Birds of a feather, flock together.
The inane adages kept intruding on her thoughts. Maybe she should confront Charlie Duckworth directly. But he could easily deny her accusations. What if she had irrefutable proof? And what better place to find some information out about a man than from the man's good friend?
The good friend ambled away from the corral, heading in her direction. Charlie mounted another horse tied to the corral, turning it down the road leading out of town. By the time Jake arrived at the porch, Charlie had all but disappeared into the night.
"Evening."
"Ranger," Sunny replied.
"Nice night."
"Ummmm."
"How's your eye? And finger?"
"Healing."
"Well, sounds like you want to enjoy the night alone. I'll get on about my rounds." Jake started to move away.
"Ah . . ." Sunny bit her lip. She wouldn't get any information out of him if she didn't talk to him, for pete's sake. "Ah . . . if your rounds take you by Ginny's, maybe you could return her pitcher for me."
Jake pushed his hat brim up to peer at her. The moon gave enough light for her to see the mixture of emotions on his face. She stifled a giggle as the impact of what she'd asked him to do hit her. Such a sight that would be — Jake Cameron carrying a glass pitcher into Ginny's saloon!
"I guess I could," he said. "Problem is, I like to keep my hands free when I'm making rounds. Wouldn't want to smash the pitcher, if I had to drop it to break up a fight or something."
"That's all right. I understand, and I can take it back tomorrow. Um . . . it's still rather humid out. I drew a cool bucket of water from the well right before I put Teddy to bed. Do you need a drink? Or would you rather wait until you get to Ginny's and get something colder?"
"Drink of water would sit real good about now. But I don't want to put you to any bother."
"No bother." Sunny rose to her feet. "I'll be right back."
She managed to go into the kitchen, pour a glass of water and carry it back to him without spilling a drop or fumbling even once — until she handed him the glass. Her fingers bumped his and she jerked her hand back. Jake smoothly caught the glass, then drained it in one fell swoop. Chuckling under his breath when he started to give it back to her, he reached for one of her hands, carefully closing her fingers around the glass.
She thinned her lips, but bit back the comment forming in her mind about how she only got clumsy around him. Instead, she said, "The friend you were just with will have a warm ride this time of night. I should have offered him a drink before he left."
"Charlie? He filled his canteen from the pump at the stable before he left. Besides, he only has a short ride. He lives off a road that comes into the main road about a half-mile from town."
"I saw him at the funeral. And Ruth mentioned he's a close friend of yours." She paused, not having had time enough to really formulate which questions would get the best information out of him.
"Yeah," was all she got right now.
"Ruth . . . uh . . . said your friend Charlie grew up in Liberty Flats. That he knew my mother."
Jake stuck his fingertips in his back pockets, the stance drawing his denims even tighter across his thighs. She mentally cautioned herself to keep her eyes on his face and hold onto that darned glass, as he continued, "I met Charlie during the war. Men form pretty fast friendships in times like that — those who make it through it, anyway."
While she gnawed on her thoughts, trying to come up with something to keep him talking, the horse in the corral across the way kicked up its heels. It raced around the circle of fence posts, throwing up a cloud of dust, which partially obscured it. Jake turned sideways to watch, and she was treated to a different view of him.
"Is that your horse?" she asked at last.
"Yep. Got him from Charlie. I call him Dusty, and he needs some exercise."
Ah. An opening for her to question him. "Charlie raises horses, then?"
"You seem awfully darned interested in Charlie. Are you hinting for an introduction to him? He's a little old for you."
"No!" Too emphatic, she realized, calming her voice and saying, "You know how it is in a small town. At least that's what Aunt Cassie tells me. Everyone knows everyone else, and all their history. Or what they think is everyone else's history."
Jake let the silence stretch for quite a while. He untucked his fingers and stared at her. She kept looking at the horse over in the corral, but was aware of his every movement and sensed a tenseness in him. Had she gone too far? She hadn't even really asked him a thing at all.
"Rumors in small towns are just like those in big towns," Jake finally said in a flat voice. "They're usually half-lies and speculation."
