Under a Texas Star

by Alison Bruce

  "Damn!" he said.

  "Sorry."

  "Never mind. Just close the door."

  Marly helped collect the posters and found a box for them.

  "I'll get the broom for the cartridges," she said. "I guess we should fill them. Doesn't look like Strothers ever got around to it."

  A smile pulled at one side of Jase's mouth. "You know how to do that too?"

  "Sure. Aunt Adele didn't hold with wasting brass."

  Of course she didn't, Jase thought, wondering if Marly was aware of how often she referred to that dreaded relative.

  By the time they were done, he didn't feel much like cooking and Marly was looking close to done in.

  "Think we'll go to The Haven for supper," he announced.

  "The Haven?"

  "You said it yourself. Strothers had a reputation for favorin' The Oasis. With that and the fact that me and Jez go back a long way, I gotta make an effort not to seem partial."

  The Haven was busy for the mid-week. It seemed to be a favorite hangout for cowboys from nearby ranches. Jase noted a few familiar faces. The would-be deputies were at the bar. A couple of cowboys who had taken exception to Marly's snooping were at a table with some others. He didn't recognize them, but they obviously knew who he was. As he and Marly entered, an unfriendly silence descended on the room.

  Jase, wearing the marshal's badge prominently on his jacket, led Marly up to the bar. She carried one of the office rifles, Jase having vetoed her wearing a gun-belt. He had almost told her to leave the rifle.

  The burly man behind the bar raised thick brows. "Show of force, Ranger?"

  "Just here for supper before walkin' our patrol."

  "I think you're on the wrong side of the street. The Oasis is more your style."

  "And I heard The Haven was a friendly place." Jase leaned against the bar and surveyed the room. "I also heard that the owner, Duke, was a tough but fair-minded individual."

  The bartender responded with a shrug.

  "We don't like marshals," a pinch-faced cowboy hollered. "Or Texas Rangers. Or their pint-sized spies."

  "I'm Duke and this is my place," the bartender said. "I have nothing against you, but I don't need trouble." With a stern scowl, he warned off the belligerent cowboy before returning his gaze to Jase. "I suggest you leave, Ranger."

  "Think I'd like to stay and have a beer. Landers will have coffee."

  "Sandwiches are good here," Marly remarked.

  Jase smiled. "Then we'll have a plate of sandwiches."

  He led her to a table near the back door. Their drinks were brought over by a good looking boy wearing an apron.

  "Hey, Jed," Marly said.

  Jed's reply was to slam their order down on the table and storm back to the bar.

  Jase blew the foam off his beer. "Thanks, Jed."

  Marly sipped her coffee and made a face. "Salted." She pushed the cup away.

  Jase took a swig of beer. "Soaped."

  Drinks in hand, he returned to the bar.

  "I think you made a mistake, Jed. Why don't you try again?"

  It was an order, not a question.

  "Duke said this wasn't your kind of place," Jed said, pouting.

  Duke eyed the boy, the grabbed Jase's beer and took a cautious sip. His mouth set in a hard line. "I'll bring over fresh myself."

  The boy's eyes flared. "But Duke―"

  "Enough, Jed. We've been having enough trouble without you wasting good drinks. You let me pick my own fights from now on."

  Jed flushed with embarrassment and anger.

  "Don't serve 'em, Duke!" someone yelled.

  "Yeah, you don't need their kind of business."

  A cowboy strode up to the bar. Obviously he either hadn't heard or didn't pay attention to Dukes warning.

  "We don't need 'em here at all," the man said. "Not in The Haven. Not in Fortuna."

  Murmurs of assent and warning swept through the crowd.

  The area near the cowboy and the bar cleared.

  "Duke," Jase said. "You're the owner of this place. If you want us to leave, we'll leave. It's up to you whose money you wanna accept. Me and Landers can always take our business elsewhere. But even if you get rid of me," he turned toward the crowd, "the law's here to stay in Fortuna. I might add, the state of Texas takes a dim view of folks murderin' its officers."

  The cowboy snorted. "Who said anything about murder? I call it a fair fight."

