Western Ways

by Tysche Dwai

  John frowned. The boy treats me like the enemy. Aren’t I the one to ‘save the day?’

  At his apartment, after his houseguests freshened up, he conducted a meeting, calling on his talents as a natural-born teacher. He soon learned that shortly after Grace left Georgia, her brother and aunt followed her. But they lagged further and further behind, one misfortune after another struck. They’d been robbed, threatened, escaped being tossed into jail for Robbie being caught cheating at cards. All in all, they’d had quite an adventure.

  Grace was livid and only settled down after she’d had more than her say. Her brother and aunt sat and took the chastisement until Grace settled down.

  Throwing her hands up in the air, Grace said, “Well, now that I’ve sent every penny I’d earned for your travels, which has likely ended up in some lucky fellow’s pocket, what shall we do?”

  “Stay here. With me.”

  All three pair of eyes stared at John.

  “John,” Grace began, “we can’t possibly all stay here with you.”

  “We have a house.”

  “We do?” Grace asked.

  “I hadn’t told you yet, but Professor LaFoy gave us a wedding gift. The first home he and his wife lived in, located on the edge of town.”

  “You mean that Victorian monstrosity that requires so much work?” Grace asked.

  John paced away from her, but not before Grace saw the pain in his eyes. She’d hurt him with her callous reply when all he’d been doing was trying to make a home for them.

  Grace gently added, “I’m sure with a bit of care the house will be beautiful.”

  He didn’t turn to her, but continued to stare out the parlor window, his broad shoulders taut.

  All the while she’d been arguing with John and her brother and aunt, she’d been thinking how she didn’t want to leave Bozeman. She had a feeling her relatives would be disappointed, but her aunt removed those worries with her next words.

  “You know, from the little I’ve seen of this town, I like it.”

  “Me, too,” Robbie said. “It’d be like livin’ in the old west, you know? Grace? Uh, any chance I could have a horse?”

  John looked at Robbie. “You must have a horse if you live here, boy.”

  “Can’t we stay, Grace?”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Please,” John said, turning to face Grace. “Make me the happiest man alive. I won’t let you leave...rather I can’t let you leave me. You’re my wife.”

  Tears sparkled in Grace’s eyes as she saw the sincerity on his face. “And you are my husband. But are you willing to put up with all of us?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  John headed for her. Once he reached her, he swung her up in his arms. “I’d put up with a hundred more of your relatives to have you with me.”

  “Oh, no need to worry, my dear man,” Aunt Lucinda said, “there are only the three of us left.”

  Amen, John mused. Ducking down, he found his wife’s sweet lips and kissed her long and hard. He’d tamed the gambler and won a wife.

  How lucky could a man get?

  THE END

  About the Author

  Nancy Schumacher is the owner-publisher of Melange Books, LLC, writing under the pseudonyms, Nancy Pirri and Natasha Perry. She is a member of Romance Writers of America. She is also one of the founders of the Minnesota RWA chapter, Northern Lights Writers (NLW).

  She has written five full-length novels, and many stories included in anthologies with Melange Books, LLC.

  www.nancypirri.com

  Winning The Ranger’s Heart

  Jane Carver

  Written in honor of the Texas Rangers

  Three years he’d waited to meet her. Neal wasn’t sure if the jumpy feeling in the pit of his stomach was nerves or excitement. Didn’t make any difference. She said she’d meet him here at eleven. Unable to sit quietly in his hotel room, he got to Mae’s Diner early. By ten-thirty, he’d already had three cups of coffee and two slices of pie. Now he wished he’d laid off that last piece. His jumpy stomach and coconut meringue pie were doing a tango in his guts. Even going to the restroom wasn’t an option at this point. What if he disappeared into that place and she walked in, didn’t see him and left?

  “More coffee, sir?” The waitress appeared at his elbow so quietly he jumped when she spoke.

  “No, thank you though.”

  “You waiting for someone?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He kept his eyes glued to the doorway.

  “She pretty?”

  “Huh? How did you know?”

  “Mister, when a guy watches a door like it’s his last hope, I figure there’s a woman involved, and it’s real serious.”

  “Yeah.” Neal didn’t add anything else. He wasn’t used to talking to women.

  “When’s she due?”

  “Eleven.”

  The waitress patted him on the shoulder once. “Good luck, cowboy.”

  ‘Cowboy’—that fit him, he supposed. From the local grain company cap he wore, to the blue-plaid flannel shirt, to the pressed jeans to the worn boots, he must have looked like an escapee from a farm. Truth to tell, he practically was. An escapee from a ranch. For at least a week hopefully. The time sort of depended on Jenny.

  Neal wanted to get lost in daydreams about her but feared looking like an idiot. The small diner was filling up fast. If she didn’t show up on time, he’d give up his table to folks who really planned on eating.

  Why in the world he thought she might not show up, he couldn’t figure. But that tight feeling in his gut was mixed with a little bit—a tiny little bit—of fear. Fear that she wouldn’t come like she said. Fear ’cause he had no clue what to say to her if she did walk through that door. The more he thought about what he was doing, the sicker he got.