She met his wary gaze defiantly. "Only half-lies?"
He jerked his hat brim down. "Thanks for the water. Have a good evening."
That lithe, deceptively slow saunter carried him out the gate. He passed through a pool of moonlight, which glinted off the polished cylinder of one gun hanging on his hard thigh. Sunny barely managed to grab the glass when it slipped through her fingers. At least she caught it this time, before it shattered on the porch floor and drew his attention back to her.
Gritting her teeth in vexation, she whirled — then glared at the doorway. It was perfectly wide enough to walk through without tearing her skirt, but she gathered it around her with her free hand before she walked into the dark house. Smirking in satisfaction when she reached the kitchen without further mishap, she placed the glass in the sink to wait for the morning dishes.
If Jake Cameron didn't want to talk to her about his friend Charlie, there were plenty of other people in town who would.
***
Chapter 8
Jake irritatedly pulled his hat down another inch over his eyes, shutting out the sight of the activity at the other end of the street. Short of sticking his fingers in his ears, he couldn't block out the sounds of hammers and saws. After propping his booted feet on the railing, he shoved his thumbs in his gunbelt, allowed his fingers to dangle and his chin fall to his chest as he sighed in displeasure.
Funny how the noise from the building repairs — the new Cultural Center he reminded himself the townspeople were calling it — cut through his senses right to his bones. Horses and wagons passing on the street had never bothered him. He could even usually tell who was going by without even opening his eyes. Some of the wagons had a distinctive pattern of squeaks to their wheels, and even a few of the horses had unique gaits. His own dun could hardly ever be held down to a sedate walk, prancing with bridled power when restrained to anything less than a full gallop.
Damn, he wanted to take Dusty out for a run. And not just because the horse needed exercise. If he sat on this damned chair much longer, his own muscles would start to atrophy and his brain would follow right behind them. He needed more activity — both for his body's health and his mind's. Walking up and down the peaceful streets of Liberty Flats several times a day was not his idea of action.
Hell, he could get all the exercise he needed if he'd go over and help with the building repairs, but that wasn't what he'd been sent here to do. Besides, the last time he'd picked up a hammer had been to repair a fence at the Leaning C, and he'd resented every inch he'd pounded those nails in. He'd ridden out of the ranch barely half a day after he'd flung the hammer down in disgust. He'd had no intentions of spending the rest of his life nursemaiding a bunch of crazy cows or repairing fences to protect the stupid beasts. And the last thing he wanted to do now was pick up a hammer and help a town build a Cultural Center.
Besides, there were enough other men helping out to make sure Miss Sunny Fannin didn't end up with any further injuries to that curvaceous body of hers. After just one meeting of the women in town, their men knew they'd never have any rest until that Cultural Center was up and running. They'd been working over there all week, and the only time anything had happened was when Fred fell off that rickety ladder Ginny provided. Fred's c
ursing as he tromped up the walkway to get a new ladder from his own store had proven he'd only hurt his dignity.
"Ranger Jake!"
Jake opened his eyes to see Teddy skipping across the street. His sour mood lightened and a smile curved his lips as he dropped his feet, removing his thumbs from his gunbelt.
Teddy was a far different picture from the little ragamuffin who had prowled the streets barely two weeks ago. Two cute little golden pigtails flopped against her back, and the knee-length skirt on her spotless pink dress fluttered around her legs when she skipped. Rowdy followed her, as usual, his brown and white coat gleaming in the sunlight as though it had just been washed and brushed. And it probably had been.
It hit Jake that the only thing he truly regretted about his plan for his future was that it didn't include children. He couldn't quite hold back the thought of how nice it would be to have a child of his own, perhaps a perky daughter like Teddy. But children meant a wife — a wife meant settling down in one place — and Jake Cameron already knew from being forced to spend boring weeks and months on end in this lifeless town that staying in one place for too long was beyond his capabilities. His toes curled in his boots against the itch on the bottom of his feet.
