Every Little Thing About You (Yellow Rose Trilogy 1)

by Lori Wick

  Every Little Thing About You

  (The Yellow Rose Trilogy #1)

  Lori Wick

  What a time it's been. This book has been with me for literally

  years. I was ready to begin writing in 1992, but the Kensington

  Chronicles came along. They in turn led to other works,

  so Texas was shelved for a time. But because of that, the Yellow

  Rose Trilogy has taken on better form and dimension, and I think

  the books might be better man the first drafts in my mind.

  All this to say, I'm so excited to finally put this first book

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  down on paper. The people I need to acknowledge have patiently

  helped me come to this point. A huge thank-you goes to:

  Phil Caminiti. Your wisdom as we walk through the book of

  Mark has been invaluable to me. Thank you for your insight, love

  of the Word, and humble desire to be more like Jesus Christ.

  Thank you for teaching the student, not the lesson. My world is a

  bigger place because of you.

  Denise Caminiti. The time in your Bible study has been a joy

  and a delight I love your honest approach and easy agenda.

  Thank you for your patience with me and for never failing to

  show me love and acceptance. I consider you a friend so dear.

  The women from Bible study. If I try to name all of you, I will be

  sure to miss someone. Please allow me to thank all of you for your

  love and kindness. I learn so much from you and Thursday mornings

  are a highlight of the week for me.

  The elders' wives at BECC. Thank you for what you've shared

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  and taught me. I am privileged beyond measure to know and fellowship

  with you. Thank you for your hunger and humility and

  the way you bring glory to God.

  My own precious Bob. You hung in there, Wickie! This book

  was put on the back burner so many times, and still you waited

  in silence. Thank you for being patient and for cheering the

  loudest along the way.

  Did I laugh before you were born?

  Not quite so often, I'm sure.

  Did I know about a mother's love before you?

  Not by half.

  Keep growing, keep trusting,

  and never forget that I love you.

  For my Tin Man.

  September 1881

  Austin, Texas

  the midafternoon sun beat down unmercifully as the

  7

  cowboy, a Texas Ranger, rode into town. Heat waves shimmered

  on the horizon, and the blowing dust caused the

  horse's eyes to squint as Slater Rawlings tethered the dark

  roan animal to the hitching post. Other than seeing that the

  horse could reach the water trough, Slater gave little heed

  to Arrow's comfort. For weeks the rider had been working

  on the courage to tell his boss about his decision, and now

  it was time to do the job. It was a relief to arrive at the

  Austin office and walk in the door.

  "

  "Why can't you do both, Slate?" Marty Bracewell asked

  one of his best rangers just 15 minutes later. "Why does this

  faith thing mean you have to leave?"

  'It's not my faith--just as it is, Brace," the younger man

  tried to explain. "And it's not the job itself. If s the travel.

  I'm tired of tracking and being out on the trail. I want to

  settle in someplace for the winter, possibly longer." What

  Slater Rawlings didn't try to explain was the need to get to

  8

  church on Sundays--die ache inside of him for fellowship.

  Brace, whose life was the Rangers, would never have

  understood.

  8 lori wick

  "You'll be back," Brace said with confidence, the desk

  chair creaking as he leaned back with ease. "It's in your

  blood, just like it's in Dakota's. You'll be back."

  Slater didn't even reply. He stood, lifting his hat to his

  head.

  "Take care, Brace."

  "I'll do that. You do the same. I want you coming back

  fit."

  Not only did Slater not reply to this, he didn't even look

  back as he placed his badge on the desk. With a hand to the

  doorknob, he quietly let himself out. Just moments later he

  was back astride Arrow and headed out of town. With a

  thought of how cool the hills would be, he headed west.

  //^

  9

  October 1881

  Shotgun, Texas

  friday afternoons were normally quiet. Saturday nights

  were a little more rambunctious, but most days and evenings

  in Shotgun were peaceful It was for this reason that Liberty

  Drake was surprised to be needed. Being called out of the

  sheriff's office to one of the saloons was the last thing she

  expected, but Shotgun had laws about carrying firearms into

  the saloons or after sunset, so she had a job to do. She

  strapped on her holster and followed Jep, the saloon

  owner's 11-year-old son, down the street. The boy ran, but

  Liberty walked, not apathetic, but not certain she needed to

  be out of breath when she arrived.

  And indeed, things were quiet when she pushed

  through the swinging doors of the Brass Spittoon. Jep's

  father, Gordie, nodded his head to a table in the corner. Liberty

  took in three men. Two were daytime regulars, but the

  blond was a stranger. There wasn't even a drink in front of

  10

  him, but Liberty had no choice.

  "Excuse me," Liberty began politely, waiting for the

  man to look at her. "I need you to surrender your firearm

  to me. Shotgun has outlawed firearms in the saloons and

  after dark."

