Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  “No, but I do have a close friend who I’ve always thought of as a sister.”

  “Did ye leave her behind as well?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t have said why but his questions started to wear on her. Placing her hands at the small of her back, she stretched out the kinks. Frowning, she said, “I really hate talking about myself, but so we don’t keep dragging this on and on, I'll tell you all there is to know about me. All right?”

  “Sur’n’ I’m not tryin’ to be nosey, Colleen, I’m just..”

  “Making conversation, I know.” She finished for him since he’d spoken the same sentence in their conversation last night before bed. She truly wanted him to stop asking questions about her previous life.

  He got up to refill their cups and sat back down. “Go on, Colleen.”

  She felt herself flush at his use of the name she now recognized as a term of endearment. She’d begun to like it but wondered how many other women he’d used it on. Stopping herself short before going down a road that could only lead to her disappointment, she straightened in the chair and cleared her throat.

  “I came with my parents to this country from Germany in 1860. We settled in Ohio where my mother died of pneumonia the first year. Father found Hallie, our housekeeper, right away and it was she who raised me.

  “I met my friend, Cissie Harold, in school. We became inseparable until we both married, she to a boy at our school and me to Helmut Brunner. The man my father gave me to in marriage.”

  “Ye didn’t have a say in the matter?”

  “It wasn’t my place to argue. My father’s word was law. You don’t have arranged marriages in Ireland?”

  “Aye, we do, though I’ve never agreed with the thinking.”

  “You wouldn’t have to, would you?”

  “And why is that now?”

  “Because you’re a man and no one tells you what to do, do they?”

  “Tis clear, ye’ve never met the women in my family,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m used to women who think for themselves.”

  “When my papa died, Helmut decided to move close to his daughter and her family in Boerne. So we bought a wagon, packed, and headed south.” Angel drained her cup’s contents and stood. “That brings you up to date. You know the rest.”

  “Not so fast, Mrs. O’Donnell.”

  “What could possibly be left to say?”

  “It isn’t words I’m after, fair Colleen,” he said with a wink and a crooked grin. “My stomach’s gnawing at my backbone. Do you think we could have a plate of Christmas dinner?”

  Chapter Eight

  Angel wrapped the last of the ham and set it together with the yams and beans in the larder. There was enough for one more meal and possibly they could even have ham and biscuits for breakfast in the morning. Buying prepared food from the hotel certainly hadn’t been cheap and she wondered, not for the first time, about her husband’s prosperity.

  He’d paid for their supplies and set up an account for future purchases. He had a letter of credit from a bank, and he’d made a business deal to buy Will’s land. That alone spoke volumes for his affluence.

  She dried the plates and utensils and put them away, while giving herself a stern talking to. What he had in the bank didn’t concern her. Just because he’d married her and promised to pay off her debt didn’t mean he owed her more. She had to figure out how to make a life for herself here on the Double R. How to make enough money to pay him back and to pay her own way. She realized no decision would be made today. Her situation would take more thought and planning than she could manage by herself.

  She wished her friend, Cissie, was here to help her. They’d always been able to talk a situation through to where it made sense. And she was too exhausted to think straight. She knew so because every time she got overly tired or down on herself, her thoughts jumped to Cissie and her family. They were her comfort, like her mother’s silver pinecone tree ornament. They meant home to her.

  It seemed like she’d been awake for days, yet it was just now a little past noon. Jamey had gone out to the barn to check on the animals and should be coming back inside soon. He’d had a long day, too. Hours had passed since they’d gotten up before daylight.

  She straightened his bed on the floor in front of the fireplace and added logs to bring up the temperature inside the cabin. One thing she could do was to have the place cozy for him when he came in from the barn. He deserved that much.

  Besides it was Christmas day.

  ***

  Jamey heard voices from inside the cabin and a horse’s snort as he approached the porch. He walked to the opposite side and found a horse with the reins tied loosely around a shrub that had seen better days. Their visitor obviously hadn’t wanted to be noticed. Silently, Jamey made his way back to the front of the cabin.

