The Texan's Bride

by Dawson, Geralyn

  He sighed heavily, pulling his hat over his eyes to shield the afternoon light, and muttered, “I might as well have stayed at Gallagher’s for all the good I’m doing here.”

  Oh, he’d learned a few things since coming to Nacogdoches and settling in as deputy sheriff and two timing spy. He knew that Dennis Beck’s wife brained him with a fireplace bellows every time the poor fellow came home after stopping at Cortenoz’s Gambling House. He’d learned that Paula Oates had a penchant for slipping ten penny nails into her apron pocket as she wandered the aisles of Thorne’s mercantile. He’d discovered that a preacher’s son was meeting a whore’s daughter behind the livery stable on Tuesday nights for a little unholy communion.

  But as far as the business that had brought him to town, Branch’s discoveries had been far from illuminating. Colonel Moorman ran most of the Regulator business from San Augustine, placing Jack Strickland in charge of local action around Nacogdoches. Other than making a few speeches in the town square, the sheriff had left most of the group’s business in the hands of the hooded blackguard who’d led the attack on Gallagher’s. Strickland hadn’t even bothered to ride along on the four retaliatory raids the Regulators had staged since Branch’s arrival in Nacogdoches.

  The deputy cocked open one eye when a hornet landed on his arm. It was black and mean looking and reminded him of the anonymous Regulator dressed in black—the one who’d hurt the Gallaghers. Before the wasp could plant its stinger, Branch blew it away with a heave of his breath. Wish it were as easy to deal with the Regulator bastard, he thought, eyeing the insect as it circled the room before escaping through a window. But you can’t squash an insect unless you can see him.

  On each of the forays against the Moderators, Branch had spent his time trying to discover the identity of the scoundrel. When he had delivered the stack of “counterfeit” shinplasters to the Regulator leader on that first raid, he’d been disappointed that the man never removed his disguise. The villain’s eyes had gleamed avariciously through the slits in his hood, and after declaring the notes the best example of counterfeiting he’d ever seen, he’d immediately reiterated his promise to protect Branch when the New York detectives came calling. Branch had figured that’d be his reaction; the promissory notes chartered by a Georgia state bank were legitimate, supplied upon request by William Bell.

  The leader’s identity was one little detail Branch had promised himself he’d attend to before heading to Riverrun. He owed the man for burning the inn, not to mention the slap the bastard had given Katie, and he didn’t intend to leave East Texas without settling the score. “I guess I’ll have to go along on more of those devil rides,” he muttered. If all else failed, he could confront the Regulator bastard while on a raid and learn who he was after he beat him bloody.

  Still, that was a minor concern when compared to discovering the identity of Rob’s killer. “Unless it turns out they were one and the same,” he mused. “Wouldn’t that be convenient.” But it was probably too much of a coincidence to hope for.

  With such troublesome thoughts rumbling around his head, Branch abandoned the idea of a nap. After checking on the jail’s lone prisoner, a drunk-and-disorderly from the previous night, he decided to make a circuit around town. Maybe he’d run across an Indian to arrest.

  He left the jail and strode up the street toward the square, waving a greeting to the padre who stood pruning rosebushes in front of Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Reaching the corner of Main Street, he slowed his step and casually surveyed the plaza. A jumble of wagons, horses, and people milled about. Children filled jugs from the water well at the center, while nattily dressed gentlemen conversed with others wearing denim and road dust. Branch’s gaze skimmed over women clothed in bright gingham and poplin and snagged on a familiar blue homespun disappearing through the door of Doc Mayfair’s office. Katie Starr was visiting the doctor.

  A hollow feeling gripped Branch’s stomach. Was someone sick out at Gallagher’s? Had there been an accident? Did that damned Indian hurt somebody? Heart pounding, Branch hurried across the square.

  Inside the doctor’s office, Katie stood in a rage, her fists clenched at her hips. “One hundred fifty dollars a scab! Why, that’s robbery. I don’t have that kind of money. Besides, Doctor, I gave you those bottles. You can’t charge me for my own property!”

