“Harold Maple, mind your own business.”
Amused by the husband and wife exchange, Tyler waited as Charlene vanished behind the curtain to fetch her sunbonnet. Mrs. Maple made a few comments about the weather, her eyes all but gobbling him up. Feeling uncomfortable about a married woman of her age staring at him so, Tyler fidgeted.
After what was only a minute or two but felt like ages, Charlene returned to the front of the store, tying the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jean,” she said.
“Get your rest, dear, and tell your mother I said hello.”
Happy to have the door between himself and Mrs. Maple’s eyes, Tyler put his hat back on and untied his horse from the rail. Charlene watched him closely, almost as closely as the other woman, but Tyler suspected she was trying to read his mind.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
Tyler nodded. He headed down the hot street, Charlene beside him, leading his bay. “Someone set fire to my bunkhouse.”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes,” he replied, his tone grim. “And when I catch who did it –”
“I’ll be right there with you,” Charlene snapped, her voice as hot as the air around them. “Did anything else on your property catch?”
“Nope, thanks to Wintonta and the Comanche.”
In clipped words, Tyler told her about the fire, the Indians spotting three riders, and how they kept the fire from spreading.
“Doing good often inspires others to do the same,” she commented. “But who could be doing this, Tyler?”
“If I knew, I’d be on them like a hawk on a fat rabbit.”
Pausing at the livery stable long enough to care for his horse, leave him with food and water in the shady barn, Tyler then walked Charlene to her home. “Could it be the same boys who were at the house last night?” he mused. “Shot at us and set my property on fire?”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Charlene replied, strolling through the small gate into her yard. “Boys pull pranks, but trying to kill someone?”
“Bad men can start off by being bad boys,” Tyler replied, following her up the porch steps, removing his hat before going into the house.
The odors of a juicy ham in the oven filled the house as they entered, Olivia came to the doorway of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “You’re a little early,” she said, smiling, “but that’s all to the good. We have a little surprise for you.”
“‘We?’” Charlene asked.
“Tosahwi.”
The sound of wood striking wood, an odd thumping, emerged from the back room. The Comanche boy hobbled into view, propped up by a pair of crutches. He grinned upon seeing them, his splinted leg held up at the knee. Though obviously still not quite used to how they work, he nonetheless took a few more awkward hops toward them.
Charlene clapped her hands, laughing. “That is wonderful. Where did you get them?”
“Sheriff Barker brought them,” Olivia answered, her eyes shining. “He wants people to think he’s a gruff old codger, but deep down he has a soft heart.”
Tyler stepped across the floor to Tosahwi, and clasped his arm, forearm to forearm. “Glad to see you on your feet, kid,” he said, even if the boy couldn’t understand a word. “Your pa would be right pleased to see you up and around.”
Grinning and nodding as though he understood, Tosahwi rattled off something in Comanche, making gestures with his hands. Tyler scratched his head, glancing at Charlene and Olivia. “I sure wish I knew what you were saying. But anyhow, you should be able to go home with your pa soon.” Tosahwi nodded happily, even as Olivia said, “I am going to miss him when he goes home. But, come along everyone, get washed up, it’s almost time for supper.”
Olivia must have tutored the boy in the finer arts of using a knife and fork, for he sat at the table, his broken leg sticking out to the side, and ate his meal using the utensils rather than his fingers. He followed the conversation around the table and made Tyler wonder if he understood English even if he didn’t speak it.
Predictably shocked when Tyler told Olivia about the fire, she said, “That’s just terrible. Who could have done it?”
“We’re still working on that,” he replied. “Right now, we have no idea.”
“Tyler is suspecting that the boys who came here last night might be the same ones who shot at us and set the fire,” Charlene added.
Olivia frowned. “I suppose that is very possible. Unlikely, however.”
Insisting upon doing the dishes herself, Olivia shooed Tyler and Charlene from the kitchen, leaving Tosahwi where he was for her to talk to. Tyler found it odd, yet also not odd at all, that the two made conversation while neither understood the other’s language.
Sitting on the porch with Charlene as dusk crept across Bandera, Tyler relaxed in his chair, watching as a few cowboys rode past on their way to the saloon. A breeze brought with it the scent of honeysuckle and mountain laurel, Tyler felt some of his pain ebb away as he breathed slowly in and out.
Reaching across to Charlene, he took her hand in his. As he had hoped, she offered no outraged shriek, and met his eyes with a small smile. “This is nice,” she commented in a low voice. “I like you, Tyler.”
“I’m happy to hear that, ma’am,” Tyler replied, grinning. “‘Cause I like you, too.”
Thus, as evening fell and a shooting star crossed the heavens above, Tyler sat with her in contented silence, holding her hand and simply enjoying the moment. No conversation seemed necessary, as Tyler felt they understood one another without words, and shared a growing closeness toward one another.
