The Lady's Arrangement (Help Wanted)

by Colleen L. Donnelly

“What are you doing here?” Ted grabbed at my arm as I pushed through the bank’s door. Everything felt frosty, my heart hammering, working to break the freeze.

  Morrissey. Luke.

  “You got business in there?” I fired a question at Ted that was as much for Morrissey as it was for him. That’s what Jim would want to know—why was Morrissey here? If I didn’t find out, take the time to do this rangering job right, I’d ruin everything by dragging Morrissey out and hanging him right there in the street. Then Regina would know who I really was. Everyone would. Her ranch would be gone, like Pop’s. And my job for Jim undone.

  “What’s it to you?” Ted answered the way I’d expect Morrissey to if we were in a crowd. Where he felt safe. Ted yanked the door with his good hand and disappeared inside. I stepped away from the front, leaned against the corner of the building, Morrissey still there in my mind, his guttural whispers strong in my ears. I edged to the window and watched Ted as he spotted Mr. Gulliver and strode his way. Morrissey watched alongside Regina’s banker. Casual. No surprise on his face. He was slightly taller than Ted, but much younger. Young enough he had an overdeveloped swagger to go with his roughed-up clothing. All show.

  Luke. Regina.

  I slipped away from the window, stared down the boardwalk toward the mercantile store.

  Jess.

  I wove through people dotting the walkway, twisting my shoulders from side to side without a “hello” or a “pardon me” as I hurried to the store.

  “We need to go.” I laid a hand on Jess’s shoulder. He stood beaming beside a pile of goods high enough to outfit every invalid in Kansas. “I don’t know if we can…”

  “This boy did a fine job of clarifying what you need.” Mr. Wayne’s smile matched Jess’s, his grin a calculation of what I owed.

  I doled out the cash, fast. Too much of it. Luke. Regina. Jess. “I’ll bring the wagon around back.” I pointed to the rear of the store. “I’ll load it from there.” Where I couldn’t be spotted.

  “I can help you carry it wherever your wagon is, if you want.” Mr. Wayne smiled.

  “No, the back is easier.” I gave a slight nod toward Jess. “Easier on the boy,” I whispered.

  Mr. Wayne let me go with a wealthy wink.

  It was Morrissey’s dark and rumpled hat, the sign of a man working too hard to avoid an honest life, that made me go for the wagon fast. He was in front of the bank when I stepped out of the store and glanced that direction. He was talking with Ted. I backed into the mercantile building and headed for the rear of the store. “I’ll be right back. Maybe you and the boy could wait at the back door for me.” I stuffed more money into Mr. Wayne’s hands. “Maybe you could have all this stacked there by the time I get back.”

  I slipped to the livery. Morrissey and Ted. One gunning for Luke, the other for… My gut twisted into a knot.

  I was quick, but not quick enough. As I hied Walter away from the livery, Ted stepped around the corner. He stood between me and the back of the mercantile building, absorbed in a conversation with Morrissey, not far from his side. Ted glanced at the lowdown thief as I slid off the opposite side of the wagon and crouched near the ground. Walter was easy to spot. So was the wagon. I stretched up and peered at the back of the mercantile store. So was Jess, and so was I. No pistol on me, no holster at all, since I was acting like a husband instead of a Ranger. I laid my fingers over my trousers pocket. Flint and steel. It had worked before.

  Chapter 50

  We all fall at some point. Some of us never get back up. ~Regina

  Jess’s eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen, glowing with each board, every strip of leather, every nail he laid out along the back end of the wagon.

  “And look, Ma, these sizes fit together for a man.” He leaned into his crutches as he grouped longer pieces into a pile. I ran my hand down the back of his head as he chattered on, his sleek hair and his excitement the dreamer that was so much of Flynn.

  Ben unhitched Walter and led him toward the barn. The way Ben moved, the way he tipped an ear told me he was listening. He disappeared through the barn door while Jess made new piles and straightened leather into different groupings. My crate lay empty up near the front, even my tea towels gone, Ben’s blanket all that was left. I felt I’d been punched. There had been too many goodbyes lately. And another coming soon. Ben reappeared from the barn. Another punch. One more goodbye.