  Slater looked up at the woman beside him. She was

  dressed in baggy men's clothes, which did nothing to hide

  her gender, and he could only stare. Was that really a sheriff's

  badge on her vest? His hesitation cost him. With a move so

  9

  10 lori wick

  fast and smooth that Slater blinked, the woman's gun

  cleared leather as swiftly as she lifted his own gun from the

  holster at his hip.

  "You'll need to come with me, sir," Liberty said calmly.

  "What?" Slater returned, finally uttering his first word.

  Liberty gestured with the gun and moved so he could

  11

  stand. "This way, please," she ordered congenially but

  watching every move as he slowly rose. One of the other

  men handed saddlebags to Liberty, and after she'd thanked

  him and draped them over her arm, she moved Slater

  again with the motion of her gun.

  As though he'd been frozen from the cold, Slater

  moved very slowly as he walked through the saloon. At the

  table he had stopped just short of reaching for his pocket to

  show his Ranger's badge when he remembered it wasn't

  there. He also remembered what such a move would look

  like. He didn't want to run the risk of having this woman

&n
bsp; shoot him. She had cleared leather very smoothly, but that

  didn't mean she could shoot straight. Barely managing to

  keep his amazement concealed, he walked ahead of her

  and out onto the street. He made the mistake of turning to

  her as soon as he was outside and felt cold steel press into his ribs.

  "Just turn back around," she said evenly, "and lead the

  way straight up the walk."

  Now seething inside, Slater turned and obeyed. He

  didn't know when he'd been so angry. At six foot, he was

  12

  not a huge man, but this small woman with the badge,

  clearly too full of herself, had him at her mercy. With a

  prayer for calm that was slow in coming, Slater did as he

  was told. They hadn't walked for a minute when she

  spoke.

  "In here," she directed, and Slater, already aware of the

  location, went through the door of the sheriff's office. He

  heard the door shut behind him and turned.

  Every little Thing About You 11

  "Empty your pockets onto the desk, please," Liberty

  ordered, all business, as she put the saddlebags out of reach

  on the floor. "Nice and slow will do fine."

  Slater did so without ever taking his eyes from her,

  which meant he couldn't miss the way she watched him in

  return. She was calm; he had to give her that. As he looked

  into her eyes, he knew with a bone-chilling certainty that

  she would shoot if she felt she had to.

  "Now your boots," she instructed.

  Slater hesitated and heard the gun cock.

  13

  "All right," he said smoothly. "I'll just tell you, though,

  I do have a knife in my boot. I won't use it--I just wanted

  you to know."

  "Put the knife on the desk," Liberty said, taking a

  second to eye the Bowie knife that appeared. Not a heartbeat

  later her eyes were back on her prisoner, who was

  removing his boots with slow, measured movements.

  "Your belt now," Liberty said as soon as he stood back

  to full height. He was a taller man than she liked to deal

  with, but she didn't think he was going to threaten her. She

  couldn't, however, take any chances.

  "Turn around," was the next order, once all of Slater's

  belongings were on the desk. "Head into the cell"

  Slater did so, the feeling of unreality washing over him

  again. He turned as soon as he was inside and watched as

  the door was shut and locked. He also watched as Liberty

  holstered her gun, set his on the desk, and began to speak.

  "Dinner comes at 6:00 this evening, and breakfast

  tomorrow at 7:00. You're expected to be neat and quiet.

  Unless you're wanted for something, the charge to get out

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  is ten dollars."

  "Ten dollars!" Slater growled in outrage. "You can't be

  serious."

  Liberty shrugged. "We need a new jail, and this seems

  like the most obvious way to come up with the money."

  12 lori wick

  Slater's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe what he

  had just heard. How in the world had he thought this was

  a nice little town?

  "I don't suppose you have it/' Liberty said now, her

  voice resigned as she studied him.

  "Why would you say that?" Slater was just irritated

  enough to ask.

  Liberty's brows rose. "You can't even afford a haircut

  and a shave." There was no censure in her voice, only calm

  reason. Slater swallowed his rage as she turned away. He

  turned his back on the bars. The cell was standard fare, but

  he saw what she meant--repairs were needed.

  With a sigh that he made no attempt to hide, Slater

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  walked to the bed and collapsed on the straw mattress,

  which sent up a musty odor. He leaned against the wall

  and tried to stay calm. Nothing worked. Wrong as it was,

  he was furious, and for right now he was going to stay that

  way.

  Ten dollars, he thought once again. That'll be the day.

  *3r

  "How'd it go?" Griffin Drake asked the moment he

  stepped into the sheriff's office--his office.

  "Just a newcomer in town. He wouldn't give up his

  gun."

  Griffin's eyes went to the cell, where he could see long

  legs stretched out from the bunk but no body or face.