  Careful not to slip, he stepped onto the porch and stomped his booted feet to remove what little snow he’d accumulated. It was a miracle he’d made the trip from the barn without falling and busting his butt on the hard-packed snow. He listened briefly at the door and heard a man speaking to Angel. With only one horse, he figured it safe to assume there was only one visitor.

  He opened his coat, rested his right hand on his Colt and opened the door. Quickly, he scanned the room and confirmed there was a single intruder. One of Cleve Moran’s henchmen sat at the table drinking coffee. Angel stood by the stove, her hand within reach of the iron skillet. Good girl.

  “Tis happy I am to be back inside. It’s colder than a well digger’s fanny out there.”

  “Took you long enough,” she grumbled. “What were you doing, singing them a lullaby?”

  Her hand trembled as she poured him a cup of coffee, and he knew he was right in thinking her grumpiness was false bravado. He’d play along until he knew why their visitor was here.

  “Sure’n I’ll be doin’ what’s necessary to keep the stock calmed down.”

  “The screeching I heard would likely incite a stampede.”

  “And yer tone reminds me of a screamin’ banshee.” He noticed her flinch slightly at his remark, but she continued their banter.

  “I just hope you remembered to wipe your boots before coming inside.”

  “Aye, I did. After yer lecture yesterday, it’s imprinted on my brain. ‘Leave the dirt on the step. It’s called the outside for a reason’.”

  She glared at him but spoke to their guest. “Mr. Radley, please forgive us for airing our dirty laundry in front of you.”

  “Quite all right, little lady,” he drawled and chuckled. “I’ll let Mr. Moran know he made the right decision.”

  Jamey thrust out his hand. “Jamey O’Donnell. We weren’t formerly introduced the other day.”

  “Curly Radley. I run things for Mr. Moran. Make sure there’s no hiccups or surprises.”

  “I’m sure he finds yer services invaluable.” Jamey reclaimed his hand and gave him a pointed look. “It’s mighty cold out today. What can we do for ye, Mr. Radley?”

  “Call me, Curly . . . please.”

  Jamey doubted the word ‘please’ crossed this man’s lips often, if he ever said the word at all. He seemed more muscle than courtesy.

  “Curly, how can we help ye?”

  “I just stopped by to relay a message from Mr. Moran. He said to tell you he’s real sorry he missed your meeting in town. He was called out of town on personal business. He’ll contact you when he returns.”

  “Thank ye. I’d wondered if he was backin’ out of our deal.”

  “Mr. Moran doesn’t give his word lightly and honors a handshake deal.”

  Unlike yerself?

  “More coffee, Mr. Radley?”

  Jamey stood. “Curly, has to be goin’ now.”

  The man returned Jamey’s stare with one more sinister. “Thanks, ma’am. It’s getting late and I have a ways to go to get me and my horse put up for the night.” He placed his hat on his head and tapped the brim with his forefinger. Grinning, he walked out leaving
a wide expanse of frigid air in his wake.

  Jamey closed the heavy wooden door behind Curly Radley and set the latch. The encounter left him feeling like he’d stepped into something oily and slick. He turned toward Angel and found her frozen in the same spot, her arms folded around her middle. Closing the distance between them in two strides, he gathered her into his embrace. She was shaking like a leaf in the middle of a blue norther.

  “Colleen,” he soothed, his hand stroking her hair. “He’s gone. Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t help it. He always seems threatening even though he never says anything.”

  “Radley’s been here before?”

  “Yes, many times. Always on the pretense of talking to Will, but I was usually here alone.”

  “What’d he say to ye today?”

  She didn’t answer but circled her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

  “Angel?” He pushed away from her far enough to look her in the eye. “What did he say?”

  “He told me not to get too comfortable being Mrs. O’Donnell.” She shivered and buried her face in his chest. “He grinned and said you wouldn’t be around forever.”

