Texas Lonesome

by Duncan, Alice

  All at once, Will’s patience snapped like a dry twig. He was tired, damn it, and he wanted to go to bed. He had half-carried Pickering over here from Abe Warner’s, with himself and Thomas each propping up a shoulder. Thomas now stood guard outside, just in case Bill Skates or another one of Pickering’s cronies showed up.

  “Get the hell out of the way, Pickering,” he commanded. “I’m sick of your drunken fumbling. I’ll find the damned papers myself.”

  “No. You get back, you Texas scum.”

  Pickering assumed a fighter’s stance, the effect of which was considerably diminished by his unsteady footing. He squealed when Will picked him up by his collar as if he were a mere slight impediment and flung him roughly aside.

  “Get out of my way, Pickering. I’m through playing with you. You hurt my Emily, damn your eyes, and you should be grateful all I’m taking is your possessions. I’ll be happy to rid the world of your scummy presence forever if you get in my way again. Now where are the papers Mrs. Schindler gave you when you cheated her out of her share of the kennel?”

  “Don’ hurt me. Don’ hurt me.”

  Pickering’s words sounded muffled, and Emily wondered why. She had no way of knowing that Will’s powerful thrust had landed him upside-down on the sofa and he was now sniveling through a cushion.

  “I’m going to do more than hurt you, you son of a bitch, if you don’t give me those papers right now.”

  Goodness gracious, Emily thought, startled by Will’s sudden change in temperament. She certainly hoped she never angered him once they were married. He sounded positively furious.

  Then she remembered they couldn’t be married, and a tear slid down her cheek.

  As Pickering continued to sniffle and not answer him, Will took two powerful strides toward the sofa. Tired of dallying, he planned to shake Pickering until he either convinced him to hand over the papers or broke his neck.

  “No! Don’ hurt me!” Pickering shrieked. “I’ll give ‘em to you. I jus’ can’t find ‘em. Honest.”

  “Honest? Don’t make me laugh, you pitiful puddle of tobacco spit. Get up on your two hind legs and give me those papers now.”

  “I will. I will.”

  Emily could hear assorted scufflings and shufflings as Clarence Pickering stood up. His unsteady, dragging footsteps made their way back to the desk and she heard him begin to shuffle papers again.

  “I can’ find ‘em,” he whimpered.

  “I want those kennel papers, Pickering, and I’m not going to wait much longer. Either hand them over right now or die.”

  The warning sounded ominous even to Emily as she huddled under the desk. Of course, she that Pickering couldn’t find the papers Will wanted because she had them packed away in her sack, but she wasn’t quite sure how to go about announcing her presence. She was sure she looked a sight and wasn’t at all certain she wanted her beloved Will to see her in such a state.

  And he was her beloved Will, too. Whatever he was doing with this evil man, it was for her benefit. She knew that from the conversation she’d just overheard.

  “I tell you, they’re not here.” A distinctly whiny note had crept into Pickering’s voice. It made Emily wince even as her muscles began to cramp from being squashed under the desk.

  “Listen to me, Pickering, and listen well. You damned near ruined the life of the only woman I’ve ever loved. If you don’t give me those papers right now, you’re not going to get the chance to ruin anybody else’s. That’s a promise. You cheated Emily’s aunt and uncle out of damned near everything they owned, and you tried to kill her Uncle Ludwig’s dogs.

  “You have no honor, Pickering, no soul, no heart, and no guts. You’re not a man; you’re barely human, and I’m sure the world won’t mourn you. If you aggravate me any more, you’re going straight out that window over there, and I don’t plan to open it first. Either you give me those papers right now, or you’re on your way to hell.”

  Will sounded as though he meant it, and Emily’s heart leapt. All this for her. Try as she might to hold them at bay, tears of wonder and happiness began to trickle out of her eyes.

  “B-b-but they’re not here,” Pickering wailed. “Here. Here’s the rest of ‘em. Everything I own. Everything. Over there’s my saddle. The horse is in the livery down the street. There’s the receipt. Here’s my money. Every cent I have in the world.”

