by Hebby Roman
“All right. Since Langtry doesn’t have a bank, that’s where I keep my money anyway.”
“I’d planned on getting your sister home and settled first and then come back to wire the money.”
“That’s fine with me, Bart. But no fancy women. All right?”
Bart shook his head. “Unfortunately, there’s another part to Rose’s telegram. And this is where you come in.” He inhaled and stood up straighter. “Festus Boyd died of blood poisoning, after a long illness.”
Chad clenched his hands into fists. “That scum I shot in the thigh last February?”
“That’s him.”
“And the Boyd brothers followed you here from Tucson?”
Bart shook his head. “I don’t think so. I believe they came for the prize fight, like everyone else. But I’d won a bunch of money off them in Tucson. They knew better than to take me on at Rose’s place. But here…” He shrugged. “Probably looked like easy pickings for them.”
“And I saved your hide and shot one of them.”
“Yes, and the Boyd brothers’ don’t forget a slight, especially the eldest brother, Red. Even though, he wasn’t in Langtry that night.”
“But you think they’ll be gunning for us now?”
“I’m sure of it. That’s the way they operate. And Red gets back twice what is done to him and his kin. He’s meaner than a rattlesnake.”
Chad looked down. “Then we’ll need to be especially careful when we come into town.” He raised his head. “Actually, I think when one of us needs to come to town, we should come together.”
“Not a bad idea. And we need to let our shepherds know. So they can be on the lookout.”
“All right.”
Bart gripped Chad’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for bringing this down on you, partner. Never thought someone as mean as Festus Boyd would die from a flesh wound to his leg.”
“Me neither. I only know I did what I had to do when you were facing two men at once.”
“And I owe you my life for it. I haven’t forgotten.” He patted Chad on the back.
* * *
Lindsay pulled her handkerchief out and mopped her brow… again. She needed to order a parasol if she was going live through Langtry’s summer. And if they didn’t come back soon, she’d begin to smell, too.
She glanced at the men, huddled across the street. What on earth could they be talking about—and why did she have to be excluded.
After what seemed like an hour but must have been less than ten minutes, Bart patted her brother on the back, and they broke apart.
Bart tipped his hat to her, and her brother climbed into the back of the wagon without a word. But the set of his face was grim. She wondered, for the hundredth time, what that telegram had said.
Looked like no one was willing to share.
Frustrated, she crossed her arms over her chest when Bart climbed in beside her and took up the reins. Northwest of Langtry, they reached the rutted road to the ranch and clattered along, the wagon bucking and heaving beneath them. She uncrossed her arms and grabbed the flat-brimmed straw hat on her head with one hand, while she braced herself against the teeth-rattling wagon with the other.
She glanced back to see Bart’s sleek leather suitcase in the flatbed of the buckboard. He’d moved out of Mabel’s hotel, lock-stock-and-barrel. Of course, it would have looked strange for Bart, a newly-married man, to remain at the hotel while she went home with her brother.
Her childhood home had three bedrooms. Her father had built it that way, so both his children would have their own room—an unheard of luxury at the time. There was a room for Bart, and he would probably expect her to cook and clean and do his laundry, too, just like her brother.
How would they get along, huddled in the same house? Married but not married. She still didn’t approve of his past profession, and as much as he attracted her, she firmly believed he appealed to her baser nature. And that baser nature was the reason she was in this mess in the first place.
She cupped her stomach. But she wouldn’t wish her child away. Now she was married and had given her baby a name, she was excited to be pregnant. She didn’t particularly look forward to being with Bart, day-in-and-day-out, when she got huge with child. Unfortunately, there was no help for it.
She sighed and gripped the side rail of the wagon tighter.
“You’ve been raising funds for a new church. Going around to the businesses and married ladies in town and asking for donations. Right?” Bart asked.
He clucked at the horses and they broke into a shambling trot, jerking her from side to side. “Yes, I have. Why? Would you care to contribute?”
