Ropin' the Moon

by Deborah Camp

  “My uncle isn’t scared,” she argued. “Besides, we all know each other here in Far Creek, and I think it’s asking for more trouble to bring a stranger in to settle our differences. No one likes for an outsider to swagger in and start shouting orders.”

  “That’s what I’m doing? Swaggering and shouting orders?”

  “And threatening with that fancy gun of yours and the reputation you’ve earned with it.”

  “That’s what you think of me, is it?”

  She eyed him again, her gaze moving swiftly from his boots to his hat. “I confess that I don’t know you, but that is my early opinion of you.”

  “I challenge you to know me and see if you don’t alter that opinion. I’m an open book, ready for you to pore over every line.”

  “You challenge me?” She scowled at that and looked away from him. “I have better things to do than to—.”Her gaze sharpened and she leaned forward a little in the saddle. “That’s Frannie Lundsgarten up ahead. I need to speak to her. Excuse me, Marshal.” She tapped her heel against the mare and galloped toward the horse and wagon a little ways ahead of them. Her red cape billowed behind her.

  Marshal. Not Dalton. He felt a wolfish grin overtake him. She didn’t like him. Yet. He shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t waste a minute on it because he’d be leaving Far Creek in a few weeks or a few months and put her and her neighbors behind him.

  But the way the sunlight had made her eyes gleam like jewels and the caress of her voice . . . those features were difficult for a man not to dwell on. Riding beside her, he’d wanted to slip his arm around her cinched-in waist and pull her close enough for him to bury his nose in the silkiness of her hair so that he could breathe her in like a bouquet. He liked the directness of her gaze, the proud lift of her chin, and the frank way she had of speaking her mind. There wasn’t much he didn’t like about her.

  Staring ahead where her pretty mare pranced next to the wagon, his gaze gobbled up Lacy Tyrell as she tipped her head back and laughed at something Frannie Lundsgarten said. He wanted to make her laugh like that. Then he wanted to kiss her and make her moan with want. Want for him.

  Dalton shook his head, dislodging the amorous images, and closed his eyes for a few moments. Settle down, son, he told himself. Don’t go catching petticoat fever. Feeling the fire heating his blood and making him sit uncomfortably in the saddle, he wondered if that warning might have come too late.

  Chapter 3

  Lacy completed the payroll and closed the business ledger that often seemed permanently attached to her. She pushed it to one side of the desk and rested her chin in her palm as she stared out the narrow window at people ambling along. A wagon loaded with furniture and household goods rolled by, pulled by four horses. A man and woman sat up front. Their three children were perched amid their belongings in the wagon bed.

  Moving somewhere? Lacy’s wanderlust stirred as she imagined they might be going to a seacoast city or perhaps a log cabin on the plains. Wherever they were headed, it would be an adventure. They’d see new things and meet interesting people. They might face danger and adversity or they might find a little slice of Eden.

  She envied them. Ever since she was a little girl and read about pirates and knights and genies in bottles, she’d dreamed of faraway places and adventures. Life in Far Creek was predictable. Even Pullman’s bunch making a fuss and shooting off their pistols had become commonplace, although it was more than a nuisance of late, she had to admit.

  Drumming her fingers on the desktop, she glanced at the wall clock, its loud ticking making her feel even more restless. It was Friday, the end of a long week. So far, three men had asked her to allow them to escort her to a social at the All Souls Church tomorrow night. She’d declined the invitations. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy church socials or the attentive company of a young man. She simply couldn’t get up much interest in any of the ones who’d asked her.

  A wistful sigh breezed past her lips as recalled running into Dalton Moon last week while she’d been picking fruit in the dense woods. She’d worn her bright red cape so that hunters wouldn’t mistake her for a wild turkey or deer. Recalling his reference to Little Red Riding Hood and wolves nudged a chuckle from her. There certainly was something wild and dangerous about that man.

  Was it his hair, dark, unruly, a little wild looking? When the wind had blown his curly locks onto his forehead, she’d had an urge to tangle her fingers in them. Or maybe it was the glint in his dark brown eyes that seemed to see right to her very soul. Then there was that intriguing scar on his face. Instead of taking away from his looks, it added to them, making him even more distinctive. Dashing, even.