Teddy bobbed up the steps, and he shifted on the chair to greet her. "What you got there, Teddy?"
"Telegram for you, Ranger Jake. Mr. Turley asked me iffen I'd bring it over to you. Whoops. I mean if I'd bring it over to you. Miz Sunny says iffen's not a word, like ain't ain't."
Jake chuckled at her chattering, then took the yellow piece of paper, scanning it quickly. He couldn't believe that he'd get an answer from Kansas City about Teddy's background this soon, barely over a week since he'd sent the first inquiry. Given the scant information he'd been able to provide them, it would surely take the law officials longer to investigate.
And he was right. It was just a weekly report from Austin, telling him once again the headquarters office hadn't been successful in getting a marshal assigned to that area of the state. He shoved it into his shirt pocket in disgust, then wiped the frown from his face when he glanced at Teddy.
"Sounds to me like you're learning a lot from Sunny," he said, zeroing back in on what Teddy had been saying. "I'll tell you a secret. I never let anyone know it, but I liked school when I was growing up."
"You did?" Teddy's blue eyes widened. "All the kids I've been talkin' to said they hated school, and I was sorta worried about having to go when the teacher gets back to town. But I'm havin' lots of fun when me and Miss Sunny have our lesson time in the mornings after breakfast, before she comes down here to work in the afternoons. The words under the pictures in the books are pretty easy to read, when you've got the picture right there to tell you what's goin' on."
"Well, the right teacher makes a difference. Sounds to me like Sunny's one of those teachers who enjoys making it fun for you to learn, Teddy. And I've met Miss Harding, the teacher here in town. She's a lot like Sunny, so you'll probably have fun learning with her, too."
"Couldn't be more fun than with Miss Sunny," Teddy said loyally. "Why, bet when she has kids of her own, they'll know how to read and write even before they start to school. Miss Sunny says kids don't usually go to school 'til they're six or so, and she already knew how to read and write by time she was four. And she could add and s'tract, too."
A stab of something Jake couldn't for the life of him identify went through him at the thought of Sunny Fannin with a passel of tiny little children of her own gathered around her skirts. Though Teddy was far too young to know the whys and wherefores of how children came about, he had a flash of Sunny's face in the throes of ecstacy, her slender legs around some man's hips and the tip of one of those pert breasts lost within a warm, male mouth. His groin stirred in reaction, especially when he recalled how her nipple had pebbled against her dress bodice when he had been wiping at the blood on the material.
"Uh . . ." Jake rose, grabbing the chair when it threatened to topple behind him. "I need to go over and send an answer back to headquarters, so they'll know I got their telegram," he told Teddy. "Want to walk back with me?"
"Sure. I gotta go back and help out at the Cul . . . Cultural Center." She nodded in satisfaction at her pronunciation of those large words. Taking Jake's hand, she hopped down the steps beside him, chattering away as to how many jobs she could actually do to help out at the Center as they crossed the street.
". . . handing Mr. Fred nails when he comes over to help out between customers. And I even fetchin' drinks for people when they get thirsty," she concluded by the time they climbed the steps on the other side of the dirt street. "Why, Miz Caroline even lets me watch her baby sometimes, while she sews on the curtains and tablecloths. Some of the boys keep sneakin' off to play marbles out back, but Mr. Fred puts them to work loadin' wood scraps in the wagon when he catches them. It's fun gettin' to know everybody in town. Why aren't you over there helpin' out, Ranger Jake?"
"Well, Teddy." Jake glanced down the street toward the repair noises. "You see, I've got my own job to do in town. The Rangers are pretty strict about us taking care of our duties."
"But you ain't . . . don't have no duties these days. No one's doing anything bad that you gotta arrest them for. I'm havin' lots of fun with all the people. Bet you would, too, and bet it would at least be lots more fun than sittin' in front of the jail all day long."
"I do a little more than that," Jake grumbled guiltily. "Remember, I'm on duty at night, too, when all the rest of the town's sleeping."
"Yeah, I forgot about that. Does you sleep at the jail, too, Ranger Jake?"
