Charity: Mail Order Brides Of Wichita Falls Book 4

by Cyndi Raye

  She forced herself to sit up straight. It only lasted so long though. After winning yet another hand, Charity’s lids began to droop again. The voices at the table sounded so far away. Even the guitar music in the background petered out as she dozed off. It was getting too difficult to pay attention.

  She swore she was flying through the air. When Charity opened her eyes everything was upside down. “Time to go, Charlie,” he said. She found herself facing Daniels backside. Twisting her head, the men at the tables cried out.

  “No way, man. We need the kid. Want to get my money back,” the cowboy who lost his watch complained.

  Daniel held her tight so she could take off her hat to gather up her money. She gathered it in her fists and placed her winnings in the hat. “You’ve just been fooled by a woman reporter, men. Here’s the deal. I want to interview each one of you tomorrow at noon for a front page feature about cowboys and outlaws. If you show up on the porch of the newspaper, I’ll give each one of you a fair share of your money back, including this watch.”

  “Interview? What for? Ain’t nobody famous here.”

  “You will be,” she told them, her head pounding from being held over his back like so. “Because tomorrow I’m beginning a four part series in the newspaper and you may just be the star.”

  “What! We already got fiction fodder. You sayin’ we’ll have more stories to read?”

  “That’s what I’m saying and you could be the star.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” one man cried out, excitement rippling through his drunken voice.

  Daniel moved towards the door.

  “Put me down!”

  “Not yet,” he told her.

  “I’m wide awake now, Daniel, please.”

  “Jut a little longer, my sweet wife. I find I can’t leave you on your feet for too long, otherwise you seem to find trouble all around.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, Daniel, I’m not trouble. Why not put me down and we can discuss this face to face. You can’t possibly walk through town with me hanging over your shoulder like this!”

  “I can and I plan to and then tuck you back in bed. This time I’m locking the door so you can’t get out.”

  She laughed. His voice was not serious one bit. Daniel was fun to be with, that was for sure. When he realized she was dressed men’s clothing at the bar, he had every right to get her out of the saloon and make her go home, being his wife and all. Yet, he made it a game, daring her to prove herself.

  Was he interested in making her happy or trying to see how good of a reporter she could be?

  This marriage was nothing like she expected. Even more so, when Daniel carried her all the way up the stairs and dumped her on the bed. He gave her a warm smile as he closed the bedroom door for the second time that night.

  Chapter 5

  Charity woke up with the sun shining through the window. It had to be late so she tore through her trunk to find a suitable dress to wear. She had four interviews today and needed to hurry. The clothes from the trunk were strewn over the bed but Charity ignored the mess as she made up her hair. It would wait. A bad trait of hers actually. Who had time to organize when there was a job to do?

  The tiny bedroom she had shared with her room mate in Chicago was always a mess, mostly due to Charity. Every morning it had been the same. Waking up later than usual with clothes flying everywhere before running out the door, barely making it to work in time. She guessed that part of her life would never change.

  Charity was surprised to find Daniel with his feet propped on the large work desk and his head tilted to one side, eyes closed. It stopped her in her tracks at his stoic appearance. He looked dead. She stared at his chest to see if it moved up and down. It was hard to see from across the room so she gently tip-toed to the edge of the desk, leaning in slowly so as not to startle him. She stared hard until she saw the steady movement before letting out the air in her own lungs she had suppressed.

  A hand snaked out and pulled her on to his lap. Charity acted affronted at first, trying to pull away but soon gave up and began to giggle. She was learning never to take him for granted. Daniel was a constant surprise. “You haven’t been to bed?”

  “I haven’t slept in that bed since I lived here,” he admitted. “No time to sleep, I’ve got a paper to run.”

  She jumped from his lap, realizing she was feeling quite comfortable there. Taking a step back so he couldn’t do that again, she told him, “I’ve been distracting you with this mail-order marriage. I’m ready to begin anew, let’s get to work.”