  “I’ve made a promise to ye, Colleen. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

  “But I think he’s the one who killed Will and now he’s threatened you. I can’t lose another husband.”

  For some reason he couldn’t figure out, Jamey found himself wishing she’d said she couldn’t lose him but she hadn’t. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted gently. “I’m stayin’ right here.”

  Angel reached up and closed her fingers around his hand. “I sincerely hope so.” Funny thing was, she meant what she’d just said. She’d only known him for a few days but couldn’t imagine living here without him. Not that she could tell him.

  Suddenly her stomach felt funny and she pushed away from him. The chill she experienced was immediate. What was happening to her?

  He cleared his throat and studied the toes of his boots. Looking up, he gave her a big grin. “Have a seat, I have somethin’ for ye.” He walked over to a spot behind the tree and picked up a box tied with purple ribbon. Handing it to her, he said, “Merry Christmas, Angel.”

  “Jamey, you didn’t have to . . . when did you . . . ?”

  He grinned again, obviously pleased with himself. “The other day at Krutchmeyer’s. I wanted ye to have somethin’ pretty for Christmas.”

  The fragrance coming from inside the box was heavenly. She untied the bow, removed the lid, and breathed deeply. “Jamey, this is luscious. I’ve never had smelly soap before.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question. “Smelly soap?”

  She giggled and explained, “Growing up, my friend, Cissie, and I would go to Hardinger’s store to smell the pretty soaps in the display. We started calling them smelly soaps and it stuck.”

  “I hope ye like it. The purple label said ‘French Lavender’ and, like I said, I wanted ye to have somethin’ pretty.”

  The moment was sweet and, suddenly, too serious. Thoughts of her friend brought out the imp in her and she sought a way to lighten the mood. “Wait a minute, Mr. O’Donnell, are you saying I stink?”

  “No, I’m not, in fact I like the way ye—”

  She clasped her hands together and laughed out loud.

  “Ah, Colleen, ye have the way of the Devil’s bride in ye for sure. I’ll remember that.”

  “It’s been a long time since I joked or teased, and it felt good,” she admitted. “I couldn’t resist.” She also liked the thought that he liked the way she smelled. Since she had no pretty smelling colognes, she’d hold onto what he’d almost said.

  “A bit of the blarney is good for the soul.”

  “Hold on.” She stood quickly and ran into the bedroom to her dresser. When she returned, she held out a present wrapped in a colorful piece of cotton flannel. “Here, Merry Christmas.”

  A grin lit his face as he untied the four corners of the hemmed cloth to reveal more of the same inside. “What’s this?”

  “A little something for you.” Angel didn’t have to tell him she’d made the handkerchiefs for Will. He could figure that out for himself. “I hope you can use them.”

  “Always, thanks.” He ran his hand across the folded cloths. After a couple of minutes, Jamey broke the silence. “Ye look about as done in as I feel.”

  As if on cue, she yawned. “It has been a long day.”

  “There are decisions to be made about our future, and we have to figure out what’s to be done about our neighbor and others makin’ veiled threats.”

  “I know. I’d sure feel better if Marshal Handley was involved.”

  “He will be. We’ll take no steps without the marshal’s knowledge.”

  “That’s good.” Jamey seemed to have a level head on his shoulders and she silently thanked Will for having enough sense to ask for his help.

  Jamey stood, stirred the fire, and put another log on to last the night. “Shall we turn in?”

  “Yes.” Angel didn’t move toward the bedroom when he laid down on his makeshift bed. The other room seemed so far away and for some reason she didn’t want to be alone tonight. “Jamey?”

  “Aye, Colleen?”

  “May I lay beside you for a while?”

  “Tis the heavens I’ll be thanking for another Christmas gift.” He made room for her on the blankets.

  She lay down beside him, her head in the crook of his arm. Snuggling close to his side, she asked, “Jamey?”

  “Aye, Colleen?”

