by Martha Hix
Wes suspected Bellingham and the cash had parted ways, given what his twin said about his lack of spending habits. Saying as much to Lisa-Ann, at least on this already emotional day? Absolutely not.
He did say, “Now I understand your reason for shooting at him.”
She let out her breath as if to wipe clean her slate and move onward. “Now, to answer your earlier question, I don’t have the slightest idea what to do with myself. For now, I’d best get these clothes packed up, so that you can ask one of your deputies to deliver them back to Mrs. Craig.”
“Lisa-Ann, what causes you to believe your mother didn’t do it?”
“I know she didn’t.” Again, she rushed on, obviously to change the subject. “I must write a note to thank Mrs. Craig for the loan of clothes and shoes, even a hairbrush. It seems so strange to me, how Orville’s sister would do so much for my comfort.”
“She believes your story, and, well...” Wes Alington was not one for subterfuge. “I helped her along with the clothes. They actually belong to my sister. Temperance keeps a wardrobe at my house so that she doesn’t have to pack for visits.”
“No wonder the skirts are so short. She must be normal height, like you.”
“I’ve always thought of myself as short.”
“Obviously the people here in Lubbock think you’re about ten feet tall.”
“We’re getting off track. Your fine is being paid, your mount does well. The only thing left to decide is your future. You don’t have to decide anything today. Until you decide the path to your fulfillment, I’m here to protect you.”
“That’s the troubling part. I am already indebted to you, for Priscilla. For whatever you charge as a mouthpiece. And now for a huge sum to pay off that Frenchified saloon woman.”
“Jenny. Her name is Jenny. Please call her that. Or Miss Benoit.”
“Fine. Jenny.” Lisa-Ann turned away; this time she dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “I’ve had enough. Like that judge, I need a nap.”
She began to march into her cell.
“Stop. You’re not going in there again. Not to nap, anyway.”
She whirled around, her hand still on the gate. “Beg your pardon?”
I’m falling in love with you. I can’t help it. I don’t understand how this happened. Certainly not this quickly, and not without being certain you aren’t the second coming of Estella Orrey-Alington.
And if she was? The voice of reason wanted to know.
She’s young. I’ll just have to turn her around. Somehow.
That seemed like a sensible course, until he remembered he ought to say something about his mother, just so Lisa-Ann would know A.J. had left her with a wrong impression. He decided to let it go. He just didn’t want to talk about the zealot who brought him into the world. Not until he had to, if ever. Besides, what man talked about his mother when he was swooning over a beautiful miss?
He walked back to his desk, reached into the drawer, and pulled out a cloth-covered object. “Before we leave, I do have something to say. I can’t have you doing without your best shot at eyesight. Let’s see how these do.”
Wes perched a brand-new pair of eyeglasses on her nose. “And then there was light.”
“Specs? You bought spectacles for me? Oh, Wes! Can you see my heart? It’s taking a thousand extra beats. I could jump for joy! I never ever in my wildest dreams imagined you’d do something so kind. Why ever did you do such a thing?”
“It was my fault the old ones got broken, so honor dictated that I right a wrong.”
“Oh, my goodness.” She fiddled with the temples. Rearing back just a tad, she said, “Goodness gracious! Clear vision is a sight to behold, excuse my silly pun.” She did a slow perusal of Wes, head to toe and back again. “You look as if you stepped out of a tintype. The marshal of the American West. Dark, your features, rugged perfection. But a lot neater and cleaner. I like neat and clean.”
“You make me sound as if I’m on the auction block.”
“After a week of depending on far-vision alone, I’m simply remarking on what I see.” She grew suddenly serious. “I should be prideful and say, ‘No, no. I can’t take these.’”
“Don’t. Because if you do, you ruin your present for me.”
She ducked her chin. “Thank you. I appreciate these glasses, more than you’ll ever know.”
With the crook of his forefinger, he lifted her chin. He said, “I enjoy being a provider. It’s as much for me as it is for you.”