  He showed her the press and the basics of the operation. Their heads low and serious, Charity realized the work here had to be tremendous for one person. To run the press and find things to report on was a lot of work. No wonder Daniel hadn’t slept in his own bed ever.

  She turned to him with a smile. “I’m here to help now, Daniel. Hopefully, you can relax a bit. I’ve got some great ideas I’d love to share with you.”

  “Hold on to those ideas.”

  Her face fell. Now he was going to tell her that her reporting didn’t matter, she was a woman and there was no way he was going to let her have a by-line. Had it all been a lie? “You don’t want to see my work?”

  “You’ve got some interviews on the front porch.”

  She followed his line of vision to see all four of the men from the saloon making their way across the street towards the newspaper office. She hadn’t expected all of them to appear. To be honest, she expected maybe one or two to show up.

  But four! This was going to be a genuine interview and she was going to make it as professional as possible. Except her feet were frozen to the floor in shocked surprise.

  “Go on,” Daniel encouraged, as if he knew how nervous she was. He sat back down behind the desk, pushing his wire-framed glasses down his nose, acting as if he wasn’t paying attention.

  Charity was delighted. The man was giving her the space she needed and a chance to work while trying not to make her feel uncomfortable. He truly was different from the others in Chicago. She leaned across the edge of the desk and planted a kiss on his brow. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She grabbed a high-back chair, placing it next to a lone stool. Hurrying back upstairs, Charity rumaged through her trunk to find a pencil and writing paper. She wanted to write down everything these men told her.

  When she got to the bottom of the steps, Charity brushed her hand over a bunch of fly-a-way curls, patting them in place on her head. She let the air fill her lungs, letting it out slowly. Swallowing and lifting her eyes to the top of the ceiling, she said a silent prayer to the man upstairs. Let me conduct the best interviews of my life.

  For the next hour and forty-five minutes, Charity brought each man inside one by one, sitting them on the chair by the door and prodding them with questions. One of the men told her she was like a shotgun, loading and unloading in to him he couldn’t answer fast enough.

  Several grunts from Daniel when the cowboy complained had Charity sending daggers his way. Her stern look at his interruptions had him rolling his eyes and finally he got up and left the newsroom. Satisfied, Charity gave each man a share of their money back as promised. When the last man took a seat, she rubbed her eyes and took a quick look to see if Daniel made it back to his desk. The seat was empty.

  Taking a deep breath, she stared at the man in front of her, sitting on the chair with his feet spread out. He wore a cowboy hat pushed back on his head. In polite society any gentleman would remove a hat before taking his seat. Not this fellow, there was something hard about him, as if there was a story brewing there. She stared at his hat and then looked in to his dark eyes. He seemed angry. With the right prodding, she may be able to get to the thick of things.

  A lift of her brow while looking at his hat had the man making a funny noise. He reached up to remove it, apologizing in monotones, stuffing the hat between his thighs with a grin. “My apologies, ma’am. It’s been awhile since I’ve been a gentleman. Usuall
y out in the open, riding with men who don’t make a matter if you remove your hat.”

  “Is that a fact, sir. Your name for my records, please?”

  “It’s Johnny. Johnny’s all you need to know.”

  A skeptical brow was raised again. “Why is that?”

  “What? Well, hell, girlie, I said I’d be interviewed for the notoriety but that don’t mean you gotsta have my whole name.”

  She stared. This man had some deep secrets. Charity interviewed enough men in the small amount of time she was a reporter in Chicago and the tell-tale signs were written all over him. The way he fidgeted with his hat, a small trickle of sweat along his hairline. There was definitely something sinsiter or secretive going on.

  She leaned forward. “How ‘bout we call you Handsome Johnny, the mysterious outlaw from the Texas Plains?”

  He lifted his head up, eyes widening. “Hm, well, I suppose so.” A small blush reddened his cheeks at being called handsome. Charity bet no one ever called him anything nice before. He was far from handsome with rather large nostrils that made you look directly at it while speaking to him. She tried to avoid staring and kept her eye level to his. It didn’t help that he kept lifting his chin in the air, forcing her to stare at two black holes with little tiny hairs sticking out. Charity bit back a grunt.