  Doctor Mayfair curled an end of his long, graying mustache, refusing to meet Katie’s gaze. “Mrs. Starr, I’m afraid that I simply don’t agree that you need vaccine out at your inn. True, there has been an outbreak of smallpox in South Texas, but any persons traveling in that direction can come on into town, and I’ll be happy to administer the vaccination.”

  “But if they’re already at Gallagher’s, it’d be a three hour trip in the wrong direction, Doctor. It’d be much simpler…”

  “No. You have my answer, Mrs. Starr. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Cody’s confinement is nearing its end, and her husband has requested I attend the baby’s birth. I must leave immediately.” He snapped his doctor’s satchel closed, picked it up, and gestured toward the door. “After you, Mrs. Starr.”

  Katie folded her arms, her foot tapping the floor like a lucky puppy’s tail. “Doctor, I don’t need all of the vaccine. I gave you two bottles. You can return one of them to me.”

  Mayfair’s portly belly swelled as he straightened in indignation. “Madam,” he demanded, “leave my office at once!”

  “Not until you return my property!”

  Mayfair’s nostrils flared and his lips curled. Then he whirled and walked to a glass-front cabinet. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and withdrew two familiar ampoules.

  Relief rolled through Katie in waves. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said as he locked the cabinet and turned toward her. “I knew that you would—Doctor!”

  He placed the two bottles in his medical satchel and closed it. Without a word he started for the front door.

  “Doctor Mayfair,” Katie screeched, “you can’t do this to me.”

  “Leave here, Mrs. Starr. Now. I’ve a baby to deliver, and I want you gone from my office.”

  Katie blinked back angry tears. The odious, mercenary little man. If he didn’t outweigh her by a hundred pounds, she’d knock him senseless. She settled for grabbing the bag as he walked by. “Give it to me, Doctor. You want money, fine. I’ll get you money, soon. Just give me the medicine now.”

  They grappled for the satchel, the doctor’s face bright red in his anger, Katie’s mouth set as she tugged and squirmed, doing her best to steal the bag from a man stronger than she. Intent upon her task, Katie didn’t hear the door bang open. But there was no missing Deputy Kincaid’s angry roar, “What the hell is goin’ on here?”

  Doctor Mayfair capitalized on Katie’s distraction by wrenching the bag from her hands. He straightened his coat, saying, “Deputy, arrest this woman for attempted theft. I’ll explain it all later, I haven’t the time now.” At the door, he paused and turned to Katie. “You get me the money first, young lady, and you may have your medicine. Good day.”

  The door slammed behind him.

  Branch took one good look at Katie and knew his fears for her safety were groundless. She wasn’t hurt or ill. No one could be that furious and sick at the same time. “Is it Daniel or John?” he asked.

  “No.” Katie turned her savage gaze on him and cursed, “Men!”

  That’s a relief, Branch thought. She was being her normal self. He took a step back, holding his arms before him as though to ward her off. “Ooh, Sprite. If our army had been equipped with a look like that, we wouldn’t have lost the Alamo. Is it your Indian? Did he suffer a haircut or something?”

  She glared at him.

  “All right, I’ll keep quiet about the Indian.” Damn, but he liked sparring with her. Now that he knew nothing serious was going on, he could take a little time and enjoy it. Sitting on the comer of Doc Mayfair’s desk, he folded his arms and tried a sympathetic smile. “Kate, you want to tell me what�
�s goin’ on here?”

  “No.”

  “Now, Kate, you’d be well served to cooperate with me. I am the law around here, after all, and one of Nacogdoches’ finest citizens has just accused you of stealin’. If you and I weren’t friendly, I might’ve done as he asked and hauled you off to jail. Don’t you think you’d best tell me what you took?”

  “I didn’t take anything,” Katie stated, yanking at the ties of her sunbonnet. “And I wouldn’t be stealing because it was mine to begin with.”

  “What was yours to begin with?”

  Her mouth snapped shut. Then opened. Then shut again. She took her bonnet off, smoothed her hair, then put the hat back on.

  “Mrs. Starr? You hiding something from me?”

  “It’s none of your business, Branch Kincaid,” she said, turning to a wall mirror and fussing with the bow she tied beneath her chin.

  “You can call me Deputy, ma’am, and I do think it is my concern. What did you steal, or try to steal, from the doctor?”

