A Texan's Luck

by Jodi Thomas

  Riley shook his head. "Maybe you should think of getting Lacy out of here."

  'To where? She'd be no safer on the road. Fort Elliot might be a good place, we could be there in a day, but she'd never go with me."

  "She's got a few friends—"

  "I'll not put others in harm's way," Walker said before the sheriff could finish.

  "I can't argue with that. Both the other two women who came into my office confessing to the murder of Zeb Whitaker five years ago are married with families now. They're in a lot safer locations than Lacy, so I'm guessing he's heading here first. The only friend Lacy has, that might take her in, is a girl down in Childress. They call her Two Bits. But she's just a kid, even if she did inherit an old house by the tracks a few months ago. She could let Lacy stay with her, but then neither one would probably be safe. Her place is off by itself."

  "Lacy stays with me," Walker said, remembering the fear in her brown eyes. If he had to give up sleep for a month, he'd protect her.

  Riley nodded and touched his hat in farewell. "Stay warm. We're in for a bad storm tonight." The sheriff walked away, a mangy alley dog following behind him.

  Walker "climbed the stairs and stepped back into the apartment kitchen as quietly as he could. The notepad still lay on the tiny table with twenty-three marked on the top page.

  "Lacy stays with me," Walker said again. "For as long as necessary." He flipped the notepad over. He didn't need to be reminded of his duty.

  CHAPTER 7

  The cold woke Lacy before dawn. She felt as if she were sleeping in a mound of snow. Not even the blankets warmed her. Wrapping the covers around her, she forced her stiff body to move toward the kitchen, which she hoped would still be warm from last night's fire in the stove. The air seemed frozen, and she took shallow breaths, pressing her nose against the top of the quilt.

  As soon as she opened her bedroom door, warmth rushed in. For a moment she stood, letting the heated air caress her face. Blinking, she peered around the shadowy living space covered with quilts and hand-me-down books from her father-in-law. Home, too small of a word to describe how this place wrapped around her, welcomed her, made her feel like she belonged somewhere on the planet.

  The low, steady breathing of someone sleeping reached her ears, and Lacy realized she wasn't alone. Walker slept by the door leading to the shop. One of his hands lay outside his army blanket touching the rifle at his side. The barrel of the weapon pointed toward the kitchen door. The odd leather bag he'd brought in when he'd arrived was open near the lamp, and a book lay propped up as if he'd read himself to sleep.

  Lacy wondered how many times he'd slept with the rifle and the book so near. She tiptoed across the room and slipped into the kitchen. As she turned up the low-burning lamp on the table, she smiled, thankful Walker had stoked the fire in her little stove sometime during the night and not let it go out. He'd also brought in two buckets of snow. One rested on the back corner of the stove; the other, still icy, sat near the sink waiting to be heated.

  Glancing back to make sure he slept, she quickly put on coffee using the cold water. She collected her things from the bedroom and then placed the warm bucket of melted snow in the far corner of the kitchen. Realizing the captain could see her should he awake, she hooked a thin old blanket between two nails. Then she ducked behind the blanket curtain and stepped into her newly made dressing room.

  The curtain had gaps on either side, but at least it offered her some privacy. During the months Walker's father had stayed with her, the worn blanket provided the only space for her to change since she insisted he use the bedroom. Last winter, she'd sometimes used the blanket to bathe because the wool kept out drafts and hugged in warmth.

  A tub bath would have been impossible in this weather, so she began to bathe one part of her body at a time using a sliver of the soap her friend Bailee made with peach blossoms and a soft washcloth that had survived a thousand washings. Lacy tied her hair back, opened her gown, and slowly washed until she reached her legs. Bundling up the hem of her gown, she tied it at her hips and continued to wash. The warm air dried her skin, and the smell of coffee drifted around the room as the pot bubbled to life on the stove.