  Although Emily could not see him, Pickering’s fumbling fingers were now turning his pockets inside out as he frantically tried to keep Will Tate from murdering him.

  “Where are the papers, God damn it?”

  Will’s bellow flung Pickering backwards into a dead faint on the sofa and sent Emily springing out hiding as though she’d been shot from a gun. Sobbing with joy, she flung herself into Will’s astonished arms.

  “Will. Oh, Will, darling, how I love you!”

  Although Will had been primed for homicide, the now-familiar feeling of Emily’s soft body slamming against him smothered the unworthy impulse in an instant. His arms closed around her and he squeezed with gratitude, even though his brain was rattled at her sudden appearance here, in the very lair of her worst enemy.

  “Emily? What on earth are you doing here?” Even as he spoke, he nuzzled her soft cheek, trying to avoid contact with the scratchy wool cap she wore. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  Will allowed himself another moment close to her and then gently pried Emily’s arms from his shoulders. He held her a little bit away from him. “What’s the matter, Emily love? Why are you crying?”

  “Oh, Will!” was as far as Emily got before she was interrupted by another flood of tears. After she wiped them away with the red kerchief knotted around her neck, she tried again.

  “Oh, Will, I found out Aunt Gertrude had given this beastly man her share in the kennel and I came here to steal the papers back again because he wouldn’t give them to me when I asked politely and he wanted me to do despicable things with him.”

  “He what?”

  Will shoved Emily away and stomped toward the sofa. Murder sounded like the only logical answer now. It sounded too good, in fact.

  But Emily thwarted him by the simple expedient of wrapping her arms around him once more. As soon as he felt her firm, perky breasts pressing into his back, Will stopped in mid-stride, even though he was not entirely satisfied at having his plan foiled.

  “Please, Emily?”

  “You’ll get into trouble, Will, darling. He’s not worth it.”

  “But he’s vermin, Emily. People pay a lot of money to have vermin exterminated.”

  “I know it, darling, but not everybody feels the same way about vermin people as they do about vermin rodents.”

  “But he’s a rodent, too.”

  “I know it, Will, but please don’t kill him. For me?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Please, Will?”

  The effect of Emily’s stretching up on her tiptoes, thereby rubbing her plush bosom against him from his waist to his mid-chest, was such that Will decided he didn’t need to kill Pickering after all. At least, not right this minute.

  “Oh, God, Emily, I love you.”

  And with that, he wrapped her up and kissed her so soundly, neither one of them noticed when Thomas Crandall entered the room.

  “Did you find the papers?” he asked before he spotted Will and Emily entwined with one another. When he did, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared, aghast.

  “Will Tate, why in God’s name are you kissing that boy?”

  Chapter 17

  Their attention diverted by Thomas’s loud intrusion, the lovers broke their impassioned embrace.

  “Miss von Plotz? Good God, it’s you!”

  Thomas’s astonishment reminded Emily of her state of dress and she felt her cheeks heat up. She withdrew from Will’s arms, abashed as much at her overt display of affection in front of another person, as at her attire. As she had cautioned Will often enough, such displays were frowned upon in polite s
ociety.

  “Good evening, Mr. Crandall. I trust all is well with you.”

  Emily realized her attempt at manners had fallen somewhat short of its intended goal, when Thomas cried, “Good God, what are you dressed like that for?”

  It was a crying shame more young ladies and gentlemen had not been taught the rudiments of polite behavior by sticklers like her Aunt Gertrude, Emily decided. Thomas’s question, while understandable, was very rude. It was also not easily answered, unless she were to confess to having committed a crime.

  “She came here to steal the papers from Pickering, Thomas.”

  Will still had his arm wrapped securely around her shoulder. Emily stared up at him in surprise, not so much at his words as at the way he said them. He sounded as though he were proud of her.

  “Were you, by damn?”

  Good heavens. Thomas Crandall seemed proud of her, too. Even though the idea confused her, it pleased her as well. She offered a tiny smile. Her smile grew enormously when he strode up to shake her hand.