“You’re a sheriff. You couldn’t possibly afford to buy me out of trouble.”
That’s where you’re wrong. My mother and I spend our lives giving money to worthy causes. At this point, sweetheart, you are my worthiest cause.
“The way I see it, you haven’t had much control over the hell that’s surrounded you, up to your decision to shoot Bellingham. Your unwise decision, I think you’ll agree. While I do see it as unwise, I also appreciate the frustration that drove you to it. I like your spunk. I love a certain amount of it.”
“A certain amount of spunk?”
“A little wicked, a lot wild. Spur of the moment. But...Gumption that can be reasoned with. Talked down. Good judgment. Focus on the positives.”
“That is a lot.”
“I have faith in you. Decide what you want, and work in that direction.” This wasn’t how he wanted the conversation to go, but he did see the beauty in it.
“That reminds me.” Lisa-Ann leaned back against the bars, folding her arms over her bosom. “How come you’re the sheriff when you’re really a lawyer?”
He chuckled. “Because that’s the slate I drew for myself. I became a lawyer to satisfy my mother, a sheriff to satisfy myself.”
He yearned to touch her, to caress her cheek, to pull her close and simply hold her. But he wouldn’t. This was a jail. As smitten as Wes was, he had to be practical. And proper. There would be no more kissing in the courthouse, and certainly not in the county confinement.
“Let’s pull your belongings together, and get them to my house.”
“Whoa. Hold your horses. And speaking of the equine, how much do I owe you for Priscilla? Where is she, by the way? Is she truly in your stables?”
“She is.”
“Good. At your house, I assume.”
“I’m lucky. I have a decent pasture here in town. Ten acres. Plus a new stable fit for four horses.”
“Good.”
“Her keep is fifty cents a day,” he teased.
“What!”
He winked. “Settle down. I’m just funnin’ you. You don’t owe me anything for Priscilla. My gelding thinks he’s a stud, so chasing her around the pasture is a good way to keep Razor occupied with something besides dipping his snout in a pail of oats.”
“You are certain about that?”
“Absolutely.” He grinned. “In lieu of payment, I sure would like to try some of your baked goods.”
“That’s the least I can do to repay your kindnesses. I hear tell that Mrs. Craig—Orville’s sister—has to cook, even bake on an open hearth.”
“That’s the way many women cook around here.”
“What kind of stove do you have?”
“I assume it’s the very latest in cooking appliances. My mother ordered it from Ohio. It runs on coal.”
“I know how to build good, workable ovens that are out of doors, away from kitchens and homes. I could build one with the natural materials hereabout. I bet I could get thirty-five dollars for one, just like this.” She snapped her fingers.
“Around here, ladies don’t pursue the building trades. Matter of fact, just about everyone would look down on that. Best you just keep to my coal stove, at least until you decide what you want to do next. I’d like to offer you a job, Lisa-Ann. With Mother gone off, I could use a lady’s touch in my house.”
“I could use the work, but hold your horses.” Lisa-Ann patted the air. “You may have take
n care of Priscilla. And you paid for that mirror and those whiskey bottles...plus the plaster—and these spectacles!—but where would I stay?”
“How about a pallet in the stables?” he teased. “Or I could put up a swing on the front porch. Or you could sleep with me.”
Her Wedgwood-blue eyes got big as a demitasse saucer. Her face turned the color of a beautiful pink rose. He found her fiery red nose exceedingly adorable.
“I can’t stay overnight with you,” she said. “I don’t have to tell you, I am unmarried. And just because my mother sinned, doesn’t mean I will. I’m not for sale. Or for trade.”
“Did I ask for that?”
“Not yet...”
He laughed from deep in his chest. “I just want to help you pay your debts, but I do look for a return on my investment. Clean the house. Arrange flowers. Cook. Answer the door. Do whatever needs to be done. And tend to Razor and your Priscilla, of course. To repay your debt.”
“Well.” She scrutinized him from head to toe, then back up again. “If I agree to become your serving wench, how long is it going to take me to get out of debt?”
