His Rip-Roarin' Bride

by Martha Hix

  “How did he react to being embarrassed?” Wes asked.

  “Kind of high-handed at first, because he thought I was just playing hard to get. I got sick of that, too. Many times throughout the summer, I said, “No.’ Well, I said, ‘Hell no!’”

  Several people in the audience snickered.

  “Then what happened?” Wes wanted to know.

  “Come September, he got ugly about it. Granny Fan—Fanny Pearl Wilkins was her name—told him to get gone and stay gone. He got really mad when she called him a bucked-tooth scarecrow who couldn’t get a wife if he farted gold and had twenty-dollar bills growing out of his ears.”

  More laughter.

  “My grandmother didn’t usually talk that way. I think it was some strawberry wine that went bad and got to her head.”

  Someone spoke up from the last row. “That’s alcohol for ya! It’s time we get rid of ever’thing that even smells like booze!”

  “Pay that no mind. And please just stick to the facts,” the judge said to Lisa-Ann.

  “I’m trying, dammit. Can’t you see that? Anyhow, the next day Granny Fan went down to the rock fountain. She said she needed a good soak to wash out all the aggravation that Orville built up in her. She asked me to go with her, but I didn’t. I was waiting for Gertie and Maggie, for a picnic. I should have gone!” Lisa-Ann’s chest tightened. “My grandmother...drowned.”

  Wes now had a quizzical look. “She drowned in a spring? Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Evidently she stumbled on a rock into the rapids. I’m talking about the headwaters of a big river that dives down The Divide and flows all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. The Guadalupe.” Lisa-Ann ducked her chin, wishing to get the hell out of here and return home to the hills. “We held the funeral the next morning at our home.”

  Wes went to the table and poured a glass of water that he brought back to her, giving a smile of encouragement. “Miss Wilkins, I recognize that it’s painful to relive all this. Believe me, it’s painful just to hear it. But if you can, please continue.”

  “After the funeral, Mrs. Schneider pulled me aside. Handed me an envelope of money. Said it was in appreciation for all the years Granny Fan and I had provided sweets to the XO. She said I could do as I wished with it, but she suggested I fulfill my dream of moving to East Texas.”

  “What does any of this have to do with Corporal Bellingham?” the prosecutor demanded to know, with the judge concurring.

  “I’m trying to tell you! I couldn’t just up and leave The Divide. We still had a few sheep and goats. I had a fall garden to harvest—I wanted to take plenty of canned goods with me, so that meant canning them. I had to hide the Schneider money until I was ready to leave.

  “I intended to put it in a hidey box in the smokehouse, where we saved our money. My dog went with me. As I uncovered the box, Orville jerked the door open. He and I tussled over the box. Chuck tried to protect me. Orville killed him. The shepherd dog that had been my best friend for twelve years was gone. Forever.” She paused, took a breath. “As I rushed over to pull Chuck to me, Orville shot me, too. In my back. In the right shoulder.”

  A collective gasp of shock rolled through the courtroom.

  “You were injured?” Wes asked slowly. “Seriously injured?”

  “Shall I pull my collar over, where you can see the scar?”

  “Absolutely not! Good lord, young lady, you are wild as a mustang.” The judge was shaking his head and rolling his eyes, but he settled down. “How did you get medical care?”

  “Mrs. Schneider, at first. She ordered her people to break into groups, one to go for a doctor, another to find Orville, and the third to bring the sheriff. Of course, that was the last I saw of the pistol box. And every bit of the money. Gone.”

  “The box. Can you describe it?”

  “It belonged to my late father. He brought it from Germany. It was dark wood. I don’t know the kind of wood. I guess it came from a tree in Langenaubach. That’s a town in Hesse, in the Prussian States. The box started with a great deal of brass doodads, but time did away with all but one. Originally, the box held dueling pistols. I don’t know what happened to the pistols. The red velvet lining was still in it. The box was maybe eighteen inches long, twelve inches wide, about five inches deep.”

  “Thank you, Miss Wilkins.” Wes stepped over to the bench. “Your Honor, may I show you a particular entry in my journal, dated today?”