He smiled. “Maybe. It’s a worthy cause.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’ll contribute, if you’ll do your brother and me a favor.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Ask the ladies of the town and neighboring ranches to bring food for a cabin raising. Kind of like a barn raising, but a little more complicated. And they’ll need to bring their husbands, sweethearts, brothers, and fathers to do the actual work.” He fisted the reins in one hand. “I’d like to install indoor plumbing, if possible. I know how to rig it. But I’ll need about a month to get all the materials together.”
“You want me to go around town and ask people to come to a cabin raising for you, Bart? Why not just take out an ad in the Del Rio paper, announcing we’re not really married?”
And when she mentioned Del Rio, she thought of Abby, and wished her best friend could have been at her wedding. But there had been no time, she’d dithered too long and Bart had forced her hand. She had written Abby a letter and posted it before the wedding, though.
Bart chuckled. “Nope, we’re going to tell everyone the cabin is for Chad. He doesn’t want to intrude on the newly-weds. But when it’s finished, I’ll be the one living in the cabin, not your brother.”
“Won’t people figure it out?”
“Not if we don’t have guests to the ranch,” Chad interjected. “And our shepherds won’t talk about it, at least not if we tell them not to.”
She empathized with their shepherds, ten families that depended on the ranch for their livelihood. And then there were all the other poor people in Langtry. Her aunt had taught her to have Christian mercy on the poor. She hoped, especially after her baby was born, to help the poor people in and around Langtry. To make their futures brighter.
She’d been pondering what she could do. For now, and in honor of her coming baby and Christmas, she wanted to give the poor children Christmas gifts, particularly a decent set of clothes. Most of them went around almost naked or in rags.
“What do you think, Lindsay? Can you help us with some vittles and organizing a dance for after the cabin raising?” Bart asked.
“Of course, give me a date, but you realize August is our hottest month here. Building a cabin will be like—”
“Like visiting hell,” Bart interrupted. “I know, but it’s also one of the slowest times for sheep ranchers.”
“If you have your own cabin, who will cook and clean and do your laundry?” She asked.
“I’m a pretty fair cook. When I get settled, I’ll invite you over.” He winked at her.
She cringed, sinking lower in the wagon and wishing the wooden slats would open and swallow her. Remembering the one sample he’d had of her cooking, she could imagine he’d rather cook for himself.
Well, let him, then. And welcome to it.
“As for cleaning and laundry, I thought your Serafina might know of one of the other shepherd’s wives who would like to make a little extra money.”
She nodded. “I think Serafina has a younger sister, who’s married to one of our shepherds. Let me ask.”
He patted her hand. “Thank you, Lindsay. I appreciate it.”
At his kindness, a warm feeling flooded her. Bart was treating her like a lady, despite knowing her shame. She appreciated hi
s thoughtfulness.
Maybe being tied to him in a sham marriage wouldn’t be so bad.
Chapter Five
Lindsay leaned over the pump sink to get a better view from the kitchen window. Bart and her brother toiled outside in the home pens, docking and marking the new crop of spring lambs before shearing began in September.
Docking consisted of cropping a lamb’s tail to about two or three inches for sanitary reasons. Marking meant cutting a pattern of notches into a lamb’s ear to serve as an identifying mark of ownership. Docking and marking had to be two of the bloodiest and most odious chores on a sheep ranch. And the smell of sheep dung, mixed with blood, was almost enough to deter her from keeping her kitchen window open.
But she didn’t dare close the window. Then she’d have no breeze at all.
Wiping the perspiration off her brow with a corner of her apron, she couldn’t help but admit Bart was a big help for her brother, beyond bringing new capital to the ranch. He learned quickly, possessed strength and agility, and never complained.
She was finding it increasingly difficult to cling to her initial negative reaction. In fact, she found it difficult to cling to a single shred of normal decency while he worked, outside her kitchen window, without a shirt covering his chest.
She couldn't keep her eyes off him.
The way his perspiration-sleek muscles bunched beneath his tanned skin as he bent to a task made her heart accelerate. The breadth and strength of his shoulders awakened flutters in her stomach. And the rich sable mat of his chest hair, plunging into a V just above the waistband of his trousers, left her breathless.
