In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  “Good morning, George.” Reese's hand slid to the small of Liza's back and stayed there.

  “Mr. Carrison,” the older man puffed, slowing to a stop in front of them. “Ain't you a sight for sore eyes! Don't mind sayin' you gave us all a fright when you showed up missin' a few days back!”

  Reese grinned. “Afraid I didn't have much choice. That was one hell of a storm.”

  “Don't I know it. You all right?”

  “Can't complain, considering what we went through.”

  George nodded in relieved understanding. His puffing slowed, and he slid his glance from Reese to Liza.

  She endured his perusal. Keen and thorough, he seemed to inspect every inch of her until she fidgeted and wished for her kerchief.

  “Mm-mm, she's a pretty one, Reese,” he said. A smile spread across his features and crinkled the comers of his eyes. She sensed his kindness, rare for a Gajo. “Her name's Liza, eh?”

  “It is.” Reese's mouth crooked. “You heard about her, I gather.”

  “I did, but not from gossiping folk. Met her brother yesterday.”

  Liza squeaked. “My brother?”

  “Didn't catch his name, little lady, but he was in my saloon asking about you.”

  Her fingers flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened and darted to Reese.

  “Hanzi,” she breathed. “Hanzi was here. Oh, my saints.” She turned back to the other man. “Are you sure?”

  He shrugged. “A nice looking young'un, 'bout yay tall?” He held a hand out, indicating a height even with Liza's.

  She nodded.

  “Wears a wool cap? Hair to here?” He tapped the lower edge of his collar.

  She nodded again.

  “He's the one.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Where is he now?” Reese asked. His hand slid up from her back and settled upon her shoulder. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  Regret clouded the kind face. “I don't know. Could be anywhere. He said he was going to keep looking 'til he found her.” He grimaced. “Wish I had better news.”

  “Thanks for telling us.” Reese inclined his head. “By the way, I believe proper introductions are in order.”

  “Of course, of course.” George hastily smoothed back the silver strands of hair on his balding pate and stood very straight. He waited expectantly.

  “Liza, allow me to introduce George Steenson, proprietor of the Empty Saddle Saloon,” Reese said. “George, Liza of the Lowara tribe of Gypsies.”

  The Gajo practice of meeting one another captivated Liza, momentarily overshadowing her thoughts of Hanzi. Unsure what was expected of her, she reacted on pure instinct.

  She extended her hand. George clicked his heels and grasped her fingers, bending low and dropping a light kiss on her knuckles.

  Liza's lips parted in surprise.

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” George said. “I've been mighty anxious to meet you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Will I see you again?”

  “Most likely,” Reese said, answering for her. “She's staying at my place. I'll bring her to town now and then.”

  George arched a brow and met Reese's challenging gaze. Whatever disapproval the older man might have felt about Liza's living arrangements quickly disappeared, however, as if his deep respect deemed any decision Reese might make as perfectly acceptable.

  “I'll look forward to it. Until then, Liza, enjoy your day.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  George hesitated. “You might want to send out a few wires, Mr. Carrison. They could help track down the boy.”

  “I intend to. If he should stop in the Empty Saddle again asking for Liza, send word to me, won't you?”

  “You bet I will.”

  “Appreciate your help, George.”

  “Think nothing of it.” George waved and hustled across the street back to his saloon. Bram Kaldwell, Liza noticed, was nowhere in sight.

  “Mr. Steenson is a nice man,” she said.

  “You'll find most of Niobrara City just like him,” Reese said.

  From beneath her lashes, she peered at him doubtfully. Nonplussed, he took her hand and settled it in the crook of his arm. Together, they strolled down the boardwalk toward the telegraph office.

  Chapter 12

  A bittersweet thing, wiring the telegrams.

  The irony of it troubled Reese. He should have been happy to send them for Liza's sake. Hell, it'd been a good idea. A fitting arrangement for their bargain. Do what he could to find her family in return for her healing his horse.

  It was only fair.

  But now that the job was done . . ..

  She would leave him. Inevitably, she would. She missed her family. She belonged with them. Of course, she would go back.