  Mr. Kincaid erupted. “This has just got to stop!”

  The judge would have none of that. “Oh, sit down and shut up, Mr. Kincaid.”

  His Honor did read the passage, handing it back to Wes, who asked, “Shall I send for Mrs. Craig to read it herself?”

  “No, no.” The judge waved his black-robed arm. “I want to finish this case, so’s I can take a restorative nap then be on the road to Plainview, way before twilight. So talk, Sheriff Alington. Say what this is all about.”

  “This is the word of Mrs. Charles Craig of the High Hopes Ranch, in not so many words to me this very morning. She describes a box that her twin, Corporal Orville Bellingham, had in his possession. Miss Wilkins, would you turn your face toward the judge and read the report aloud?”

  Lisa-Ann’s hand trembled as she took the journal. Her voice had a shiver to it, too, as she started to read.

  “‘Made of dark wood, had been ornate. All but one of the brass fasteners are gone. Lined in velvet, very old, and faded. A big man’s slippers might fit in it. Or maybe it held a pair of pistols. I saw an inscribed plate on the inside. It was written in a foreign language. The only thing I could make out was ‘Ludolph IV Graf von Langenaubach.’”

  She handed the journal back. “Graf means count.”

  Wes had the oddest expression. “Are you familiar with anyone by the name of Ludolph the fourth, count of Langenaubach?”

  “Yes, sir. He was my father.”

  “Your father was a German count?” Wes asked.

  “He was a Hessian count. Well, that’s what he was supposed to be. I’ve never been to Hesse, and I surely never met any of his relatives, except the Schneiders. It’s my understanding he left Langenaubach after an illegal duel. Mr. Heinrich Schneider was a cousin, so Vater—that’s German for father—decided to have a long visit with Hill Country relatives. He figured to wait until the ‘unpleasantness’ died down before returning to Langenaubach. That sort of thing can take years and years. He always said he’d take me and my mother home with him. Mother was so delighted! She could live like a princess in a castle that was even bigger and finer and newer than William of Orange’s place in the next town over, in Dillenburg. It goes without saying, we didn’t leave The Divide. Vater died when I was nine.”

  “What caused his death?”

  “A gun. He was m-murdered.”

  Standing, the prosecutor swept his hands up in the air. “I’ve heard enough!”

  “As have I.” Judge Hanson banged his gavel once. “By the powers vested in me by the Lone Star State of Texas, I find you, Lisa-Ann Wilkins—wait! Something bothers me. Sheriff, ask your client, if her father was a count, why is she styled ‘Miss Wilkins?’’

  Thus, Wes asked and she answered, “Ich bin illegitimen.”

  Not a soul in the courtroom seemed to have a clue what that meant, so she clarified, “My father didn’t marry my mother until the day before he died.”

  “I see,” came from the bench. “Sheriff, ask your client...If all this criminal activity took place going on two years ago, what took her so long to hunt Bellingham down?”

  Again, Wes asked and she answered. Raising her hands as if to pray, she said, “I didn’t have the first clue where to find him. Two months ago, the XO strawboss hired a new hand. Cowpokes in the bunkhouse were gabbing late one night. They told this new hand about Orville. How he’d won a Medal of Honor, but ruined his image. The new hire later told me he’d been up this way last summer, had heard Orville play piano. I got here as quickly as I
could.”

  “Good enough,” said the judge. “I find the defendant not guilty of attempted murder. The way I see it, Miss Wilkins didn’t set out to do anything more than scare Bellingham. If she wanted to kill him, she would have aimed for him. Even a monkey couldn’t miss with a Sharps rifle.”

  A lot more laughter from the gallery.

  Even Lisa-Ann chuckled. She could go into a long-winded explanation about how it was more an issue with her crippled shoulder than centering on a target. Well, I’ll be damned, she thought. This is the first time my eyesight has worked for me, not against me. Hallelujah!

  “However, by those same powers,” the judge continued, “I do find you guilty of destruction of property. You are to pay restitution to the proprietor of Scarlet Garter Jenny’s Saloon. Thirty-five dollars. As soon as you can come up with the money, you can get out of jail.”

