by Hebby Roman
“Each of you pick two men. You're my official deputies for the investigation. Pick your men and meet me in front of the Sheriff's office at sunup tomorrow. Be sure you have a sound mount, rations, and a bedroll. We'll be riding to Langtry and be out for a couple of nights. We'll take a look at the damage and decide on what we find. Then we'll compare what we uncover with the railroad's results.”
Weaver and Baker stood with their feet wide apart and their mouths open, gaping at him.
“Weaver, will your railroaders be able to take the time off?”
Weaver shut his mouth and nodded.
“Good, we need to get this done before shearing time. I'm assuming you ranchers won't have a problem being out for a few days.”
“Nah, no problem, Sheriff,” Baker said.
“Okay, that's settled.” He turned to Fred, the barkeep. “Who owes what for the broken chairs and spilled beer?”
Fred wiped his hands on his apron. “Well, now, let me take a look.” He moved from behind the long, wooden bar and glanced over the damage.
“Bout three dollars should do it, Sheriff, but I couldn't tell who started—”
“Here's your three dollars, Fred.” He flipped three silver dollars to the barkeep and Fred caught them in his right hand. He nodded. “Much obliged, Sheriff.”
Clint brushed the brim of his Stetson with one finger. “Tomorrow morning, gentlemen. And don't make me come and get you.”
***
Abby pushed open the swinging door to the dining room. Supper was over, her boarders served by Elisa and Rosa. Her brothers and sisters had gone home, back to their children and jobs. Leanna and her husband had lingered the longest until Leanna's husband had insisted he needed to get back to his store. Reluctantly, she'd seen them off that afternoon.
Clint sat at his usual place, sipping a mug of coffee. She stopped and took a deep breath, startled by his sudden appearance. He hadn't been there for dinner. And she hadn't seen him since the night in the barn.
Her gaze swept him, lingering on his full lips and muscular forearms. He'd held her and kissed her. She shook her head, not quite believing it. And she'd missed him, missed him more than she cared to admit.
“Mrs. Sanford, I just got back from Langtry. Elisa was kind enough to give me a cup of coffee.”
“Supper is over, but I know we have some ham and potatoes left—”
“That's kind of you, but I ate at the hotel again.” He smiled his lop-sided grin and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Not half as good as the food here, but I needed to meet with the townsfolk as soon as I got back.”
She found herself smiling for the first time since she'd learned of her father's accident. “I guess we'll forgive you again, Sheriff Graham, since it was in the line of duty.”
He nodded and lowered his voice. “Is there a quiet place we can talk?”
His question took her by surprise. He wanted to talk with her privately? She had a lot of questions for him, too, and she wanted to tell him how much Kevin had missed him. But should they meet privately? Would he kiss her again? Did she want him to kiss her again?
And what if someone, like nosy Mr. Palmer, broke in on them?
She should tell him no, but she couldn't do it, couldn't turn him down.
“We can talk in my late father's study. With the door open for propriety's sake. Will that do?”
“Yes, that will do.” He rose and grabbed his Stetson from a peg on the wall.
“This way.” She led him to the other side of the house and opened a door. The smell of her father's pipe tobacco and bay rum washed over her. She sagged against the doorknob.
Clint clasped her elbow. “Steady now. Are you certain you're ready for this? Maybe the parlor would be—”
“No, no, I've got to face it sometime. All the boardinghouse ledgers and books are here. And I need to balance the books for October. I've let it go long enough.”
“Okay, if you're certain.” He guided her to a chair in front of the roll-top desk, careful to leave the room's door ajar. Then he took the seat across from her.
“Kevin missed you,” she said. “He kept asking and wondering when you would get back. I didn't know what to tell him. Just the gossip going around.”
He swiped his chin with his hand. “I'm sorry I didn't have time to tell you—”
“That's what I thought, and it wasn't really any of my business but—”
“Did you miss me, Abby?”