  A heaviness weighted the pit of his belly. Suddenly, the hours and minutes took on new meaning. Already the morning had fled, and the noon hour approached. How much time did they have left? How soon before the telegrams worked their magic and tracked down the elusive Gypsies, inviting their return for Liza?

  Time. So little of it remained.

  The visit to the telegraph office presented a new perspective of all he took for granted. Liza viewed his world through a child's eyes, with fascination and wonderment of all those things never before known to her. Up to now, her simple life had no need of electricity or a Morse code, but she'd taken it all in with amazing aplomb.

  Estelle's Clothing Parlor had been no different. Liza had been unswayed by the expensive fripperies most women dallied over and had wheedled a bargain over a single kerchief, silk and of the brightest yellow. She paid for her purchase herself, brushing aside Reese's offer to buy it for her with the teasing explanation her mother would be mortified wearing a gift that was marhime, tainted by a Gajo's money.

  Reese understood when once he would've been puzzled. He'd adjusted to her ways, her beliefs. She fit so easily into his life.

  Their last destination was Hutton's General Store. Liza hugged her small package to her breast as if the brown paper cuddled a priceless treasure instead of a simple yellow kerchief. She took his arm and regaled him with an amusing tale about Rollo, Hanzi's puppylike pet bear. Engrossed in the captivating way she told the story, the laughter in her voice, the dancing light in her black eyes, Reese nearly walked right past the mercantile.

  He opened the door, and she stepped past him inside. Her glance swept the customers scattered about the organized clutter. Heads turned; conversation ceased. Everyone's gaze centered upon them.

  Had Reese not known her so well, he might have missed the subtle lift to her chin, the slight stiffening of her spine. Lest she turn and bolt out the door again, or worse, hurl a curse upon them all, he grasped her elbow firmly and steered her toward the canned goods lined on shelves at the back of the store.

  “Get what you need for the kitchen,” he said.

  “Will you help?” The intensity in her features bespoke a message her pride refused to reveal. “I do not yet know all the foods you like.”

  “Sure.” His eyes met hers. “I'll not abandon you to the wolves, sweet,” he said in a low voice. “I'll be right beside you.”

  She drew away with a haughty sniff. “Do you think I am afraid of your people? I have shopped in Gaje stores many times.”

  But she relaxed visibly and walked ahead of him with more confidence. Their path took them past three women, prim in their wide-brimmed bonnets, standing near an onion barrel. Reese recognized each of them, old biddies with nothing better to do than mill around and gossip about their friends and neighbors.

  He tipped his hat and flashed them a broad smile.

  “Enjoying the day, ladies?” he asked, aware they were enjoying it immensely just seeing him here with Liza. He doubted they'd had a tastier morsel for ruminating.

  “Of course, Mr. Carrison.”

  “Lovely day, sir.”

  “Couldn't be better.”

  Reese k
ept walking. They broke into frenzied whispers as soon as he was past, and his smile broadened.

  Now that Liza had arrived, Niobrara City would never be the same. He took an odd pleasure in the thought and lent his assistance in choosing their groceries. Liza piled cans of beans, tomatoes, and a bag of rice into his arms until he could hold no more. He set them on the counter for tallying; she added molasses, cakes of yeast and a tin of baking powder, giving him a hint of the meals she intended to prepare. Reese eyed the fare with appreciation and decided she'd spoil him against his own cooking for sure.

  With the store's proprietor busy with two customers ahead of him, Reese settled in to wait his turn. Liza drifted toward the dress goods section. His gaze clung to the delicate sway of her hips and the slight curve of her buttocks beneath the skirt layers. Her bare ankles peeking from beneath the magenta hems, she moved with an unpretentious grace, an artful seduction to his senses he doubted she was aware of. A tight little sigh escaped him.

  She halted, her attention snared by a bolt of purple-colored henrietta. She unwound a length, holding it toward the window light to examine the deep hues, then compared the yardage to another bolt in green. Her head cocked in silent consideration, as if she could not decide which she preferred.

  Reese went to her and tapped his finger on the latter.

  “This one,” he said.

