Birdie's Nest

by Linda LaRoque

  “Good enough.”

  “You never did give me an answer about another place to run.”

  He thought about it a minute. “I expect it’s about three miles to the road that leads into Waco. Also, the trail we rode with the general and Ethan is about the same distance. I imagine either one of those will work fine. I’ll send one of the stable hands with you.”

  “No need. I can take care of myself.”

  Dang woman! He knew it would be useless to argue with her. “At least take a weapon with you.”

  “You can count on it.”

  Chapter Six

  Birdie stood at the counter inside the gunsmith’s shop. The name burned into a wooden sign read Joseph Hellman, Owner. Hank waited beside the door. Tad wouldn’t let her venture into town alone. It was bring the cowboy along, or she couldn’t have the use of a horse. As soon as she had enough money, she’d buy her own ride.

  “How may I help you, miss?” The middle-aged man squinted at Birdie over his wire-rimmed spectacles. His leather apron brushed the opposite of the counter as he leaned forward to see what she pointed to.

  “I’d like to see that pocket pistol. It’s a Colt, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed, young woman. The latest model, center fire too.” He lifted it from the case and handed it to her. His eyebrows rose a notch when she released the chamber and sighted down the barrel. “Know something about firearms, do you?”

  “A little.” She tested its weight. Not bad. It would be a little heavier loaded. The size was perfect for her holster. “Shoots .38s?”

  “Yes. If you want a model that fires .32s, I can order one.”

  “No, I prefer this caliber.” She dry fired it a couple of times. The trigger wasn’t too stiff. “If the aim is off, can I bring it back?”

  He slapped his hand down on the counter setting his jowls in motion. “My good woman, I assure you I sell the best. If the aim is off, it won’t be this gun.”

  Birdie slapped her hands down beside his. “I assure you, my good man, if it doesn’t shoot true, the fault will not lie with me.” What was it with these people, talking down to her all the time?

  He lowered his head like a bull and shot her a steely gaze. “Then bring it back, and I’ll adjust it until your aim is true.”

  Near the door, Hank was having some type of coughing fit. She walked over and pounded him on the back. “Are you okay?”

  He swallowed a chuckle and coughed again. “Yes’m. Just fine.”

  The fool man was laughing. Guess he’d have a story to tell Tad and the rest of the wranglers. She didn’t mind. All she cared about was the gun shooting true. She returned to the counter. “How much for the Colt, Mr. Hellman?”

  “Ten dollars with a box of shells included.”

  Birdie stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal then. I’ll take it.”

  He grinned and shook her hand.

  “Add three more boxes of bullets.”

  As he produced the boxes of shells, she loaded the Colt and added it to the pocket of her riding skirt.

  He studied her suspiciously. “Planning on robbing the bank?”

  “Nope.”

  “You new to the area, Miss…”

  “Birdie Braxton, Mr. Hellman. Yes, I’m new. I’m staying with Olivia Lockhart.”

  “You the young woman Tad fished from the Brazos? The one with the crack on her head and no memory?”

  “That’d be me.”

  “You need a gun cleaning kit?”

  “Yes. Thanks for reminding me.”

  He added the kit to her purchases and wrapped them in brown paper and tied it with twine. “Got a city ordinance here in Waco. No carrying guns in the city limits. Sure would hate to see you get locked up.”

  Birdie patted her pocket. “I know. That’s why I bought a pocket pistol. No one will know I’m carrying.”

  He snorted and eyed her pocket. “If they’re blind, you mean. That’ll be twelve dollars and twenty-five cents.”

  “Add it to the Lockhart account.”

  He opened the book and flipped through the pages before jotting down the amount.

  A Winchester repeater on the wall caught her eye. She nodded toward it. “How much for the Winchester, Mr. Hellman?” It was a twenty-four inch rifle, a good size for her.

  He looked behind him and then turned back to her. “Nineteen-fifty.”

  “Save it for me, will you? I’ll be in next month to purchase it.”

  His jaw dropped, but he snapped it shut and nodded. “I’ll do that Miss Braxton. Have a nice day and be careful.”

