The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  Two dark-haired men seated themselves at a table near the back wall. As she approached them, Lucky tugged his hat on, settling it low over his eyes as he rose. He placed something under his coffee cup on the table and, book in hand, slipped out with only a tiny nod in her direction.

  What on earth. Was he coming back?

  She watched through the window as he rode off then looked back at the remaining two horses at the rail. A magnificent black horse, its coat shining in the sun, stood next to a smaller paint. Its body was mainly a chestnut color, its neck and underbelly splashed liberally with white, though its bald face and light blue eyes gave it an eerie appearance.

  Reeling in her attention, she retrieved the item Lucky’d left under his coffee cup. A two-dollar bill—far too much money for his uneaten meal—and a scrap of paper with something scribbled on it.

  She turned to the two men, who both watched her. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  The first shoved his hat back to reveal angular features and cold gray-blue eyes, similar to the horse at the hitching post outside. “Gimme a steak. Rare. And coffee.”

  “Make that two steaks.” Having already removed his hat, the second man pushed a mop of dark hair back from his eyes, which mirrored the peculiar blue of the other fella’s. Brothers, perhaps, or some family relation.

  “Rare as well?” Maisie gripped the scribbled note Lucky had left her.

  He cocked his head, the waning afternoon light playing against his prominent cheekbones. “Ain’t no other way to eat a steak.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll have those out to you directly.”

  She turned toward the kitchen, but the second man grabbed her wrist.

  Heart pounding, Maisie spun. “Please unhand me.”

  “Anyone ever told you you’re real pretty?” The man’s grin chilled her.

  Maisie squared her shoulders. “Yes. My father, the sheriff. Now, please, unhand me.”

  The first man glared across the table. “Let her go.”

  His grip eventually loosened. “My apologies, ma’am.”

  Knees like butter, she slipped into the kitchen, bee-lined for the back door, and turned Lucky’s note toward the sun: Be careful. Bad men.

  Stomach churning, Lucky rode down the street. Coward. He didn’t deserve a gal like Maisie. Not when he’d leave her alone with two dangerous outlaws just to protect his own skin. And for what? Would Percy or Kane Freeman have recognized him? Perhaps not. He’d been a rowdy orphan, just barely seventeen, when he’d last seen them more than six years ago. He’d done a heap of changing since then.

  But maybe they would have. They were cousins of Dale Freeman, the leader of the rustling gang he’d testified against, and it was his testimony that got the gang lynched. That’d make him memorable.

  He couldn’t say for sure, but he’d always wondered just how connected Percy and Kane were to the rustling operation. The first time they’d come by the hideout after Dale brought Lucky into the fold, there’d been an all-out war between the cousins. Dale had been willing, at first, to let Lucky in as a full-fledged member of the gang. After Percy and Kane’s visit, he’d been left to tend the horses and do other mundane tasks. They’d obviously held a lot of sway over Dale for that to happen, even though they were rarely ever around.

  For all he knew, they’d shown up in town now because they were looking for him, to settle the score.

  He shouldn’t have left Maisie in the café alone with ’em, not when he knew what they were capable of. “Lord, I should be making sure she’s safe, not protecting my own sorry hide.” He shook his head. “I had more of a spine at seventeen than I do now at twenty-three.”

  Go back and watch.

  The thought came so suddenly, he drew to a sudden halt. Go back…to the café? The idea knotted his stomach. Not the café. He could keep an eye on the restaurant from the mercantile across the street.

  Lucky turned the corner and secured his mount in front of the newspaper office then headed down the nearest alley and wound his way to the mercantile.

  At the store owner’s greeting, he nodded. “Mind iffen I look at your books?”

  “Up front.” The man motioned to the shelf.

  Perfectly positioned to pretend he was looking while keeping an eye on the horses across the street, he grabbed a book and opened the cover, thumbing absently through the pages. A weight lifted from his shoulders when other diners arrived and filtered through the café’s door across the next half hour. The more customers, the less likely the Freeman brothers would hassle Maisie.