  “That’s five more dollars than the damages, Mr. Judge!”

  One last bang of the gavel. “Court is now adjourned.”

  Mr. Judge Irritating Hanson hitched a thumb toward the door marked “Inmates and Lawmen.” He said, “Sheriff, return Miss Wilkins to your jail, please. Once she’s complied with my orders, hand Mr. Kincaid a receipt from Mademoiselle Benoit, saying she’s compensated. Then I’ll sign the release papers.”

  “That’s just not right,” Lisa-Ann continued to protest. “Why’d you add five whole dollars? Where am I gonna get thirty-five dollars? That’s a fortune! I’ve got a horse to feed and shelter, and—”

  “Let’s go. Now!” Wes stepped to her side, taking her left arm. And not too gently. Rushing her out of the courtroom, he managed to whisper, “Shut up while you are ahead. Don’t fret the money. I know where you can get it.”

  “From where?”

  He whirled her into the antechamber, which was empty, the shades drawn. He kicked the door closed.

  “From where?” she repeated, looking down at Wes, who had her back to the wall.

  He pressed her to it, but let go his hold to reach up and cup her cheeks between his palms. “From me.”

  Lisa-Ann opened her mouth to talk. From the look on Wes’s face, she knew it was time to say, “Okay,” but she couldn’t. At that very moment, he slanted his lips over hers. “Oh my goodness,” she tried but failed to say. He was unnerving her, with his fingers working their way to the nape of her neck, his thumbs flicking at her earlobes.

  He kissed even better than in her wild dreams.

  “Oh, Wes. This is so wicked...”

  “Hush.”

  He had his rock-hard self pressed against her, and she just melted. He smelled and tasted so good, sort of like a gentle breeze on the river back home, where leaves rustled in the stands of riverbank cypress and oaks, the latter with Spanish moss that dripped toward the ground. The scent was not at all like bay rum. Not at all... He was simply delicious.

  And you are simply out of your mind, letting this lawman have his way with you, on the opposite wall to a courtroom!

  She pushed gently against his chest. “Stop,” she managed to say, breaking the spell that his kiss had aroused.

  He pulled his lips and hands away. “Too right, sweetheart. Too right.”

  “What does that mean?” she whispered.

  He took her hand, twining their fingers, and grabbed her coat with his free hand. “Come on. We can talk back at the jail.”

  They didn’t speak on the short walk. Lisa-Ann endeavored to collect her thoughts, considering today’s events. At the start of this week, she arrived broke and vengeful, with no plans whatsoever on what she would do, once she shot the living hell out of that now-vanished piece of dog poop with the initials O and B.

  After these seven days of incarceration with nourishing food, a roof over her head and Priscilla’s, along with a relatively successful result with her legal problems, she needed to think about the future, especially how to collect her guns and horse, not to mention paying off her quickly mounting debts.

  Mainly, Lisa-Ann found herself thinking about that kiss in the courthouse cloakroom. She’d had a few kisses along the way, but none tasted as grand as Wes’s. There was just something about him that spoke to her womanly emotions. Was that so terribly wrong, so foolish?

  Maybe I ought to try out some more kisses, just so I’ll know...

  Chapter 4

  Escorting Lisa-Ann Wilkins on their approach to the jailhouse, Wes Alington searched his head and heart for the best way to deal with the moment. Their relationship had taken such a turn, with his feelings for her completely changed. He’d started this Saturday wanting to assist a woman in need. An intriguing woman, of course, and one he desired in the most carnal of ways, but he hadn’t been convinced of her honesty. That crap about a Hessian count for a father? Ludicrous. Or so it had seemed. Before the pistol box.

  He now had a penniless but proud woman on his hands.

  “What’s next for you, Lisa-Ann? What would you like for your ‘next’ to be?”

  “Obviously I didn’t take that into consideration when I entered Scarlet Garter Jenny’s Saloon.”

  “Obviously.”