  In an instant, several things happened.

  The cowboy reached for his gun. Duke lunged forward, smashing the man's gun arm with a wooden club. Marly armed and aimed her rifle at the cowboy, the distinctive sound of the Winchester's lever action coinciding with the sickening crack of the man's arm breaking. And Jase, who had drawn reflexively, holstered his weapon almost as quickly, an action noticed by the crowd.

  "Jed, take Tom here to the Doc's," Duke commanded. "That suit you, Ranger, or do you want him in jail too?"

  "That'll suit me," Jase replied.

  "Still hungry?"

  "And thirsty." Jase tipped his hat to the man. "Thanks."

  Duke shrugged. "Business is business."

  Marly had sat down when Jase returned to the table with their drinks. She was doing a good job of looking calm, but her hands betrayed her, shaking slightly as she took the cup of coffee.

  Jase fought the urge to steady her hands with his.

  "That's better," she said after a cautious sip.

  "Much," Jase agreed, not touching his beer.

  He forced his eyes away from her quavering hands and determined nonchalance. Instead, he watched Duke make his way across the room, with a heaping plate balanced on one hand.

  "Anything wrong?" Marly whispered.

  "Plenty. Nothing urgent though. I was just thinkin', I'm getting' mighty sick of sandwiches."

  Marly was up and out early the next day. She returned with a rasher of bacon and half a dozen eggs, which she cooked up for breakfast. The smell attracted Jase, who emerged from the storage room. Judging by the white foam on his square jaw, he'd been in the middle of shaving.

  "You started an account with the butcher?" he asked.

  She jabbed the bacon with a fork. "I tried."

  "Tried?"

  "He wasn't amenable to my suggestion. Said I had to pay cash up front. I almost had enough in my pocket." She shrugged. "Then Fred came along. We've got an account now."

  "This bothers you?"

  She cracked four eggs into the pan. "Not the part about Fred helping. Just the fact that Mr. Albie Penrod thinks he can deny a Texas Ranger credit."

  "It's his business. He can do whatever he pleases. Don't get riled up on my account, brat. Waste of energy."

  She flicked Jase a glance.

  He was stripped to the waist, damp from washing, his lean muscles gleaming. Now that her snit was passed, she could appreciate the view. Not that she had any business appreciating how good the man looked. But he looked mighty―

  Her eyes met his. Damn.

  Jase grinned.

  Marly's gaze snapped back to the frying pan.

  "Fred's right," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment. "You shouldn't shave yourself."

  Chapter 7

  After breakfast, Jase and Marly visited Quinton's General Store. It turned out the cigar stubs were from a company called J. Fuego. An expensive brand, they sold for ten cents each. There were few people who bought them regularly.

  Egan was one of them. The banker, Winters, was another. Jezebel kept a supply for special customers. Baker preferred the thinner cigarillos. There were other cigar smokers, but most ranch hands preferred to chew tobacco or roll their own cigarettes.

  Having cleaned more than her fair share of ashtrays and spittoons in her travels, Marly was thankful that Jase didn't indulge in any of these habits.

  The next thing on the agenda was cleaning the office.

  While she scrubbed, Jase sifted through Strothers' papers.

  "Don't forget," he told her,
"I have a luncheon appointment with Winters. After that, I'm riding out to visit Egan and Baker."

  "Can I come along?"

  He shook his head. "Not this time, brat."

  She didn't argue. He'd tell her the results of his interviews.

  When the cleaning was done, Marly left for The Haven, hoping someone would put her to work so the time would pass more quickly.

  "I don't need any more young bucks hanging around," Duke said.

  Bored, she headed to the livery.

  "I don't mind you bein' here," Hank said, "but I don't have any work for you. You'll have to get up earlier if you want to muck the stables."

  She finally found something to do at The Oasis. It had higher standards of cleanliness, so there was always something to wash or polish.

  Arnie pointed to the spittoons grouped by the door.

  Rolling her eyes, she wandered over to them and was relieved to find that they had already been cleaned. Her job was to buff up the brass and place the spittoons strategically throughout the establishment.

