Texas Lonesome
A McCutcheon Family Novel
Book Eight
Caroline Fyffe
Texas Lonesome
Copyright © 2016 by Caroline Fyffe
All rights reserved by the author.
www.carolinefyffe.com
Texas Lonesome is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Caroline Fyffe.
Cover design by Kelli Ann Morgan
Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting
Proudly Published in the United States of America
ISBN# 978-0-9861-047-6-3
About the Book
Dustin McCutcheon gets the surprise of his life when he comes face-to-face with Sidney Calhoun, the spitfire offspring of his father’s worst adversary. The whole of Texas knows that McCutcheons and Calhouns just don’t mix. Period. Yet Dustin is drawn to Sidney. The stirrings of attraction she brings out leave him with a serious decision to make. Break the hearts of his family—or break his own. Neither choice is palatable . . .
Texas Lonesome, book eight of the McCutcheon Family Saga, continues the story of the brave and passionate men and women of Y Knot, Montana, and Rio Wells, Texas, by USA TODAY Best-selling Author Caroline Fyffe.
Dedicated to my dear friend, Kathy Harrell, for all the love and laughter
Chapter One
San Antonio, Texas, November 1886
Dustin McCutcheon shifted his weight from one hip to the other, feeling his denim trousers pull snug around his thigh. He gazed at the three choices in the palm of his hand. Which flavor would the cowhands prefer? He lifted the rectangular Fry’s Chocolate Cream bar to his nose and took a deep whiff.
Sweet. His mouth watered.
The store clerk loudly cleared her throat.
Turning from the mercantile’s fifteen-foot front wall where the chocolate bars were kept away from pilfering hands, he gazed down the long maple countertop. “Sorry, ma’am. Just getting an idea of which to buy.”
At that, he caught sight of a young woman standing in line behind a man holding a can of lamp oil. She waited for her turn with a small boxy item in her hands, a V pulled down between her delicate brows.
Dustin’s heart thwacked against his rib cage, causing a small cough to escape through his lips. Embarrassed, he thumped his chest with a fist and felt a silly grin pull at the corners of his mouth.
“Excuse me,” he quickly said, daring another fast glance at the young woman.
The portly clerk pierced him with her cranky gaze.
“Do you have a preference?” he asked, holding up the chocolate for the clerk to see. “A favorite flavor?”
“I don’t eat candy, young man!”
The woman’s disdain-filled voice was meant to slice him to the quick, but it only made his smile grow. She probably thought he meant to stick a few bars into his shirt pocket when her back was turned.
Again, he glanced past the clerk to the young woman, who was now looking in his direction. He smiled and lifted one shoulder.
A stain of rose started on her neck and then colored both her creamy peach cheeks. She quickly looked away. Her toe tapped on the scarred wooden floor.
She likes me.
His sisters, Madeline and Becky, were always chattering on about men and suitors and the like. How embarrassed they got when they couldn’t control a blush from coming on under an attractive man’s attention. Or how they caught themselves wringing their hands, tapping their toes, or God forbid, giggling.
The signs are all there.
The clerk finished with the man and he headed out the door.
Still looking at the candy in his palm, Dustin watched surreptitiously from the corner of his eye as the young woman stepped forward and placed her item on the counter. No sign of a wedding ring.
“Will there be anything else?”
“No, just this music box, please,” she answered.
“Two dollars and ten cents.”
Dustin tried to pull his attention back to the chore at hand, but he had little luck. The young woman looked pleased with her purchase. He wondered if she was buying it for herself or for someone else. He liked that idea—might be nice to have a sweetheart who thought him special enough to buy him a gift. He had his family, of course, but that wasn’t the same.
She withdrew several coins from her reticule and placed them in the shopkeeper’s hand.
When the transaction was finished and the matron had wrapped the item in paper, he was ready when the young woman turned and stepped toward the door.
“Which do you favor, miss? Peppermint, orange, or chocolate cream? I don’t dare buy a mixture. Whichever one they end up with won’t be to their liking.”
Her lips curved up as she paused to take his measure. “They?”
“Yes, the cowhands that work on my ranch.” Well, the Rim Rock was his ranch, as well as Pa’s and Chaim’s—and his ma and sisters. Heck, he couldn’t say all that.