  Their gazes met in the mirror. “I could take you to jail, Sprite. It’s dark there, and one of the cots has a right nice mattress and it’s bug free. I could lock you in.” He walked up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I could lock us in.”

  Slowly, her tongue circled her lips. His fingers traced her neckline, her skin smooth and soft to the touch. She drew a deep breath and smiled at him. Branch waited expectantly.

  She whispered in a seductive tone, “Horse liniment.”

  “What?”

  Katie brushed away his hands and turned, stepping toward the desk where her reticule sat. “Pretty Girl has a sore tendon, and I wanted the horse liniment I’d loaned the doctor a few months back. Apparently, he’s forgotten that he got it from me.”

  “Horse liniment?”

  “Excuse me, Deputy. My brother’s waiting for me at Thorn’s and we must be on our way. Good day.”

  Her lavender scent lingered in the room after she departed. Through the window, Branch watched her cross the street, dodging a dog with a hunk of meat in his mouth being chased by a woman flapping her apron. He didn’t believe Katie Starr’s story. She was lying sure as Texas has chiggers. It had something to do with the doctor, and Branch would bet his last shinplaster that it had something to do with that damned Indian of hers, too.

  Hell. He was getting sick and tired of worrying about Katie Starr and her Indian. He went outside and stood on the boardwalk, leaning against a post as a heavy freight wagon lumbered down the street stirring up a cloud of red dust. As it settled, Branch caught sight of the clerk at Thorn’s mercantile loading a bag of flour into the wagon bed of Gallagher’s buckboard. Harnessed to the wagon, chewing contentedly on a clump of hay, was Katie’s ugly horse, Pretty Girl.

  Branch hooked his thumbs in his vest and said, “Horse liniment.”

  THAT MAN. That overbearing, overconfident, overwhelming man. For goodness sakes, why did she have to run into Branch Kincaid today of all days? Didn’t she have enough problems on her mind as it was?

  Katie’s heels clicked in rapid staccato against the boardwalk as she fumed all the way to Thorn’s mercantile. Pretty Girl neighed a greeting, and Katie paused to stroke the mare’s nose, the action as soothing to her as to the horse. Poor thing, Katie thought, you may very well be sore. Since the fire Pretty Girl had been forced into wagon-pulling duty, making Katie thankful she was such a tame, well-trained horse.

  She smiled into the big brown eyes and said, “And you are beautiful, no matter what that scapegrace says.”

  Daniel waited for her inside the store. Katie found him gazing wistfully at a jar containing licorice ropes, and she requested that the price of two pieces of the candy and a jar of liniment be added to the Gallagher account. Then, after loading the rest of their purchases into the wagon, she and Daniel headed out of town.

  Away from Nacogdoches, the towering pines that lined the road blocked the sky but for the ribbon of blue that paralleled the red dirt road. Katie’s gaze locked on that promise of color, her emotions as dark as the surrounding forest. Trouble lay ahead. The knowledge bit into her mind, sharp and sure, and as she listened to the sparrows squabbling in the treetops, she wondered from which direction it would come. One thing was certain, however. A man would bring it, because after all, wasn’t trouble always brought by a man?

  The March wind was hissing through the forest as Shaddoe joined them a few miles from town. Daniel pulled the wagon to a stop, and the Cherokee climbed into the seat, taking the reins. “Well?” he asked, whipping the leather straps and signaling the horse forward.

  Katie put her hand on his knee and quietly said, “I’m sorry, Shaddoe, it didn’t work.” Indignation swept through her as she recalled her conversation with Doc Mayfair. “That charlatan allowed that I had no claim on the vaccine, even though I gave it to him to begin with! He cited the public welfare and then offered to sell me a single scab for one hundred fifty dollars.”

  His expression grim, Shaddoe nodded. “You have my thanks for trying, Kathleen. Did he ask you why you wanted the vaccine?”

  “Yes. I told him that travelers who stop at Gallagher’s often ask about the smallpox outbreak in South Texas and request the vaccination.”

  “He believed you?”

  “He wrote his office location on a stack of cards and told me to hand them out to anyone interested in being vaccinated.”

