Stands a Ranger

by Cotton Smith

  Outside he stepped quickly into a deep shadow and studied the buildings across the street, then around him, to assure himself Del Gato wasn’t waiting. Or the black gunfighter.

  At the livery, a pimple-faced stableboy of fourteen or younger told him only the mayor had rented a horse so far today. He stared at Chance, gulped, and whispered, “That a wolf, mister?”

  Carlow smiled. “Sometimes.”

  The boy stared back at the young Ranger and frowned, but his eyebrows lifted as he recalled something. “Say, a stranger done left his hoss hyar. A while after ya was by.”

  “Well, good. Let’s take a look, son.”

  “Yessir. It’s a brown. Sort of.”

  They walked to the stall, passing horses eager for attention or oats. Probably the latter, Carlow thought. When they reached the stall of the stranger’s horse, the boy turned to the young Ranger and said, “Hyar ’tis. Not much fer lookin’, I suppose. The feller who brought ’er said he was gonna sell ’er. She was limpin’ a mite when I led ’er back hyar. Jes’ a lost shoe, though.”

  Carlow wasn’t certain whether he was happy or sad. The horse was definitely not one of Von Pearce’s mounts. The sway-backed mare looked as if it couldn’t run if the whole world were on fire. His mind was working on a rationalization about why it was all right to let the outlaw get away for the time being—and return to help Bea Von Pearce. After all, his duty was to all Texans. Not just a few. Bea was a Texan who needed help. And she needed it now. Even if she didn’t want it. He pushed away the rationalization. No. His assignment was to get Silver Mallow.

  “You think the owner’s coming back?” Carlow asked, running his hand over the mare’s nose.

  “Ah . . . prob’ly not. Only paid me twenty cents.” The stable boy noticed the red cuts across Carlow’s knuckles and knew what had happened.

  “Here.” Carlow reached into his pocket and retrieved several coins. “This should pay for at least three, four months. Right?”

  “Oh, yes, sir! Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll be coming back—an’ I want to see that mare well taken care of when I do.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll even get iron fer her back foot. No extry charge. You’ll see.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “Ah, you need some water . . . ah, to put your hands in? Looks like ya done hit something.”

  “Yeah, I did. Accident. It’s all right, though. Thanks.” Outside Chance greeted him eagerly. Carlow’s gaze took in the Holden Apothecary across the street. There was no sign of the halfbreed killer, but that would be Del Gato’s style. An examination of the windows in the lone second-story building directly across the street yielded nothing ominous. Would the black man who looked like a pirate be waiting somewhere? Viceroy? Wasn’t that his name? Jimmy Ward Flanker knew him. He glanced back at the buckskin, and his attention slid to the dark brand on its pale flank. If Dr. Holden and Red Anklon came after him because he was riding a Cradle 6 horse, why didn’t they go after Silver Mallow when he came in earlier? Or did they? The only ones who could answer that were Dr. Holden and Red Anklon.

  By now the yellow-haired physician should be back in his office, tending to his beaten brother-in-law. Maybe they would tell him the truth, if he made it clear his only interest was to find out if there was an earlier stranger on a Cradle 6 horse. Why not ask?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Anger stutter-stepped at the back of his mind as Carlow told himself it would do no good to put them on notice that he knew they were after the widow’s ranch. It would only accelerate their plans, and he wouldn’t be around to help her. Accepting the awkwardness of his task, he left the buckskin tied where it was, ordered Chance to stay with the horse, and walked across the street.

  An older man greeted him as he reached the raised sidewalk. Carlow returned the salutation and stepped inside the store. Three couples looked up with mild curiosity before resuming their shopping. Everywhere he looked were shelves lined with rows of colorful apothecary containers, cod-liver-oil bottles, patentmedicine packages, pressed soaps, and glass jars containing touted combinations of herbs. Scattered among them were other displays of bolted cloth, pots for cooking, cigars, tobacco sacks and plugs, men’s hats, and shoes for both men and women. Glass showcases throughout the store displayed a wide variety of merchandise, from perfume and fine linens to jewelry and eyeglasses. Gas lamps on the walls gave the store a mysterious glow.

