The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

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

  Silence lingered for a long moment.

  “Well?”

  “What do you want me to say, Maisie?” She must hate him. His secret was out, and she would turn and run at any moment.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she reined her sorrel around to face him. “I want you to talk to me, Luke Tolliver!”

  He found her green eyes full of compassion.

  “I’ve been serving you meals in the café for nigh on half a year now, but we’ve never really talked. You and Mr. Dempsey asked me to vouch for you, and I did. Without question. Now I’d like to know a bit about the man I spoke for. Where’d you grow up? What was your family like? How’d you get involved with cattle rustlers?”

  Once she knew his past sins, it’d end any dreams he might have for them. Nothing for it now, but to plunge ahead. He urged his horse forward again, and she fell in beside him.

  “I was an angry kid looking for a family. Dale Freeman and his gang took me in.”

  “What about your real family?”

  He shook his head. “Ma died birthing me, and Pa died in the War between the States. I was their only child. When Pa left for the war, I got shuffled around between a bunch of aunts and uncles who didn’t want me. That’s when I fell in with the Freemans. I was a stupid kid hungry to belong, and they were like the older brothers I never had. Teased me and pushed me around, but all good-natured-like.”

  “So you like getting pushed around?”

  “No, I…I didn’t mean—” Lucky jerked to look at her but found mischief in her eyes. He quit stammering and chuckled.

  “There! You can laugh. I was wondering.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t hear you laugh much either.”

  She sobered. “Suppose I haven’t in a while.”

  “Why?”

  Her face clouded. “I’m asking the questions. How’d you get caught?”

  Lucky rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t know. I was standing watch whilst the gang scouted a herd to rustle. Your pa and Deputy Warburn crept up on me. Woulda gotten the drop, but Warburn jostled a rock loose at the last instant.”

  “What happened?”

  “I, uh…I shot Warburn. In the chest.”

  Maisie’s eyes rounded. “You were the one?”

  His belly knotted. Surely now she’d ride away without a backward glance.

  But she didn’t.

  “I always wondered. Pa never talked much about his job to us kids. Only with Ma.”

  “It was me, sure enough.” Not a day went by that he didn’t beg for God—and Warburn—to forgive him.

  “So what happened? How’d you go from an outlaw to this fella?”

  A grin curved his lips as he drew up near the watering hole. “Your pa happened.”

  “Pardon?”

  He dismounted and helped her down. “Like I told you, my kin took little interest in me. Guess I was used to that. But from the minute your pa locked me in his jail, he told me I could amount to more than a useless thief. He was real firm, but kind, too. In the beginning, I pushed him away, but him and your ma were real persistent. She’d bring me meals every day and spend an hour talking. They convinced me to testify against the other gang members, said I could save my own neck iffen I did. I’d get prison. They’d get hung. Guess I started believing ’em, that I could do better for myself. So I testified, and I went off to prison for six years.”

  Maisie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “So you went into prison a hardened criminal and came out a good, upstanding man, just like that?”

  He pulled at his earlobe. Iffen he wasn’t mistaken, she’d just called him good. “Wasn’t just like that. Your pa wrote me letters whilst I was in. Talked about startin’ over. He’d write me scriptures or tell me what the Lord had done in his life. He showed an uncommon concern, something no one else had done before. He was like the pa I wished I had.”

  She stiffened, her features hardening. “And how long did he write to you?”

  Lucky shook his head. “I…I don’t know. The first three years that I was in prison. Thereabouts.”

  She laughed, though the sound lacked mirth. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “’Bout what?”

  “I mean no offense, Lucky. I’m very happy Pa’s attention helped you when you needed it. But it also upsets me. While he was becoming like a father to you, he became a stranger to his own family. He grew more distant every day. He started shirking his duty as sheriff. He’d disappear for days with no explanation. Things got so bad, I had to quit my schooling to help at home. And the town was left wondering where their lawman went.” Her eyes clouded, fat tears welling against her long lashes.