  “Well, by God, I’d say that was mighty enterprising of you, Miss von Plotz. I swear, I didn’t think there was a woman on earth who was good enough for Will Tate, but you’ve proved me wrong. By God, you have.”

  Thomas pumped Emily’s arm so hard her smile began to wrinkle up into a grimace of pain, but she didn’t mind. She’d been so worried Will would think her a terrible person if he found out about this escapade. But he seemed to actually approve. Life certainly was full of surprises.

  As Thomas, Will, and Emily chatted, exchanging versions of the evening’s events, Clarence Pickering regained consciousness. With a stifled groan, he cracked his eyes open and peered at the trio in his room with loathing.

  Then, feeling more than a little sick and no longer one whit sincere, he slunk out of the room. He didn’t even look around to find his hat, which had fallen behind the sofa.

  Once out of the office, he ran down the stairs and out into the crisp San Francisco morning. He was so afraid of Will Tate’s anger that he actually made it to the corner of Powell and Market before he regurgitated the evening’s excesses and began to wonder where he could escape now in order to earn his foul living.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, he slunk to the dock and he crawled onto a steamship heading toward Virginia City. He knew he’d recover eventually. Clarence Pickering might not be as smart as Will’s Uncle Mel, but his instincts were almost as base. Eventually, he’d find some other poor lamb to fleece, he just knew it. Come to think of it, he might even try politics. Those guys really made out like bandits. As the foggy night swallowed up the steamer, Pickering’s spirits began to revive.

  Back in Pickering’s office, Emily’s cheeks warmed at the honest approbation being showered upon her by Will and Thomas.

  “I—I didn’t think you’d approve of me trying to steal the papers, Will,” she admitted shyly.

  “Not approve? My God, Emily, the only thing I’m annoyed about is that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about the problem in the first place.” Will had to kiss her to show her how sincere he was. “Don’t ever keep secrets from me again, love. Promise?”

  “I promise.” Emily rendered her promise in a quivery whisper. Oh, how she loved this man. How could she ever part with him again? Yet honor demanded it. She knew it did.

  “I swear. The two of you are a matched set. A matched set.” Thomas shook his head and smiled at Will and Emily.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Crandall,” Emily breathed. “Mr. Tate would never have stooped to underhanded methods the way I did. He’s such an honorable man.”

  She felt slightly disgruntled when both men succumbed to gales of laughter.

  “Oh, my God, Will. Don’t tell me you haven’t told her about your colorful past yet.”

  “Colorful past?” Emily repeated, blinking up at Will.

  “I guess there’s still a few things you don’t know about me, love, but we have all night to talk about it.” The way Emily was pressing her enticing bosom against his arm and peering at him with those angelic blue eyes was causing Will to lose track of their conversation.

  “All night!” All at once, Emily dropped Will’s arm like a hot rock and her eyes widened enormously. “Oh, my land, what time is it?”

  Thomas pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it. “Around five, it looks like.”

  “Oh, good gracious! I have to get home. If Aunt Gertrude wakes and finds me gone, she’ll be worried to death.”

  “I’ll take you home, darling. Don’t worry about a thing,” said Will.

  “I’ll take care of Pickering for you, Will,” Thomas offered.

  But when he glanced at sofa, expecting to find Pickering still sprawled on its cushions, he uttered a sharp expletive. “Damn! Where’d he go?”

  “Who?” Will had been so involved in staring into Emily’s adoring eyes, he had completely forgotten about the enemy. He glanced at the sofa. “Oh, yeah. Pickering. Well, hell.”

  “Mercy, he’s gone,” Emily added, as if to clarify the matter.

  Thomas frowned. “Well, what do we do now? Go after him?”

  Although Will had spent most of the past several hours wishing he could strangle Clarence Pickering, the thought of pursuing the bastard now was not appealing. He pursed his lips in concentration for several seconds.