  As they walked out, Birdie turned back. Mr. Hellman stood where they’d left him, hand scratching the bald spot on his head. No doubt about it, she’d made a friend... not! She laughed all the way to their horses.

  By noon, they were back at the Lockhart ranch. She carried her purchases upstairs to her room to unwrap and put away. For running she’d bought a pair of boys’ school shoes. They were sturdy and if kids could run in them, she could too. She folded the new riding skirt and put it in a drawer of the chifferobe and hung the two blouses in the closet side of the large piece of storage furniture. The leather work gloves, she tucked in the other pocket of her skirt.

  Over the next two weeks, Birdie’s life settled into a routine. Three days a week she donned her dungarees and took her run. On the first day she ran toward the shooting area, she carried a box of shells and practiced with the Colt. Mr. Hellman was correct. The aim was exact. Some days she’d stop by the barn, and, using a low overhead beam, do a number of pull-ups. Some of the wranglers started competing with each other. It lasted a week and when the newness wore off, they quit.

  Her job keeping the books didn’t occupy enough of her time. At the end of the month Tad had her figure all the wranglers’ pay. Accompanied by Hank, she rode into town to the bank for cash, as the men didn’t want checks. On payday, she set at a table outside the bunkhouse and doled out their money. She still helped with the dishes, worked with Olivia in the garden, and spent two hours a day tutoring Bethany in math.

  After dark, she sat with the family on the front porch and visited, light from the coal oil lamps inside casting a soft glow through the windows and door. It was odd. Her family was close, but not nearly as much as the Lockharts. The ranch was a small community. Each member played a vital role and depended on the other. They worked together, ate together, went to church and socials together. Much of her family’s time was spent in front of the television. Of course there were family outings and reunions, but each of them had their own friends. They drifted off to individual activities. Listening to Tad, Olivia, and Bethany as they talked about neighbors, wranglers, and friends was nice.

  “Birdie?” Olivia’s rocker stopped. “Did you hear me?”

  “No, I’m sorry. My mind wandered. What’d you say?”

  “Are you looking forward to the July 4th celebration next weekend?”

  Bethany stood at the porch rail. She twirled sending her skirt wide. “It’ll be so much fun. All sorts of games, a dance, and fireworks! All my friends will be there.”

  “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I love fireworks.” Actually, she liked to dance too.

  “Well, you and Bethany, as unmarried young ladies, will have a box lunch in the bidding to raise money for the church.”

  “What? I can’t cook.”

  Olivia chuckled. “Don’t you worry, dear. Maybelle will pack a nice lunch for both of your girls.”

  “Olivia, I don’t meant to be a spoil sport, but I’m not young, and I really don’t want to participate in such an activity.” It was degrading in her opinion.

  “You’re unmarried. It’s expected of you.” In the moonlight Birdie could see the older woman’s eyes twinkle. “Who knows, you might meet a nice man, one interested in marriage.”

  Her voice a whisper, she muttered, “Heaven forbid.”

  Tad guffawed. Birdie didn’t dare swat him, but she wanted to.

  Olivia leaned forward in her
rocker. “What’d you say dear?”

  “Nothing, just mumbling.”

  The older woman sniffed. “Please don’t do that. It’s rude.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  * * *

  Dressed in a blue gingham dress with short puffed sleeves and a fitted bodice, Birdie sat stiffly beside Tad in the carriage. Thank goodness the garment fit loosely enough she didn’t have to wear the dratted corset. It was a pretty dress, but the neckline dipped lower than what was comfortable to her. She resisted pulling it up higher. The large straw hat adorned with blue, yellow, and pink flowers shaded her from the hot July sun. Without it and the frilly parasol, her fair skin would burn to a crisp. Here it was not yet nine o’clock and the temperature was at least 80 degrees, if not hotter.

  She still might have enjoyed the drive but for the prettily decorated box on her lap, a reminder of the lunch to come. Why she worried about it, she didn’t have a clue. It’s not like her fellow rangers would be there. This was an ordinary function for this time period. Yes, she would be considered an old maid, but Tad’s admiring gaze this morning told her she wasn’t beyond attracting a man.

