Wild Western Women Boxed Set

by Kirsten Osbourne

  Mrs. Phifer twisted the corner of her apron. “Ivan wasn’t used to riding a Western saddle, but the livery didn’t have the other kind to rent. We’re afraid he’s fallen off the horse and lying seriously injured somewhere.”

  Dang the luck, Ivan missing and Beth found. “Did the horse come back?”

  “No.” Mrs. Phifer met Matt’s gaze. “The sheriff asked that too.”

  Matt rubbed his hand against the stubble on his chin. He’d left Austin as soon as Ivan’s wire reached him and only stopped to rest himself and his horse about midnight. He’d had jerky and water, but not even a cup of coffee.

  “Let me clean up and get some grub, and then I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Beth stepped forward. “We don’t have a vacancy. You can get a room over at the saloon.”

  “Land sakes, Beth, what’s wrong with you?” Mrs. Phifer glared at her daughter then smiled at Matt. “We have coffee and a meal in the kitchen if you’ve a mind. I’ll show you where to wash off some of the road dust.”

  Matt wondered if Beth would poison the coffee. He was almost too tired to care. “I’d be much obliged, Mrs. Phifer.”

  “Now, now, you call me Lena Mae. You’re a friend of Ivan’s and I know we’ll be friends as well.” She sent a glare toward her daughter, as if daring Beth to comment.

  Matt hefted his gear and followed the women into a kitchen that smelled of apples and cinnamon and kindled memories he thought he’d forgotten. His stomach rumbled like a bear. Unlike the front part of the house, paper in cheerful yellow stripes covered the kitchen’s walls and ruffled blue gingham curtains hung at the windows.

  Lena Mae gestured toward a long back porch. “You’ll find soap, water, and a towel out there. By the time you get washed up, I’ll have your meal on the table.”

  Instead of the pan intended for washing up, Matt held his head under the pump at the horse trough. The surge of cold water helped revive his lagging energy. He dug out a clean shirt and his razor. By the small mirror hanging over the washstand, he shaved as best he could and slicked back his wet hair with his fingers.

  Slapping at his britches raised dust and horsehair but didn’t improve their looks much. He figured he was as clean as time and conditions allowed. He shucked off his shirt and pulled on the fresh one.

  As he stepped into the kitchen, Beth stopped cleaning and stood with her arms crossed. She looked downright aggravated that he’d shown up. She rekindled memories he’d worked hard to forget, and he couldn’t decide if he was sad or happy to see her. Judging from the heat that shot through him when he looked at her, he’d go with pleased.

  Dang her ornery hide, she looked pretty as a spring bluebonnet. She set his blood to boiling like a randy young buck’s instead of a seasoned and trampled thirty-four.

  Lena Mae set a heaping plate of food at the head of the table. “Now you just sit yourself here and I’ll get your coffee. It’s just noon leftovers but they’re hot. Like as not you’ll find room for an apple dumpling, too.”

  Matt dug into his food. “Ma’am, you’re a fine cook. This is the tastiest stew I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

  At his compliment, Lena Mae beamed.

  Beth smiled at her mother and the transformation fired his blood another notch. “Well, folks say Mama’s the best cook in the county.”

  Lena Mae patted his arm. “I’m sorry we don’t have a vacant room to let to you.”

  “You couldn’t be as sorry as I am. I haven’t had a dinner like this in longer than I can remember.” Still, it didn’t pay to get too comfortable. Never lasted.

  Lena Mae chuckled. “Ivan never could never get straight about folks in this part of the country calling our midday food dinner and the evening meal supper. He got us to start calling the noon meal dejeuner. Too bad we can’t include you every day you’re in town.”

  Matt regretted it as well. “I’ll make out fine. Would you tell me all you remember about Ivan leaving.”

  Lena Mae sat beside Matt at the table. “Well, let’s see. He didn’t say anything unusual yesterday at breakfast. Then at dejeuner, he said he had to send a wire.”

  Beth smiled at her mother. “Mama, remember, Matt just showed us a wire.”