She glanced at the half-open door and then looked down, twisting her hands in her lap.
Should she tell him the truth? Wouldn't it send him the wrong message? But he'd been brutally honest with her that night in the barn. He deserved the truth.
“Yes, I missed you.” She lifted her head and gazed into his blue eyes. “Rumor has it you went to Langtry to investigate the…my father's, uh, wreck.”
“Yes, but the train had already been cleared by the railroad. I had to try and find out why the wreck happened.” He shook his head. “I had to move fast to avoid an all-out war. So, I took three ranchers and three railroaders.”
“Including Tom Weaver?”
He nodded. “I had to be unbiased. It was the only way to calm both sides.”
“That was clever of you, Clint.”
“Why, thank you, ma'am,” he drawled. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
He reached for her hands, but she glanced over her shoulder at the open door. He dropped his hands and clutched the chair arms.
“We looked over the rails. Your father's train derailed on a side track, according to the railroaders, to let the passenger train go by and stay on time.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Yep, rotten boards, missing spikes and twisted rails, most likely from a flashflood that swept through the cut in the hills…a lot like what caught my nephew…and…”
She exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. “Oh, Clint, I'm sorry it had to remind you of Timothy.” She shook her head. “But I'm glad you learned the truth. That no one damaged the rails and caused the wreck. That it was weather and…neglect.” She wanted to reach out to him but was concerned someone would pass by and think the wrong thing.
“And it's terrible to hear the railroad didn't maintain the tracks as they should. That…their negligence…helped to kill my father.” She clasped her hands together. “What you said about the railroad owners is probably true—everything for profit, nothing for their employees.”
He rose and patted her shoulder. “I wanted you to know the truth, even though it wasn't the best of news. And at the hotel, we told half the town what we'd found.” He sat down again. “Then I stayed to organize the ranchers into a cooperative.”
“What's a cooperative?”
“A cooperative is where a group of shippers, who have the same kind of freight, group together and bargain with the railroad. In this case, we sheep ranchers will ship our wool together. And when we bargain with the railroad as a group, we should get lower rates, based on volume.”
“What a marvelous idea. Did you read about this, too?”
He grinned and wiped his forehead with his hand. “Whew! Was that another compliment?” He winked at her. “Keep this up, and I could get used to it.”
She smiled. He was smart and kind and good. Why hadn't she met Clint Graham instead of Lucas Sanford? But then she wouldn't have Kevin.
He took his seat again. “Have you decided what you're going to do, Abby? I didn't see any of your brothers and sisters around. Have they left?”
“Yes, they're all gone. And no, I haven't decided what to do. I offered to sell the boardinghouse, but no one really wanted that. They were angry with our father for cheating them.” She sighed. “Just as I thought. They apologized and Leanna and her husband stayed until today. I told her about my idea for a bridal store, but she said I should wait at least a year to make a decision.” She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “For now, that's what I'm doing.�
�
“Your sister sounds very wise, like my sister, Jenny.”
He leaned forward and took her hands. This time she let him. And she didn't care who saw them. Twining her fingers with his calloused ones felt good and…right. She drew strength from him, thinking maybe things would get better now. Maybe the worst was behind her.
“I think you need some time to yourself, Abby. You and Kevin. And I have to leave again for my ranch. It's fall shearing time. I still have half of my sheep left, and I need the money from the shearing.”
“I thought ranchers only sheared in the spring when winter was over.”
He nodded. “We shear in late spring. And some shear only once a year, but a few of us have found you get a better grade of wool and less prepping if you shear twice a year.” He squeezed her hands. “The climate in south Texas allows us to shear twice. Most winters are mild and there's seldom a problem.”
“Oh, I see.” She nodded. “Kevin will be disappointed. Are you leaving again soon?”
“I need to go in the next couple of days after I get the wool cooperative organized.” His fingers stroked the palms of her hands, sending tingling sensations through her and raising goose bumps on her arms.