“A dollar a week seems fair,” he teased.
“That’s the same thing as bondage.”
Bondage? Wes’s ears perked up. He did enjoy games of the bedroom, but he really wouldn’t scare her off with that. “Okay, you win. Two dollars a week.”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“Don’t you remember, I am a humble sheriff. You wouldn’t wish to overtask my purse, would you?”
She shrugged her shoulder. “Of course not. I can be as thrifty as the next person. I’d best gather your sister’s belongings.”
“That’s my girl.”
Within a couple of minutes, she carried the stack out of the cell. “Hold on a minute. If I don’t sleep on a pallet in the stables or don’t sleep with you, where am I going to sleep?”
Fully intending to rent her a room at the hotel, he teased, “Why don’t we just let the chips fall...?”
“Maybe you weren’t listening. I don’t sleep with men. Never have, never will.”
“Never is a long time.” Wes lifted a forefinger to graze it along the lines of her throat. He heard her intake of breath. He loved the way she closed her eyes and smiled. “A long, long time, meine schöne Schildmaid.”
* * *
After the rather fatherly talk she’d had with Wes, Lisa-Ann decided to don a serious hat, to do the best she could do, to earn herself out of the court judgment and her mountain of debts. To show him that he had been right to show faith in her.
Before going to Wes’s home, they stopped in at the Nicolett Hotel to rent her a room, then the two made the short walk to his large, one-story stucco home. He called it a “cottage.” She was pleasantly surprised at the many plants and shrubs, plus half-grown trees, in the front yard.
“I’m surprised so much is in bloom already. Spring may definitely be springing, but it’s still cold at night.”
“It’s usually cold at night around here. All the landscaping was picked to withstand a modicum of cold and a great deal of heat. Botany is a hobby of mine,” he explained, naming first one plant, then another.
Plants had never been of keen interest to Lisa-Ann, unless they were edible, either to man or beast, but she enjoyed what he had to say about his hobby.
Then he got to the personal. “When my family stopped in 1889, in the settlement that became Lubbock, we were on our way to meet Mrs. Carrie Nation and her family in Kansas. She’d relocated up there, you see. She and my mother were great friends.”
“Must be, if you moved to follow a friend.”
“My mother wanted very much to go on. I insisted we stay here, truth to tell. I’d had it to the gills with Mrs. Nation and how she lured my mother into hot water.”
“Is that so?”
Wes removed his hat to rub his brow. “My mother came from the coastal plateau, Sugar Land to be precise. When we left Fort Bend County, she packed bougainvillea and azaleas from her gardens. She was just certain they would grow in Kansas. The transplants died quickly here. Mother being so disheartened, I set out to make it up to her, to find what would grow. And once I did, people asked my advice. Natives are the best.”
“I’ve heard that.”
A.J. had had a lot to say about Mrs. Estella Orrey-Alington, including the nice side to her. Yet...He often confused Lisa-Ann with his rambles about Wes’s mother. Evidently, she had always stood at the front of the line to help anything or anyone in need. The deputy had also talked endless about Wes’s expertise with plants. “Azaleas and bougainvillea would never grow on The Divide, either.”
She pulled the woolen coat even tighter to her chest and looked up at gray, rolling clouds. “Looks like rain.”
“Let’s go inside then.”
His home had been styled and built like many others in these days. Sturdy described it. One side of the house was devoted to living and eating areas, the other for sleeping, and an honest-to-goodness bathroom.
Mostly, the three-bedroom house was clean, neat, and odd.
“Your mother has...had a fondness for antimacassars, I notice. They’re on every piece of upholstered furniture.”
Wes had doffed his hat, and was hooking it on a rack. “She’d be the first to say ‘Doilies save the furniture.’” He grinned. “What do you think of the pictures?”
Lisa-Ann took a look around, trying to think of something nice to say about the walled art. “My goodness. She must have enjoyed her visit to Jerusalem.”