  When she spoke to her mother, Beth’s voice lost its waspishness and took on a soft, sweet sound. Matt figured that honeyed tone would work magic on most any man. Sure as hell did on him. Damned if he knew why it hadn’t for the bastard she’d married.

  Lena Mae blinked at her daughter’s reminder. “Oh, my, yes. I guess that was the one Ivan sent to you.”

  Matt nodded and reached for another slice of homemade bread. “Then what?”

  Lena Mae stared at the blue-checked curtains stirring in the breeze. “First, he came back from sending the wire then he changed clothes.” She turned toward him with a conspiratorial smile. “You know him, so I guess you know he didn’t dress like the other men around here.”

  Beth stepped forward and held his gaze. “He wore knee high black boots with white britches and a dark blue coat with his medals on it. He looked like one of Davey’s toy soldiers. All he needed was a saber and tricorn.”

  Great, just great. Ivan had dressed himself up like a target. “Do you know where this ranch is?”

  Beth shook her head. “Not exactly. The sheriff might. All we know is that it’s west of town.”

  Matt used the last of his bread to sop up the remaining gravy on his plate. Lena Mae set a large apple dumpling covered in sugary syrup in front of him and he dug in. Lord, people must be fighting to sit at her table if she cooked like this every day.

  When he’d polished off even the crumbs, he stood. “Thank you for the hospitality, ma’am. Best meal I’ve ever eaten.” He clapped his hat on his head.

  “You can leave your things stashed here until you’re settled.” Beth’s offer sounded kind enough, but she looked much too curious.

  He figured she’d paw through his saddlebags and he didn’t want to tempt her. At least, not in that way. He grabbed his gear. “I’ll stop by the saloon and get a room on the way to the sheriff’s office.”

  Beth’s heart pounded so loud she feared others would hear. She moved to the front door and watched Matt walk away. She’d never expected to see him again.

  Liar, her conscience scolded. After Lionel had sent her away, she’d prayed Matt would come back into her life as a reformed man. She exhaled a giant sigh. What a silly girl she’d been.

  Men like Matt never changed. Hadn’t she seen that with her father? How many times had Papa promised to reform only to backslide? And then he abandoned them only to be killed in a Colorado mine.

  But Matt looked fine now in spite of his travel. How would he know Ivan? More important, what did he think of her now?

  Don’t be a goose, he doesn’t think of you at all.

  Beth’s mother joined her. “Elizabeth Margaret, what was that all about? I’ve never seen you so rude.”

  She had known her mother would be upset at her brusque manner, but seeing Matt Petrov again after six years shocked her witless. She turned and walked toward the kitchen, determined not to let him disturb her carefully controlled existence. Certainly, she vowed to protect Davey from Matt or any other unsavory influence.

  “Beth?”

  She turned back to face her mother. “Mama, he was one of Lionel’s drinking and gambling friends. Stayed drunk most of the time I saw him. H—He lived in the same rooming house as Lionel and me.”

  Her mother followed her. “Land’s sakes, I never would have thought it of him, he seems such a nice man. Handsome as the day is long, and I believe he’s taller than any other man in town. Such a sweet smile. You can tell a lot about a man when he smiles, and he’s a friend of Ivan’s.”

  “You see good in everyone, Mama.” Beth gathered Matt’s plate and cup and set them in the dishpan. She hoped her mother didn’t notice how her hands shook.

  “And you see good in none, my dear. It saddens me to see you so bitter because of one ma
n.”

  Beth looked up. “Two men. Daddy and Lionel.”

  Her mother put her hand on Beth’s arm. “Oh, I know but, child, don’t you see that two men out of all those on earth aren’t so many? There are good men aplenty.”

  Beth shrugged off her mother’s touch and plunged her own hands into the dishwater. “If there are, I’ve not met them.”

  “That’s your fault, dear. Your standoffish ways keep the good men away same as the bad.”

  Beth hated this old argument. “Mama, I refuse to expose Davey to the wrong influences. It’s bad enough that he called Ivan ‘Grandpa Ivan’ and now who knows if we’ll ever see the man again? Think how abandoned Davey will feel if Ivan never returns.”