  "After that, you can help me replenish the bar stock," Arnie promised.

  Before that could happen, Fred discovered her and decided that she could help him in the kitchen.

  "Please wash up, Master Landers." He handed her a bar of lye soap. "And do scrub well. You may assist me with the biscuits."

  Marly took the soap and scrubbed until she was pink. Even so, Fred inspected her hands and fingernails before letting her approach his counter.

  Another cook worked the other end of the kitchen. He was introduced to Marly as Louis the Creole.

  Louis responded with a grunt of indifference.

  "He's a good cook," Fred confided once they were out of earshot. "But he has no sense of management. And he's as touchy as the devil." He smiled sadly. "Of course, my temper isn't always what it should be either."

  Marly gazed at him with frank incredulity.

  "It is true, Master Landers. I have learned the hard way. It is not enough to acquire skills and age in order to attain maturity. Patience and self-control are the key to maturity, good biscuits and a close shave." His lips twitched.

  She grinned. "After we make biscuits, do you think you could teach me how to give a close shave?"

  Going through Strothers' reports, Jase noticed a pattern. Cowboys made up the bulk of the arrests, mostly on charges of disorderly conduct. That wasn't too surprising. However, over time, a disproportionate number of those cowboys were Egan's men.

  There were records of new town ordinances, each one corresponding with a spate of arrests. Most regulations were standard for promoting law and order. They included prohibitions against shooting off firearms within town limits and noise restrictions. Some of them bordered on capricious and seemed to be designed to annoy certain cowboys.

  One ordinance, for instance, limited the amount of time a horse could be hitched at one post. The livery must have loved that one. To obey the ordinance, a cowboy coming into town for a drink would be best to stable his horse than leave it hitched outside and risk a fine.

  Either because they made a point of defying the law or because Strothers picked on them particularly, it was usually Egan's men that were charged.

  Promptly at noon, Chet Winters walked into the Marshal's Office, ready to take Jase to lunch. Dining with the banker gave him invaluable insight. First and foremost, he learned never to eat at the Fortuna Hotel. An undoubtedly respectable establishment, it served the worst food he'd ever tasted. The only people who went to the hotel's restaurant were the straight-laced and the unwary.

  In a town that had built a church and brought in a minister, he determined that the tolerance toward The Oasis was largely due to the Fortuna Hotel's cook.

  Winters agreed. His wife, however, was the leader of the church committee.

  "She would drum Jezebel out of town on her own if she thought she could get away with it," the banker said.

  "Who's stoppin' her?"

  "Me for one. Miss Jezebel is one of my largest depositors. Her reputation has kept her out of the parlors, but that doesn't mean she lacks influence in other circles. She's not afraid to spend money to make money. As her banker, I know all her eggs are not in the same basket. For all its vices, The Oasis has helped keep Fortuna going."

  "I'm sure the vices have helped," Jase remarked dryly.

  "Well, this is still predominantly a cattle town. The men that ride the ranges count on their entertainment. On pay day, The Oasis empties a lot of pockets. And they don't spend much of it on food." Winters pushed his plate away and signaled the server to bring more coffee. "Fact is, the ranch owners wouldn't be too happy if Jezebel packed up and left. Ironically, Egan was Jezebel's biggest supporter against my wife and her lot."

  "Why ironic?"

  "He's the one who got the new church built."

  Jase's eyebrow lifted.

  "I am sure that he was pushed to do so by his aunt," Winters said, leaning back and sipping his coffee. "And it wasn't as if he was opposed to the church. He and his family were regular attendees at the old meeting hall before it burned down. They also attended the tent meetings that were held to raise money. I've always felt that he and I shared the similar outlook that virtue has to be balanced by a little vice. And, if you'll pardon the pun, vice versa."

  He gave Jase an apologetic shrug before continuing.

  "On the other hand, there is no doubt that the extent of Egan's generosity and timing was suspect. He pushed to have the new building completed and underwrote the balance of expenses right after the town council requested the appointment of a marshal."