His voice was low and husky when he said, “I want you and Kevin to come with me. Visit my ranch. Between the shearing we can picnic and Kevin can practice his riding. I'll even teach him a little about ranching. Who knows, maybe it will come in handy.”
He gazed at her, and the look in his eyes was silently pleading.
“What about school? Kevin will miss school.”
“It will only be for a little over a week.” He shook his head. “My herd is depleted and shearers move fast. You'll see. And besides, a lot of the ranchers' kids will miss school. And Kevin's a smart boy. He can make up the work.”
“I know he'd love a holiday. Christmas seems so far away when you're eight years old, though it's just around the corner.”
“Say yes, Abby. Elisa has help now, right? And you could use the time away. It will be good for you and Kevin…after what you've been through.” He looked down at their intertwined hands. “And you and your son being there with me…it would help me to face the ranch and the river again. Say yes, please.”
How could she refuse him? She wanted time away from the boardinghouse and the grieving she couldn't quite put away. And Kevin would love staying on a real ranch and riding the range. Clint needed them…needed her. She could hear it in his voice.
She looked up and met his gaze. A smile tipped her lips. “Thank you for the invitation. How can I say no? Kevin will be pleased.”
Chapter Seven
A soft breeze lifted the hair from her neck and caressed her cheeks. Late November in southwest Texas was a special time. The weather was mild but sunny, not too hot or not too cold, just right.
Like somebody's porridge in her son's favorite fairy tale of “Goldilocks and The Three Bears.”
She cantered alongside Clint, allowing the wind to play havoc with her hair. He'd asked her to leave her bonnet off, and she'd done so, knowing the bright sunshine would be mild…and there would be no gossips to remark on her appearance. Not on Clint's ranch.
Kevin, riding a dappled roan mare called Esther, who was several hands smaller than Jezebel, roamed far ahead, crossing the pasture and urging his mount to the top of a hill.
Her son reined the mare around and waved, calling at the top of his lungs, “Look at me!”
She and Clint reined in and waved back, grinning.
“He loves it here,” she said.
“I'm glad, Abby, really glad. I've enjoyed having y'all here.”
Abby's mare, a gleaming chestnut named Rachel, sidled next to Jezebel and whickered, throwing her head over Jezebel's neck. Abby pulled her mare's head up and patted her neck, “Why are all your horses mares, Clint? And why are they all named for women in the Bible?”
Clint's grin widened. “Because I like female horses. They make the best mounts. Geldings are too surly, and stallions too rambunctious. Mares are the best.” He paused and stroked Jezebel's mane, sifting the long brown hair through his fingers. “And I like the old Bible names. Makes my mares seem even sweeter.”
Abigail snorted. “Not the name Jezebel. She was a bad woman in the Bible, a heathen, through and through.”
Clint laughed and swung his gaze to her. “Kinda like my mother?”
A wave of heat crept up her neck “Oh, Clint, I didn't mean that…I didn't think, I, ah—”
“No matter. I'm just joshing you.”
She relaxed and said, “You must have had a reason for calling her Jezebel.”
“Yep. That I did.” He nodded. “When I went to break her, she was a bitch to…” He wiped his hand over his face. “Uh, that is, she was awful hard to break to halter and saddle.” His face turned an unhealthy shade of red that matched the bright bandana he kept knotted at his neck.
It was her turn to laugh, knowing he'd embarrassed himself.
She lifted her head and gazed into his blue-as-the-sky eyes. Their gazes caught, snagged, and held. She felt his gaze touch her mouth and linger on her neck, trailing down to rest on her bosom.
And she knew exactly what he was thinking…without him saying one word. Her body responded, too, tightening and leaping to life. Her breasts flushed, and her nipples pebbled, pushing against her camisole. Lower, the core of her body felt molten, liquid with heat. She wanted to rub herself against the saddle, she ached so down there.
She'd never felt like this before. Not with Lucas, her husband. Not before him or after. For the first time in her life, she was acutely aware of her body and all the secret sensations a simple look could arouse.