  “I’ll feel just as bad or worse. I’ve taken quite a liking to the man.” Her mother put both hands over her heart. “We’ll find him, I can feel it here. You come with me to the church picnic tomorrow after the service. It’ll do Davey good to play with other children his age.”

  Her mother knew the one sure way to get her to do something was to insist it would benefit Davey. Beth would do anything to help insure her son grew up happy and strong in character as well as body. He was too serious for his age, and it would do him good to play with other children at the picnic. “All right.”

  She wondered if Matt would be there. Of course not, he’d probably be sleeping off a Saturday night drinking binge. At least he’d never been a mean drunk, but that didn’t excuse his drinking himself into a stupor.

  He’d changed a lot and looked tougher. When she’d known him six years ago, his dark hair curled where it touched his collar, and his gray eyes peered at her as if he could read her thoughts. His hair was a little shorter, his eyes the same. Somehow he’d changed, though.

  Time had carved new lines into his face and hollowed his cheeks, but that only made him more handsome. Did he have a woman somewhere waiting for him to come home? It peeved her to catch herself hoping he didn’t. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, how it would feel to have his arms around her.

  Stop it, you ninny. You’re no longer that fanciful, naïve girl prey to the first good looking man who showed her attention. Look where that landed you.

  At least she had Davey. And Mama. If she sometimes longed for more, she should have realized by now that life—at least her life—offered no easy answers. She took her frustration out on the stew pan and scrubbed so hard it shone like new.

  Matt pushed his way into the saloon and leaned on the bar. He inhaled and caught the heady smell of whiskey that taunted and enticed him. Licking his lips, he fought against the need that never left him.

  The barkeep stopped polishing a glass. “You look like a man who sure could use a drink. What’ll it be?”

  “A room.” Almost six years since he’d drunk liquor. Lord, if only I could have just one glass.

  But he knew better. One led to one more until he’d emptied the bottle. Then a second bottle.

  Never again.

  Never.

  The barkeep slapped a key on the bar. “Number three, top of the stairs. That’ll be fifty cents in advance.”

  Matt tossed four bits on the bar and picked up the key.

  A brittle-looking blonde in red satin brushed against him, and her hand slid along his chest. “Want some company up there?”

  “Some other time.” Coming off a hard ride as he had, many times he would have sought the release she offered. But not now. Her kind of companionship paled in comparison to the annoying woman he’d just seen at the boarding house. His mind reeled at seeing Beth again. She ignited fires he’d thought he’d extinguished—or at least firmly controlled.

  In the room, he stowed his gear in a corner and sat on the sagging bed. Paper thin walls, one window, a washstand with a mirror over it, and a few pegs for clothes. The odor of cigar smoke and cheap perfume hung heavy in the airless place. Matt opened the window. He checked the bed and found what appeared to be clean bedding. Not too bad for a saloon, but he’d bet it was nothing like Phifer’s Boarding House.

  He’d like to visit the bathhouse and his body craved rest, but he feared for his friend’s safety. Why he cared about a crazy old man he couldn’t say, but he did. He’d learned the hard way it didn’t pay to care about folks and he fought against it, but Ivan reminded him of his grandfather. Danged if he’d turn his back on Ivan or the man’s troubles.

  Pushing to his feet, Matt forced his weary frame upright and headed down the stairs where he asked directions to the sheriff’s office. If the sheriff couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help him, what would he do? And how did Beth figure into this mess with Ivan?

  For six years Matt had wondered if she’d known about the evil trap her husband had laid for Matt. Wondered if she could have been a part of it?

  Chapter Two

  Sheriff Tom Carpenter rubbed his chin. “Madison Petrov. Petrov, now why does that sound familiar?”

  Matt figured that information was better left alone for the present. “Can’t rightly say, Sheriff. Where’ve you looked for Ivan Romanovich?”

  “Rode up and down the trail, but no one’s seen the foreigner. His horse is still missing. Truth be told, I figured the little fellow got tired of folks making fun of him and took off.”