  When she finished bathing, she let her hair tumble and reached for her brush. With long strokes she worked the tangles from her hair. She leaned forward and let her hair fall as she pulled the brush from the back of her scalp forward. The thick brown mass floated around her shoulders. For the first time since the captain had arrived, Lacy felt order slipping back into her life.

  When she finished her hair and started to button her gown, she thought she heard a sound. Lacy froze and listened. A meow came from the other side of the blanket.

  Lacy stretched and peeked over the blanket. Andy pawed at the back door and meowed again.

  She relaxed, held her nightgown closed, and tiptoed over to let the cat out. Andy made it a foot before he realized the snow was too deep to go about his business. Lacy laughed. Leaning back behind the door, she lifted the only coat on the hook. The captain's coat.

  Wrapping it around her, she stretched back out the door and brushed off most of the snow from the long flowerpot on one side of her small porch.

  She reached backward into the kitchen and grabbed the bucket, now full of soapy water, and poured it over the side railing, then refilled it with fresh-fallen snow. Once the snow melted, the water wouldn't be clean enough to use for coffee, but she could wash dishes with it, and melting snow seemed far more practical than waiting for the pipes to thaw.

  Dancing quickly back inside before her feet froze, she peeked around the wall separating the two rooms to make sure Walker still slept. He'd rolled to his back, and she heard him snoring slightly, his hair in his eyes. He didn't seem all that stiff and proper asleep.

  She laughed. He almost looked human.

  Quickly, she removed his coat and placed it back in place, guessing he would not approve of her using his things.

  She debated taking her clothes back to her bedroom to change, but the warmth behind the wool blanket won out. As fast as she could, Lacy slipped into her shift and cotton drawers, then her petticoat and her dress. Last, she laced the heavy wool vest over her blouse. Not only would it keep her warm, Lacy thought, it did a good job of hiding the fact that she was a little heavy on top.

  On days like this she'd often wished she had enough money to buy material for a proper wool dress, but the thick cotton was warm enough with the vest. She had her jacket downstairs if she got cold and wool stockings her friend Sarah sent her last Christmas. Lacy warmed her toes close to the stove before slipping on the stockings, enjoying the way they wrapped around her legs to just above her knee, then tied with a thin black ribbon.

  After pulling her hair back, she began breakfast. By the time she heard Walker moving in the main room, the food was almost ready.

  She heard him stomp into his boots, then walk across the room. Her hand shook slightly when he filled the passage. Even though she'd heard him coming, he looked so out of place in her home, he still startled her. The dark beard covering his face had spread during the night, no longer cut in clean lines along his jaw. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and first finger and appeared half asleep.

  "Want some breakfast?" She smiled, thinking the captain didn't seem nearly as powerful just after he woke.

  Walker glanced around. "I'd like to wash up, first." He reached for his saddlebags and turned to the back door. "If I remember, there's a washstand behind the hotel."

  "Wait," she said a moment before he turned the knob.

  Walker glanced back at her, and she realized he fully intended to step out in the blizzard with nothing on but his trousers and undershirt. If he'd collected the buckets full of snow, he already knew the weather. And since he wasn't talking of using them, he must also know that she'd bathed.

  She glanced at the blanket, wondering just how much he could see from the living area.

  "I'm melting more snow. You could wash up her
e if you like. If there was any water in the jugs behind the hotel, it'll be frozen by now." Before he could answer, she pulled a clean towel down from the shelf and pointed toward the corner where the blanket still hung between the nails. If he could not comment on her using the water he'd collected, she could offer her space.

  Walker raised an eyebrow.

  Lacy tried not to think about the intimacy of the act she suggested. "I used to hang the blanket when your father lived here. Otherwise I had no place to change clothes, since he slept in the bedroom."

  "Very effective. Would you mind if I made use of your private dressing room, madam?"

  "No." She grinned, realizing he understood about the corner being just hers. She stepped out of his way. "I'll finish breakfast."

