He looked down at his stack of coins and paper money. He wasn’t all that great of a poker player, but tonight he’d done far better than usual.
Doc Brown tossed his cards down. “I’m out. Lousy hand.”
Brooks glanced at Will, the only other player remaining at the table. The older man only had a few coins in front of him. He hated to beat him, but if Will found out he folded when he was holding four queens, he’d be in trouble. He pushed his pile of coins to the center of the table. “I’ll see you and raise you.”
The marshal whistled through his teeth. “The kid’s got both guns loaded. What you gonna do, Will?”
Tapping his few remaining coins, Will stared at his cards, then at the pot. His lips pursed, and his mouth quirked up on one side then he looked at Brooks. “Let’s raise the stakes.” Will reached into his vest and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. He brushed a hand along the paper and dropped it into the pot. “I’m tossing in the deed to my ranch.”
Brooks’s heart jolted. He didn’t even know Will owned a ranch. “I can’t take your ranch.”
Earl snickered and nudged Brooks with his elbow. “That’s right. You cain’t unless you got the winning hand.” The doc and marshal chuckled, shoulders bouncing.
Brooks longed to win. If he owned a ranch, maybe he could finally prove to his father that he was responsible. But guilt needled him. He didn’t want to win Will’s ranch. Was the man even thinking clearly enough to know what he was doing? The thought of the look of pride on his pa’s face encouraged him to push the rest of his coins into the pot.
“I’m all in.” He flipped his hand over. “I call you with my four ladies.”
Will’s expression remained sober, and Brooks’s heart pounded. In less than a minute, his whole future could change. Will turned over a king, and Brooks’s mouth went dry. The old man flipped up another king. Brooks’s breathing deepened. When he turned over the third king, the dream of the ranch began to fade. Will glanced around the table, as if purposely drawing out the tension. Brooks leaned forward, willing him to turn over the other card and put him out of his misery. Finally, Will reached for the fourth card. Keeping it facedown, he used it to flip over the fifth—an eight of spades. Then he tossed the last card onto the pile. A two of hearts.
Brooks fell back in his chair, a stupid grin tugging at his lips as all four men stared at him. He owned a ranch—and a pot of money. It looked like his luck had finally changed.
“Well, say something, kid.” Earl grinned at him, his gray eyes dancing. “How does it feel to own a ranch?”
Doc Brown’s brows lifted, and the marshal sat back with a smirk on his face. Pain narrowed Will’s eyes, but he looked pleased with himself. Brooks had a feeling he’d been set up, but how? And why? He grabbed the deed and slid it across the table toward Will. “I can’t take your ranch.”
“It ain’t my ranch anymore. You won it fair and square. ’Sides, what am I going to do with it when my days are numbered?”
“Don’t say that.” Brooks felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “You might outlive us all.”
Will chuckled but shook his head. “Don’t think so. All I ask of you is that you take care of Keri.”
Brooks nodded. Keri must be a horse or maybe Will’s dog. How much trouble would that be? “I can do that.”
The smirk remained on the marshal’s rugged face. What weren’t they telling him about the ranch? How bad could it be?
Will pushed up, then wobbled and dropped back to his seat. “I reckon it’s time for me to say good night.”
Doc Brown and Marshal Lane hopped up, and each took one of Will’s arms and helped him back to his room. Earl stood and stretched, then he reached for the last slice of fruit bread. “That Raven Creek Ranch is a nice little piece of property. I hope you’ll take good care of it.”
“I’ll do my best—just as soon as I’m done here.” He winced at how that sounded. He’d stay with Will for as long as he was needed, but he sure would like a peek at the ranch. “How far is it from here?”
Earl pursed his lips, freckled with crumbs, and glanced up toward the ceiling. “Not all that far. Maybe five miles east of town.”
Brooks’s heart jolted. “That close?” Why, he could ride over some morning if the marshal or doc could stay with Will, but then that wouldn’t be right. No, he’d just have to wait. He picked up all the cards and put them in the tin can Will kept them in and then set the glasses on the sink to be washed after the men left. He scooped the coins and dollars into an old cigar box Will had sitting on a shelf and fingered the deed. He longed to open and read it but didn’t want to appear too anxious.