  With that attitude, Matt wondered how hard the sheriff had searched for Ivan. “Not with the deed to a ranch given him by the King of Bayergrovenia. And all his belongings are still at the boarding house. Besides, he wired me yesterday to meet him here.”

  The sheriff looked surprised. “You mean there really is a place called By—buyer—“

  “Bayergrovenia.” Matt nodded. “It’s a small country bordered by Bavaria, France, Switzerland, and Austria.”

  “And the little fellow really knew the king?”

  “Yes, he was the late King Rudolph’s Ministre de Valeur. From what Ivan said, I figure that’s like a secretary-generale.”

  “Well, don’t that beat all?” The sheriff scratched his chin. “The funny fellow was telling the truth then.”

  Matt hated hearing how ill-treated Ivan had been in Winton Crossing.

  “You know where this ranch is?”

  “Yep. Edge of the county, so only part of it’s in my jurisdiction.” The sheriff snatched a wanted poster off the wall, peered at it, and then used the back to sketch a map. “Folks out at that place keep to themselves, pay their taxes, donate to the county benevolence fund. Leastwise, they did up ‘til about a year ago.”

  “How did that change?”

  Sheriff shook his head. “Different man’s in charge now. Got sentries at the gate and patrolling. Look prosperous, but they buy their supplies somewheres else.”

  “The hands come in on Saturday night?” Matt examined the map to make certain he understood it.

  The sheriff leaned back and tented his fingers over his belly. “Used to some would come in, that is ‘til the new fellow came. Almost never see any of them in town now. Could be they head into Medina.”

  “Sheriff, I’m riding out to that ranch today.” Matt folded the map and stuffed it into his pocket. “Maybe some of the hands will be off celebrating their payday. If I’m not back by dark, I’d appreciate it if you’d come hunting for me.”

  “Son, you be careful. They’re forted up and their hands look more like soldiers than cowboys. And there are two or three times the number of men they’d need to run cattle.” Sheriff Carpenter pushed back his chair and stood. “Since they’ve never made trouble, I got no call to say anything to them. Still and all, it makes a body wonder why they need men who walk and act like soldiers if all they’re doing is raising cattle, don’t it?”

  Matt said goodbye and followed the sheriff’s directions. As he rode, he looked carefully for any sign of Ivan or of a struggle. Riding slow as he did to look for tracks, it took him over an hour to reach the ranch. A fence of five taut barbed wire strands marked the boundaries.

  When he’d ridden another ten minutes, he reached a gate decorated by a lar
ge Bayergrovenia royal heraldic shield like the smaller one Ivan had shown him. It matched one Matt’s grandfather had owned.

  The sheriff was right. Sentries stood guard with military-like precision, in spite of being dressed like ordinary Texians. Beyond the gate, other soldiers—there was no other way to describe them—guarded the main building. Definitely, something besides ranching was going on here.

  Matt stopped just outside the opening. “Afternoon. I’d like to talk to the man who runs the place.”

  The guards glared at him, but the one on his right stepped forward to block his path. “You have appointment?”

  His accent made him hard to understand, but the cadence put Matt in mind of the way his grandfather, father, and Ivan spoke.

  “No, but my grandfather is distant kin to the King. I figured I’d like to see the place and pay my respects.”

  The man looked him up and down. “You are nothing like King Gregorov.”

  Thank goodness for that. Where Rudolph was said to have been tall, handsome, and stately, Gregorov was reported to be short, rotund, and swarthy.

  Matt met the guard’s gaze. “I meant King Rudolph. Too bad about his assassination, wasn’t it?”

  Neither sentry answered.

  The spokesman pointed to the ground. “Wait here. I tell Minister Warinsky you wish to see him.”

  Matt tried to engage the remaining sentry in small talk, but the man only stared at him. Perhaps he didn’t speak English. Matt didn’t remember enough of his father’s native tongue to carry on a conversation. Matt’s dad had come to Texas as a young man, and hadn’t taught his children his native language. Only after Grandpa Petrovich joined them had Matt learned snatches of the German and French dialects spoken in Bayergrovenia.

  Soon the other man returned. “Minister Warinsky see you Monday afternoon at two. Come back then.”