  Ben strolled to the house, disappeared inside, then came back out and walked to the wagon, resting his arms on its side as he leaned against it. Crinkles cut around a half grin as he listened to Jess. He looked pleased in the smile, but his eyes were sober. Maybe he knew he’d done wrong. He glanced at the barn, then my way, straightened, and reached into his pocket. I shook my head. It probably wasn’t much anyway that he’d gotten for my china. And my towels, which weren’t for sale.

  I looked at the crate. Ben followed my gaze, and it seemed like “tea towels” may have finally registered, by the look on his face. He hustled around the wagon as I planted my hands on my hips, slid between me and my son, and bent over his piles.

  “Ben,” I said from behind his back.

  “Yes, ma’am?” He didn’t turn. He leaned farther over Jess and rambled on about wood and nails.

  “Ben!”

  One of those long fingers went up and punched the underside of the front of his hat, shoving it back on his head.

  “Is everything I asked you to take care of gone?”

  “Oh!” Jess nearly toppled. “We saw Indians! Well, not the Indians themselves, but smoke! They burnt something in town.”

  I laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder, tugged at his shirt until he turned, a ruddier flush crossing his skin.

  “Could have been anything.” Ben shook his head.

  “It had to be Indians. Walter ran fast to get back here. Ben made him!”

  “Walter needed to stretch a bit.” Ben’s color deepened more. “He’s been getting soft.”

  “Speaking of Walter, did you buy the wood for whatever it was you were going to build for him? Everything I see here seems to be for crutches and braces.”

  “Say, I almost forgot.” Ben reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope. “Some fellow in New York’s looking for you.”

  “Clyde?” I snatched at the end of the envelope, coming away with nothing as Ben whipped it away from me. “That’s mine.” I grabbed again.

  “You know this fellow?” Ben turned the envelope my way, Clyde’s name, angular and sprawled across the corner, told me he wasn’t any calmer.

  “He’s family,” I said, grasping at the envelope. Ben let it go, and I folded it into the pocket of my pants. God, please let my cousin’s news be good.

  “A wire, too.” Ben handed me another envelope.

  Clyde again. And much slower than he should have been. The sound of hooves interrupted the thanks I was pondering to say to Ben. Pounding hooves, coming fast.

  “Look at Ted,” Jess piped, tugging at Ben, then at me.

  Ted burst into the barnyard, Boss running even harder than he did with me. Ted was black from head to toe, the whites of his eyes standing out like two hen’s eggs. He was off his horse in one motion, grabbing Ben’s arm in his fist as he came to a halt.

  “Where were you?” Ted yelled.

  “Been right here the past hour or so.” Ben made a circle with his arm, neat and quick, breaking Ted’s grip.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Ted, no one knows what you mean. And stand back. You smell burnt.” I covered my nose. “What in the world happened to you?”

  Ted’s blackened face turned my way, those white orbs like two moons with black holes in the centers. “A fire.” He looked back to Ben. “You were there. You could have done something to help. Unless you set the fire to begin with. If that’s your way. Like some.”

  “Indians set that fire, Ted,” Jess chimed in. “We saw the smoke. We were way far away.”

  “Indians wouldn’t set fire to a walkwa
y. Nearly ate up the front of the saloon and a corner of the bank.”

  “The walk outside the bank?” I stepped between Ted and Ben. “No one would set fire to a walkway. It must have been an accident. A careless smoker or something. Was anyone hurt? Are the saloon and bank okay?”

  “Thanks to a few good men, everything will be fine. Except for whoever set it.”

  “Probably be smart not to go accusing people of setting fires.” Ben spoke above me, his words like hammers. Ted looked over my head at him.

  “I ain’t one to speak carelessly. Not like a young buck who can’t shoot straight, not even with his mouth.”

  Fast and slow at the same time, Ben’s arms appeared over my head. They plucked Ted from in front of me, from between Jess and me, and threw him face down to the ground. I saw the arms and the body, and I heard the air leaving Ted’s lungs before I heard the horrible thud of his body against the ground. Fast and slow all over again, Ben planted a boot in Ted’s back, a watery grunt, the last of Ted’s air, gushing from my ranch manager’s chest as Ben yanked and twisted Ted’s good arm up behind him. I shuddered at the hollow draw for breath, the noisy battle Ted fought to gain air, all of it turning to curses and spittle full of dirt.