  The very moment he led Lisa-Ann into his section of the jail, he peppered Deputy Dub with orders. “Go to the café. Get us some food that will make us happy. Blackberry cobbler, if they have any left. Buttermilk pie, if they don’t. And coffee, lots of coffee. Not that stuff we make here. Get it fresh, with all the trimmings. Take your time.” He reached into his desk drawer to extract a cache of greenbacks. “Before you do, take this money by Jenny Benoit. Get her to sign a receipt. Then do what you can to catch Fleming Hanson before he leaves town. He’ll probably be taking his usual after-court nap in his chambers.”

  “Don’t you want me to wait until A.J. gets back?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, ’bye. See y’all when I get back from the Jerry & Larry.”

  Once it was just the two of them in the jail, Wes asked Lisa-Ann, “Why the glum face? Aren’t you happy at winning your case?”

  “What do I have to do to get my coat back? And Pepaw’s rifle, and my six-guns?”

  “Those guns are worthless.”

  “I had to trade four goats for those six-shooters and ammunition.”

  Wes opened his mouth to say something, but quickly reconsidered pointing out her lack as a trader.

  “What about my coat?” she asked.

  “Forget the coat. I told Dub to take that thing to the livery stable. John Vinson has a couple of milk cows. There’s a herd of barn cats hanging around, hoping for spilled milk. They do seem to enjoy snuggling into that coat of yours.”

  “Pepaw had that coat when he hunted buffalo in New Mexico Territory!”

  “Your grandfather definitely got a lot of use out of it.” He paused. “Don’t you like the mouton coat Jewel Bellingham found for you?” It had not come cheap. In fact, Wes had sent to New York for it, as a present for his sister, but it hadn’t arrived in time for Christmas.

  “I don’t like taking charity.” Lisa-Ann appeared on the verge of tears. “I’m hundreds of miles from the only home I’ve ever known. A home that now stands empty, the livestock sold off, and all my people are either dead or locked away forever.”

  “Locked away forever?”

  “I can’t talk about that. Not now. It’s too much, much too much.” She looked him straight in the eye. “If my life depended on it, I wouldn’t know where to find Priscilla.”

  “This is a small town. You could find her in ten minutes.”

  This was when Lisa-Ann lost control of her sniffles. Quickly, Wes came up with a folded, white handkerchief; she dabbed her eyes with it. “And...and...and I have just been ordered to make good with a painted lady, and I’ve let a strange man pay her off.”

  He took control of the hankie. “Blow.”

  She did. “And I missed shooting Orville.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t mention his name.”

  “I have really
hit the bottom,” she wailed.

  Wes found a clean part of his handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “Look at it this way, sweetheart. Today you have a whole new start, with a blank canvas. You can make it anything you want.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Two tidbits of testimony flashed in his head. “You mentioned in court something about saving money to move to East Texas. Huntsville, you said at one point. What’s in Huntsville?”

  She lacked a quick reply, finally saying, “My mother lives there.”

  “That surprises me. I got the impression you and yours stuck closely to The Divide.”

  “Did you miss the part about my father? He never had roots in Texas.”

  “I remember. He’s from Langenaubach in the grand duchy of Hesse.”

  “I guess you might say he’s taken root in the Hill Country. He is buried on The Divide. You see, he was murdered there.” As if suddenly cold, Lisa-Ann crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her palms up and down her upper arms. She paced. “My mother lives in Huntsville, on the Johnson Farm.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Johnson Farm was a wretched place, where the State of Texas sent its female convicts. Lawmakers in Austin were planning a prison specific to females, but nothing had been done to complete the plan. “Should I take it that she had something to do with your father’s demise?”

  “She was tried and convicted of his murder. Granny Fan and I—we both yearned to be away from the mountain, to go to Mama and do everything possible to see her walk free.”

  “I take it you didn’t agree with the verdict?”

  “You certainly may. My mother is innocent.” She stopped pacing to steeple her fingers beneath her chin. “Freeing her is not to be, I’ve come to realize. It takes money to launch a bid for retrial. Money that is now in Orville Bellingham’s possession.”