Lindsay had never been so acutely aware of another human being’s body, or the raw response it could elicit from her. Not even that one fumbling time she’d been with Seamus. Unfamiliar feelings and subtle urgings coursed through her whenever she looked at Bart. It was disturbing to say the least.
Trembling, she turned from the window. Bart hadn’t started on his cabin yet, and with him helping her brother every day, she felt obliged to feed him. Usually he accepted her invitation with quiet thanks, but some evenings he ate supper in town.
She crossed the kitchen to the back porch where the milk was stored, intent upon fetching some buttermilk to make biscuits for their mid-day meal. She didn’t like to admit it, but Bart’s presence had improved her cooking. Even though she still found the process of cooking a tedious chore, she managed to pay enough attention to ensure the food was properly prepared. Both her brother and Bart had been lavish in their praise.
Retrieving the buttermilk, she thought of Minnie, locked in her crate on the other side of the porch. Lindsay had penned Minnie so she wouldn’t get in the way while Serafina did the weekly laundry.
Serafina had already emptied the washbasin and hung out the wash to dry before going home. Minnie would be ready to go out, and then she could keep Lindsay company while she prepared the mid-day meal. With that thought in mind, she approached her dog’s crate, surprised Minnie had been so quiet all morning.
Usually when she was locked up, her puppy had a disconcerting habit of whining and barking. She rounded the corner of the porch. At first, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Her heart leapt into her throat. She blinked twice but nothing changed. The crate door was open.
Minnie was gone!
Lindsay dropped the pail, not caring when buttermilk splattered over the porch floor. Dazed, her eyes darted to each shadowed corner of the room, searching for her dog. How long had Minnie been loose? Where could she have gone?
With a sinking feeling, she knew Minnie must have escaped when Serafina went outside to hang the laundry. Otherwise, her dog would have come to the kitchen, looking for her. But the lure of the outdoors must have proven too tempting.
Panic skittered along her nerves, making her tremble. She had purposely limited her pet’s outside excursions to the ranch yard. It was too dangerous to do otherwise. The wild country surrounding the ranch was filled with predators, both the four-legged variety as well as the two-legged kind.
Pressing her suddenly throbbing temples between her hands, she willed herself to think. What should she do? Where should she start? Opening the back door, she trotted to the barn, wanting to saddle a horse and circle the ranch until she found some trace of her dog. She thought about calling or whistling for Minnie, but she wasn’t certain if she wanted to alert the men yet, especially her brother, knowing they’d probably get into a heated argument.
But before she reached the barn, a boy came riding into the yard. She recognized his carrot-top head; he was Bill Sanderson’s boy, Mark. The Sanderson’s owned the ranch west of them.
The boy’s head swung between the house and the pens where the men were working, as if he couldn't make up his mind. Praying he’d brought news of Minnie, Lindsay called out, “Good morning, Mark. What brings you to our ranch?”
The boy squinted against the bright sun at her back. “Judge Bean sent me to fetch you, ma’am, if’n you’re the one that owns that—”
“Small white dog,” Lindsay said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. Her Maltese had been found—presumably safe and sound.
“You said Judge Bean sent you. Is that where Minnie is, in Langtry?”
Mark bobbed his head. “Your dog has taken quite a shine to the Judge’s bear, Bruno.”
“What!” She shrieked.
Mark looked down. He shook his head and tugged on his mount’s reins, obviously feeling the need to flee in the face of a hysterical female. But his conscience must have gotten the better of him because he said, "Yer dog is safe and at the Jersey Lily, ma’am. Much obliged.”
And then he was gone, before Lindsay could admit she was the one who was obliged to him, no matter how upsetting his news was.
Bruno, the bear! Her thoughts tumbled. That old horrible, beer-guzzling bear the judge kept chained to a post in front of his saloon to lure curious train passengers. With one swat of his mighty paw, Bruno could make Maltese mincemeat of Minnie!
