Cowboy Charm School

by Margaret Brownley

  “You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll sing you a lullaby.”

  “Like I told the sheriff, I don’t know nothing.” He felt the back of his head and winced. “I didn’t rob no bank, and I don’t know no Ghost Riders. The old lady’s brain is addled.”

  Brett hung his thumbs from his vest pockets. Nothing was wrong with Mrs. Denver’s brain; of that he was certain. By the looks of the egg-sized bump on Lucky Lou’s head, there was nothing wrong with Kate’s arm either.

  The problem was how to get Lucky Lou to talk. Maybe it was time for a bluff. If his hunch was right about Flash, his bluff would work. If he was wrong, Lucky Lou could clam up for good.

  “That’s not what your buddy said.”

  That got Lucky Lou’s attention, or at least he looked more alert. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “I’m talking about Flash. He’s downstairs now. Soon as the sheriff’s done questioning him, he’ll be occupying the cell right next to yours.”

  Lucky Lou made a face. “So why should I care?”

  “Thought you might be interested in knowing what he’s told the sheriff so far. Said you were the brains behind the whole operation.”

  Lucky Lou sat up straight. “The brains?”

  “That’s what he said. Said he and the other fella took orders from you.”

  A gleam of suspicion shot from Lucky Lou’s eyes. “Why would he say such thing?”

  “I don’t know.” Brett’s gaze fell on Lucky Lou’s hand-tooled boots and fancy Mexican spurs. “Maybe he’s getting back at you for spending the stolen loot before it’s time.” Flash could have lied about arguing with Lucky Lou about faro. The argument in the telegraph office could well have been about Lucky Lou’s spending habits.

  “Maybe it was to save his own skin. The sheriff agreed to forego the necktie party in his honor if he named the leader of the gang. He named you.”

  “Why, that danged fool. He’s lying through his teeth!”

  Brett shrugged. “That may be true. But unless we locate the real leader, everything falls on your shoulders. Been my experience that juries favor hanging gang leaders. The same could be said about judges.” He let that sink in for a moment before adding, “Swing or sing. That’s your choice.”

  Lucky Lou reached for the chain around his neck. Brett had never noticed it before, but Mrs. Denver was right; the bullets rattling together did make a jangling sound. A person not paying close attention could mistake the sound for keys.

  Brett studied the man with narrowed eyes. “Tell me something. The bullet that almost hit you during that stagecoach robbery… Were you a passenger or a thief?”

  Lucky Lou didn’t answer. He didn’t have to; his expression said it all. Kicking himself mentally for not figuring that out sooner, Brett shook his head. “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun.” Like everyone else, he’d assumed Lucky Lou had been an innocent bystander. Instead, he’d been the bad guy.

  “Would it be safe to say that you lied about the robbery taking place up north? That it took place in San Antone instead?”

  A flash of surprise crossed Lucky Lou’s face. “How’d you know that?”

  “Let’s just say it was a lucky guess. So, what’s it gonna be? Sing or swing?”

  “That sure ain’t much of a choice.”

  “Maybe not, but your best bet is to tell me everything you know about the man who gave the orders. I knew him as Frank Foster. I need to know his current name and location.”

  Lucky Lou dropped the chain. “You’re wasting your time. I don’t know nothin.’ I’m innocent as a newborn babe.” His ardent denial might have worked had it not been for the beads of sweat on his forehead and the shifty look in his eyes.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Brett said casually. “Not much I can do for an innocent man, but I sure in blazes can help a cooperative one.” With that, he turned and walked toward the stairwell, Ringo at his heel. “If I were you, I’d make out my last will and testament.”

  “Wait.”

  Brett turned. Lucky Lou was now standing, hands wrapped around the iron bars.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I told ya, I don’t know no Foster fella.”