  “Now, Handsome Johnny, let’s get to the nitty gritty. Since we are writing true life stories with a flair for adventure, what details of your life can you tell me about? Have you ever done something you were sorry for? Where are you from?

  She wrote as fast as the man could speak once he began to realize that she wanted sensational stories to put in the paper. He told her many things, his life running from the law, his work on a ranch right outside of Kansas city and his trek here to Wichita Falls.

  “Is that it?”

  “Well,” he leaned closer, eyes darting back and forth even though no one else was in the newspaper room. “I rode with a gang of killers once.”

  The way he mentioned killers made her pause. The pencil stilled in her hand. “What kind of killers?”

  He grinned, knowing he had her attention. The air was thick with anticipation.

  Charity sucked in a deep breath. She was good at this, even better at getting confidential information than most reporters. “Is that all, killers? Like a gang, you mean?”

  “A gang that’s wanted around here, that’s why I can’t talk about it. If anyone finds out I rode with them, I’d be held for questioning, maybe even hanged. I left the night before the murders, before it happened. Wasn’t gonna be part of that kind of killing. Left on good terms and was told I could ride with ‘em anytime I wanted.”

  Charity stared at him. She picked up her pencil and shrugged. “No, that doesn’t sound interesting at all. There are a dozen outlaw gangs from here to California. So many stories have been written about them I doubt we could use your story. That is, unless it was pertinent to this town.”

  Her voice held steady while her pulse throbbed against her skin. She had to have this story, instinct said it was bigger than anything she had ever written.

  “Lady, I got news for you. I can give you the details of who started the fire down by the cabin along the creek here in Wichita Falls after they murdered two people. They’ve been searching for the outlaws for a long time.”

  Charity wasn’t sure what he was talking about but it seemed important to the town. If he was telling the truth. “I’m thinkin’ of catching up with them when they mosey on down here in a few days before heading to Mexico. There ain’t much in this town I want anymore.”

  “So you are a true outlaw then?”

  “Well, I guess you could say so,” he bragged, his chest puffed out like a bull in a stall. “Except these boys, they are killers and I’m not. That’s why I didn’t follow when they were on their last spree. I stayed here and worked as a hired ranch hand. ‘Cept I’m tired of working my fingers to the bone. Guess I’m more outlaw then I thought.” He wrinkled his brows as if contemplating what he said, confused at his own words.

  “Do you think I could get an interview with the leader of the gang?” She knew it was a longshot but had to ask.

  Handsome Johnny slapped his thigh with the rim of his hat. “Oh, hell no, Zeek would, oh, I didnt’ want to say his name. You don’t go writing that down else I’ll be dead meat, ya hear?”

  His stare caused Charity to put her pencil down again. She didn’t want to anger this man. He was going to get her an interview with a killer even if he wasn’t aware yet. “I promise not to divulge any impertinent information.”

  “Make sure you don’t, as a matter of fact, perhaps we should end this discussion. If I’m gonna go back to the gang, I sure as hang don’t want you writing a story about us in the paper.”

  Charity stood when he did. “Look, Johnny. I can make you famous as a mysterious outlaw and no one knows your name or where you came from. I’ll let you give me the details and I’ll write the story.”

  He scratched his head. “Ain’t that lyin?”

  She almost smiled but didn’t underestimate this man. He was valuable to her right now. As soon as she found out what gang he rode with, it could make her career. Especially if the gang was wanted across the territory.

  “No, sir. Not lying. We’re entertaining townsfolk. If I knew what gang you rode with, I could avoid mentioning them in the story.” Charity tried to look confused.

  It worked. He held up his hat, the brim covering his face even though no one stood ten feet from him. The other men interviewed were long gone. “That seems reasonable. Don’t mention this name to anyone.”