  Walker pulled back the corner of the blanket and bent to step behind it, but his head and shoulders rose above the curtain. Again, he glanced at her with a question in his blue eyes. A question and a hint of laughter.

  "It's all right. I've seen your shoulders bare before."

  The second the words left her mouth, Lacy wished she could pull them back. She turned quickly, not wanting him to read her thoughts in her eyes or see the fire in her cheeks. If he said a word about the day they'd met, she swore she'd kill him. Lacy couldn't believe she'd mentioned it so casually.

  Thankfully, Walker remained silent.

  She heard him pull a chair beneath the blanket. When she finally glanced in his direction, he was busy unbuttoning the collarless undershirt he had slept in.

  Lifting the still-cold water, she handed it around the blanket.

  "Thanks." His hand laced through her fingers to take the pail.

  "I'm sorry the water's not warm yet. I'm afraid I used the bucket you left on the back of the stove."

  "It doesn't matter," he answered as one of his boots dropped. "I'm accustomed to cold water."

  Another boot dropped, but Lacy didn't look in his direction.

  She turned her full attention to breakfast, trying not to think about how warm and hard his chest had felt that day when he'd pressed it to hers and how his heart had pounded against her own.

  When she peeked at the blanket, she noticed his trousers tossed across it. Then his undershirt. Then his long johns.

  She almost let the eggs burn as she realized he must be nude only a few feet away. He hadn't even been nude the day they'd met. The day he'd taken her virginity.

  The blanket moved as he bumped it.

  Lacy tried hard to forget how near he stood.

  "The water smells like peaches," he said as if trying to break the silence between them.

  "Some of my soap must have clung to the sides. I didn't have any water left to rinse it out."

  "I don't mind. When I'm on the trail, the bucket I use to wash waters the horses before it gets to me. Believe me, peach blossoms are a much better smell."

  Lacy grinned. His back was to her, his shoulders muscular and tan. Though he was lean, there was nothing frail about him. With the lamp still burning on the table behind him, she could see the shadow of his body outlined on the blanket. Lacy told herself to look away, but she couldn't.

  Then she reddened, realizing that if he'd been awake, he could have seen her outline. Thankfully, he'd been asleep, and tomorrow she'd make sure the lamp was on the other side of the blanket before she dressed.

  As he pulled a clean undershirt over his head, he said, "Mind if I wait for the water to heat before I shave?"

  It surprised her that he'd even ask; then she realized he was going out of his way to be polite. He was doing what he'd done at the market, acting the perfect gentleman. It wouldn't work on her, of course, but she gave him credit for trying.

  "I'll put another bucket on to warm." If he could play the game, so could she. Maybe the days would pass faster if they tried to be civil to one another. The politeness of strangers would suit her fine.

  He ate breakfast in his clean undershirt and trousers, but he had taken the time to buff his boots before sitting down. As soon as they finished, he shaved behind the blanket and reappeared with his uniform buttoned to his throat.

  "Will we be attending church? I've no objection to accompanying you."

  "No." Lacy thought of telling him she wore her best dress now, and it was barely good enough for work. Or she could tell him she swore she'd never step foot in a church years ago when they didn't want her mother to be buried in their cemetery. But she didn't know this husband of hers well enough to tell him anything. "I doubt there will be many, even in town, who attend service today."

  Walker leaned against the window in the living space and stared out at Main Street covered in snow. "So, Lacy, what do you do on days like this?" He already looked bored, and they'd just started the day.

  She smiled. "When weather keeps me in, I quilt or go down and work in my office. Most Saturday evenings I go to my friend, Bailee's farm. There I play with her children and visit. She's always cooking so there's lots of food. Once it gets dark, her husband Carter reads to us all. For a man who never talks, he has a great voice for reading. When the kids start falling to sleep, I help carry them up to a little loft Carter built when he added the big kitchen onto the house."