  “Oh, you know him all right. Maybe not by that name, but you know him. While you’re hanging from the gallows, he’ll be living high on the hog with the money you stole. Stick to your story and…” Brett shrugged. “Nothing I can do to help you.” He let Lucky Lou gnaw on that for a moment before adding, “So what’s it gonna be?”

  Lucky Lou’s grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. Perspiration now ran down the side of his face. “I’m thinking.”

  “Well, think faster.”

  Lucky Lou groaned. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you what you want to know. On one condition.”

  Brett hesitated. He was in no position to make deals. That was up to the prosecutor. “What?”

  “While I’m in prison, you promise to take care of my dog.”

  30

  Still shaken by her encounter with Lucky Lou the night before, Aunt Letty arrived at the shop that morning wielding a shotgun.

  “Auntie!” Kate gasped. “What are you doing with that?”

  “It was your uncle’s. After everything that’s happened, I decided we could use a little protection around here.”

  Kate frowned. “But you don’t even know how to use a gun.”

  “What’s to know? You point and shoot.”

  Kate grabbed the shotgun before her aunt could demonstrate. “I think we’d better hide this before our customers arrive.”

  No sooner had Kate stashed the shotgun in the kitchen than Frank ran into the shop, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

  “Katie, I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

  Aunt Letty answered for her. “She’s fine. We both are.”

  Frank looked like he wanted to say more, but curious customers began storming into the shop, demanding to hear all about the previous night’s events, and he finally gave up and left. News of Lucky Lou’s arrest was already the talk of the town.

  Aunt Letty was in her glory and held her audience captive with her stirring account. Encouraged by the gasps of shock and dismay, she made her story more elaborate and outrageous with each retelling.

  “I can’t believe Lucky Lou is one of them,” Mrs. Tremble said, holding Mitzie in her arms. Shuddering, she buried her nose in the poodle’s topknot. “I mean, him being a dog lover and all. You just never know what’s going through a person’s mind, do you?”

  Mrs. Cuttwell sniffed. “I knew there was a reason his dog was always trying to escape. Poor thing.”

  It seemed that everyone had an opinion on Lucky Lou’s arrest and was determined to express it. Even Hoot Owl Pete and grumpy Mr. Thornton.

  The shop was still packed when Kate slipped out to make deliveries. All she’d been able to think about was the memory of Lucky Lou holding her aunt at gunpoint. She hoped the ride would help clear her head.

  Oh, how she wanted this whole thing to be over. As far as she knew, only the one Ghost Rider had been arrested, but Brett seemed confident that another arrest would soon follow. That meant his job here would soon be done.

  Not wanting to dwell on the thought, she urged Cinnamon to go faster, and the wagon dipped and bumped along the rutted dirt road. Less than a half hour after leaving town, she pulled up in front of the Fletcher place.

  She knocked on the door, surprised to see a Saratoga trunk on the front porch.

  Hearing him say “Come in,” she opened the door. He greeted her from his chair with a nod. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in, come in.”

  Stepping inside, she closed the door. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “What?”

  “I noticed the trunk on your porch.”

  “No, just…organizing. Want some coffee? I made it fresh la
st Friday.”

  “No, thank you. I had a big breakfast.” She handed him the basket of candy she’d put together especially for him. “All your favorites.”

  The hoped-for smile failed to light up his face. Instead, he set the basket on the table and rubbed his hip. He didn’t look any better today than he had the last time she’d visited. His skin was ash-colored and his eyes skirted with purple shadows.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, except for this dang rheumatism.”

  “Would you like me to send the doctor?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Heck no! Why do you always insist on sending that ole sawbones out here?”

  “Because I’m concerned about you,” Kate said.

  Scoffing, he reached for the box and pulled out a peppermint candy. “This is all the medicine I need,” he said and popped it in his mouth.

  His childlike enthusiasm made her smile. “Made fresh first thing this morning.”

  “Mmm. Tastes good.”

  “Would you like some coffee to go with that?”

  He nodded. “That would be nice.”