  Dr. Holden wasn’t in sight. There was a door in the back. That must be his office, Carlow thought. He could barge in but preferred a less aggressive approach. It made more sense for what he needed from them. A woman, blocked by several customers, was handling the cash register. She was currently helping an older couple. Yellow light from an overhanging gas lamp on the far wall desired only to touch her amber hair. But some of the glow dared to reach beyond, to the counter, where it highlighted a stone mortar and pestle, a large pill press, and a brass balance scale.

  Carlow paused to read a label on a medicine bottle, then another, waiting for customers to clear so he could ask the lady clerk about the doctor. All of the labels and boxes were adorned with gushing guarantees to cure everything from indigestion to consumption, from liver and bladder ailments to “female diseases” to childhood disorders. Hall’s Catarrh Cure even offered a “One hundred dollar reward for any case of catarrh that can’t be cured with Hall’s Catarrh Cure.”

  There was Hood’s Sarsaparilla, Quinine Sulfur, Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral and Ayer’s Cathartic Pills, Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription, Hostetter’s Celebrated Stomach Bitters, Dr. Kilmer’s Swamproot Kidney Liver Bladder Cure, Cuticura Antipain Plasters, Microbe Killer, Kickapoo Indian Sagwa, Dr. John Bull’s Worm Destroyer, Warner’s Safe Kidney Liver Cure, Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, Hamlin’s Wizard Oil and Balm of Childhood.

  He noticed an old remedy from his childhood, Tuscarora Rice, and read the bottle: “the said Corn so re fined is also an Excellent Medicine in Consumptions & Other Distempers.” He smiled. “I guess ground-up corn couldn’t hurt you,” he mumbled to himself.

  Many medicines proudly proclaimed they contained cocaine or opium or both. Mrs. Weenlow’s Soothing Syrup for infants made certain everyone knew it contained the newest miracle cure, morphine. Next to it were six different toothache powders, plus an elongated bottle of toothache drops with cocaine. Below them was an entire row of catarrh medicines for relieving head and chest congestion. Another cluster of bottles held cocaine-containing medicinal wines.

  Reminded by the plethora of medicines, he ran his fingers along the scabbed line on the side of his forehead. It was tender and full of heat but had ceased to throb. At least for the moment. However, his knuckles were in more than enough pain, and he rubbed his hands together to ease the soreness. His shoulder wound had become a mere annoyance.

  Two customers left, but six more crowded around the woman. He could see only the top of her head and an occasional glimpse of her sleeved arms moving briskly. Her voice sounded pleasant and friendly, calling the customers by name and adding warm greetings or questions about each one’s family. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Hildingham. You are both looking well. Oh, really? Well, that should help. Yes, Dr. Holden prescribes it often for that. How is Matilda? Oh, that’s so good to hear. Please greet her for me.”

  Trying to act busy, Carlow picked up a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. He had heard about the stuff. Some said it contained 15 to 20 percent alcohol. However, its label proclaimed a much different story: “A sure cure for PROLAPSUS UTERI, or falling of the womb and all FEMALE WEAKNESSES including leucorrhoea, irregular and painful menstruation, inflammation and ulceration of the womb, flooding . . . for all weaknesses of the generative organs of either sex, it is second to no remedy that has ever been before the public, and for all diseases of the kidneys it is the GREATEST REMEDY IN THE WORLD.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be much help for that head wound. You need Dr. Holden’s own special salve. It’
s over there.”

  Carlow looked up and was stunned. Standing near him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Shadows raced to embrace the stunningly attractive store clerk now a few feet away. His earlier glimpses of her reddish brown hair had not prepared him for such a sight.

  She ruled the room with her regal presence and engaging charm. Cradled in her arms was a gray cat. Carlow thought it looked like the stray from the alley by Charlie’s saloon. He wasn’t certain, though; his attention had been on other concerns. This animal had a solitary darker gray stripe down its chest; he couldn’t remember if the alley cat did or not.

  A rose glow touched the clerk’s rich cheeks, but it was from working, not powder. Her eyes were turquoise, accented by thick lashes that blinked charm, and burned with a secret only she knew. Any man would be greatly blessed to see one such woman in his lifetime. She smelled of lavender—and of woman. Her appearance rattled his mind and sent a tingle to his loins.

