by Jodi Thomas
The nurse pointed at the door again. A habit she had that was starting to bother him, and he’d only known the woman a matter of minutes.
Maybe he should go. He could take a bath and cool off. He’d lost count of how many days it had been since he’d had time for a proper bath, unless getting caught in the rain counted. Nell could probably smell him from the second floor.
He sniffed at his shirt. Not that bad. He smelled like his horse . . . on a hot day . . . after a long ride. There were worse smells. Glancing back into the study, he noticed the dandy who’d fainted was sitting up, rubbing the back of his head. Randolph Harrison must not be all that used to being threatened.
Jacob stomped back into the room and offered his hand to the man.
Hesitating, Randolph finally grabbed hold and allowed Jacob to pull him to his feet.
Jacob slapped him on the shoulder so hard he was afraid the man might crumple again. “No hard feelings, mister.”
Randolph looked at him as if he were staring at madness in motion. He made a weak effort to dust off his trousers without taking his eyes off the ranger.
Jacob herded Randolph a few steps to the entry and yelled up the stairs, “Nell, me and Number Twelve are going over to the saloon to have a drink. I’ll be back after I’ve cleaned up.”
“I hope you drown!” she screamed back. “And take Number Twelve with you.”
“I’m coming back. Not hell or high water will stop me, and you know it.”
“You’re not invited back unless he comes with you, Jacob Dalton. I’m not seeing you unchaperoned.”
“What?” Jacob had been with her for years without anyone chaperoning them. What did she think? That he would attack her now that she was crippled up? “I swear, Two Bits, you must have scrambled some brains when you tumbled in that carriage. You know I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked at Number Twelve. “And if I was going to knock some sense into you, what good do you think this guy would do? He couldn’t stop me.”
Randolph paled, as if fearing he might be asked to do just that. Jacob was not only almost a head taller, his muscular body doubled Randolph’s lean form.
“At the most, he’d trip me on the way to strangling you, Two Bits.”
“Don’t call me Two Bits!” she shouted. “And don’t come to dinner unless you bring the man I’m considering marrying.”
Randolph swallowed hard, looking very much like a man who wished to change his mind about the proposal.
Jacob smiled and slapped Number Twelve on the back. “You hear that? We’ve been invited to dinner.”
Nell watched from her upstairs window as Jacob and the stranger walked to their horses. Randolph didn’t look near as good standing next to the dusty ranger as he had when he rode up alone. He suffered in comparison.
She rolled back a few inches from the window, thinking not many men would stand up to Jacob Dalton. Not many men ever had. For as long as she could remember, he’d been her ideal of what a man should be: strong, honest, trustworthy. She reconsidered. Stubborn, loud, bossy.
She’d worshiped him as a child, loved him as a school-girl, and needed him as a friend. But she’d not marry him. Not ever.
Lifting her chin, she refused to allow a single tear to fall as she watched him swing onto his horse like a man born to ride. He pulled his hat low against the sun and waited for Randolph to mount.
“He frightens me,” Mary Ruth whispered from just behind Nell.
“That would probably please him to hear.” Nell smiled. “He thinks he’s tough.”
“And he isn’t?”
Nell laughed. “Oh, he’s tough all right, but no one could have a better friend.”
The nurse looked confused. “Why don’t you marry him, then?”
“Because,” Nell pushed herself back to her bed. “He should have a wife who can have his kids and make a home for him. He needs someone who can love him with the kind of wild passion he deserves and not be afraid to stand up to him when he takes a wrong turn.” She pushed herself from the chair, her legs holding her only long enough for her to shift and lower herself to the bed. “He doesn’t need me.”
“Well.” Mary Ruth tucked Nell in. “Maybe you need him.”
Nell shook her head. “Even if I wanted to marry him, and I don’t, I couldn’t tie him down.” She didn’t add that even if she did marry him, she could never hold a man like Jacob. Not now. Not with a bullet lodged in her back.