  Remembering how he’d smiled at her sent a delicious shiver through her. She crossed her arms and hugged herself. Oh, yes. His smile transformed, not just his face, but his whole being. When he’d displayed it, she’d nearly toppled from the saddle! Her breath had whistled down her throat and she’d dearly hoped he hadn’t noticed how dumbstruck she’d been, staring at him with her heart beating like a caged bird. He certainly never pined for female companionship, she wagered. Not with his tall, muscled body, dark good looks, and that remarkable smile.

  She’d thought she’d find it difficult to talk with him, but she’d enjoyed their chat. He had a pleasing Eastern accent, not too pronounced but enough to have her hanging on his words. She suspected he’d been afforded a better-than-average education as he was well-spoken and erudite.

  She pushed aside the vision of him and sighed with frustration. She’d been ruminating about Dalton Moon entirely too much! Ever since he’d arrived in town, she’d found herself wondering where he was, what he was doing, who he was meeting, which females he had his eye on, and if he’d left a sweetheart behind in another town. He probably left broken hearts wherever he stayed. Wildness attracted certain females, but not her. She caught her reflection in the oval mirror hanging on the wall near her.

  “Liar,” she accused the clear-eyed woman staring back at her. She was one of those females who gravitated toward untamed spirits. She’d heard the stories about his quick draw and how most men didn’t even clear their guns from their holsters before one of his bullets claimed them.

  “He’s faster than a young rattler.”

  “He can draw his gun quicker than hell can scorch a feather.”

  “Facing him in a gun battle gives a man about as much chance as a grasshopper on an ant hill.”

  Oh, yes. Dalton Moon was a favorite topic among the restaurant’s customers. Everyone had an opinion and most of them were favorable. People felt better now about the railroad’s chances of locating in or near Far Creek. Dalton had only been in town a little more than two weeks and he’d already convinced a lot of people that he could keep Junior Pullman in line.

  “Falderal and horse feathers,” she whispered as she roused herself from her woolgathering. It would be wonderful if Marshal Moon could accomplish such a feat, but she didn’t hold out much hope for it. Junior Pullman had gotten his way his whole life. He didn’t want the railroad to come near his property and he sure didn’t want to be told what to do by a swaggering outsider wearing a badge.

  Someone tapped on the office door. “Yes?” she called out and the door opened to reveal her uncle. “Uncle Otis! Come on in.” She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on his whiskered cheek.

  “Howdy, hon. I stopped in for some eats and I couldn’t leave without seeing how you’re doing today.”

  “I’m fine. How about you?”

  “I just asked Bobbie Sue to the social tomorrow night and she said she’d go with me.”

  “Of course, she did. She’s sweet on you, Uncle Otis.”

  He held his floppy-brimmed hat in his hands and he looked down at it as pink rose in his cheeks. “Awww. I don’t know about that.”

  “Ask her. She’ll tell you.” Lacy smiled as his color deepened to crimson.

  “You’re going to be there, aren’t you?” he asked, peering at her from beneath his bushy,
gray brows. “Which fella is taking you this time?”

  “I haven’t decided. I might skip it and spend a quiet evening reading.”

  “There will be plenty of time for that later, young lady. You need to dance and laugh and be admired by every young buck in seeing distance.”

  She flapped a hand at him. “How are things going at the jail? Is Marshal Moon treating you respectfully?”

  “Awww, he’s all right, I reckon.” He looked up from the study of his hat. “Oh, you remember I told you that old Moses seemed to be favoring one of his back legs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Moon noticed it, too, and he got to looking at him and found a sore spot on his hoof. He lanced it, drained it, and slapped on some kind of medicine he’d stirred up himself. That was a few days ago and Moses is healed up already. Moon is right handy with horses.”

  “His horse is a beauty. Soldier, right?”

  “That’s right. Yeah.” Her uncle nodded. “That is one smart black-points. Moon’s trained him to rear up when he gives the signal, to come when he whistles, and to lie down when he tells him to. Got him better trained than that danged dog that hangs around with him now.”