  “Cross my heart.” She made a production of crossing her chest with her hands, covering her mouth with her one hand pretending to cough. There was no way she would ruin things by letting him see her laugh.

  “McKenzie.”

  In slow motion, she nodded. “Ok, but considering the circumstances, we should meet again until you meet up with this gang so I can get original material to use, even though we won’t mention names.”

  He held out his hand. “Deal. See you tomorrow same time?”

  Charity let out a big smile. “You bet, Johnny. I’ll be right here on the front porch.” She turned her head back and forth, pretending to be cautious. “We best not let my husband know we’re in cohoots. He doesn’t understand the type of story we are dealing with here. Let’s meet at Jenna’s at seven. I’ll buy you a coffee for your time.”

  Charity shook her head smiling as the outlaw hurried across the street. When Daniel appeared from out of nowhere, she jumped and let out a gasp. “Oh, my! I thought you left, where did you come from?”

  “I’ve been outside all along. You don’t think I’d leave my wife in here alone with a man like that feller, do you?”

  She smiled. Even though their whole marriage was a business arrangement, the beginnings of husbandly duty was starting to show. “That’s sweet, Daniel. I doubt you needed to watch out for me.” She gathered her notes together, placing them close to her bodice. “Do you have any idea of the seedy places I’ve been to in Chicago to get a story? Alone?” She didn’t mention those stories were shot down by her rivals, never published.

  He moved closer, his warm breath tantalizing her skin. “That ends now. You’ll never have to worry about no protection. I take my job seriously, Charity.” Her name coming off his lips made her pause. Did he know how he was affecting her senses?

  “We’re in this business arrangement,” she said. Her voice was shaking.

  “I know. Except I’ve been thinking perhaps we should take it a bit more seriously.”

  Charity stepped back, unable to think clearly with him so close. “I, uh, well, I think maybe we should get to know each other better.”

  He nodded. “You are right. That’s why I made reservations for tonight.”

  “Reservations?” She wanted to find out who this McKenzie gang was and what happened here in town. Taking a look at back issues had been her agenda f
or the evening.

  “At Jenna’s Restaurant. Best place to eat in town.”

  “Probably the only place in town unless the hotel has an eatery?”

  Daniel laughed. “Ben Sloan is a friend of mine. He owns the hotel. Hasn’t put in a restaurant yet so Jenna’s gets most of the business. I suppose when the town grows more, he’ll put one in as well.”

  “That would be front page news then?” she asked, not knowing exactly what was in their paper. Perhaps it was time to do a bit of research. Then she could dig deeper for something on this gang.

  “Everything is front page news,” he laughed. “Perhaps after you’ve been here awhile, we can add another page to the paper.”

  “Thank you for the supper invitation, I’ll go. Right now, I’d like to become familiar with the paper if you don’t mind.”

  “By all means. I’ll just run across to Jenna’s and pick us up something light for lunch since neither one of us ate yet today.”

  Charity had forgotten about food. She never ate breakfast, although by noon her belly grumbled. Tons of coffee kept her going most of the day until she actually sat down to supper in the evening. In Chicago, she’d always stop at one of the little shops on her way to work or between assignments for a pastry to eat while working. It wasn’t the healthiest way to live but such was the life of a reporter.

  When Daniel returned, he spread out the bundle he carried in one hand on the top of the desk. Pushing away some papers, he opened the cloth to reveal a warm loaf of bread, along with two chunks of cheese. In the other hand, he carried a round tray with two cups of coffee.

  The aroma of fresh coffee made Charity’s belly growl. She giggled at the noise instead of pretending the sounds hadn’t come from her.

  “This will settle the stomach,” Daniel said as he offered his seat to her.

  “No, no. You sit. I’ll bring a chair to the other side.” She busied herself with the other chair while Daniel sat down. He cut a slice of warm bread for each of them. A small bowl covered by a cloth revealed butter that melted as soon as it met with the warm dough. He handed her several small slices of cheese as well.