  Like one of those rendezvous people talked about and romance writers wrote about. Meeting someone in a strange town, halfway between his home and hers. Meeting a woman he’d never met before. Meeting a perfect stranger.

  That’s when his thoughts did a sudden stop. Jenny wasn’t a stranger. They’d emailed back and forth for over three years. And while he’d never actually met her in person, he knew the deepest parts of her thinking, emotions and soul through her writing. She was no stranger. But she was about the most perfect woman he could ever hope to know.

  Once again, the bell over the swinging door tinkled. Neal looked up so fast his neck snapped. Just an older couple coming for dinner.

  “Easy there, cowboy. She’ll show.” His waitress grinned as she passed his side.

  He nodded, but his throat felt like it was closing up. He shifted his butt in the hard chair and scuffled his feet where they sat side by side on the floor. The closer that minute hand moved to eleven o’clock the tighter he became.

  Crash! Someone behind the counter dropped a large plate, and the clatter drew everyone’s immediate attention. Only he paid attention when that tiny bell over the door rang out merrily.

  She came! Neal forgot to breathe when a tall auburn-haired woman in jeans stepped through the door with a sort of hesitant step. He drank in the sight of her as she came into the room and let the door slide closed behind her. She’d sent pictures and he recognized her easily, though his immediate thought was they didn’t do her justice.

  Patrons packed the diner now, and with staff and folks passing back and forth, she stopped to scan the crowd. Neal watched as she searched for him. He knew her. She didn’t know him. She’d never seen a picture of him. A last minute thought—how the hell would she know him from all these other guys milling around?

  Her head swiveled toward his end of the diner. As suddenly as she stopped looking around, his heart stopped just as quick. Did she see him? One step forward and he locked glances with her.

  She knew him—without a picture, she knew him!

  Another step forward then it looked like she flew down the aisle toward him. Like a man with a string tied up his spine, he jerked out of his chair an
d stood, all six foot six of him, quivering like a thumped chalk line.

  Straight into his arms she flew, burrowed her hands under his open Carhart jacket and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. She hugged him so hard he wondered if he’d ever be able to breathe again, and then his arms embraced her and he didn’t worry about breathing. Nothing mattered any more.

  “Neal.” His name came out in a soft whisper somewhere under his chin where her head laid against his shoulder.

  As if reluctant to let go, she moved back only enough to break the contact between their chests. She still held him firmly. With her finally in his arms, he wasn’t about to let go either. Like a pair of loons, they stared at each other.

  Should I kiss her? Neal swallowed so hard she had to have heard it.

  “Are you as scared as I am?” She wasn’t being funny. She sounded dead serious.

  “Probably more,” he admitted without a smile.

  “How many times did you talk yourself out of coming?”

  “’Bout a dozen. But I talked myself back into it one more time than that.”

  His droll humor won a smile from her at last. “Yeah, me too.” Now her smile—the one he recognized from the pictures she sent him over the ‘net—blossomed on her face. “Guess what?” She almost sounded silly; like their conversations on the computer’s instant messaging.

  “What?” His grin spread as her green eyes lighted.

  “I’m so glad I came.”

  A pure sigh of contentment rushed out of Neal with the speed of a passing freight train.

  “Me, too.” And he leaned down and kissed her lightly because he wasn’t sure where their meeting was going. Was there a relationship that could survive past the Internet? He was desperate to taste her before she could get skittish and pull away. He pulled back as quickly as he leaned forward so there was no time for exploration, but at least he let her know the best way he could that he was glad she came.

  “Hi, Ms Jenny Lincoln.” He gave her his full-blown grin now, too happy to hold back.

  “Hey there, Neal Franks.”

  For all Neal knew, the world ceased to exit. A long time ago, he figured out that this woman was all the world he needed. Now all he had to do was convince her he should be her world.

  “This here your sweetheart, cowboy?” The plump waitress that supplied Neal with coffee and pie for over a half hour stopped right next to the standing pair, steam from a hot coffee pot swirling around the three of them. Before he could answer, she turned to Jenny with a smile. “He’s drunk enough coffee to float a battleship, honey. And he’s eaten enough pie to sweeten this here pot of java. He’s watched that door like a hawk and said less than a dozen words. This here cowboy looked like an eight-day watch wound a little too tight.” She bumped Jenny’s shoulder with her own. “I happened to see his face when you walked through the door. If ever a man died and gone to heaven, it was this one.” She nodded her head for emphasis. “Glad you two caught up with one another. Now,” she gestured to the table. “You gonna eat and chat for a bit, you need to sit and let me take your orders.”

  Like a mother hen, she seated them one-handed, the pot still in a firm grip in the other. She gave each a menu and suggested hamburgers as the specialty of the house. In a daze now, both nodded at her suggestion then sat and stared at each other when she disappeared into the kitchen.

  With a shaky sigh, Jenny came up for air first. “We must look like a couple of goof-balls.” She grinned so he would know she teased.

  “Maybe, but you’re the prettiest goof-ball I’ve ever met.”

  “Oh Lord, and how many goof-balls have you met.” Jenny nodded to the waitress who placed a glass of water with a thick slice of lemon in it in front of her.