“She never was able to say no to artwork. Not when it was even remotely indicative of the Holy Land. Sometimes it’s very hard to figure out what the artist had in mind.” He eyed horrific slashes of black, midnight blue, and purple. “Or even if he or she had a mind.”
They looked at each other, obviously to gauge the other’s reaction. They both broke out in laughter. Then he folded his arms in front of him, pointing to another strange piece of artwork. “I guess it could be worse. Could be poker-playing dogs.”
“I’ve heard of those! An artist named C.M. Coolidge created them.”
“For a provincial miss, you certainly have knowledge of the world beyond your Divide.”
“I am interested in almost everything. As for the dogs, Gertie and Maggie bought one of C.M. Coolidge’s dog pictures. They gave it to their vater last Christmas.”
“Poor man.”
“No, no. Heinrich Schneider loves dogs. He couldn’t have been happier.” Lisa-Ann took another look at the wall of art. “Do you think your mother might have thought more about the artist than the work? I understand there are many starving artists in this world. Could be she wanted to help them.”
“You know...you may have something there.” He studied one framed piece, then another. “That would fit. Thank you for pointing it out!”
“Don’t ever mention this, especially not if you run into Grant Kincaid again, but he—”
“If you’re talking about the prosecutor fellow, stop talking. I roundly dislike that pip.”
“Now, now,” Wes placated, taking her by the elbow. “He was simply doing what the county pays him to do. Protect the citizenry from miscreants like you!”
“You are the awfulest thing!”
“Am I?”
Wes turned around, to prop a shoulder against a doorjamb. He grinned. It was a one-sided grin. A very enticing grin. He took her hand and pulled her closer. She liked the way he looked, the sound of his voice, the way he smelled—not too much of anything, except for nice. Vaguely, she realized it had begun to rain. Gently. It was nice, rain coming down on a tin roof. She felt the beat, especially in her private place. It isn’t rain that intrigues you.
An invisible thread tugged her lips to his. Oh, my goodness! He tastes even better than he looks. His arm went around her waist, but she stopped him. “It might not be a good idea, the two of us alone together.”
�
�We’re not alone.” His eyelids were heavy as he gazed at Lisa-Ann. “Cassandra is around here somewhere.”
“Cassandra?”
“Yep.” He straightened, and moved away from the door. “Okay, let’s go on with the tour. In case you missed them, I’d like to give you a tour of the Tintype Museum.”
She giggled, recalling the framed photographs scattered about. They were each of the same subject. A woman of a certain age. Obviously his late mother. “I do believe I’ve seen some one or two in the front parlor.”
Her hair a riot of ringlets tied with ribbons, she looked small and dark, but lacked his good looks. It wasn’t her fault that the iris of her right eye seemed stuck, looking at her nose, but it was hard not to stare. Her grandmother taught her it was an unkind thing to do, to dwell on an affliction or to ask a lady’s age.
“Your mother, correct?”
“Yes.”
“She obviously enjoyed posing for the photographer. I guess that kept her out of barrooms and pool halls.” Lisa-Ann had meant that as a joke, but it fell flat.
He got all broody. “She’s seen plenty. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
Glad to be gone with the dead-mother issue, Lisa-Ann found a lot to like in the other rooms, which were definitely not the norm for Texas architecture.
A sunroom, built to catch the morning sun, had a deep, tufted chair that Wes said he favored, with a couple of rocking chairs for guests. The rest of the room? A goodly number of shelves filled with books, hundreds of books. There was even a set of Encyclopedia Britannicas, and a huge dictionary that stood open on a lectern.
Potted flowers and plants were everywhere, taking advantage of the glass windows that bent sunlight into a natural heat source.
“You do like the greenery,” she commented.
He chuckled. “I do. Ah! Look who’s here. Hello, Cassandra. I’d like you to meet Miss Lisa-Ann.”
The oddest golden-eyed cat slunk into the room. With fur a mottled mixture of black, gray, and orange, she batted her lashes at the stranger, then began to wind between and around Wes’s legs. She looked up at him and purred, then lifted a paw toward his chin. “Meow nowwwww.”