  “Ben!” I screamed over my shudders, louder even than Ted, but my shriek was still lost under the cry of Jess’s wails.

  My son’s crutches hit the dirt, he dove at the two men, grasped and hung onto Ben’s arm. “Let him go! Let Ted go!” Jess lost his grip and tumbled backwards, fast and slow all over again. So slow I’d never forget the pain I saw streak across his face, and too fast for me to catch him before he hit the ground. I screamed again, different this time, at the dull thud I heard before Jess rolled to the side. My boy curled forward—I’d seen it too many times—clutching the top of his leg.

  With his boot fixed in Ted’s back, Ben bent forward and ground Ted’s face into the dirt, drowning out the curses and the filthy spittle. Then he let go and dove toward my son. My hand was there midair, I was quicker than he was, and met his face before he lit. The slap rang above my son’s groans, echoed over Ted’s sputters and threats. My hand stung; it burned like fire as Ben stopped and looked at me.

  “What are you doing?” My voice was high, out of control, its pitch piercing even my own ears. “You’ve hurt Ted and now you’re hurting Jess. Again! Why don’t you leave us alone!” My hand tingled. I wanted to slap Ben again as Jess whimpered in the dirt. I dropped to the ground beside my boy. “Can you straighten at all?” I tried to help, ran my hand down his leg, the back of his head, felt the tautness as he moaned all the more.

  “You do it like this.” Ben bent beside me. He righted Jess without a sound from my boy. Jess relaxed and straightened, propped himself on his elbows. “That’s what Doc showed us to do today in case he ever fell.”

  Ted was on his feet, black spit draining from his mouth, clearing a channel through the charcoal on his face. “Mrs. Howard’s right. Leave us alone. No cause you attacking me like that.”

  It wasn’t Ted Ben looked at as he stood. It was me. He stared down as I glared up from near my boy. “Is that what you really want?” Ben asked. “To leave you alone?”

  I looked at my son. I was sick of pain. I was tired of hurt on a face that had finally been glowing. I glanced at Ted, dirt, saliva, blood, and charcoal smeared like insults on his face. And the wagon, where the empty crate was. I looked back up at Ben.

  “As you wish.” He fished money from his pocket and dropped it into my lap. He disappeared into the barn, where I could hear him gathering his things.

  “Ma?”

  “Good riddance.” Ted spit more dirt. “That man wasn’t right. Never believed a word he said.” Ted knelt down next to me. “You okay?”

  The barn was silent. I listened, kept my hands on my son, until Ben’s commotion resumed. I could picture him in there, tall and dark, in a handsome but devilish fury, preparing to go. An early parting.

  “Can’t believe he turned on me like that.” Ted rotated his shoulder as he leaned toward Jess. “I’ll sign so you can keep this place. Once we get that settled, everything will be fine.”

  Settled. “Ben took you to see Doc Harris today?” I looked at my son.

  “Yeah. He did. Paid him, too.” Jess took Ted’s hand, and the two of them stood, Ted helping him balance once they did.

  “What about my things in that crate? Do you know what happened to them?”

  Jess brushed off his elbows and the seat of his pants. Ted handed him the crutches. “Those weren’t your things. I peeked in that box. Nothing but junk.”

  “What? No tea towels? No china?”

  Jess snorted. “No, Ma, I told you, it was just junk.”

  I looked to the barn. One of Ben’s noises came from within. This one was different—loud, strong, and powerful enough to send him and Walter out the side door and sailing over the corral. Ben leaned forward over the neck of his horse as Walter cleared the top rail. The horse lit on the ground as if his hooves had wings, and before I could think or cry, or say goodbye, they were gone.

  “Wow,” Jess gasped beside me. “I’m gonna do that someday.”

  I grabbed his shoulders, watched the road where brown dust filtered back to the ground, where Ben and Walter had disappeared. Parted. Gone. “No, you’re not, son. No, you’re not.” I’d had enough parting, enough being left behind. He was not going to leave me like the two best men I’d ever known had done.