She had to get to town fast before the bear hurt her puppy.
Chad and Bart appeared, obviously drawn by her panicked outburst. Chad looked annoyed, beating his dusty Stetson against his equally filthy pants and demanding, “Lindsay, what happened? We heard you scream.”
“It’s Minnie. She got out and went to Langtry. She’s at Judge Bean's saloon with his bear!”
“Is that all,” Chad remarked.
Lindsay shot a poisonous look at her brother. “It’s enough. I’ve got to get to town fast. I know Minnie is nothing more than a nuisance to you, but I love her and—”
“Don’t worry, Lindsay,” Bart interrupted, “it’s only two miles to Langtry. I’ll saddle your horse, and we’ll be there in no time.” Blood-streaked and filthy from the docking and marking, he turned to Chad and a look passed between them. “You’d better come, too. Tell the shepherds to keep the sheep penned for us.”
Why must Chad come as well? More secrets?
“Sure, I’ll tell the men. We’ll both go. Lindsay shouldn't be near the saloon without an escort, anyway.”
Bart nodded and strode quickly toward the barn, stopping only to retrieve his shirt from one of the corral posts. Lindsay watched his retreating back, gratitude and relief surging through her, warming her heart and dispelling the worst of her fears.
But while she waited for him to return, renewed worry nagged at her. She hopped from one foot to the other and twisted the gold band on her ring finger. She was grateful for her in-name-only husband’s help, but his assistance was no guarantee they would safely retrieve Minnie. After all, he wasn’t a miracle worker.
And Minnie… her poor Minnie… could anyone rescue her beloved pet before it was too late?
* * *
Lindsay knew what the crowd beside the Jersey Lily signified before she pulled her bay mare, Gypsy, to a sliding halt. They were watching Minnie. Her beloved Maltese h
ad become the latest sideshow to entertain the rough crowd hanging around the saloon.
Judge Bean, in his customary fashion, was making the most of the unexpected windfall. His barkeep, Joseph, circulated among the gawkers, selling beer and shots of whiskey.
The crowd roared, and a fresh wave of panic washed over her. Unable to catch a glimpse of her pet through the dense mob, she had no idea what the crowd was shouting at, but she feared Bruno was mauling Minnie and the mob was cheering on the bear with their drunken approval.
Vaulting from the mare’s back, she forgot about Bart in her frenzy to reach her dog. With tears clouding her vision, she rushed forward, cursing in French and slapping at the mass of men. She pushed to the front of the mob and stared… and smelled. The scent of rotting vegetation filled her nostrils, wafting from the moth-eaten brown bear, Bruno.
Bruno squatted on his haunches with his huge paws dangling in front of him. His pig-like snout drooped forward onto his massive chest, snuffling the air. Minnie ran circles around the bear, yelping at him. Bruno, half-drunk on beer, just watched the little dog with glazed eyes, shaking his head to clear away the buzz of flies.
Lindsay’s stomach roiled and bile filled her throat. Her initial terror melted away, to be replaced by embarrassment and dismay. Her dog didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger, but she certainly was making a spectacle of herself. She could imagine what her brother would say when he saw her pet’s antics.
Lulled by the bear’s passivity, she broke away from the crowd, intent upon retrieving her pet.
But her sudden movement was a mistake.
Bruno came to life, roaring like a lion and rearing up. He swatted at her, his broken and dirty claws slicing through the air. She cringed against the inevitable impact and then she was grabbed from behind and rolled to the ground, knocking the breath from her. The onlookers jeered, making ribald suggestions.
The bear advanced, snapping the end of his chain taut. Minnie, unperturbed, sat back on her haunches and postured with her best begging stance.
Dirt scrapped Lindsay’s back as she was hauled away from the bear’s reach. Dazed, she looked up to see Bart’s face, covered in perspiration, looming over her. Mortified, she pushed at his chest with the palms of her hands and struggled to rise, amidst more suggestive taunts from the crowd about newly-weds.