  She darted him a surprised glance over her shoulder. “Do you think so? But the purple is very pretty. Rich enough for a king.”

  “True, but the green accents the red-gold glints in your hair.” He wiggled the end of her braid to emphasize his point.

  “Mr. Carrison is right.” From behind them, a woman's shy voice joined in. “The green suits you. You'd look lovely in it.”

  Reese and Liza turned. Maudeen Hadley, with little Jacob on her hip, peered over at them from a table heaped with fabric remnants. She tucked a cracker into her son's pudgy fist.

  “You see? Maudeen agrees with me.” Reese smiled. “We'll get the green. How much do you need?”

  But his question hung in the air unanswered. Maudeen drew closer, and Liza tensed, her wariness of the other woman evident.

  “How are you, Liza?” Maudeen asked softly.

  Liza remained silent. Reese imagined her mind churning, weighing Maudeen's attempts to be friendly against her deep-seated contempt for the Gaje in general.

  “I am good,” she said finally. “And you?”

  “Good.” Maudeen extended her bandaged hand for view. “The burns are healing, thanks to you. And with Mr. Carrison's help, we made the most important repairs to the cabin. We have a roof and four walls, at least.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  “We came to town to get lumber and such. Jack and Toby are at the mill now.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  They seemed to have forgotten Reese, and he made no move to intrude. He sensed Maudeen's need to assuage her husband's rudeness and make amends for the hurt he'd inflicted on Liza.

  Maudeen shifted her son to her other hip. “Would you like some help choosing notions? They have buttons here that would be lovely with the green henrietta.”

  Liza lowered her lashes and rewrapped the fabric around the bolt. “I had not intended on buying anything so frivolous as this. The cloth is beautiful, but I have no need of it.”

  “Not so fast.” Reese reached forward and tugged the bolt from Liza's hand when she would have returned it to the shelf. “You've nothing to wear but the clothes on your back. I'll buy it for you.”

  “You will not.”

  Reese raised a brow. “Is my money marhime?”

  She paled. “Of course not.”

  “Then why do you refuse?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip.

  Her damned noble pride again. His mouth flattened in exasperation, and he tossed an appealing glance toward Maudeen. “Maudeen, tell her it's perfectly acceptable for me to do this for her.”

  Maudeen smiled gently. “It's true, Liza. Mr. Carrison's intentions are quite honorable. He's thinking only of your pleasure. What lady would refuse a gentleman's offer to buy her something pretty to wear?”

  “Even if she has to make it herself,” he added dryly.

  Liza cast a helpless look at Reese.

  “I am not accustomed--I have never--.” Her lips clamped tight.

  “Then it's time you enjoyed a man's attentions. Maudeen, see that she gets all she needs for a new dress, won't you? I'll step outside and have a smoke.”

  “Of course, Mr. Carrison.” Jacob whimpered and squirmed in her arms, and she pulled another cracker from the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. He gummed it contentedly. “What style of dress did you have in mind, Liza? Something to wear in the coming winter?”

  Liza ran a palm over the henrietta's lustrous texture.

  “Perhaps a skirt with a blouse to match,” she said, sending Reese an uncertain glance. “Long sleeves, with the skirt very full.”

  “Oh, how nice.” Maudeen's face danced with feminine eagerness. Within moments, she had spools of thread, laces and braids, and an assortment of buttons laid out on the henrietta.

  Head to head, shoulder to shoulder, the two women bent over the fabric. Maudeen, with her plain calico dress and sturdy work shoes, and freckles sprinkled over her fair features, could hardly be more different than Liza with her gay-colored skirts and jangling beads, olive skin, and sharp, black eyes, and yet a friendship had blossomed. Two cultures had merged. A fragile bond between a Gaja and a Gypsy had formed over something as timeless as a shared interest in women's fashions.

  Reese grunted in amazement and left them. Outside Hutton's store, he blinked in the glaring sunlight and tugged his hat brim lower over his forehead. Dipping into a shirt pocket, he retrieved a rolled cigarette and lit it, then leaned against a wooden post and hooked a thumb into his waistband.