  She cast a glance his way. His three-piece suit fit him nicely, the jacket stretched over his broad shoulders. How men could stand dressing in such hot attire in the summer, she didn’t know. They must be used to it. His dark auburn hair curled above his collar, the white felt hat protected his eyes from the glare. The scent of his bay rum aftershave teased her nostrils. Yes, Tad Lockhart was a fine-looking man. She admired that he didn’t dip snuff or chew tobacco like so many of the cowboys. Bet tonight he’d have his choice of dance partners. Every single woman in the county would vie for his attention. A stab of jealousy prodded her. Disgusted with herself, she snorted.

  He bent closer to her, his smile sending a flutter through her stomach. “Did you say something?”

  “No, just coughed.” Liar.

  Her face heated. She hid behind her parasol and tugged at the sleeves on her dress. They were a bit too snug. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of cut offs, a tee shirt, and flip-flops. At least she’d avoided the pretty shoes that went with her dress and wore the comfortable school shoes. Not that they’d do her any good. Olivia had outlined expected behavior before they left the house. Standing around with a bunch of silly girls and matronly women did not sound like much fun to Birdie.

  A bandstand had been erected on the riverbank. A table covered with a colorful cloth stood in the middle. They’d no sooner stepped down from the carriage than Olivia took Birdie and Bethany by the arm and led them toward the man accepting lunch boxes. He stepped down and led Olivia up the steps.

  “Mrs. Lockhart. You’re looking lovely as usual.”

  “Thank you, John.” She motioned to Birdie and Bethany. “Come on up, girls. John, you remember my daughter, Bethany.”

  “Of course, I do. You’ve grown up, young lady.”

  Bethany blushed. “Hello, Mr. Samuelson.”

  Birdie jerked at the name and studied the man intently. He didn’t favor the man she knew in her time one bit. That still didn’t keep her from being suspicious.

  “And this is Miss Birdie Braxton, a distant cousin of mine come to live with us a while. Birdie, John is one of the deacons at our church.”

  His eyes raked her form briefly, and then he tilted his head. “Miss Braxton, it is indeed a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Samuelson.”

  “Err, yes. Now, let’s get you ladies signed in and your boxes labeled.”

  Birdie sighed with relief to leave the gazebo. She smiled as Bethany joined her friends. Olivia chatted with a group of matrons and introduced Birdie to her friends, many of them mothers with their daughters in tow. They eyed each other and Birdie suspiciously. Probably saw her as being competition for Tad’s attention. Gad, poor man. She didn’t envy him having these young women vying for his attention, all with matrimony in mind. As soon as she could politely slip away, she strode toward the riverbank.

  Ahead, a group of rowboats were tied up at a dock. Men stood beneath a tree getting a number pinned to their backs. One waved and hollered, “Hey, Tad. I need a partner.” She turned to find Tad strolling toward her.

  He shucked out of his jacket. “You mind holding this for me?”

  She folded it across her arm. “Not at all.”

  His friend jogged over with a number and while Tad rolled up his sleeves, pinned it to his back. “I bet you’re Miss Braxton.” He offered his hand. “I’m James Baker, a friend of Tad’s since childhood.”

  Birdie instantly liked the redheaded freckle faced man. She shook his hand. “Call me Birdie.”

  He smiled in acceptance and then slapped Tad on the back. “Ready to win this race?”

  “Aren’t I always?” Tad touched her arm. “The finish line is back up by the bridge. Will you meet me there?”

  “Of course.”

  The men selected a boat, pushed it out a short way before hopping in, and then took position with the other boats in the middle of the river, approximately ten feet apart. They’d be rowing with the current. When they were lined up to suit the starting judge, he held a pistol up and hollered, “On your mark, set!”

  The report echoed across the water and the boats shot forward. Birdie ran along the riverbank trying to keep up. Others crowded around her. Cheers and laughter floated amid the crowd, and she found herself jumping up and down, screaming, “Go, Tad, go James! You can do it!”

  They were ahead, clearly the winners. Then, they slowed. Oh no, Tad had a cramp in his shoulder. Two young boys rushed past them. The pistol sounded. The race was over, and Tad and James lost.