  “Oh, a bunch but then again, I never did think you fit in that category.” Neal passed the little tray with the packets of sugar to her, knowing she would squeeze the lemon into the water then add sweetener, making her own lemonade. So much he knew about her; so many things he didn’t.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” She stirred the homemade lemonade, took a drink and cut her glance to him. “See, I accepted that compliment well, don’t you think.”

  “Very.” He leaned forward and propped his chin in the palm of his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “You had to learn how to do that though.”

  “True. You used to say things like that, and I’d deny it all over the place. You’ve taught me a lot.” Suddenly she blushed and dropped her gaze, studying the glass intently.

  Neal watched her as she played with the drops of water that rolled down the sides of the glass. Over the course of years, they had talked about everything. Well, everything but sex, love and relationships. No, they’d even talked about those, just never those topics in relationship to the two of them. The way things stood between them changed after that first year, after Jenny’s husband died in an accident. He should say something now to ease her discomfort but dang if he could think of anything.

  “Sure would be easier to talk if we were on the computer, I bet.” He almost let his head slip out of his hand and slap himself on the forehead. Where the hell did that come from!

  Jenny sputtered in shock. Her eyes grew round with surprise and then blank.

  What the hell is she thinking? Bet she gets up and leaves after that. Neal wanted to cry in frustration.

  A tiny cough escaped slack lips, and then, before anyone knew it, Jenny laughed. A little at first then she broke into a laughing fit that almost choked her, she laughed so hard.

  “Oh good Lord,” she gasped. “You can still read my mind!”

  Neal felt a silly grin spread across his face as she laughed. He wasn’t alone here, feeling weird at meeting for the first time. Jenny had to be feeling the strain too.

  “That’s what I would have typed if we were on-line.” Neal flipped one hand in the air to show he was as disconcerted as her.

  “Here we are, grown people who talk for hours on the computer and now, face-to-face, can’t say a word, though I can’t seem to take my eyes off you. I’m probably embarrassing myself.” Jenny sat back and appeared to relax. Her shoulders eased down, and her hands rested easily on the tabletop.

  The tension at the table began to fall away as they smiled at each other.

  “You going to be okay with all this?” Neal gestured to himself.

  “Yeah, as long as you are not turned off by me,” Jenny assured him.

  Neal did some sputtering of his own. “What the hell do you mean? Turned off?”

  “Well, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you.”

  “Woman! You know me better than anyone in the world!” He realized his voice rose louder and dropped it to a whisper. “There are damn few things I don’t know about you, let me tell you. I intend to find out those few though if I have the chance.” His words sounded assertive, honest and sincere.

  “Oh.” Jenny blushed. Clearing her throat delicately, she asked, “What do you not know about me? I’ve told you everything.”

  “Now you’re just trying to get a compliment.” He picked up his spoon and wagged it in front of her face.

  “Who? Me?”

  “Yep.”

  “So what don’t you know?”

  For some reason, Jenny must have realized he was serious. She leaned forward and laid a hand on top of his. “Tell me, Neal.”

  “Just like you do when we’re on IM, huh, Jenny. You know how to make me talk.” He turned his hand over and caught hers in his huge palm. With a light squeeze, he told her things were all right. “I don’t know how your cheek feels next to mine. I don’t know what your hair smells like when the sun warms it.” His words came out in a rush, but then he paused, “I don’t know how...”

  “How what?” Their gazes locked, and the moment seemed perfect for an earth-shattering revelation. However...

  “Lunch is ready, folks.” Their waitress stepped up to the table at that exact moment with a large tray stacked high with their order. Unaware of
the vibrating sexual current flowing between the two, she began putting plates of massive-sized hamburgers, platters of French fries and coleslaw on the table, chattering as she worked.

  “Ketchup?” The waitress held the ketchup bottle out to them.

  “He takes mustard on his fries.” Jenny winced when she said it, and she and the waitress shared a disgusted look.

  “Each to his own, cowboy. I’ll bring it right out.” She started to take the ketchup away, but Jenny snatched it back.

  “Me? I take the ketchup.” She grinned and popped the top then poured the red concoction over her fries.

  “Let’s talk about paintings, books, movies and cattle while we eat, Neal.” Jenny laid out the ground rules for their dinner. “When we’re through and we leave, you can tell me what other thing it is that you don’t know about me.” She cut her eyes over to him while she plastered her food with ketchup.

  Neal broke out in a cold sweat. His bite of hamburger almost choked him. How the hell was he ever going to be able to look her in the eyes and tell her he didn’t know how she would taste if he kissed her like he wanted. He swallowed hard. Lord, leaving this diner was going to be a long time coming if he had anything to do with it.

  Childress, Texas, lay in the northeast corner of the Texas Panhandle, halfway between Boise City, Oklahoma, and Dallas. Neutral ground as Jenny described it. The winds of spring teased her jacket as she walked out of the diner ahead of Neal. The clips that held her shoulder-length auburn hair out of her face proved no match for a gust and went flying to land in the dust of the parking lot. Red hair flew in wild tangles around her face.

  “Like fighting an elephant, huh?” Neal came up beside her, apparently fascinated by her attempt to get some order back to her hair.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”