“Guess I’ll mosey on home. See you around, kid.” Earl nodded and slipped out the door.
Brooks followed and leaned against the door jamb. He was twenty-six years old, but these men still referred to him as “kid.” He knew they meant it as an odd sort of endearment, but he longed to be seen as an equal. He knew he’d have to prove himself first. Maybe this ranch would be just the opportunity he needed.
Keri stood when her name was called. The pitiful smattering of applause hurt more than she’d thought it would, but what else could she expect? No family or close friends sat in back with a bouquet of flowers and wide smiles to greet her after the ceremony. Even Uncle Will hadn’t bothered to come. Not that she’d gotten her hopes up, but some small speck of wishful thinking must have taken residence inside her, otherwise she wouldn’t be so disappointed.
“Bless her heart,” the woman behind Keri said. “The poor thing must not have any family.”
Keri’s cheeks burned as she dropped to her seat as the next name was called. Did the woman not know that she could hear her? Evidently the woman hadn’t attended finishing school, or she’d never have made such a comment out loud.
The music droned on until the final name was called; then the headmistress recited a speech. Keri despised all the pomp and circumstance surrounding her graduation from finishing school. She suspected Miss Marks had only passed her so that she could be rid of her. She’d just squeaked through by the skin of her teeth, especially after her riding-astride incident. Her fingers were still red from scrubbing floors after classes for a week.
Sighing, Keri stared off to the side, studying the horses waiting for their riders. They were far more interesting than Miss Marks’s humdrum speech. Keri didn’t belong in this place with these ladies of quality, although most of them were quality only on the outside. She’d never met a more self-centered, narrow-minded group of people in her whole life. Texans were generally friendly folk, as long as you didn’t ask questions that were too personal, but not these society ladies. No, a country girl was all she’d ever be and all she wanted to be. Cattle, wind, and dust were her calling, not fancy teas and white dresses. Give her trousers, a western saddle, and Raven Creek over a huge plantation or big, fancy city house any day.
Tomorrow she would leave this hated place. Just one more week until she would be home.
CHAPTER THREE
The evening sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the underbellies of the clouds a brilliant pink. The eastern sky darkened to a deep navy, but there was still enough light for Brooks to see his way. He turned Jester back toward town and let the horse run. After a week of being corralled, both man and beast needed a good gallop.
A bug smacked into Brooks’s windwhipped face, but nothing could ruin this ride. The heat of the day had dimmed slightly with the sun’s disappearance, although sweat still beaded on his forehead. He tapped his chest, feeling the deed there, inside his shirt. He wasn’t about to let the treasured paper out of sight. Four thousand acres. He shook his head, trying to grasp hold of the idea that he owned a ranch far bigger than his pa’s. “Yehah!”
Hunkering down, he galloped Jester down the road under the light of a three-quarter moon. He owned a ranch. A wide grin pulled at his lips. Now all he had to decide was whether to raise cattle, Morgan horses like most of his family did, or both.
/> Half an hour later, with Jester brushed and bedded down, Brooks trotted up the steps to Will’s house and tiptoed inside. He blinked at the darkness. Hadn’t he left a lantern lit in case Will had gotten up? He crossed the parlor to the kitchen, and his knee smacked into something hard, ratcheting pain up his leg. Brooks sucked in a sharp breath and pawed his hand in the air until he found the offending item—a chair turned sideways. His heart bucked. Had Will fallen? “Will? You all right?”
He flipped the chair onto its legs, and fumbled for the tin can on the sideboard that held the matches. Why hadn’t Will responded?