  "Did he give you any trouble?"

  "No, but he's bigger than I like to deal with." .

  Griffin smiled. Liberty was always honest.

  Brother and sister born heard movement in the cell just

  then and turned to see the prisoner coming to stand at the

  16

  bars.

  "I'm Griffin Drake," Liberty's brother volunteered,

  "sheriff here in Shotgun. What's your name?"

  Even/Little Thing About You 13

  "Slater Rawlings," the prisoner said, his eyes going

  between them. "You're the sheriff?"

  "Yes."

  "And you want ten dollars from me?"

  "Unless you're wanted, and then no amount will gain

  your release."

  "How was I supposed to know about guns in the

  saloon?"

  "It's posted above the bar," Griffin told him calmly.

  "I didn't go to the bar. I don't even drink."

  "Then what were you doing in the saloon?"

  / can't spend all my money on the luxury of a hotel room, and

  there's no place else to go in this town after you've slept out in

  the woods, Slated thought to himself, but he wasn't about to

  admit that to them.

  17

  Griffin waited calmly for an answer, but the man

  turned away. Griffin and Liberty exchanged a glance.

  "He doesn't like you, big brother," Liberty said, her

  voice low but her eyes lit with a smile. "He was much nicer

  for me."

  Griffin smiled back. "Let me guess, Lib. You were

  holding your gun."

  Liberty laughed a little and stood. "I'd better get home

  so I can help Mam with dinner."

  "All right," Griffin said as he walked Liberty outside.

  "Thanks for your help." There was no missing the contentment

  in his voice as he looked up and down the street and

  even back at the sheriff's office, not new by any stretch of

  the imagination.

  Liberty said her own goodbyes, thinking not for the

  first time that her brother was the perfect man to act as

  sheriff in Shotgun. He loved this town, believed in it, and

  trusted the people who helped run it.

  3-S'

  18

  %r

  14 lori wick

  When Griffin moved back inside to his desk, he saw

  that his prisoner had returned to stand at the bars.

  "Don't tell me you let your sister walk the streets

  alone." Slater's voice was mildly sarcastic "It's getting

  dark She might be harmed."

  Griffin did not rise to the bait. On the way to the desk,

  he said, "Not my sister. She's the fastest gun in town."

  Slater shook his head in disgust Was the man a fool?

  He certainly didn't look tough enough to be the sheriff. He

  wasn't small, but he had the face of a boy--merry eyes,

  smooth cheeks, and all.

  "I don't suppose you want
to tell me if you're wanted

  anywhere," Griffin commented as he lifted a stack of

  wanted posters and flyers onto the desktop from a drawer.

  "It might save me some time."

  "I'm not wanted," Slater said coldly, knowing the

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  lawman would have to check anyway. Slater watched him

  start on the stack. Twice Griffin rose to hold a picture up to

  the fading light at the window and then look toward the

  bars. But he only went back to the desk.

  "So tell me," Griffin began after a good ten minutes.

  "Why didn't you just give up your gun?"

  Slater sighed. "You wouldn't believe me."

  "Try me."

  "I was stunned. I honestly didn't think she could be

  serious."

  "I believe you," Griffin said conversationally. "It's happened

  before." This said, Griffin reached for the wallet

  Slater had been commanded to put on the desk. He could

  see a few bills without even opening it "If I don't find you

  in this stack, it looks like you could pay your way out of

  here."

  "Don't count on it" Slater's voice was decidedly cool.

  "Ten dollars is robbery, and we both know it."

  Griffin shrugged. "The food's not bad, and it doesn't

  get noisy until Saturday night"

  20

  Every Little Thing About You 15

  Slater didn't reply. Neither did Griffin. It would be

  easier for the sheriff not to have a man locked up, but he

  would leave it up to him.

  The stack was still rather high when Griffin needed to

  move around a bit He scooped up Slater's belongings and

  took them to the safe in the corner. There wasn't much

  inside, but the wallet, knife, timepiece, papers, belt, and

  saddlebags just about filled it. He then checked the boots

  for weapons and set them by the bars.

  "What time is it?" Slater asked.

  "Coming onto 6:00. Supper will be here soon."

  "I can't say as I'm very hungry."

  "Suit yourself," Griffin replied in his calm way, and

  Slater knew a moment of respect. One of the hallmarks of

  a good Ranger was calmness. Another was politeness, and

  he knew he'd failed there. But this was so irritating, and at

  the moment he couldn't think why God would put him in

  this place. He had fought the Lord for weeks about leaving

  21

  the Rangers, and now that he'd talked with Brace, he found

  himself in jail.

  Slater shook his head as he went back to the bunk. He could well imagine Brace's face if that man could see where he was, not to mention his brother Dakota's. Slater made