  The setting sun’s rays reflected off the café’s large window, making it impossible to see inside, so he prayed and watched for the pair to exit the building.

  “It’s nearly closing time,” the shopkeeper called. “Are you finding what you need?”

  He jerked at the unexpected question. “Yes, sir.” He snapped the book he was holding closed and paced to the counter.

  The man looked at the book’s spine. “You sure this is the one you wanted?”

  “It’s a gift.” He pushed the book of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnets toward the man.

  Recognition flared in the fella’s eyes. “Like those pretty vases you ordered?”

  With a sheepish grin, Lucky paid for the slim volume and turned. Outside the café, the Freeman brothers prepared to mount up.

  “Pardon.” He turned back to the counter, desperate for some reason to stay a moment longer. His gaze fell on the ledger book where the man kept track of the credit he’d extended to store patrons, and an idea struck.

  “Yes?” The man stepped back to the counter again.

  “I, uh…” His tongue threatened to freeze. “Iffen I was of a mind to do a favor for a friend, would you be willing to tell me how much they owe you?”

  “What friend would you be asking after?”

  He dropped his voice to a confidential level. “Sheriff Blanton’s widow?”

  The gentleman flipped to the appropriate ledger page. “Thirty-five dollars and twenty-eight cents.”

  More than a month’s pay for him. He could only imagine how much that would translate to on Maisie’s meager earnings. A year’s worth? He dug in his pocket, produced twenty dollars, and slid it across the counter. “Put that toward her account, and I’ll bring you the rest later. And I’ll ask you to keep this between us. I don’t want the family knowing.”

  After the man wrote a receipt, Lucky headed toward the door again. The café’s hitching rail stood empty as he exited the mercantile and slipped back to the alley.

  Thank You, Lord.

  He should check in on Maisie, make sure they hadn’t acted inappropriately toward her. But what would she think of him leaving her there alone, especially after his pointed note stating they were bad men? She’d think him a coward. His heart pounded. It’d be best to disappear for now, wait to see her another time. Perhaps she’d forget his spinelessness by then.

  He tucked the book under one arm, pulled his hat brim lower on his forehead, and crammed his hands in his pockets. Long strides carried him down the narrow alley toward the newspaper office where he’d left his horse, though when he rounded the corner, he stopped at the sight of Percy Freeman.

  “Pardon.” His nerves crackling, Lucky dipped his head so his hat brim shielded more of his face and turned the other direction. Kane Freeman blocked that path.

  “Lucky Tolliver.” Percy stepped up behind him.

  He swung around to see both men. His only options were to stand and face them, or backtrack. He took a shuffling step back.

  “Thought that was you in the café,” the elder brother, Percy, continued. He swallowed, took another step back.

  “Wasn’t you feeling neighborly? You didn’t stay and say hello.” A humorless grin stained Kane’s lips.

  Lucky backed up a couple of more steps. “Don’t want no trouble, fellas.”

  Percy smirked as they both closed in. “Neither do we.”

  Both men’s gazes darted past him
to the alley entrance. He dared not look.

  “Well, there you are, Lucky!” Maisie Blanton called. “When a gentleman invites a lady on an evening stroll, it’s customary to wait for her out in the open. Not in a dark alley surrounded by all this trash.”

  Jaw slack, he turned so he could see Maisie without losing sight of the Freemans.

  “Are you ready?” She settled a hand on her hip and smiled, green eyes glinting.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked at the brothers.” ‘Scuse me.” He gave a curt nod and settled a hand against the small of Maisie’s back, high-tailing it onto the street.

  “Are you all right?” Maisie asked after they’d walked a good half block.

  He kept his pace until he reached the street where he’d left his horse. There, he searched for the Freemans before he drew her to a halt. Heart hammering, he turned on her.

  “What in the name of Pete do you think you’re doing?”