  Although her hair was pulled back in a bun, rich amber ringlets lined her forehead; several had broken free, cascading down onto her shoulders. A white apron covered her blouse and skirt but couldn’t hide her ample bosom, and she knew it, keeping her shoulders back and straight.

  The magnetic clerk seemed oblivious to her effect on men, or was she simply no longer surprised by her lustful appeal? Perhaps she was immune to a man’s advances, for there was something about her that Carlow couldn’t quite figure. A hint of coldness in those bluegreen eyes. A wall of arrogance. Or superiority. Or was it a hint of madness?

  Carlow sensed no man could ever reach her heart. She reminded him of a perfect pink rose frozen in an unexpected spring snow he’d seen a few years ago. Unable to change or grow, pale petals were held in place by the frigid cold. It was outside a small family’s homestead near the Red River. Other flowers were similarly trapped in a small garden beside their house, but only the pink rose continued to lurk in the back of his mind. Something about it connected with his soul. Was it to be the same with this woman, a frozen pink rose of femininity?

  Carlow closed his open mouth and swallowed his awe. “Actually, I was hoping to see Dr. Holden himself for a minute.”

  Her indifferent gaze changed almost imperceptibly to a wary one. “Aren’t you the Ranger from the fight at Charlie’s?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “I saw what you did to my brother. You should be ashamed. Red’s a fine gentleman.” Her voice was cold, almost demanding.

  “Afraid he gave me no choice, ma’am. He wanted to tear my head off. Is the doctor’s office through that door?” Carlow’s mind caught up with the fact she called Anklon her brother. Was this Dr. Holden’s wife?

  “Did you kill Mr. Mitchell?” The clerk’s turquoise eyes snapped with accusation.

  Carlow’s irritation was growing. “If he was slump-shouldered, wore eyeglasses, and pointed a gun at me, I did. He didn’t introduce himself before he tried to kill me.”

  Her unexpected response was a cozily warm smile that dissolved his frustration. But the sweet glow didn’t come from her eyes, which remained aloof and vacuous.

  She said softly, “I’m sure he didn’t. Remmy told me all about it. He was quite sorry to be pulled into the affair. He was told you had stolen one of Mrs. Von Pearce’s horses.” Her eyes began to probe Carlow’s for more than attention, but he couldn’t read her intentions. “Of course, Presidio is not used to having someone riding into town as well armed as you. A stranger on a neighbor’s horse. Surely you understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I understand.”

  “Did one of them do that?”

  For an instant, he didn’t realize she was referring to the bullet burn on his forehead. His attention was focused on the realization that she had referred to Dr. Holden in a way that suggested a close relationship. This had to be the doctor’s wife.

  “Remmy said he couldn’t stop them from—”

  “No, this came from an outlaw I’m trailing,” he interrupted, touching his forehead as he responded. “Your husband is Dr. Holden, I presume.”

  “Well, yes, of course. I’m Jessica Anne Holden.” Her eyes stalked his face, hunting for lost secrets.

  The intensity of her gaze made him uncomfortable. Yet the close attention of such a beautiful woman played with his emotions, sending shafts of red up the back of his neck.

  “It’s nice to know you, Mrs. Holden. . . .”

  “My friends call me Jessie.”

  Carlow grinned. “Well, I sure would like to be your friend . . . Jessie. I’m Time Carlow.”

  “Time. Oh, what an interesting name.” Her hand touched his arm. He sensed it was calculated, not spontaneous. As if she knew well the effect it would have. The same effect her touch had on all other men. “Your mother must’ve had a strong vision to have such a name come to her. She wants to tell me about it, I can tell.”

  “My mother is dead.”

  “I know. She has talked to me about you.”

  From a black place in his mind roared a revelation. This had to be the wicked woman Charlie Two-Wolves had talked about. The devil woman from the moon. A murderer. Could that be? The recognition punched into his consciousness so hard that he almost blurted out the words. Kileen told him the spirits talked with humans all the time but rarely did people listen. A person’s sudden insight, or an uncanny sense of what was to be, came from the spirits talking, his uncle would solemnly advise. He would have proclaimed her to be a witch and warned his nephew to not look her in the eyes because she could easily put him under a spell. Two-Wolves would have said the same. Or worse.