  “I’ll get it.” She walked into the small, cluttered kitchen. Finding a clean cup in the cupboard, she poured coffee from the coffeepot on the cookstove. The coffee looked strong enough to float a horseshoe. Smelled strong too. Fletcher might not have been kidding when he said he made it five days ago.

  Just as she was about to leave the kitchen, she noticed a supply of gauze and tape on the kitchen table, along with a bottle of iodine. Had Mr. Fletcher injured himself? Was that why he looked under the weather?

  She carried the cup of coffee into the parlor and set it on the table by his side. “I have some good news that should cheer you,” she announced.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, it’s about the Ghost Riders. Last night—”

  Just then, the door burst open, followed by the presence of a compact man dressed in black. Kate was sure she had never seen him before. Even so, there was something about him that looked vaguely familiar. She glanced at Fletcher, but his dark expression was as puzzling as it was worrisome.

  Scowling at her, the stranger slammed the door shut with a raised foot. “What’s she doing here?”

  “This is Miss Kate Denver,” Fletcher said. “She and her aunt own the candy store in town, and she brought me a box of my favorite sweets.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Kate, meet my son.”

  The tense undercurrents in the room made her nervous, and Kate arched an eyebrow. During the many conversations she’d had with Fletcher, never once had he mentioned a son.

  “How do you do?” she said. When the younger man failed to return her greeting, she turned to his father. “I’d best be going.”

  “Before my son arrived, you were saying something about the Ghost Riders.”

  Kate glanced at the younger man before answering. “Only that one of them has been arrested.”

  Fletcher reached for another piece of candy. “Is that so?”

  Kate nodded. Sensing the tension in the room was about to snap, she gestured toward the door. “I’d better get a move on. I have more deliveries to make.”

  Fletcher made a face. “I meant what I said. I don’t need no doctor poking around and pretending to know what ails me.”

  Kate knew better than to argue with him. “As you wish,” she said. “Enjoy your candy.”

  “I intend to.”

  She started for the door, anxious to make her escape. The younger man moved aside to let her pass. “See you next week,” she called over her shoulder. Grateful for the fresh air that greeted her when she opened the door, she stepped outside and took a deep breath.

  Much to her annoyance, the younger Fletcher followed her out of the house, closing the door behind them. “Pa meant what he said. No doctor.”

  Noting that the Saratoga trunk had vanished, she turned with a frown. “I’m worried about him. He doesn’t look like himself.”

  “That’s for me to worry about, not you.” He waved his hands in dismissal, and she caught a glimpse of a bandage inside his open collar.

  The bandage made her think of the gauze and iodine on the kitchen table, and her mind raced with fearful clarity. One of the train robbers had been shot! Coincidence? Somehow she didn’t think so.

  Startled by the thought and what it might mean, Kate recalled the look on Mr. Fletcher’s face when his son had walked in. She couldn’t make up her mind whether it had been fear or worry on the old man’s face, but it sure hadn’t been the look of a loving father.

  As she met the younger Fletcher’s gaze, a horrifying thought occurred to her. Now that she had a closer look at him, she was almost positive he was the man in Brett’s photograph. The man he called Foster One.

  A sick feeling washed over her. “Like…like I told your f-father,” she stammered. “N-no doctor.”

  Kate turned to make her escape, but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her by the arm, his hand darting out like a snake’s tongue. “Now where would you be going in such a hurry?” he asked, his rough voice grating in her ears.

  “Ow!” Shock turned to anger, and she jerked back, but he held on tight, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Let go!” she cried. “You’re hurting me!”

  Twisting her body, she kicked him hard in the leg and tried kneeing him between the thighs. Her small frame was no match for his as he yanked her closer, his face dark with fury.

  Pulling out a gun with his free hand, he pointed it at her. “Shut up and do as I say!”

  Freezing in place, Kate stared at his weapon with rounded eyes. “You w-won’t get away with this,” she stammered.