  “Well, shoot,” he finally said. “The man’s a filthy skunk and a low-down pile of horse poop, Thomas, but I don’t really feel like wasting any more of my energy on him.” He glanced quickly at Emily. “Unless you want me to, love. If you want me to break his neck for you, I’ll still be happy to do it.”

  Emily could tell he was in earnest. “Oh, Will, no. Please. As long as you don’t think he’ll come back to plague us, why not just let him go?”

  “Don’t worry about him coming back, Miss von Plotz,” Thomas assured her. “Pickering won’t dare set foot in San Francisco again. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes. That’s the truth.” Will chuckled with glee. “I think I really scared him.”

  “You scared him to death,” Emily confirmed in an awe-filled voice. “You were wonderful. I heard it all.”

  “Where were you, Miss von Plotz? I gather you were hiding when Will and Pickering came back here to get the papers.”

  Will chuckled. “It’s a long story, Thomas. I’ll tell you when I get back to your place. Right now I have to get Emily home. Will you be able to take care of all this by yourself?” His gesture was meant to encompass every room of Pickering’s rented lodgings, as well as any other assets the man might have left behind.

  “I know what to do, Will. Don’t worry. I’ll send a runner to fetch help, and we’ll have all traces of Clarence Pickering and his dealings with Miss Emily’s family wiped off the face of the earth in no time at all.”

  “Bless your heart, Thomas. I owe you a big one for this.”

  Emily concurred. She shook Thomas’s hand fervently and said, “Yes, Mr. Crandall. God bless you for your help. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  Thomas, who, in spite of his lectures to Will, was unused to dealing with truly nice ladies, blushed to the roots of his thinning hair. “Shucks, ma’am, it’s nothing. Really.”

  But to Emily, who was used to fighting against almost unfathomable odds all by herself, it wasn’t nothing. Someone who was willing to help her and her darling Will was a hero, and that’s all there was to it.

  It was almost six o’clock when Will and Emily reached the Schindler home. She quietly unlatched the front door and peeked in before allowing Will entry. She wasn’t about to let him just leave her here. If she never saw him again in her life, they had this morning. She aimed to make the most of it.

  “Just let me write Aunt Gertrude a little note, Will, so she won’t disturb us like she did before. Wait just a minute.”

  Just like that, Will thought, grinning. His little Emily was such a delightfully decisive creature. Well, good. He planned to show her exactly much she meant to hi
m, and he didn’t particularly want any interruptions during his demonstration. She’d change her mind and marry him now. He knew it.

  It took Emily no time at all to pen an appropriate note. Then she took Will by the hand and led him up the wide staircase, hurrying up the last several steps when she heard Mrs. Blodgett beginning to stir in the kitchen below.

  As an added precaution, she locked her door as soon as they were inside. Then she whirled around and flung herself into Will’s arms.

  “Oh, Will, how wonderful you were to play poker with that man for my aunt’s papers. You must be a splendid poker player.”

  Will answered in between the scrumptious kisses he bestowed upon her. “My uncle Mel was the slyest poker cheat this side of the Hudson River, love. He taught me every trick he ever knew before we parted company. I’m afraid I cheated Clarence Pickering out of those papers. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

  “You cheated him?” Emily pulled back.

  For a heart-stopping second, Will was afraid she was going to take exception to the way he’d regained possession of her aunt’s debts. Of course, it didn’t matter as it turned out, because Emily herself had already regained unlawful possession of them, but Will didn’t known that at the time.

  But Emily didn’t scold. Instead, her expression glittered on the brink of something indefinable for a second or two; then she threw back her head and laughed and laughed. When she finally found her voice, she hugged Will tight and said, “Oh, Will, how I love you. How I do love you.”

  Then she realized what she had just said and knew her time had come. She couldn’t deceive this wonderful man a single second longer. She stepped back and took a deep breath. Her heart ached when she said softly, “But, Will, I—I have a confession.”

  “A confession?”

  Emily nodded and dropped her gaze. “Yes.” She felt as though somebody had stuffed a boulder into her throat. “Oh, Will, I know you’ll hate me when you find out!”