  “In that same time, things grew strange at home. We’d wake to find items moved around in the barn or the kitchen. Things started disappearing from the house—my diary, my sister’s favorite doll, a blanket my baby brother was partial to. Ma and I thought we were going crazy, and Pa just dismissed it. When I pressed him for help, he grew angry and withdrew more. Then one night, he returned after being gone for several days, and a corner of Simeon’s blanket was hanging from his saddlebags. When I asked about it, he denied he had it. Lucky, I know what I saw. It was my brother’s blanket, all right.”

  Lucky shook his head in confusion. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. I searched the house and barn. I never did find it, but I tell you, it was there. In his possession. And he acted like I was loco when I brought it up.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he hide your brother’s blanket?”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. His behavior turned odder every day, almost like he was going mad. Then Ma had her accident.”

  “Accident?” A shiver snaked down his spine.

  Her tears flowed then. “The windmill wasn’t working, and Pa wasn’t home to fix it, so Ma climbed up to see about it. Only the ladder rung broke.” Maisie closed her eyes, as if to block the memory. “The fall nearly killed her. She was unconscious for two weeks. Broke a bunch of bones, cracked her skull. When she woke up, a lot of her memory was gone.” She opened her eyes again, her expression a mixture of pain and rage. “And Pa’s response was to crawl into a bottle and drink himself to death.”

  Chapter 7

  At the jingling of bells, Maisie turned in time to see Mr. Dempsey enter the café. Disappointment wound through her when Lucky didn’t trail in behind him. A few feet inside the door, the rancher beckoned to her with an urgency that caused her to hurry to his side.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Is your boss here, Maisie?” He spoke in a confidential tone.

  “Yes, sir. In his office. Would you like to speak to him?”

  “Fetch him, please. But first, put in an order for Lucky’s favorite meal.”

  She swallowed. “You’re worrying me, Mr. Dempsey. Is he all right?”

  “I’m sorry, darlin’.” He shook his head. “Sheriff Warburn just arrested him for rustling.”

  The breath leaked from her lungs slowly. God, You have to help him. Please. Thoughts swirling, she scribbled Lucky’s customary order, delivered it to the cook, and asked her boss to come to the dining room.

  Grumbling about the interruption, the café owner approached Mr. Dempsey. The men spoke in hushed tones. She held her breath when their eyes darted her way more than once, her boss shaking his head vigorously. Finally, Mr. Dempsey handed him something—money for the meal, certainly—and shook his hand. Rather grudgingly, her boss nodded and stepped behind the counter.

  “Pack up Mr. Dempsey’s order and go with him.”

  “Yes, sir. When should I be back?”

  The man glowered at Dempsey. “Tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened. “I can’t afford a day without pay.”

  “You’ll get paid. Now collect the food and git.” He nodded toward the kitchen.

  Maisie scrambled into the kitchen, wrapped each plate with a cloth, and settled the dishes in a crate before hurrying outside to Mr. Dempsey
.

  “What happened?” She settled herself in the wagon.

  “Two more ranchers are missing cattle.” Mr. Dempsey turned the team toward the jail. “Warburn swears he’s looked for the men Lucky described, but nobody’s seen them or their horses. Sheriff’s threatening a hanging iffen Lucky doesn’t produce the missing livestock.”

  “A hanging! He can’t do that! Not without a trial.”

  “I’m afeared Warburn’s more interested in getting even with Lucky for his past than finding the truth.”

  Her stomach knotted. “So what’re you hoping I’ll be able to do?” She couldn’t force the sheriff to abide by the law.

  “Just keep Lucky’s spirits up whilst I work at this another way.”

  When they pulled up outside the sheriff’s office, Maisie hoisted the crate from the wagon and burst through the door. Inside the lone cell, Lucky sat on a bunk, head cradled in his hands, seemingly unaware of anything happening outside the bars.

  “What’d you want?” Warburn eyed her.

  “I’m here to see Lucky.”

  Lucky looked up.

  “He ain’t receiving visitors.”