  Chapter 4

  Maisie drew back at Lucky’s sharp tone. “If you must know, saving you. I saw those men had you cornered, so I—”

  “I didn’t warn you so’s you could save me. I warned you so’s you’d steer clear of ’em. You shoulda left well enough alone.”

  Ungrateful man. And she’d been intrigued to the point of nearly throwing herself at this fella? “Pardon me for caring.” She drew back out of his reach then turned back toward the café.

  Lucky caught her arm and, after a glance up and down the street, nodded toward his horse. “Come with me. We need to get out of sight. They’re still around here somewheres.”

  “I have to get back to work. My boss allowed me a short break, but I still have to close up.”

  As if he hadn’t heard, he stowed something in his saddlebags then jerked the reins free and swung into the saddle. Only then did he stretch out his hand to her as if expecting her to abandon her job and ride away with him.

  “Did you hear me? If I don’t get back, I’ll lose my job.”

  Lucky nudged the horse nearer and leaned down. “I ain’t trying to scare you, but your job’s the least of your worries with these men.” He spoke in a confidential tone. “They’re killers, among other things. Now, please, come with me?” He held out his hand again. That time, something in his expression compelled her to take it. In one quick motion, he helped her up behind him.

  Maisie’s hands instinctively settled at his waist, a little thrill winding through her. At almost nineteen, she’d never ridden double with a man other than Pa and never figured she would, given the things folks in this town thought of her family.

  Lucky urged his horse into motion. “You know someplace in town where we can get out of sight?”

  “I’m quite serious. I must get back to the café, but there’s a small barn out back if you feel compelled to hide. The owner uses it to store some broken chairs and such.”

  “Any chance I can talk you into not going back to work tonight?”

  Not going back to that blasted café was her dream. She’d rather work the family ranch, but all hope of that died with Pa. They owed too much on the property, and she was barely making enough at the café to keep food on the table, but…“I had a hard enough time finding that job. The owner’s all but promised he’ll fire me if I do anything more wrong.”

  He loosed a long breath but turned the horse toward the café. They rode in silence, Lucky searching the streets constantly as he took them on a circuitous route back to the Blackwater Café.

  Whoever those men were, they’d certainly gotten Lucky talking. It was as if someone had knocked the rust from his jaw and oiled his tongue up good and proper. Now if she could just keep those words flowing. But when she drew back, prepared to ask how he knew them, Lucky tugged her arms tighter about his waist. Her thoughts turned to sludge and her insides wobbled at his nearness.

  Blast it all. How easily she could go weak kneed and addle brained.

  She jerked her thoughts back. “Who are those men, and how do you know them?”

  His face clouded. “Nobody important.”

  “Is that so?”

  He glanced back. “Trust me when I tell you they’re bad fellas. You should cut ’em a wide path.”

  A decidedly guarded answer, not unlike the ones Pa used to give her when she’d ask him specifics about his job—and particularly about why he wasn’t doing it there at the end of his tenure as sheriff.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Lucky?”

  He stiffened as he turned down the little alley leading to the barn behind the café. “Some questions are better left unasked.” He swung his leg over the big bay’s neck and slid from the saddle then turned to help Maisie down.

  Feet on the ground, she pinned him with a glare. “I don’t like secrets. There’s been too many of those in my life, and I’m tired of it.”

  The old Lucky returned then. He looked away and shrugged. “Just…trying to protect you.”

  Despite the reemergence of his timorous side, she shook her head. “I don’t need protecting. I’m the daughter of a lawman. Pa taught me to ride, rope, track, and shoot, so I wouldn’t need a man. I’m more than capable of protecting myself, thank you very much. Now will you please tell me who they are?”

  After a moment, he shook his head. “Better you don’t know.”

  Sighing, she brushed past him into the café.