Jake grimaced in distaste at the thought of the tiny room off the jailhouse office, which was barely big enough for the lumpy cot the town provided. Hell, he'd slept in worse places. He much preferred the open sky for a roof, but at times he even found himself longing for his sparsely-furnished though comfortable bedroom at the Leaning C.
"Yeah, Teddy, they provide me a bed at the jailhouse . . ."
"Jake!" Ruth strode down the walkway toward him. "You're just who I needed to see. Have you got a minute?"
"Plenty of them," Jake replied cynically. "What's up?"
"We need someone to escort Sunny out to Mary Lassiter's ranch. We've decided to have a social for a fundraiser to pay for the rest of the supplies we need for the Cultural Center. And everyone else is so busy, we thought we'd ask you to do that for us."
"Can I go, too, Ranger Jake?" Teddy put in eagerly. "I saw Suzie at church Sunday, and she told me if I ever got to come visit her, I could ride her pony."
"Just wait a minute, Teddy." Jake concentrated on Ruth with a frown on his face. "What's Mary got to do with your fundraiser?"
"Jake Cameron, if you'd pay attention to what's going on around you, you'd know." Ruth sniffed in exasperation, then slowly explained, "We've decided to have a fundraiser . . ."
"You already said that once, Ruth."
"You just said you had plenty of minutes available, Jake." The smirk in Ruth's voice made Jake clench his teeth, but he stuck his fingers in his back pockets and waited.
"So it's not going to ruin your schedule one bit to listen to what I have to say twice," Ruth continued. "Our fundraiser will be a town picnic, and Mary always furnishes a steer for us to barbecue when we have our Fourth of July celebrations. She has ever since her husband died, anyway. I'm sure she'll be willing to do the same for our picnic, but we need to go out and ask her right now, since we're planning on having the picnic next Saturday."
Jake groaned under his breath. "And I suppose you're planning on getting the word out to everyone within a hundred miles, so they'll come and spend their money."
"Of course! Really, Jake, the purpose of a fundraiser is to raise funds. And it's payday for the ranches next week, so everyone should have a little extra money to spend."
"Yeah," Jake growled. "Every piece of riffraff will have a pocket full of cash and just be looking for a place to cut loose and get rid of it. And by evening, hal
f of them will be drunk and probably dangerous."
"Well, what on earth do we have you in town for," Ruth asked, "if not to make sure the riffraff abides by the law, so the decent citizens can enjoy themselves? Really, Jake. And if you don't want to help us out, just say so. I guess I could pull one of the men off the repair work and ask him to go. John's already said Sunny can use one of the buggies from his stable."
"I'll go," Jake said with a defeated sigh. "My horse needs some exercise anyway. And given her propensity for bumbling, Sunny would probably get lost within sight of town."
"Sunny is one of the most capable women I've ever known," Ruth huffed indignantly.
"Couldn't prove it by me." Jake held up his hands to forestall Ruth's rebuff. "I said I'd go. But if anything happens in town while I'm gone, don't blame me."
"What could possibly happen in just a couple hours? That's all it should take you to go out to Mary's and back, even if you spend a while there letting Teddy ride Suzie's pony."
~~
"If you'd like to go ahead and let your horse run for a while," Sunny said, glancing admiringly at Jake's dun, "feel free. He looks like he's getting tired of you holding him in."
"Well, if you're sure." Jake stared down the rutted trail. "All you have to do is stay on this track. It leads right to Mary's, and the ranch is only about another fifteen minutes drive. But I'll be coming back as soon as Dusty gets the friskiness out of him, in case you have any problems."
"I learned to drive a buggy years ago," Sunny informed him. "And I can assure you that I know how to follow a road. Or a trail, for that matter. Mother and I periodically visited friends in the countryside around St. Louis."
"Yeah, but they don't have coyotes or rattlesnakes on the roads there. And out here, those aren't always of the animal variety."
"We had beasts like that where I grew up, too," Sunny advised him with a disdainful sniff. "I never had any trouble handling them."
Town Social Page 11