  Shaddoe heaved a weary sigh. “As much as I dislike the idea, I guess we must proceed with your father’s plan tomorrow night.”

  John Gallagher had argued against the theft of the vaccine since it was Nacogdoches’ single source of the preparation. News had reached the inn of an outbreak of smallpox in Galveston, and it wouldn’t have been right to leave the citizens of East Texas without protection. He then proposed an alternate solution to Shaddoe’s problem, and as a result, all the Gallaghers were part of the effort to obtain smallpox vaccine for the Cherokees.

  Daniel said to Shaddoe, “It’ll be all right, you’ll see. I can hardly wait, I’m glad it’s working out this way. It’ll be an adventure.”

  “Do not fool yourself, Daniel,” Shaddoe replied. “This is risky business we are about, and there is nothing romantic in leaving your home and family. If the need were not so great…”

  At thirteen, Daniel stood poised on the edge of manhood, and his manner as he spoke to his friend proved it. “Shaddoe, this thing that we’re doing is important. I’m small enough to squeeze through Doc Mayfair’s back window, and I can help convince Keeper to go along with us. If that’ll help save a lot of people’s lives, what does a couple of years away from home matter? Besides, if we do this right, no one will know for sure that I took the vaccine, and I won’t even have to stay away. Katie’s real good at telling stories. She’ll make it work.”

  “He’s right, Shaddoe,” Katie said. “I’m sure I can work up a bucketful of tears when I tell everyone at the ball tomorrow night that my baby brother has run away from home.”

  “I still do not like it. What if young McShane will not cooperate? Were you able to speak with him today, Daniel, and confirm your father’s belief that the boy has not been vaccinated?”

  “Yep, Da was right. Keeper told me the only pox his mother fretted about was the French kind.”

  “Do you believe he will resist our plans?”

  Daniel tipped his straw hat farther back on his head. “I don’t know. He’s awful loyal to the sheriff, and today he yammered on and on about Branch Kincaid.” The boy gave his sister a sidelong look.

  Katie straightened her spine but said nothing. Her fingers fussed with a ruffle on her skirt.

  Shaddoe shrugged. “I know of no other way than to use the boy. By inoculating him and then harvesting the cowpox pustules he produces, we will be able to protect my people without leaving the Texians at risk.”

  “I think Keeper will agree,” Daniel said. “After all, you’ll be offering him a good bit of money, and hell, how much can he like livin
g in a jail, anyway?”

  “Daniel, don’t curse,” Katie insisted.

  The boy rolled his eyes at Shaddoe, who said, “It all depends on Keeper McShane. I hope that he will listen to you and your father, Daniel. Too, we must assure him that the Cherokee will treat him well when his service ends.” He sighed, then added, “The time I wasted searching for The Raven haunts my soul.”

  “Remember what you said to me, Shaddoe,” Katie said, adjusting the ties of her poke bonnet. “ ‘Ai! If only.’ We can’t go back, any of us. No matter how much we would like to. We can go forward, though, and we will do so tomorrow. Right?”

  An insolent grin brightened the Cherokee’s face. “March second, Independence Day. Quite appropriate, actually. Your father will enjoy escorting you to the ball at Brown’s Tavern, Kathleen.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING DAWNED bright, but by noon, black clouds had attacked the sky, and rain fell in torrents. The Gallaghers and Shaddoe traveled the last few miles into Nacogdoches on a quagmire that passed for a road.

  They parted company at the banks of La Nanna Creek. Shaddoe and Daniel would make their way by stealth to Miguel Cortenoz’s gambling house, where they would wait for nightfall before breaking into Doc Mayfair’s office. John would escort his daughter to the home of an old friend, Adolphus Sterne, and prepare to attend the Independence Day Ball.

  With the rain hampering their goodbyes, Katie hugged her brother tight. “You take care, love. Mind Shaddoe and hurry back to Da and me.”

  Daniel endured her embrace with the stoicism of a thirteen-year-old boy. “It’ll be grand, Kate. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

  John gave his boy a manly handshake, then wrapped him in his arms. “God go with you, son,” he said. “McShane and I will be a’meetin’ you in church at two o’clock tomorrow morning.”