  Lucky sat beside the small watering hole and shook his head. What on earth had he been thinking? He’d left. The moment that doorway swallowed her up, he’d ridden to her house, tucked the book of poems against her door, and ridden back to the Rocking D. And that was three days ago. At the least, he shoulda made sure she got home unharmed, but she’d rattled him, asking what he was hiding. Despite being the sheriff’s daughter, she was somehow blissfully unaware he’d spent time in prison, and the thought of spilling those details scared him senseless.

  “There ain’t much hope anyhow. The only way you can talk to a pretty gal without getting tongue-tied is when you’re scared for her safety or upset at her recklessness.” He attacked the weeds that threatened to choke the edge of the watering hole.

  She didn’t help matters. The minute she spouted off about her abilities to rope, ride, and shoot, he’d gotten so blasted discombobulated, there’d been no chance. Had her pa truly taught her those things so’s she wouldn’t need a man in her life? He tossed the weeds to the side. It didn’t leave him much to be optimistic about. Not that he had any to begin with.

  The bigger issue was Percy and Kane Freeman’s sudden appearance. In hindsight, he should’ve mentioned their appearance to the new sheriff. But the lawman—formerly Sheriff Blanton’s deputy…and the man Lucky’d shot while attempting to escape capture—had plenty of reason to hate him. The man had lingered between life and death for a week before he’d finally pulled through. All the more reason Lucky avoided the law as much as he could.

  He moved down and attacked another handful of weeds near the water’s edge, as well as pulled a few stones from the shallows. “Lord, I shoulda expected to see Percy and Kane Freeman, but I didn’t. Guess I figured since I’m trying so hard to right my wrongs that You’d keep that part of my life from returning to haunt me. Now that I know they’re here, I got a real bad feeling that they’re up to no good, and I fear Maisie’s in some danger. Because of me.”

  In the distance, a horse and rider cantered his way. Lucky continued working at the weeds and rocks until the man finally neared.

  “Howdy, Joe.” Lucky stood to face his fellow ranch hand.

  Joe Coppen leaned on the saddle horn, his expression grim. “Boss wants you back in the ranch yard directly.”

  Concern knotted his shoulders. “Is everything all right?”

  “Don’t appear so. The sheriff wants a word with you. You best come along.”

  The sheriff. That didn’t bode well. Lucky wiped sweat from his hatband then tugged his hat back in place. “You know what he wants?”

  “Can’t say for sure, but I can surmise.”
The latter part leaked out like a breath, almost too soft for Lucky to hear.

  Lucky swung into his saddle and clucked his tongue. Within minutes, he rode into the ranch yard, his neck and shoulders aching with tension. Joe trailed up beside him. At their approach, Sheriff Ed Warburn and Thomas Eddings, of all people, stepped off Mr. Dempsey’s wide front porch and strode out into the sunshine. Lucky’s muscles knotted even tighter. Thankfully, Mr. Dempsey was close on their heels.

  “Tolliver, git off that horse,” the sheriff barked. “I need a word with you.”

  His tongue turning to cotton, he obliged the lawman. “What can I help you with, Sheriff?”

  The lawman stopped a foot in front of him, glowering. “Where were you two days ago?”

  He resisted the urge to step back to distance himself from Warburn. “I was here. Doing my work. Why?”

  “Because some of my family’s cattle are missing.” Eddings barged toward him. “I remember you from years ago. If you’d throw in with rustlers then, what would stop you from stealing cattle again?”

  He fisted his hands, his heart pounding. It would feel good to punch that dandified troublemaker in the nose. Somehow, though, he kept himself under control. “I didn’t. I swear it. I was here, and Mr. Dempsey knows it.”

  “Was he, Dempsey?” The sheriff turned, finally putting some space between them.

  Lucky breathed a little easier.

  “Thinking back, Lucky helped me deliver a calf that morning, then me and several of the boys—including Lucky and Joe, there—moved part of the herd for a couple hours after that. That afternoon, they went off to do other chores separately.”

  Sheriff Warburn squinted at him. “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts that night?”

  Lucky shrugged. “I was in my bunk. Ask Joe.” He turned to the other cowhand, still sitting in his saddle.