  Chapter 51

  It’s hard to go north or south when, wherever you go, a little bit of you stays behind. ~Rex

  South. Every bit of me, except one little part, wanted to head south. Back to red dirt to find my half-brother before he figured out Morrissey was up here, back to Red Rock Ranch to restore and rebuild before my father died of a broken spirit. Away from red hair that wanted me to leave.

  But that one little bit of me refused to head south.

  Run hard, Little Brother. Run hard and get away from that smoke. Luke was on his own.

  I laid a hand on my shirt pocket. The deed Ted had hidden in that wooden box was there. But Regina’s broken comb he hadn’t been smart enough to let go of was in her house. Where I hoped she’d find it and ask the right questions, even without my help. I patted the deed. The deed to Flynn Howard’s railroad land. In my pocket, right next to the one for Regina’s ranch. Ted was a rat. I’d sensed it all along and wondered if Mr. Gulliver realized he was. Probably not, since Mr. Gulliver had nothing to gain by Ted owning those ranches. But Ted stood to gain everything by being cooperative and sneaky—two ranches plus the most enviable of women at his side. The woman whose comb he couldn’t let go of. He just hadn’t counted on her advertising for a husband other than him.

  I spit. Then made a noise. Walter bent harder into his run. Ted would be figuring out quick enough I’d taken those things and made his plans worthless. I’d get both these deeds signed and back to that redheaded wife of mine before I said my final goodbye. She could deal with her ranch manager. In the meantime, north was the way to go. Back to Liberal, to catch that skunk Morrissey before he slipped out of town.

  The boarding house came into view, the end of town farthest from where I’d seen Morrissey. I gave the building a wide berth, kept my face down, and eyed the horses tied outside. Morrissey used to ride a brown stallion. It blended in, like a snake did in the grass. I looped slow, beyond the boarding house, around that end of town, keeping Walter steady and my eye to the side, watching every movement, every man, every horse within range.

  Jim’s plan had worked good as far as giving me the front of a common ranch husband so I could go snooping around without raising brows. That plan was backfiring now. Too many people knew me, associated me with Regina and Jess, for me to barge in and take Morrissey by surprise the way I wanted to. When people found out Ben Miller didn’t exist and was Rex Duncan instead, I wanted Regina to know before them. She deserved that much, and she deserved to understand why.

  A few houses
were scattered here and there along the north edge of the town as I made my way around the outside. A church, a school, things that stood far enough from the main street I hadn’t paid much attention to them before. One house stuck out above all the others. Someone with money. A lone horse, plus a horse with a buggy out front, both standing at a white fence.

  The far end of town, the saloon end where the bank and some other businesses operated, came up quick. The smell of dank, smoky wood filled the air. It hung as a reminder of what a fire could do. Of what flint and steel could do. A couple of big horses that could have been Morrissey’s were outside the saloon. I looked them over as I kept moving. Two or three more were in front of the bank. Mr. Greene was right. Liberal was blooming. Blooming too much to make my job easy.

  I circled around behind the saloon and bank, came along the rear of the livery and the mercantile building. The backside of the postal office and Doc Harris’s office were next. Too many horses at the livery for me to make a quick judgment, and I wasn’t about to drop in to see, in case Matt Morrissey happened to be there.

  “You know the routine, Walter. You’d best not have forgotten how to be a Ranger’s horse during your soft days at the Howards’. The Millers’.” I edged Walter away from town. Found the nearest cluster of trees—heck, the only cluster of trees—and ducked inside. And waited.

  By the time the sun was nearly set, so was my plan. I wanted one thing, and I aimed to get it. Morrissey. Nice and quiet, without letting anyone else see or know. As the landscape took on more gray than sunlight, I nodded at Walter. He nickered back. I slunk into town, and Walter stayed where he was.

  Chapter 52

  I can do this. I know I can. ~Regina

  Gone. The road stretched empty between where I’d stood and where Ben had gone. A long strip cut through the prairie, going nowhere. Except to wherever Ben had come from, and what little piece of land Flynn may have left behind.

  “Ma…”

  It wasn’t a marriage I’d had with Ben, it was a planned wedding and a parting…a plan that gained me a name but hadn’t given me the ranch. Yet. Until I got the deed for this piece documented, even if I had to fill Ben’s name in myself. And it had gained me a peek at what Flynn may have owned but hadn’t given me that deed at all.