The match flamed to life, and Brooks froze as he stared at the disarray. The place looked as if a tornado had blown through. His gaze snapped to Will’s room, concern pushing his feet forward. His racing heart settled when he saw his friend lying on his side on his bed, but it set off at a gallop again at the disorder of the room. Someone had pulled the few clothes and items Will owned out of the dresser drawers and dumped them on the floor. Will’s pillow and blankets lay in a heap beside his bed. Brooks ran his hand across his cheek. Not a soul in town that he knew of would steal from Will. Everybody liked him.
Alarming apprehension tightened the skin on his cheeks. Why hadn’t the noise of the intruders awakened Will? He turned back to his friend and set the lantern on the round table beside the bed. The new bottle of pills the doctor had given Will lay on its side—empty. Brooks sucked in a sharp breath. Surely Will hadn’t taken them all.
He reached out his hand, pulled it back, then touched Will’s shoulder. Brooks swallowed hard, dread coursing through him like a flash flood. He rolled Will over, and the man flopped limp as a chicken with a wrenched neck. Foam ran down one corner of his mouth, and his pale eyes gazed toward the ceiling, but Brooks knew they’d never see again. He pulled down Will’s eyelids, as his own closed against the stinging pain. He’d grown to love the kind old man in the short time he’d known him, and he felt his loss more deeply than he would have imagined.
But something didn’t fit. Will had been dying and in pain, no doubt about that, but he couldn’t imagine him taking his own life. In fact, he’d been talking a lot about God and how he’d changed his life and looked forward to heaven. Could a man who committed suicide go to heaven?
Brooks backed away from the bed. He had to get the doc—no, too late for that. He needed to get the marshal and show him the damage. He needed to get out of there and catch his breath.
He hurried into the parlor and headed for the door, tears burning his eyes, but he paused and turned back to the sideboard. The cigar box that contained almost all of his money was gone.
Brooks stood beside Will’s grave, holding his hat in his hands. He missed him. Missed his teasing. His bossiness. His friendship.
A man he’d never met tossed shovelfuls of dirt on top of the wooden casket the undertaker had made. Brooks had paid his last penny to have the box made, but he didn’t regret his action. He only wished he’d still had his poker winnings so he could have bought Will a fancier coffin with carvings on it and fabric inside.
A heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder, pulling his gaze away from the morbid scene. The marshal shook Brooks. “C’mon. Folks have headed home. No need to stand and watch this.”
Brooks nodded, cast a final glance at the grave, and fell into step with the marshal. He’d never been close to anyone who died and it left him numb and unsettled. Will had talked about heaven, and so had Brooks’s folks when he was younger, but was there really anything on the other side of the grave?
The marshal stopped and turned toward Brooks. “I’ve talked to Doc Brown, and he assured me Will would never take his own life.”
“I don’t think he would either. So, where does that leave us?”
“I have my suspicions as to what happened, but I don’t have any proof yet.”
Brooks skidded to a stop, relieved to know he wasn’t the only person who thought Will’s death was suspicious. “You think someone murdered him?”
“That would be my guess.” Marshal Lane nodded. His moustache twitched then hiked up on one side as he quirked his lips. “And I have a good idea who probably did the deed.”
“Who?” Brooks’s hand fell to his hip, where his gun usually rested, but out of consideration for Will, he’d left it at the cabin this morning.
The marshal narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t doing nothin’, kid.”
Brooks stiffened. “I’m not a kid. Will was my friend, and I’ll do whatever is needed to capture the man who killed him.”
Marshal Lane spread his feet like Brooks imagined him doing in a gunfight. “No, you won’t. You’ll ride out to Raven Creek Ranch and start a new part of your life. Leave the justice getting to me.”
The marshal’s order left a foul taste in Brooks’s mouth, as if he’d bitten down on something rancid. He wanted to find the man—or men—responsible for snuffing out Will’s life, but he had the sense to know that justice was best left for the lawman. “I’ll head out in a couple of days. I promised Will that I’d pack up his things and take them back to Raven Creek with me and that I’d leave the place clean.”
The marshal nodded. “Just don’t get any funny ideas on tracking down the killer.”
Brooks winced. Murderer. Killer. How had the like found his way into a sleepy little town like Shoofly?