  “The jail mutt you took in?”

  “That’s the one. Moon named him Thumper and that crazy hound trails Moon like his shadow. Why, Moon’s even got that dog to stand and dance in a circle for a bite of ham!” He chuckled when Lacy laughed. “It’s true! And Thumper will lie down and roll on the floor like a tipped over barrel when Moon gives him the signal. Dangest thing I ever did witness.”

  “Sounds like you two are getting along grand,” she said, still laughing a little at the image of the dog doing tricks.

  Uncle Otis shrugged and backed toward the door. “He’s not a bad sort of fella, I guess. I’ll be moseying along, hon. Need to get back to the jail and all.” He pointed a crooked finger at her. “And I’ll see you tomorrow night at the church social. You save me a dance, you hear?”

  “I always do, Uncle Otis.”

  After he’d gone, Lacy tidied up the office before going to check on the restaurant and kitchen. The cook handed her a list of supplies they needed and she tucked it into her skirt pocket for later when she went shopping. She grabbed a carrot on her way out the back door. Walking across to the stables, she peeked into each stall she passed at the horses that belonged to the hotel lodgers. Riley, the stable hand, came into view, a bucket in one hand and a brush in the other.

  “Howdy, Miss Tyrell.” He lifted the brush and waved it. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “Nothing. Just wanted to say hello to my girl and give her a treat.”

  “You spoil her.”

  “I know.” She smiled and walked past him to the last stall on the right. Cry Baby hung her head over the gate. “Hey, Baby,” Lacy crooned as she stroked the mare’s soft nose and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How are you doing?” The horse nickered softly. “I have something for you.” She held out the carrot and the mare lipped it carefully from her fingers. Her big, square teeth crunched on the sweet vegetable. “You love carrots, huh?” Lacy stroked down the horse’s face and tugged her forelock. Cry Baby’s eyes softened and she blew warm air against Lacy’s face. Lacy had always loved horses, but Cry Baby was special, and not just because she was a beautiful paint. She was sweet-tempered and the gentlest mare she’d ever ridden. They shared a special bond that was hard to explain, but easy to feel.

  Smoky, the barn cat, hissed and spat, drawing Lacy’s attention away from Cry Baby. The cat stood at the stables entrance, her back arched and her teeth bared.

  “Thumper! You get back here,” a man called. “Leave that cat alone. Thumper, come.” The cat spun and raced into the shadows.

  If she weren’t mistaken, that had to be Dalton Moon out there, Lacy thought as she moved toward the sunlight outside the stables. Sure enough, the marshal stood near the back door of the restaurant, bent over and patting the spotted dog’s head. He looked up and straightened when he saw her.

  “Well, hello.”

  “I hear you’ve adopted that dog. You call him Thumper?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He glanced down at the panting dog. “He’s good company. Amusing, most of the time.”

  She smiled, liking the rakish tilt of his black hat with its band of silver medallions. “Are you looking for someone or just rounding up your dog?” For a few moments, she fancied that he might be there to visit her.

  “Have you seen Otis?”

  Disappointment deflated her ego. “Yes. He just left. I believe he was heading back to the jail.”

  “We must have passed like ships in the night. I’ll catch up with him. Thanks.” He turned to leave.

  “He stopped in to ask Bobbie Sue to the church social tomorrow night,” she said, waylaying him. He looked over his shoulder at her.

  Turning back to her, he crossed his arms against his chest. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. They’re . . . well, they’re courting.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Good for Otis.”

  When he started to turn away again, she said, “You’ve heard about the social tomorrow night, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. I heard. It’s at All Souls Church.”

  “That’s right. There will be some dancing. And food. Pies, cakes, cookies. Are you going?”

  He pushed his hat back off his face with two fingers. “Wasn’t planning on it. Why?”

  “Oh, I . . .” She suddenly couldn’t meet his inquisitive eyes and she directed her gaze up to where geese formed a V in the cloudless sky.

  “Do you need an escort?”

  “Certainly not.” She released a scoffing laugh. “Three men have already asked me, but I haven’t decided which one to accept.”