  “Will you tell me about yourself tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mid-morning the following day, Angel hung the last bit of laundry she’d washed and rinsed over the ladder back chair. Every object that could be moved close to the fire and oven was draped with wet clothing. Jamey had brought in two tubs for her to use. She hoped to use the larger one to take a bath in later this evening.

  She looked forward to using the lavender soap Jamey had given her for Christmas. He’d completely taken her by surprise. She’d seen the display at Krutchmeyer’s store the day before yesterday and admired it. The fragrance smelled heavenly and, if she could, she hoped to wash her hair, too. The thought of feeling clean and smelling pretty again lifted her spirits.

  The fact she’d slept better last night than she had in months didn’t hurt either. She’d woken up in his arms in practically the same position as when she’d fallen asleep. He’d been watching her when she stirred. She warmed at the remembrance.

  Voices out in the yard interrupted her thoughts. Angel looked out the window in time to see Jamey greeting Marshal Handley and Doc Fraser. Slipping her coat around her shoulders, she went out onto the porch.

  Doc Fraser jumped from the buggy with the ease of a much younger man. When he reached her, he took her hand. “Angel, I’m sorry about Will. He was a good man and he didn’t deserve this.”

  “Thanks.” She knew he didn’t have the benefit of her recent discoveries, but she appreciated the sentiment.

  “Doc?” Jamey called to him. “The root cellar’s this way. Marshal?”

  She had a pot of hot coffee on the stove when the three men finished their task of examining Will’s body. She’d managed to clear enough spots for them to sit, so when they came inside, each one took a seat.

  The steaming liquid did little to warm her and the silence that filled the room made her apprehension almost as great as her fear of Curly Radley. Finally, unable to stand the wait any longer, she said, “So, Doc, what’s your ruling?”

  “It’s my belief Will was murdered. Although I don’t know the nature of the circumstances leading up to the shooting.” He splayed his hands out palms up. “I’ll leave the why up to the Marshal. But his wounds were deliberate.”

  The starch went out of her. She’d known Will had been murdered, she’d seen where he’d been shot in the back. Hearing it said out loud by Doc Fraser somehow made it more r
eal, more final.

  Jamey reached over and covered her clinched hands. They were white-knuckled and ice cold. He took over for her, asking the necessary questions.

  “So Marshal what’ve ye found?”

  “So far nothing’s come to light, but I’ll keep asking around and see what I can find out.”

  “What if I could give ye some direction?”

  “I’d be much obliged, O’Donnell.”

  Jamey straightened in his chair and rested his elbows on the table. Glancing at Angel then back at Handley, he said, “We had a visitor yesterday.”

  “That’s so?”

  “Aye, when I came in from the barn, Curly Radley sat here at this table bothering my wife.” He squeezed her hands and gave her a half-smile. “Supposedly he was here for Cleve Moran to let us know he’d left town for a while, but I got the impression Curly had his own agenda.”

  “Did he say anything or make any direct threats?”

  “Not specifically to me, but—”

  “He told me not to get too comfortable having my new husband around.”

  “Go on, Colleen, tell him the rest.” Jamey urged.

  She hesitated slightly then continued, “That’s not the first time he’s been here, Marshal.”

  Handley sat up and watched her intently. “I’m listening.”

  “Starting after the first of this year, Mr. Radley showed up every few weeks or so, usually when Will was gone from the house. He never did anything, he just made me ill at ease.”

  “I don’t understand why Will didn’t tell me about it.”

  “He said he wanted to handle the matter himself.”

  “I have one more thing that might interest you, Marshal.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yesterday, Radley was riding Will’s horse, Bull.”

  “Jamey?” Angel’s startled look pinned him to his seat.

  He’d meant to tell her about it last night, but he hadn’t gotten around to it. He fully regretted that mistake, but he had to tell the Marshal now.

  “I’d say that’s a fairly significant bit of information.” Marshal Handley stood, his hat in his hand. “Doc, I think I’ll head over to Moran’s place and see what I can find out.” To Angel, he said, “Thank you for the coffee and a chunk of fire.”