  Niobrara City bustled with activity. The dirt streets rumbled with horses and wagons and a wide assortment of rigs. The rain-soaked land had begun to slowly dry out, enabling area farmers to return to the fields and bettering the roads for travel. Women and children scurried about making their purchases and chatting among friends in the norm of everyday living.

  He looked forward to returning to his own routine. He hadn't stepped inside his office at the N & D for days; he missed his train, his men. As soon as Liza was ready, he'd walk down to the depot and feast his eyes on the great iron beast he called his.

  And then he'd deal with Silas McCrae.

  From the sea of faces moving about him emerged Bram Kaldwell. Reese watched him closely and hoped Maudeen kept Liza occupied a little while longer.

  Bram's gaze touched on him for only a moment before he jerked it away. Outwardly, he looked the same in his expensive tailored suit and spit-shine boots, but an aloofness hung about him. A cool air as tangible as frost on a winter morning.

  He halted near Reese and stared out into the street. Finally, he withdrew his pipe from inside his jacket.

  “Fine day,” Bram said. He squinted up at the clear sky and clamped his teeth on the stem.

  “As long as it's not raining, it's fine enough for me.”

  Reese offered him a match. Bram made no comment to his rueful remark and lit the pipe, sending blue-gray clouds of smoke curling in front of him. They stood together in silence.

  Finally, Reese straightened from the post and sought refuge in the one topic that had always bound them together.

  “Been into the office yet?” he asked.

  “No. Have you?”

  “No, but I'm heading that way,” he said.

  Bram continued puffing. “I just came from the hotel. Went to see Rebecca Ann for a spell.”

  “Did you?” Reese endured a stab of guilt. He'd forgotten his promise to take her to dinner. “How is she?”

  “She's doing well enough, but the baby's sick.”

  “Margaret Michelle?” Reese frowned. “What ails her?”

  “Doc says it's measles. Qu
arantined 'em both for two weeks.”

  “Two weeks!” A vision of Rebecca Ann fretting over her daughter, fevered and covered with the rash, the hotel room constantly dark for fear of damaging the child's eyes, loomed. He doubted the rambunctious Margaret Michelle would be an easy patient to care for.

  Bram shook his head in grandfatherly concern. “I've already had the measles, so the doc lets me visit. No one else can come to call, though.”

  Two weeks.

  “Never had the disease myself. Did you think to hire a nurse?” Reese asked.

  “Rebecca Ann won't hear of it. That child means the world to her. She won't leave her with anyone.” Bram speared Reese with a vaguely accusing glance. “Margaret Michelle is all she has in the world. Except me, of course.”

  “I know, Bram.”

  Two weeks.

  He couldn't see Rebecca Ann in all that time. Under doctor's orders, he was forced to avoid a risk to his own health. With a jolt, Reese realized he'd have to put off his marriage proposal until after the quarantine.

  He should have been disappointed. After all, his quest for a wife had been delayed. But like the flutter of angel's wings, subtle and undefined, relief brushed over him. He'd been granted a reprieve in a situation beyond his control. He couldn't see Rebecca Ann if he wanted to.

  Which he did, of course. And should, given the circumstances.

  “How'd you get that swollen lip?” Bram demanded.

  Reese had one wild flash of Liza's mouth moving beneath his before he remembered the truth. “Silas McCrae came to call. We've got more trouble with him.”

  Bram's attention sharpened. “That so?”

  “He's demented,” Reese said. “He wants revenge on the N & D. We have to be ready for him.” Pulling one last drag of his cigarette, he tossed the stub to the ground and crushed it with his boot toe. He exhaled slowly. “I'll not tolerate him coming to my home and attacking me and mine. I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary to stop it from happening again.” He met Bram's eye squarely. “Anything.”

  Soberly, Bram agreed. “I'll meet you at the office. You say you're headed there now?”

  “Yes. Soon.”

  In the next moment, the door to Hutton's General Store opened. Liza appeared on the threshold with Jacob in her arms, one fat little fist clutching the beaded strands about her neck, the other held fast to one of her earrings. With Maudeen's hasty help, she laughingly tried to extricate the hoop before he yanked it off her lobe.