  Crossing his arms, Carlow took a deep breath to rid himself of the urge to tell her what he thought, and said, “I’d like to ask your husband if he—or your brother—saw another man ride in on a Cradle 6 horse. This morning. Before I came. I’m after that man. He’s a murderer, among other things.”

  “A murderer? Did he kill poor Mrs. Von Pearce?” Jessie’s voice was heavy with concern, but her eyes wished for an affirmative answer.

  “No. He killed my best friend and another Ranger. He and his gang.”

  Briefly, Carlow told her about trailing Silver Mallow after his breakout from the Bennett jail and about the outlaw’s getting a fresh horse from the Von Pearce ranch this morning. He explained about Mallow’s attempted ambush and losing his trail close to Presidio.

  She listened intently, as if he were the only man in the world, and she, the only woman. Part of his recitation was pulled by her magnetism, but part of it was also the sense that if she believed he didn’t intend to pursue her husband, she would let him advance. At least that’s what he told himself.

  Warnings from Carlow’s subconscious hammered at him as her manner changed to one of subtle seduction. He wasn’t sure if her sensual attention was to see if she could make him another conquest or just an extension of her uncommon beauty. It was difficult to concentrate with her gaze caressing his face, for a tiny message kept assuring him that she was actually attracted to him. Worse, it was a message he wanted to believe. Yet, he knew it wasn’t true.

  His mind battled to stay clear of the lust that sought to consume all of his reasoning. He told himself again that she was an evil woman and had no interest whatsoever in him. Nor should she. Jessie Holden was a married woman! To himself, he recited what Two-Wolves had said about her. Devil woman from the moon. Devil woman from the moon. Devil woman from the moon. According to him, she had killed a German couple, cut off their ears, and marked their faces in their own blood. Once he almost spoke the words out loud to strengthen his resolve as she took another step closer.

  “Looks like you’re a very lucky man, Time Carlow. The spirits care about you, don’t they? Yes, they do. I can see why. Your hands, oh, they are hurting, aren’t they?” Her fingers lightly touched his head wound, then slid down his face, passing over the edge of his lips, and the sensation raced to his groin. She took his hands gently in her fingers and examined the results of the fight.


  He was afraid to look down at his pants, certain that a bulge would be there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Remmy should have a look at your head—and your hands. You should be in bed, instead of running around.” Her smile followed the word “bed,” and her eyes lowered to his groin, then back to his face. Her eyes glittered with victory, and the crimson flickers at his neck swooped onto his face. She returned her hand to the cat in her arms and slowly stroked its arching back.

  Behind them, a heavyset woman with eyeglasses and a bonnet resting off-kilter on her head urgently asked where the lavender soap was located. Carlow noted that the woman smelled faintly of freshly cut hay and manure.

  Fixing a caring smile on her face, Jessie pointed in the direction of a long shelf displaying soaps of different sizes, colors, and wrappings. She added, “That’s my favorite, too. Doesn’t it smell wonderful? You know, the men like it too.”

  The woman bit her lower lip and exclaimed agreement, joyous to be included in Jessie Holden’s assessment.

  After watching to see that the woman went to the right place, Jessie turned back to Carlow and said, “Remmy’s with my brother now, but I’ll go ask him—or do you want to wait and talk with him yourself?”

  Coldness laced her question, as if she had discovered Carlow could be hers and the experiment was now over. Carlow rubbed his chin to buy a moment to consider how he should answer. If he let her take the message to Dr. Holden, it might carry the innocence he needed for an honest response. He reminded himself that his job was to find Mallow, not interfere in a possible local land situation. Dr. Holden was not his responsibility. Neither was his wife. Ellie Beckham skipped into his mind, and he silently told her to wait for him and not to worry about his momentary attraction to this spellbinding woman.

  “Oh, I know he’s busy. If you wouldn’t mind asking him—and Red—that would be great.” Carlow added, “Jessie, I know they were given the wrong information about me. But I was glad to see citizens caring about an old woman. I’ve seen many towns that wouldn’t.”