He might be a big, tough man, but he couldn’t stand to see her in pain. And pain had become a part of her life.
Mary Ruth moved around the bed, making Nell comfortable. “You rest now. All this excitement is hard on you, I know.” The nurse insisted Nell take three short naps each day.
“Tell Gypsy to help Marla fix supper. With the men coming, she’d better triple the usual amount. I don’t know how much Mr. Harrison eats, but Jacob can put food away faster than a horse.” Nell closed her eyes, suddenly tired. “And tell her to make a skillet of cornbread as well as hot rolls.”
Mary Ruth closed the door as Nell whispered, “Jacob loves cornbread.”
CHAPTER 4
SUNLIGHT SLICED THROUGH THE STALE AIR AS JACOB Dalton walked across the sawdust-covered floor of the town’s biggest saloon. He motioned for the bartender to bring two drinks and took an empty table near the back. Number Twelve in Nell’s line of suitors followed, taking the other seat.
They drank and watched the crowd in silence for several minutes before Jacob asked, “What brings you to this part of the country, Harrison? You’re not a cowhand. And not many pass through here for the scenery.”
Both men smiled at Jacob’s attempt at humor. Miles of flat land dusted by rolling tumbleweeds could hardly be called scenery. There was a beauty to the land that Jacob saw after years of riding across it, but he knew the stranger wouldn’t see it.
Jacob couldn’t help but think the man had an honest air about him, but there was something cold in his eyes. Something hidden away. His clothes were well made but worn. His hands had tiny scars and calluses, not the ink stains of a bookkeeper. His body looked almost prison thin. Maybe he’d been ill. Maybe he’d been poor and too proud to ask for a handout.
Number Twelve lowered his empty glass. “You’re right, Ranger. I find little interesting in the life of a cowhand, and this land looks like God ran out of ideas, but it’ll do for ranching. My talent lies not on a horse, but with figures. I can tell you the success or failure of a business by the numbers, not the men who ride for the brand.”
Jacob smiled. He’d seen Harrison’s kind before. The pencil pushers who told ranchers they only needed so many men to run so many cattle. The weather, or terrain, or threat of range wars didn’t matter to them. All that mattered to Harrison’s type was that the number at the bottom of the page was written in black.
“That why you think you’d be the right man to manage Nell’s holdings, Number Twelve?”
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why I know I’m the right man, so there is no need for you to be Number Thirteen on her list. She won’t need another after I’ve had time to talk with her and explain what I plan to do, to merge her little ranches into one.” He hesitated, then added. “It’s Rand, by the way. Not Number Twelve.”
Jacob had to give the stranger credit, once he recovered from the threat of dying, he seemed willing to stand up for his rights. Or maybe he thought he’d be safe here in the bar with twenty witnesses around. “All right, Rand, what about Nell? How does she fit into your numbers?”
Harrison shrugged. “I see the marriage as a business deal. She needs a manager and wants my last name. My name’s all I have left to sell. She’ll give me the start I need, and I’ll give her respectability. With a little luck, in ten years I’ll double her holdings.”
“And walk away?” Harrison didn’t look like the type who’d be happy in a small town.
“No,” Harrison answered. “Not unless she wishes to end the contract. I’m giving my word, and I’ll hold
to it. She’ll have my name for the rest of her life if that is what she wants as part of the bargain.”
“But not your love?”
Harrison played with his empty glass. “I don’t believe in love, sir, or witches or fairies, or the man in the moon. I live by facts and figures. A marriage in name only suits me fine.”
“No love, no children?”
“No heart to engage, none to break. I have no interest in children of my own.”
His stare met the ranger’s. The cold gray of a winter morn colored his eyes, leaving no doubt that he meant his words.
Jacob offered him another drink, but the bookkeeper refused. He wasn’t sure if Randolph Harrison wanted to keep his head clear or if he didn’t have the money to buy the next round, so he’d not take the offer. Either way, Jacob’s measure of the man rose a notch.