  She knew she rattled on, but it seemed better than silence. As she talked she pulled out her quilting frame. "I sleep in the bedroom below the children at their house. Bailee even calls it Lacy's room, like it will always be there for me if I need it."

  When Walker didn't comment, she continued, more to break the silence than in any belief that he cared. "The baby still sleeps with Carter and Bailee in their bedroom underground. Carter built it, too. He can build almost anything. In the winter, when there's not a lot to do on the farm, he builds furniture with the help of an old carpenter who winters at his place. Bailee said once that they've shipped orders as far away as Austin."

  When Walker didn't say anything, she added, "I usually do my laundry the next morning, then head back to town after lunch. For the price of a paper every week, old Mr. Mosely lets me keep your dad's old gray, Dancer, at the livery. He rents him out from time to time when anyone needs a horse and buggy, so he rarely has to charge me for feed. The only other rig fit to drive in his barn is a wagon built to hold coffins he bought used from the fort a few years ago."

  "I'm surprised Dancer is still alive." Walker finally joined the conversation. "Dad had him for several years before I left. The horse that carried my father through the first year of the War Between the States was called Dancer, so I guess he called the next horse he owned the same name. After that first year, my father never rode, that I know of, except in a buggy." Walker laughed and shoved himself away from the window frame. "I never thought much about it, but my old man had two wives, both named Laura. He must have hated having to remember names."

  "Your father never told me he'd been married twice."

  "Before the war, his first wife died delivering my half brother, Emory. From what he said, the first Laura was the love of his life. I think Dad thought he'd get lost reporting the war and forget about her, but a year later he came home in the back of a wagon all busted up. My mom was his first wife's cousin. I think they'd both been named after the same grandmother. Anyway, she took care of him, and they married as soon as he could stand. He was forty by then, and she was still in her teens, but a wife was a necessity to a man with a small son."

  Walker continued, "A year later I was born, I was told my mother developed a cough the next winter. He brought her West to help her recover, but she slowly grew worse. I don't remember her."

  Lacy had no idea what to say. She thought of saying that she was sorry his mother died, but since it had been over twenty years, the comment sounded a litde belated. She decided to change the subject. "Sometimes I read your father's books on cold days."

  Walker stared out the window, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sounds like an exciting life," he mumbled.

  Lacy frowned. "Well, it's not riding after outlaws, keeping the frontier safe for settl
ers, or chasing rustlers back across the Rio, but it is my life."

  He looked at her. "I wasn't finding fault, Lacy. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to sleep in the same bed every night. What it would feel like to have whole families of friends. Folks you could watch grow up and grow old, have children and troubles and blessings."

  Lacy watched, wondering if he were longing for something or just observing.

  "The men I serve with, I know for a few years, until their tours of duty are over or they transfer out. If they have wives, they're usually no more to me than a picture the soldier pulls out from time to time. Sometimes I see men leave, knowing I'll never hear from them again. Sometimes I bury them and send the wife's picture back East with my condolences."

  "You could quit."

  He turned back to the window. "No. I can't."

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He continued to stare out the window while she quilted. The cats played with her thread. He went downstairs for more wood. The north wind howled. Snow continued to fall.

  As she worked quietly, Walker tried reading from his thick book, then pacing, and once even napping. When all else failed, he stood over her shoulder and watched her quilt, asking question after question about a skill he had no interest in learning. Finally, he settled at the kitchen table and cleaned his rifles, which Lacy had no doubt were already spotless.

  The snow let up about five, but the sky stayed gray and heavy. Walker was at his usual post beside the window. "You think anyone is out and about? I haven't seen a wagon go by all day."

  Lacy laid her needle down and stretched her back. 'The saloon and the hotel are always open. I've heard Mr. Stauf- fer say they make a pretty good business when folks get snowed in. If you want to go for a drink, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Not even Zeb Whitaker would ride to town to kill me on a day like this."

  Walker smiled. "How about we go over to the hotel for supper?"