Inside the house, the lights went out one by one as Olivia blew out the flames in the lamps. Between that and his exhaustion, Tyler knew he should head for his pallet. Rising, he lifted Charlene up with him, gazing down into her perfect features.
“Good night, lady,” he murmured.
Before she could answer, he closed his lips over hers in a slow kiss.
Chapter Sixteen
Unable to believe what was happening, Charlene felt Tyler’s mouth on hers, his warm breath. She had heard tales of first kisses from girls when she was younger and found none of them came close to the truth. Craving his closeness, she shifted so her right arm crept around his neck while her left hand rested on his firm waist. His hands held her lightly around her back.
Leaning into him, into his kiss, a tangle of emotions whirled in her head – shock, pleasure, a little fear, and plenty of joy. Breathing in his masculine odors, she lost herself in time. At that moment, Charlene realized that her liking for Tyler could transform, like a caterpillar into a butterfly, to love.
She gazed up into his smoky eyes as he pulled away from her. “That was – incredible,” she murmured, her voice husky.
Tyler bent and planted another sweet, tender kiss to her lips. “I could stand here and kiss you all night, lady,” he said, his own voice slightly hoarse. “We need our sleep, though.”
Charlene nodded, smiling a little as she stepped back. But her hand seized hold of his, preventing him from walking into the house. “I know you’re right. Just one more?”
His teeth gleamed in the dark. “Happy to oblige.”
If it were possible, this kiss lasted longer and made her giddy, love and joy and happiness rising to fill her, pouring those emotions from her and into him. Never before had she felt swept away by these feelings and she let them carry her on a sweet and delicious wave.
Charlene felt lost when he let her go, craving to be held in his arms, to crawl into them and stay there forever where nothing could ever harm her again. However, she was also a realist and knew she should take their growing relationship one small step at a time.
Tyler grinned, touching her cheek with his finger. “Have to save a few of those for tomorrow night.”
Squeezing his hand once more, she let it go. “You’re assuming I’ll let you kiss me tomorrow night,” she replied tartly.
“Oh, I wager you will,” he said, opening the door of the house for her. “I know an addict when I see one.”
Chuckling under her breath, Charlene found a lamp on the table turned down low, as though her mother had recognized their need for a romantic evening. She also observed the two small glasses of wine beside it, no doubt holding their evening dose of laudanum.
She picked them up and handed one to Tyler. “Cheers,” she said, touching his glass with her own, then drank the vile liquid down.
Tyler gulped his in one swallow, grimacing, then set the glass down. “I hope I don’t need that stuff for much longer.”
Charlene shuddered as the wine and laudanum mixture struck her stomach. “At least it isn’t nasty for nothing. It helps the pain.”
“True.”
Gazing up at him as he stepped closer to her, lacing his fingers through hers, Charlene thought he might kiss her again. Hoped for it. Instead, he smiled down at her. “Good night, sweet lady.”
Captivated by him, by the powerful mix of emotions she recognized in his eyes, she barely responded with her own “good night” as he turned around and strode to the room he shared with Tosahwi. Slightly dazed, Charlene bent to blow out the lamp.
* * *
Feeling as though she strode on a foot of air between her feet and the ground, Charlene strolled to the Apple Tree the next morning, humming under her breath. She had a smile for everyone she passed, even that dreadful old Mrs. Williams, who always spoke to her as though she were a child and found fault with everything she ever did.
Though she wasn’t late, the Winston widows had arrived at the store before her, turning to peer at her from under their matching flowery bonnets as she entered. “Good morning, ladies,” she greeted them cheerily. “Good morning, Jean.”
Jean inspected her from head to toe while standing behind the counter, a self-satisfied smile playing around her mouth. “You are looking better, Charlene,” she said. “Not so pale as yesterday.”
“My arm still pains me,” she admitted, heading to the office to remove her bonnet and fetch her dust cloth. “But I am improving.”
“It is just dreadful what happened to you and that dear Mr. Price,” Miss Harriet said, wringing her hands yet her eyes gleamed with the anticipation of fresh drama.
“Yes, it was a little frightening,” Charlene admitted as she returned from the back, her cloth in hand. If these two already know all about it, why do they feel the need to come pester me?
“Frightening, dear?” Miss Darla exclaimed, her hand at her throat as though in a terrible shock. “Why, were you not terrorized? I mean, you were shot, child.”
Suspecting they needed to see the evidence for themselves, Charlene merely shrugged and started to dust the already clean counters and shelves. “Not really. And it was just a graze.”
“Charlene was very brave in the face of danger,” Jean told them, bustling about the counter to fetch the goods they needed outside of simple gossip. “Kept her head and didn’t panic. I’m so very proud of her.”
“Oh, my,” Miss Harriet said, following Charlene with her beady eyes as she went about her work.