They watched the crowd in silence. Typical trouble brewing for a Friday afternoon, Jacob thought. A few cowhands looking for excitement after a boring week of work, two gamblers looking for suckers, but most men just drank, hoping to watch whatever might happen. Jacob figured out a long time ago that the best nights in the bar always happened when he wasn’t there. Somehow in the telling the next morning everything always sounded grand, but in the living, it dimmed.
He glanced around, noticing no blood sprinkled in the sawdust. Either the town was settling down, or the saloon owner had just completed his annual sweeping. Settling down would be his guess. There were a few trouble spots along the frontier line, but for the most part Jacob was seeing most of the Wild West in dime novels and not in real life. The Indian Wars were over, and most of the range wars were settled. Before long he’d be able to walk the streets without a gun strapped to his leg.
One of the barmaids walked near their table. Her green dress, which had been washed so many times it looked dusty, brushed the arms of their chairs. The material lingered a moment as if hoping to be invited to stay.
After making no progress flirting with Harrison, she moved to Jacob. It took her a while to recognize him beneath all the dirt and beard. “Howdy, Ranger, want some company?”
Jacob shook his head. “Got one too many women on my mind already,” he answered, then thanked her for the offer. Barmaids and bartenders could be a great help, an extra set of eyes and ears when needed. Jacob guessed he knew a hundred barkeeps and saloon girls in little towns across Texas.
Before Jacob could think of anything else to talk to Harrison about, the sheriff walked through the batwing doors. Parker Smith was a skinny fellow, years past his prime, but still lethal with a Colt. Jacob liked him and knew him as an honest lawman who always tried to do his best. But Parker was crippling with age, starting to slip. He no longer rode out to the ranches to check on rustling. The rangers were aware of his shortcomings and tried to cover if they knew trouble might be riding his direction.
Sheriff Parker walked up to their table, and Jacob stood, his hand already outstretched.
“Sheriff, good to see you again,” Jacob greeted him warmly.
The old man smiled. “About time you got to town, Dalton. I was worried that you might not be here in time to straighten Nell out this time.”
“I’m not sure I can,” he answered honestly. “You’d think that wheelchair would slow her down and keep her out of trouble. I thought I told you to keep an eye on her.”
“It’s a full-time job, son, and I’m not as fast as I used to be. That’s why I called you for backup.”
Randolph Harrison stood slowly and faced the sheriff. The two lawmen turned, looking as if they’d forgotten him sitting at the table.
Jacob made the introductions, leaving out how he and Rand had met.
After Harrison and the sheriff shook hands, Jacob suggested Parker join them. As the men took their seats, the old man’s wise eyes caught Jacob’s for a second, then darted to Harrison and back.
Jacob read the message plainly. They’d both noticed the stranger’s alarm. Randolph Harrison was edgy, near panic. He’d wiped his hands on his legs before taking Parker’s hand. He kept his eyes low, never rising past the star on Parker’s vest. He mumbled his name almost as if he hoped the old man wouldn’t catch it. Both Jacob and the sheriff had learned from experience that men nervous around a badge usually had a reason to be.
“Welcome to Clarendon, Mr. Harrison,” Parker said casually. “Where do you hail from?”
“Back East,” Rand answered without looking at either man.
“Nice country back East,” Parker answered. “I know a lot of folks who come from the same place.”
Jacob smiled, knowing in this part of the county it would be impolite to pry into a man’s past. Half the folks settling Texas were running from something. Debts, family, the law.
But the seasoned sheriff was like an expert fisherman. It might take him some time, but he’d eventually reel in the man’s secret. One of the reasons he kept a lid on trouble in town was his ability to spot it riding in.
Jacob stood, knowing Harrison might say more without an audience. “I’m heading over to the barbershop to see if baths are still a quarter.” He scratched his beard. “I might even get a shave.” Jacob looked at Number Twelve. “I’ll meet you here in a few hours, and we’ll head to Nell’s for dinner. If she won’t talk to me without you around, then you’re coming with me.”