  His nod was slow and cagey. “You’re the queen bee around here, aren’t you, Lacy Tyrell?”

  His question rattled her. She hadn’t thought of herself in such terms.

  “Own up to it. You’re the prettiest girl around and you’re never without male attention.”

  “There are quite a few lovely girls in Far Creek, I’ll have you know,” she said, feeling off-kilter and inexplicably embarrassed. She had hoped for a fleeting second that he would ask to escort her to the social and he seemed to know it!

  He placed his hands on his hips, adopting an arrogant stance. “Otis told me he was going to the social, so I figured I’d hang around the jail.”

  “Are you expecting trouble Saturday night?”

  “No. Listen here, Lacy. If you want me to take you to the social, I will.”

  She saw devilment leaping in his dark eyes. Tan his hide! He was trying to rile her! “You must be hard of hearing, Marshal,” she said, sweet as sugar. “I told you that I already have three handsome, young men who have asked to be my escort.” She tried to flounce past him, but he hooked a hand around her elbow and stopped her.

  “Let’s not play games with each other, Lacy.”

  “I’m not.” She glared at his hand holding her prisoner and he loosened his hold, but didn’t release her.

  “You are. You’re used to winding men around your little finger, slaying them with your smile, and having them trot after you like Thumper trots after me.”

  “That’s an interesting image you’ve dreamed up, Marshal, but you know absolutely nothing about me.”

  “That’s true.” His tone was hushed, soft as a feather. “But I’d like to know you. Very much.” He let her go; his fingertips trailing down her dress sleeve.

  Mesmerized by his lips forming the words, she didn’t move. The flash of his teeth against his lower lip when he’d said “very” and the attractive pucker of them when he’d said “much” held her prisoner. She wanted to know the feel of his mouth on hers. Very. Much. Without allowing herself another second to reconsider, she rested a hand on his solid chest to steady herself and rose on tiptoes. She laid her mouth against his in a quick, hard kiss. She heard the quick intake of his breath, felt
his lips part in surprise, and his heart kick against her palm. She stumbled back from him as the realization of her actions caught up with her sensibilities.

  His eyes widened and his mouth hung slightly ajar before his brown eyes darkened and one of his black brows lifted. His grin was downright audacious.

  Panic seized her and Lacy clutched at her voluminous skirts. Hitching them up to clear the top of her boots, she marched to the kitchen door. Not until she’d traversed the kitchen and hallway and was ensconced in her office did she release a long breath.

  “Good gravy,” she whispered, touching her lips haltingly as if she expected them to burn her fingertips like a hot stove lid. “I kissed him!” She could feel the shadow of his mouth on hers and reveled in the memory of how he’d been shocked and then titillated. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from giggling. She’d lost her ever-loving mind! He probably thought she was the most forward female he’d ever encountered. Worse than a saloon girl!

  Oh, well. What was done was done.

  She grinned and twirled in a circle, feeling powerfully wicked. She liked throwing him off-kilter. Yes! She liked it. Very much.

  Dalton didn’t plan to attend the church social. He’d seen announcements about it posted in the general store, the telegraph office, the bank, and the restaurants. Otis had told him that it would start at sundown and break up by nine. Several ladies had mentioned it to him in that way females have of dropping hints like bait, hoping for a tug on their line. He didn’t take their bait because he’d found that the less he socialized, the easier it was to move on to the next place. If he got too comfortable, then it made the loneliness of the next town that much harder to bear.

  He sat on the bench outside the jail and rolled himself a cigarette. Inhaling the first sting of tobacco smoke, he watched stars pop out in the darkening sky. For about the hundredth time since it had happened, he thought about Lacy’s kiss. She’d hauled off and kissed him! He chuckled and coughed up smoke. He didn’t know what to think about it other than it had knocked him for a loop. Sure as shootin’ showed that she had gumption. She took what she wanted. He liked that. Hell, he liked her. And not just her looks, which were admirable. He liked the way she held herself – her carriage, proud and straight, her gaze, direct as sunlight. He liked her smoky voice and the purr of her laugh.