  Shoulders slumping even more, Lucky returned to his former posture.

  “Leave off, Warburn,” Mr. Dempsey called as he entered. “Iffen it were anyone else, you’d allow ’em a visitor or two.” Taking the crate from her, he deposited it on Warburn’s cluttered desk. “I purchased this food from the café for Tolliver.” He unwrapped the plates for Warburn’s inspection.

  The lawman poked at the food with a fork then eyed Mr. Dempsey. “Looks clean.” He carried the food to the cell and opened the slot. “Come get your dinner, Tolliver.”

  Lucky rose, but just as he reached for the plates, Warburn released both. Fried chicken, gravy, potatoes, and pie slopped to the floor, dishes clattering after them.

  “Clumsy fool!” Warburn huffed. “You’ll be cleaning that up.”

  “You did that on purpose, Sheriff!” Maisie stormed toward the cell. “You should be the one to—”

  “That’s enough outta you.” The lawman whirled on her. “You hope to stay in my office, you’ll keep a civil tongue.”

  She gritted her teeth. “My father would be ashamed of you.”

  “Maisie.” Mr. Dempsey looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away. “It’s not worth it.”

  “Reckon I couldn’t eat much anyway. Ain’t hungry.” Lucky used the plates to scoop as much of the ruined food as he could then held it out to Warburn. “You want to take this and bring me something to clean the rest of this mess with?”

  The sheriff dropped the dishes in the crate beside the door then turned to the three of them. “I’ll be back directly. You two”—he pointed to Mr. Dempsey and her—“don’t get within five feet of that cell. Understood?”

  Maisie folded her arms and glared, though Mr. Dempsey nodded compliantly. Once Warburn stepped outside, she spun to face Lucky again. “Are you all right?”

  He gripped the bars. “I’d be lying if I said yes.”

  Maisie’s chest ached. If only she could offer him some comfort. “Blast that sheriff. He’s being downright ornery.”

  “Unprofessional, more like.” Mr. Dempsey settled a chair in the middle of the room and guided her to it. “Maisie, stay with him. I’m going to contact the U.S. Marshals and see iffen we can’t get some help searching for those men.”

  The U.S. Marshals? If he could get them, and if they’d arrive quickly, it would be a big help. Unfortunately, those were some mighty big ifs.

  “Tolliver?”

  Lucky looked at Mr. Dempsey. “Yes, sir?”

  “The prophet Isaiah wrote that ‘no weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn.’”

  “Yes, sir. Sheriff Blanton wrote that scripture in his letters to me.”

  Dempsey nodded. “The next part says that’s a heritage from the Lord to God-fearing men. Trust in Him to help you out of this.”

  Lucky chewed on Mr. Dempsey’s words. Were those things truly his heritage? He’d pondered the verse many times through hardships in prison and since. But in this present circumstance, it was hard to hold on to faith when he knew he was being wrongly accused.

  He’d come to a meeting of the minds with God in the Texas State Penitentiary, thanks in large part to Maisie’s father. While awaiting trial in Blackwater, the lawman had given him a Bible and encouraged him to read the scriptures. He’d carried too much turmoil and anger then, but the Good Book had somehow ended up among his things at prison. In his letters, Sheriff Blanton had spoken about God as if He were a personal friend, someone whom he could confide in and trust. It hadn’t taken long before Lucky cracked the book open and, much to his surprise, found an unexplainable peace in the words he read.

  Lord, I could use some peace now. And I surely wouldn’t mind iffen You’d confirm to me what Mr. Dempsey said. Is it truly my heritage? No weapon formed against me can prosper?

  He glanced Maisie’s way. Concern creased her brow as she attempted to smile. The tiny gesture wobbled, then faltered completely. Lucky paced back to the bunk, collapsing with a sigh.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Her voice was so small, it squeaked.

  “Don’t rightly know what it would be iffen there was.”

  Confound it. This was not how he wanted her to see him—caged like some animal. It’d be too easy for her to believe he was the old, rabble-rousing Lucky rather than a man trying to change his life.