Harrison didn’t comment. He’d pulled a notebook from his vest pocket and seemed intent on writing something down.
Smith jerked as if their conversation had just registered. “Nell’s having company for dinner?” He stood and nodded toward Rand. “I’ll visit with you later, Mr. Harrison. I need to get over to Nell’s and talk myself into an invitation. If she’s having company, Marla’s probably cooking something special, and she’ll need to know to fix for one more.” He grinned. “That cook is an angel; she always sends a plate of homemade rolls home with me for breakfast.”
The sheriff frowned. “I almost forgot I’ve got official business with her today. Got a telegram from Sheriff Riley over in Cedar Point. Claims there’s a man on his way here who says she promised to marry him in writing.”
Jacob shook his head slowly.
“My feeling exactly. Our Nell might want a husband fast, but she’s not fool enough to promise anything before she can weigh the full measure of a man with her own eyes.”
“When we left, that bossy nurse was putting her down for a nap. So you might wait an hour or so. What do you plan to do if this mail-order husband shows up before then?” Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll meet this fellow, Walter Farrow’s his name according to Riley, when he steps off the train. If he thinks he’s going to bully our Nell, he’s got another think coming.” The old sheriff accepted a drink from the bartender, downed it in one quick swallow, and added, “See you at Nell’s for supper.”
Rand Harrison didn’t look up from his notebook, but he nodded once in agreement.
Jacob frowned from Harrison to the sheriff. He didn’t like the idea of having to talk Nell into marrying him in front of a crowd. She was hardheaded enough on a calm day when they had time and privacy. Now he’d have to do his talking in front of not only that mothering nurse but Harrison and the sheriff. With his luck, Marla, Nell’s cook, and little Gypsy, would join them. Who knows, maybe Nell’s fiancé by mail would show up.
He stormed toward the barbershop, thinking he might as well rent the town hall and hold a meeting. Nell probably wouldn’t mind at all. She’d lived her whole life with the town watching and disapproving of her. She wouldn’t care if they all watched. None of them had been willing to take a hooker’s child in to raise when Nell’s mother died, but they’d complained about Fat Alice offering her shelter. “No place for a child to grow up,” everyone had said. Then, when Fat Alice had left her considerable property to Nell, who was little more than a girl, the town had talked for weeks. Jacob didn’t want to guess what they’d said last month when she advertised from Amarillo to Dallas for a husband.
Not
that any of that mattered, he thought as he stomped into the barbershop, waking Jessie who napped in his barber chair. Once he married Nell, no one would dare show her anything but respect. He’d see to it.
“Afternoon, Dalton.” Jessie climbed from his chair. “I sure hope you’re here for a bath. I smelled you coming when you were half a block away.” The barber walked around Jacob as though he were a horse to buy. “And we’d better get some of that hair off your face and shoulders or folks will be yelling that a bear’s in town dressed up like a ranger.” He giggled at his own joke, making a rattling sound like he was stuttering his way through a hiccup.
Jacob growled, knowing the barber would repeat his words to everyone who stopped by the shop. “I didn’t come here to talk, Jessie. I just need a bath and a shave.” He lifted his saddlebags. “I brought clean clothes, but I’d like to leave the ones I’m wearing if you’ve still got someone who does laundry.”
Jessie took no offense at the ranger’s bad mood. “I’ll put a pot on to boil while you haul water from the well out back. By the time you fill the tank, I’ll have enough hot water for you to wash the first layer or two off. But it’ll take a day or two to get your clothes washed.”
“Fair enough.” Jacob dropped his bags and grabbed the buckets.
Thirty minutes later, Jacob sat in a steaming tub. He dropped his head beneath the water, then rose up and shook water across the storage room Jessie called his bath chamber. Jacob had too much on his mind to relax, so he took to scrubbing.
Nell filled his thoughts. What worried him more than he wanted to admit was that he feared Nell may have given up on her idea to run her own ranches. Before her accident, she thought she could do anything a man could do. Now she seemed to have decided that she needed one.