The sisters eventually paid for the items and left the store, no doubt unhappy with the little information they received. Still, Charlene mused as she cleaned, they could inform their fellow gossips about how well she was recovering. The bell tinkled overhead, forcing her attention from her thoughts and her head toward the door.
Sheriff Barker strode in. He snatched his hat from his head, glowering at her as though she had murdered his best friend, his mustache quivering in dreadful ire. “Where is that dratted Tyler?” he barked.
“Good morning to you, too, Sheriff,” Charlene replied calmly. “I believe he is on his way to his ranch.”
“Is something wrong, Sheriff?” Jean inquired.
“Is something wrong?” he repeated as though astonished. “Yes, you’re dang straight there is. That old monster Harvey Johnson escaped my jail, that’s what’s wrong.”
Charlene sucked in her breath. The man who had tried to kill her was now free and had threatened to try again. And would murder Tosahwi. “How did he get loose?” she choked out, her throat filled with fear.
“He had help,” Sheriff Barker snapped, his eyes blazing in his fury. “Someone bashed me over the head before dawn this morning, knocked me out cold. Next thing I knew the jail’s open and Johnson’s gone.”
Charlene felt cold all over, as though a winter chill blew through her body. “What are you going to do?”
Barker glowered, stepping close to her. “First thing, I’m gonna do is take you and your ma into protective custody.”
When he reached for her arm, Charlene jerked back, her own anger rising. “No, you are not,” she shot back. “We are no safer in your jail than anywhere else, as Johnson’s escape proved. Neither I nor my mother will rot in there while you chase this murderer down.”
“Now you wait –”
“Charlene is right.”
She turned away from the raging Sheriff Barker to find Harold standing by the counter, a rifle in his hands. Charlene had known him all her life, and never before had she ever seen him annoyed, much less furious. Right this moment, he appeared as angry as a pain maddened bull. “She and Olivia are not the criminals here, Vic, nor will they be treated as such. We will find an alternative way to protect them.”
Victor slapped his hat against his thigh in frustration. “They can’t stay here. Nor can the Comanche boy.”
“Maybe Tosahwi can go back to his people,” Charlene suggested. “They can protect him.”
“That’s fine and dandy,” Barker grated, his anger unabated. “But how do we protect you and your ma?”
“Maybe we’ll take up guns and protect ourselves.”
Sheriff Barker spluttered in indignation. “You lil gals can’t be doing such like that now,” he growled, looming over her. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t taken in that Com –”
Raising her hand, Charlene slapped him hard across his cheek in a strong roundhouse blow. Shaking under the power of her fury, she ground out, “Don’t you ever say anything like that again. Not to me, and not to my mother. Do you understand me?”
As though he had forgotten his anger, Sheriff Barker stared at her, his hand rubbed his flaming cheek, his eyes popped from their sockets. “You hit me,” he said, his voice wondering.
“And I’m ready to do it again if you say one more thing against that boy.”
Expecting his rage to rise once his stunned brain started working again, Charlene braced herself for a verbal if not a physical brawl. He continued to gawk for long moments, disbelieving, then at last, drew in a deep breath, and offered her a rueful grin. “Dang, girl, I ain’t been hit like that since I was a young buck.”
Charlene rubbed her stinging palm. “You deserved it. Tosahwi has done more for my mother than she ever did for him. If not for his being under our roof, my mother would still be sitting in her rocker staring at the fireplace.”
“That’s very true,” Jean spoke up. “I won’t hear a bad word regarding that boy from anyone in my store. So, if you still want to keep buying your tobacco here, Sheriff, you’d better be on your best behavior.”
Sheriff Barker leaned against a glass case behind him. “You’re both right, and I apologize. Getting hit on the head done turned me into a mean old bear.”
Charlene relaxed at last. “I would ask a favor, Sheriff. Teach my mother and me to shoot, and loan us some guns.”
“Before y’all do any of that,” Harold said, “or continue beating each other up in my place of business, give me some time to work on an idea I have.”
Walking around the counter, he handed his rifle to Sheriff Barker. The grizzled man stared from it to Harold and back again before taking it. “You stay here and guard Charlene while I’m gone. I’ll send someone to keep an eye on Olivia and the boy.”
“What do you mean to do?” he asked.
Harold st
alked toward the front door. “Call a meeting.”
* * *
It was nearly closing time when Harold came back to the store. Sheriff Barker had lounged around the place as Charlene and Jean waited on customers, stocked the shelves, worked the books, and ordered more merchandise. Very few people questioned his armed presence and made pleasant conversation with him as they shopped.
As usual, Charlene had gone home for her midday meal, finding a bemused Olivia and a wide-eyed Tosahwi under the watchful eyes of an armed man – the local blacksmith. Josiah Jones nodded gravely to Charlene as she and Barker walked into the house. A big man with a pleasant voice and smile, he sat on the sofa with a twelve-gauge shotgun.
An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance) Page 15