  “Lucky?”

  He peeked her way.

  “What’d my pa say to you in his letters?” Her voice held a hint of longing and sadness.

  She was thinking about the letters at a time like this? He shook his head. “No disrespect, but what does that matter?”

  “Please, tell me.”

  “I don’t know, Maisie.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “He told me to believe God could change me and give me a new life. Wrote me scriptures to commit to memory. Sometimes he wrote about you and your family.” That was the reason he’d come back—to be near the people he’d come to know and love through Jonathan Blanton’s glowing words, the family he’d come to think of as his own. “As things went on, he asked questions about the Freeman gang. Never understood why, given they’d all been hung. And there toward the end, the letters grew…darker, somehow. Ain’t real sure how to describe it. Then they stopped.” He missed them, missed ’em fierce.

  The door swung open and smashed against the wall. Startled, Lucky shot to his feet, his heart pounding. Maisie also jerked from her chair to face the door. Warburn, silhouetted against the opening, chuckled hollowly.

  “Well, dad-burn it. I figured I’d catch you too close to that cell door, missy.”

  Maisie lifted her chin. “Then you must think me stupid, Sheriff. Think what you like, but I’ll ask you to treat me with some respect. I’ve done nothing to cross you.”

  Lucky grinned at the irritation that lit Warburn’s eyes.

  The lawman brushed past her and unlocked the door. He set the bucket and old scrub brush inside. “Clean up your mess, Tolliver. Now.” He clanged the door closed again, locking it before he stalked to his desk.

  Lucky pushed his shirtsleeves to his elbows and scrubbed the floor.

  Lord, it surely feels like there’s weapons forming all around me, and I’m helpless as a newborn calf. Could use some of that heritage about now.

  “By chance, did you save any of those letters, Lucky?”

  He glanced up. “Yes, ma’am. Every last one.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Where are they now?”

  “Under my bunk at the Rocking D.”

  “Would you mind if I read them?”

  Lucky sat up. “Reckon not, but why?”

  She shrugged. “It may be nothing.”

  Surely it was, but iffen those letters got her out of here so’s she’d quit staring at him so helpless…“I don’t min
d. One of the other ranch hands can get ’em from under my bunk. They’re all there.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be back later tonight.”

  Chapter 8

  Just the sight of Pa’s chicken scratch on the first envelope had left Maisie breathless and wanting some place private to read the words he’d penned to Lucky. So she’d ridden to their former homestead. Once she’d turned her sorrel into the dilapidated corral, she let herself into the house.

  Dust particles danced in the slanting sunlight that penetrated the grimy kitchen windows. The big farm table stood in its usual place, though thick dirt covered the surface, rather than the dishes and food that she was used to. The kitchen was empty, everything removed long ago. Familiar, yet not.

  She shut the door, found an old rag in a drawer, and cleaned a corner of the table. Her hands trembled as she opened the flap of the first envelope and unfolded the letter within:

  July 20, 1866

  Dear Lucky,

  Perhaps you don’t want to hear from me, but I felt compelled to write. If you don’t care to read on, I’ll understand. If you do, I’m obliged.

  In my nearly ten years as sheriff, there’s never been a man in my jail who has stuck in my mind like you. Even Mrs. Blanton agrees. We’ve lain awake nights praying you’ll fare well in prison. More than that, we’re praying you’ll search your heart and begin to make changes to become the man God intends you to be. The real Luke Tolliver is buried in there somewhere. You just have to find him.

  A lump grew in her throat. Pa and Ma had prayed for Lucky? She had no recollection of that. Her eyes strayed to the date of the letter again. It was written a month after her twelfth birthday, the one at which Ma and Pa had given her her first—only—diary. Perhaps, if it hadn’t disappeared, her writings might have jogged her memory of Luke Tolliver. Though, perhaps not. Pa was always careful not to share sensitive details about his job, and he’d only become more tight-lipped the older Maisie got.