  His mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. “You’d be amazed at what I’ve gotten away with. Now start walking. My rig’s in back of the house. You and me are gonna take a little ride.”

  She dug in her heels and refused to move. With a flash of impatience, he practically pulled her arm from its socket. He spun her around and shoved the barrel of his gun into her back. “I said walk!”

  Rubbing her sore arm, Kate walked down the porch steps on wooden legs. Oh God…

  “Let her go, Fletcher.”

  Her relief at hearing Brett’s voice lasted for only as long as it took Fletcher to wrap his arm around her neck and press his gun to her temple. The deadly click of the hammer sounded like an explosion in her head, and she didn’t dare move.

  “Who…who are you, and what do you want?” Fletcher called.

  “Name’s Brett Tucker, Texas Ranger.”

  “Oh yeah, heard there was a ranger in town looking for me. Didn’t bother me none. I’ve outfoxed more than one lawman in my day.”

  “If me being a Texas Ranger doesn’t bother you, maybe this will. My sister’s name was Alice Taylor.”

  Kate felt Fletcher stiffen behind her. Tightening his hold on her like a vise, he kept the weapon pressed hard against the side of her head. “Don’t know why I’d care about your sister.”

  “I think you do,” Brett said. “But either way, you’re under arrest.”

  “Like hell I am.”

  “If it’s hell you want, I’d be happy to accommodate you.” Brett stepped out from where he’d hidden behind a tree, and his voice grew more insistent. “You should hang for breaking my sister’s heart, but unfortunately, that’s not a crime. For now, we’ll just have to charge you with holding up the bank. You can also add stage and train robberies to the list. Should I go on?”

  “If you know what’s good for the lady here,” Fletcher said, his harsh, raw voice grating in her ear, “you’ll back off.”

  “You can’t keep running, Fletcher. Sooner or later, I’m gonna catch you. Count on it.”

  “I guess you have a problem then,” Fletcher sneered. “’Cause I don’t aim on gettin’ caught.”

 
A movement on the porch was followed by a gruff voice. “You’re the one with the problem, Son.”

  “Stay outta this, Pa!”

  The distraction caused her assailant to momentarily loosen his grip, and Kate sprang into action. Kicking him hard, she thrust up her arm and elbowed his wounded shoulder.

  “Ow!” he yelped.

  Moving quickly, she grabbed the barrel of the gun, but he soon overpowered her.

  “Why, you little—” He dragged her back against his hard body. His hold around her neck cut off her breathing. She thrashed and dug her fingers into his powerful arm, but it refused to budge.

  Brett’s voice broke through the darkness. “Let her go, Fletcher. It’s over.”

  For answer, Fletcher tightened his grip. Her lungs screaming for air, Kate swung her leg back, kicking him hard on the shin. Just as she tried kicking him again, a black wall closed in on all sides.

  She wasn’t sure what happened next, but suddenly, she was free. Gasping for air, she tried to make sense of the scene in front of her. This time, Brett held the gun, and Fletcher’s hands were raised shoulder-high. Behind them, Old Man Fletcher pointed a shotgun at his son, his face as dark as a midnight sky.

  Brett’s gaze met hers. “You okay?” he asked, his voice mirroring the concern on his face.

  Hand on her sore arm, she nodded. “How…how did you know?”

  “It took a while, but Lucky Lou finally sang.” Brett frowned. “I sure didn’t expect to meet up with you here.”

  “I didn’t expect to meet up with another Ghost Rider,” she said.

  “Keep this up”—Brett pulled the man’s hands behind his back and snapped on a pair of handcuffs—“and we’re going to have to deputize you.”

  “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick to candy making,” Kate said. “Less dangerous.”

  Before Brett hauled his prisoner away, Mr. Fletcher hobbled up to them, shotgun still in hand. The man looked like he had aged ten years in the last few minutes. He glared at his son. “I knew when you came back that you were up to no good, but never did I guess how bad it was.”