  Gradually the boats pulled ashore. The two boys, probably middle teens were congratulated and received a prize of money. They whooped and slapped each other on the back.

  A hand touched her back. She whirled to find Tad grinning down at her. “Disappointed?”

  “Of course I am. Y’all were way ahead. What happened?”

  He took his jacket and bent down to whisper in her ear. “We decided it was time to let these youngsters have a turn at winning.”

  She hissed, “You…you mean you lost on purpose?”

  “Yeah.”

  Well, Birdie didn’t know what to think. She glanced back at the two winners. They basked at the attention of the other men, including James and their friends. She smiled up at Tad. “What a nice thing to do.”

  The two boys rushed over. “Sorry you didn’t win, Mr. Lockhart.”

  He shook each of their hands. “Well, I’m mighty disappointed, but if someone had to beat us, it couldn’t have been done by a better pair. Congratulations!”

  Yes, the more she got to know Tad Lockhart, the better she liked the man.

  “Tad!” An attractive brunette dressed in red calico and ruffles tapped Tad on the arm with her closed parasol. “What happened out there, darling? You never lose.”

  He turned, impatience marring his handsome face, erasing his expression of joy. She opened the sunshade, held it over her head, and looped her arm through Tad’s.

  “Lucy, what a surprise to see you here today.”

  She fluttered her dark lashes. “Why, I’m always here to watch you in the rowing competition.” She directed her gaze to Birdie, eyeing her from her feet to the straw hat on her head. With its wide brim to protect her from the sun, it didn’t have the style Lucy’s creation possessed. Birds, feathers, and flowers adorned the red and white concoction. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your relative?”

  “We’re only distantly related, Lucy.”

  “Oh really.” She twirled her parasol. “But, Mr. Samuelson said—”

  “I know what he said, Lucy, but Miss Braxton’s branch of the family is so many times removed….” Tad shrugged, removed the woman’s hand from his arm, and extended his hand to Birdie. She took it, and he tugged her closer. “Birdie, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Lucy Jamison. Lucy, Miss Birdie Braxton.”

  Mrs. Jamison
smiled, her red lips almost garish, and nodded. Birdie guessed cosmetics hadn’t come very far in this time period. “Delightful to meet you. Will you be staying with the Lockharts long, Miss Braxton?”

  “My plans are unsettled at the moment.” A tall, thin man started toward them and then stopped. He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. He was doing his best to appear uninterested in them, but he wasn’t fooling Birdie. Who was he? She nodded in his direction. “Is that your husband, Mrs. Jamison?”

  Startled, she turned back, and then around again. Her chortle strained, she quipped, “Heavens no. I’m a widow.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “No need, dear. He’s been gone five years now. I’m quite used to being on my own.” Lucy licked her lips, her smile sly. “But dear Tad here has been so good to help me out, keep me company. Haven’t you dear?”

  Tad scowled. “Sorry to rush off, but we must be going.”

  She winked. “I’ll save you a dance tonight, Tad.”

  Tad choked and muttered something like, “You do that.”

  So, Tad and the widow lady were fooling around. He didn’t like the woman’s blatant behavior. No doubt she wanted Birdie to know she had a prior claim on Tad. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jamison. Will I be seeing you again at the Lockhart’s?”

  Her eyes narrowed and for a minute Birdie thought the woman would slap her. Oops, she’d hit a nerve. Lucy’s pinched mouth relaxed into a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, Olivia and I aren’t acquainted yet. Maybe one day soon.”

  As they strolled away from the woman, Birdie couldn’t resist. “A girlfriend of yours? One your mother doesn’t approve of?”

  He growled, “Mrs. Jamison is none of your concern. Please forget this conversation and have a good time.”

  Tad took her arm and led her to the bandstand. “It looks like they’re getting ready to start auctioning off the box lunches. We don’t want to miss out, do we?”

  “Heaven forbid.” She groaned. “Would you shoot me, please?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Look at this lovely box, gentlemen.” Mr. Samuelson winked at Birdie. “Almost as lovely as this young lady, Miss Birdie Braxton, a distant relative of Mrs. Olivia Lockhart.”