She shook her head, trying to shrug off the way she felt. “We should start back.” Looking up, she made a show of squinting at the sun. “Isn't it getting late? Won't Leticia expect us for supper?”
He nodded and put two fingers in his mouth, whistling and then calling out, “Kevin, time to go back to the ranch house. Come on.”
Kevin spurred his mare. And Esther scrabbled down the hill, her front legs straight in front of her and her hooves grabbing for the dirt. Kevin whooped at the top of his lungs and circled them, galloping off toward the ranch house. “Race ya'll there. Can't beat me and Esther.”
They shook their heads together and glanced at each other, exchanging a grownup look. Urging their mounts forward, they cantered after her son.
“Kevin has become quite the rider, hasn't he?” she said.
Clint nodded. “Yes, ma'am, your son is a natural.”
“Hmmm, I think you're prejudiced, Sheriff Graham.”
“I think you're right, Mrs. Sanford.”
They giggled.
Her son had disappeared through a copse of live oaks that grew in a draw, leading down to the river. So far, Clint had shown them everything on his ranch, except the land fronting the Devil's River.
They rode under the trees and Clint reined in, stopping short.
Abigail stopped beside him, suddenly alert to possible danger. Had Clint seen a rattlesnake or was there something else?
“What's the matter?” she asked.
He glanced up at the rough-bark branch of a live oak tree overhanging the winding path. From the branch hung a light-green, twigged plant with white berries.
“Mistletoe.” He pointed over her head. “You know what mistletoe is good for, don't you?”
She knew, but she didn't want to make it easy for him. “No, what's mistletoe good for?”
His mouth gaped and his eyes widened. “For kissing, of course, everyone knows that.”
She nudged Rachel forward, laughing. “Only at Christmas. Not quite Christmas yet, Clint.”
He snorted and thundered after her. And she could hear him muttering, “Close enough, it's close enough to Christmas.”
***
Abigail stretched out her arms and flopped over in the big, soft bed. O
utside her open window, a mockingbird whistled and cawed, mimicking another bird.
She'd slept like a baby again. Clint's ranch was restful, and her room was far from the clatter of the kitchen. And Leticia was an excellent housekeeper. At first, Abigail had been surprised to find Leticia at the ranch, especially after what had happened to Timothy.
But Clint was a good and fair man; and he must have known Leticia hadn't meant Timothy harm. She shook her head. Most people wouldn't have been as forgiving.
She couldn't fault his judgment, though. Leticia had welcomed her warmly. Over her protestations, Abigail had helped out in the kitchen, especially at dinner. But for the most part, Leticia took care of them. And Abigail had learned it was good to be pampered and sleep late for a change. Something she hadn't done since she was a child.
Their visit to Clint's ranch had been pure heaven. But this was their last day. Clint had proudly shown them his one hundred and sixty acres. And he'd worked with Kevin on Esther, helping her son to become an accomplished rider. They'd wandered and picnicked during the day and played checkers and shelled pecans in front of the fireplace at night.
Clint had included her and Kevin in the shearing, a dusty and brutal-appearing business, to her way of thinking, with the docking of new lambs' tails and the dousing of them for worms. Clint had even taught her son how to shear, which was a lot harder to do than it looked.
She shook her head, knowing it would be hard for her son to return home to his books and classroom.
And how would it be for her—to return home—to a place that held such unhappy memories?
She didn't like thinking about it. Clint would be there, too, of course, and that would help, but still… Sinking her hands into the soft feather mattress, she levered herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She needed to make her way to the outhouse, but first she'd dress and brush her hair.
For their last day Clint had promised them a special treat, a picnic beside the river. He'd surprised her with his offering. The shearing crew had left the day before, and she'd thought Clint would take them back to town without going near the river.
She liked to think Clint's offer meant their visit had helped…helped him to heal. At least, she hoped so.