  "It was another way to exercise power."

  "Exactly. And it was a way of telling Jezebel that she had better watch herself."

  After Winters left, Jase lingered, sipping his coffee―which was passable. He considered the information the banker had given him and when he couldn't put it off any longer, he headed back to the office.

  He'd decided to take Marly with him. But she wasn't there.

  The company would have been nice, but he wasn't prepared to track her down, so he headed out alone.

  Marly held the straight razor and contemplated the foamy chin of the young man sitting before her. She ignored his wide-eyed, barely contained fear. Fred had already warned her that confidence was as important as a sure eye and steady hand in the art of giving a close shave. A scarred melon sat on the counter by the shaving bowl, testament to her first trials.

  She did her best to ignore the melon, Louis and the two ladies who had wandered over to watch her performance. With a deep breath, she made the first scrape.

  Henry, her less than willing victim, closed his eyes in resignation to his fate. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Fred had railroaded him into volunteering. He'd made it sound like the prospect of being sliced and diced was preferable to the chore of peeling potatoes, adding that if Henry paid attention, he might have a hope of being more than a busboy and scullery hand.

  "Watch the angle of your blade, Master Landers," Fred said, causing Henry's eyes to widen. "Don't forget to keep the skin taut."

  She tried to heed the advice without letting it make her nervous. She especially didn't want to appear as ill at ease as she felt. Henry was having a bad enough time as it was.

  She wiped the blade and made another scrape. Then another. Henry hadn't screamed and the shaving soap was untinged by red, so she figured she was doing okay.

  "Remember that shaving isn't merely about scraping whiskers off the face," Fred said. "At its best, a good shave is a sybaritic experience, relaxing the nerves and invigorating the senses. Stop fidgeting, Henry, lest you end up with a slit throat."

  When the shave was done and his face was rinsed and slapped with rose water, Henry felt his chin. "Smooth as a baby's bottom."

  This drew a snicker from the ladies because his chin was that smooth before Marly had started.

  "Very good, Master Landers," Fred said, patting her on the shoulder. "If you are
willing to be here early tomorrow morning, I might persuade Arnie to sit on the stool for you."

  "Perhaps Señor Landers should shave you, Señor Fred."

  Marly turned abruptly. She hadn't noticed that her audience had grown. Señora de Vegas and a couple of the front room ladies had joined them. The ladies looked amused, while the Señora seemed perfectly serious.

  "It would indicate your confidence in him," she added.

  "Of course," Fred said with a bow. "In which case, Master Landers, you should be here at first light, since that is when my day begins."

  Marly hesitated. She wasn't sure if she was ready for Fred's face, but she couldn't very well turn down the offer. She was about to agree when her stomach rumbled. "Let's eat."

  "I have not yet dined," the Señora said. "Perhaps you would join me, Señor Landers? Join us, I should say, since Señor Fred usually takes his lunch with me in the garden when the weather is fine."

  Henry turned a snort into a cough and excused himself to get back to the potatoes. The ladies also dispersed, leaving Louis to hang about in hopes of watching Fred squirm.

  Not that Fred really squirmed, Marly noted. He remained his usual impassive self, except for two spots of pink that appeared on his cheekbones.

  "I probably should be working," she said.

  Louis smiled. "I think the boy has earned his dinner, n'est pas?"

  "I think you have work to do, Louis," Fred snapped.

  However, there was no sharpness in his tone when he addressed Marly. "Since it would be easier for my bookkeeping if I paid you in trade, the least I can do is make sure you are well fed."

  Marly helped Señora de Vegas set the table. Playing the gentleman, she held the Señora's chair. Fred brought out the food and served them before sitting down.

  Well trained by her aunt, Marly fell into the formal politeness Fred and the Señora affected. For the first time in a long time, she found it hard to remember she was playing the part of a boy. It was just as well that Fred insisted on calling her 'Master Landers'. Señora de Vegas was similarly formal.

  "Señor Landers, I hear from the Señorita that you and Marshal Strachan are settled in. You are comfortable, I hope?"