A week later, Brooks rode Jester down the street headed out of town. He nodded to Marshal Lane as he passed the man. Though Brooks had questioned a number of people, no one had admitted to knowing anything about Will’s death. He blew out a sigh. He’d hoped to find Will’s killer, but it looked like the man would go free. What had the killer hoped to accomplish by murdering Will? Maybe it had just been a drifter passing through, looking for food and money.
He shook his head. He’d probably never know.
The bright September sun cast its rays across the land, already driving away the coolness of the morning. Excitement bubbled up in Brooks’s gut as he nudged Jester into a trot. With the marshal’s detailed instructions to Raven Creek Ranch, he should arrive at his new home in a few hours. What would his pa say if he knew Brooks owned a ranch?
The smoke of an arriving train left a trail of black intruding on the pretty day. How ironic that folks would be pulling into Shoofly at the exact same time he was leaving.
Clicking out of the side of his mouth, he tapped his heels against Jester’s side, and the horse lunged forward, eager to run. Brooks’s lips split into a wide grin as he considered how things had changed since he’d arrived in town that stormy day. Tonight he’d sleep in his own house on his own land.
Yes sirree, his luck was changing.
Keri disembarked the train, a tingly excitement spiraling all the way through her, down to her toes. She was finally back in Texas. Almost home.
She scanned the depot in search of Uncle Will. She hoped he’d received the telegram she’d sent from the depot in Macon informing him of her impending arrival.
When she didn’t spot him, disappointment threatened to pull her down, but she refused to allow it purchase. Nothing could douse her delight at being away from finishing school and those snippy, snooty young women who were supposed to be the cream of society’s crop. She shuddered at the thought of Charlotte Winchester and her cronies being the next generation of Southern women.
She made her way to the front of the depot and surveyed the town, hoping to see Uncle Will striding toward her. His letters had come less often the past few months, and his handwriting was shakier. She had no idea how old her uncle was, but he hardly seemed so old that it would affect his writing. Maybe he’d injured his hand branding cattle or trying to break a green mustang or one of a dozen other ways.
Shoofly had more than doubled in the two years she’d been gone, but it was still tiny compared to Macon, Jackson, Shreveport, and most of the other southern towns the train had taken her through.
She turned her head toward the pungent odor of cattle. Most women would be repulsed b
y the stink, but it reminded her of home. Pens to her right held bawling cattle, ready to head to the slaughter houses. A more pleasant scent—that of pies baking—pulled her back toward town and made her stomach rumble. The quick breakfast she’d had at the small hotel she’d overnighted in had ceased to satisfy her hours ago. The café across the street and two doors down drew her attention. With a plan of action, she spun around and strode over to the ticket agent, who stood behind a barred window.
“Can I help you, miss?” His overly large, blue-gray eyes peered out from a long, narrow face.
“My name is Keri Langston. I’m Will Langston’s niece. I was hoping he’d be here to pick me up, but he must have been delayed.”
With each sentence she spoke, the man’s eyes grew wider. He swallowed hard, bouncing the lump of his Adam’s apple. “I … uh …”
Keri waved her hand. “Just tell him when he arrives that I’ve gone over to Lucy’s Café to eat lunch.”
“But—”
Keri spun on her heel. Surely the man wouldn’t mind passing on a message. If Uncle Will arrived and didn’t find her, he would ask about her train, and hopefully, the clerk would pass on her message.
Quick steps brought her to the café, and she entered, taking a window seat so she could keep a watch-out for her uncle. Several buggies and tied horses lined Main Street, awaiting their owners. Two women strolled down the boardwalk dressed in calicos instead of the frillier day dresses with those ridiculous leg-o’-mutton sleeves that restricted one’s movement. Keri shook her head at the loco things women went through for the sake of “beauty.” She’d already shed her corset and couldn’t wait to get home and don her trousers. Her poor uncle would probably have a case of apoplexy and say he had wasted his money sending her to that fancy school.
End of the Trail Page 3