have to dig into my sheet music and see if there's anything fitting.”

  “I can't wait,” Lydia told her. “We're so blessed. What other small town gets a concert every Sunday?”

  Blushing Kristina wrinkled her short nose, setting her freckles rolling across her skin.

  Last Lydia turned to her best friend, taking in Becky's radiant smile. How much happier she looks. That serene expression she always used to wear never did convince me. But this smile comes from the depths of her soul. “How's the shop?” she asked simply.

  “Going well so far,” Becky replied. “I'm having so much fun sharing space with James. Those robbers may have thought to demoralize me by burning my store, but so much good came from it, I don't even miss the space. Besides, I can sew anywhere my machine will fit. I met the most exciting new client yesterday,” she went on, eyes sparkling as she shared the juicy tidbit.

  “Who's exciting in this town?” Allison groused. “We already know everyone.”

  “Not everyone,” Becky contradicted her sister. “You'll never guess.”

  “No I won't,” Allison agreed. “Tell me.”

  From the kitchen, the aroma of pastries wafted out into the dining room and Billy stuck his head through the door. “I think these are done, Miz Lydia.”

  “Okay,” Lydia told him. “Now you hold on to that gossip for another minute and let me get set up for whatever nonsense Miss Jackson has in store.”

  Groans and eye rolls met her proclamation as Lydia hurried into the kitchen. A couple of trips had pastries and coffee set up on the counter awaiting the rest of the group.

  She returned to the table with her friends. It feels strange to sit.

  “Okay, Becky,” Allison told her sister, “what's the gossip? Who on earth could possibly be exciting in this little whistle stop?”

  “Jesse West is back,” Becky proclaimed.

  Allison gaped at her sister.

  “That's right!” Kristina agreed. “I saw him yesterday. He told me he's back to stay.”

  Allison looked from one woman to another. “The hell you say? Why hasn't he come to see me?”

  Lydia replied. “He brought a woman with him. They're rushing around to get married as quickly as possible. I'm sure he had to start with what he'd need for a little wedding. Music, a dress for his girl, and food.”

  “Wait, you saw him too, Lydia?”

  The chef nodded.

  Allison scowled.

  “But I'm sure you're next on the list,” Becky reassured her sister. “You four were thick as thieves growing up.”

  “I know that,” Allison snapped.

  Wow, she's really in a bad mood today, Lydia thought, eyeing her normally cheerful friend.

  There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Allison's sour expression killed any remaining desire to speak and at that moment, other women from town began meandering into the café, collecting refreshments and seating themselves at the rickety tables.

  Ilse entered with her mother in tow, both turning up their noses at the shabby atmosphere and declining the food.

  Snobs, Lydia thought.

  “If everyone would settle down,” Ilse said in a shrill, carrying tone, “we can get started.”

  The murmuring women stilled their gossip and turned to face the organizer of the event, who stood between the east side windows like a potentate, though even her blue satin dress seemed rather limp in the unyielding heat.

  “Garden City has been officially incorporated as a town for more than a decade now,” she began. “Remember our ten-year founder's day party?”

  The women in the room turned to each other with puzzled expressions and began to whisper.

  “I don't either,” Ilse interrupted them. “That's because we didn't have one. I told my father we needed to do this. We're a town, a real town, not some kind of half-baked settlement, and we need to do things that town folks do. One of which is celebrating the day we became civilized.” She looked around the room to see if she had everyone's attention.

  She's not much of a speaker, Lydia thought, but she does make a point.

  “It's women that civilize a town,” she continued. “Men have too much work to do. It's the wives and daughters who make a place feel like home.”

  Nods greeted this pronouncement.

  “But men, of course, also control most of the money, and so they think they get to decide what's in the town's best interest. I don't agree with their decisions about a lot of things, and I think it's time we as women take a more active role in shedding Garden City's frontier image. Dodge can have its famous gunmen and Wild West shows. We're Garden City. Doesn't that draw up a genteel image? Nothing to dodge here. No bullets flying.”

  Becky snorted and Kristina shuddered. There are fewer bullets flying in Dodge City than here at this point, Lydia said sile
ntly to herself. They settled their problems without bloodshed.

  It appeared facts didn't interest Ilse nearly as much as the point she was building up to. “So what I propose is this: by pooling our resources, women business owners and the wives and daughters of wealthy men can create a bit of influence. And if we fight hard enough for what we want, we can turn this town into what it should be – a beacon of civilization on the prairie!”

  Her impassioned words drew applause from a few of her most ardent supporters.

  Toadies. That was a whole lot of words that didn't mean a darn thing.

  “What exactly are you talking about, Ilse?” Allison demanded. “What are you proposing we do? Sit around and drink tea? Meddle in other people's business?”

  “I hardly expected you to understand my vision, Allison Fulton,” Ilse sneered. “You're practically a man yourself and only half as civilized.”

  “Well then,” Allison said, hauling her heavy body from the chair and staring daggers at the other woman across the room, “I'll just take my 'uncivilized' self out of here. You're welcome to wallow in your usual horseshit without me.”

  Her uncouth words drew gasps and titters as she made her slow way to the door. Lydia couldn't help smiling. She wanted to leave too. Ilse's words gave her a bad feeling, but as they were stationed in her place of business, she felt compelled to stay. Settling back in her chair, she voiced the question Allison's tirade had raised. “So, Miss Jackson, you've made the theme of your presentation quite clear, but I'm still a little puzzled on the details. What kinds of activities do you think we should be pooling our resources to accomplish?”

  “Uh, I was just getting to that,” Ilse replied. Something about her face suggested a sneer, but Lydia wasn't sure if that was intentional or merely her habitual expression. “First of all, like I said, we haven't been celebrating our own town's anniversary. I think we should have a Founder's Day picnic and celebration every year.”

  Nods greeted this. After all, planning a party definitely qualified as civilized, and was something anyone could get behind.