She came a little closer, perusing the candy in his hand. “I prefer plain chocolate. I’m sure you won’t go wrong with that.” She smiled up into his face.
Her voice was that of a songbird’s. Dustin thought the angels had descended from heaven.
Reaching up, her hand quivered slightly as she angled the watch pinned to her bodice to check the time.
Another good sign.
“Thank you. I’ll get the plain chocolate cream on your recommendation.”
“Young man,” the clerk screeched. “You can’t stand there all day holding the merchandise. It’ll melt! Either make your purchase, or put it back.”
Dustin spun. His thoughts were still on the beauty he’d discovered in the store. “I will, ma’am. Right now. I’m buying two whole boxes. Just give me a moment to—”
At the sound of the door closing, he turned around to see the back of the woman’s dress as she hurried away.
He wanted to run after her, get her name, but he had an appointment in a few minutes that he couldn’t miss. A friend’s life depended on it. He had just enough time to finish this purchase and take the confections back to the hotel. With a couple of days left in town, he’d find her. She didn’t look like a local—too soft and clean.
Yes, he’d find out who she was before he left if it was the last thing he did, or his name wasn’t Dustin McCutcheon.
Brushing a thin layer of dust from the armrest of his seat, Dustin ignored the stale air and the light sheen that slicked his forehead. The temperature had to be eighty degrees in the room.
Cowboys in need of a wash and Mexican laborers packed the medium-sized San Antonio courtroom, waiting for the afternoon session to begin. Chaim, his younger brother, sat sullenly at his side, his resigned expression painful. Sounds from the busy street drifted in through the open windows on the far wall. He glanced out to see a miniature dust devil swirling down the boardwalk.
Dustin leaned close. “Cheer up, Chaim. Emmeline won’t be gone for long. Before you know it, you’ll be asked to cart your carcass back here to San Antonio to meet her train. She’s only leaving for a month.”
Chaim stared straight ahead at the empty judge’s bench, the rise and fall of his chest the only indication he hadn’t yet died of a broken heart. He glanced over, his eyes filled with uncertainty.
“Thirty days is twenty-nine days too long. Especially with the wedding just around the corner. Her leaving now doesn’t feel r
ight.”
Spotting his brother’s uncertain gaze, Dustin couldn’t think of any response except to shrug. He thought her departure was strange as well, but he wouldn’t make matters worse by agreeing.
His brother turned toward the front. “And now I have to spend a good portion of my last twenty-four hours she’s here, sitting in this sour-smelling hellhole.”
“Stop stewing. Ed needs our help. You’d want him to testify for you if the tables were turned.”
Chaim nodded. “I know, I know. Still, I don’t have to like it.”
The door next to the judge’s bench opened, and a guard walked out. Following were three scruffy-looking individuals, the type who’d hang out in dark alleys and frighten women and small children. Their legs, shackled with heavy chains that scraped on the wood floor, moved in unison. Their arms were bound at the wrists.
Next in line shuffled a relatively clean-cut fellow who looked vaguely familiar. The young man scanned the crowd for a few seconds, his light ice-blue eyes visible all the way back to where he and Chaim sat. Presumably not finding the person he was looking for, he dropped his head, causing his thick corn-colored hair to flop in his face.
Lastly, their friend Ed Felton appeared. The cowhand had been accused of a murder here in San Antonio the same evening he’d been visiting their ranch in Rio Wells. Dustin and Chaim were present to give testimony to that fact. Another guard brought up the rear, a shotgun cradled in his arms. The uniformed men lined the five prisoners against the side wall.
As Dustin watched the proceedings with interest, enjoying the diversion he’d been given from ranching, a disheveled man rushed through the double doors that led in from the street. He kept his gaze trained on the downward-slanted aisle as he hastened to the defendant’s table. There he brushed away the dust on a chair, took a seat, and set a stack of rumpled papers before him.
“I’m certainly glad he’s not defending me,” Dustin whispered to Chaim. “Not with Butch Halford presiding. Something about him screams overworked. Yes, sir, I’m mighty thankful I’m not in any of their boots today.”
He smiled and stretched back in his chair.
Ed Felton saw him from his place in the lineup, and a look of relief passed over his face.
Dustin gave him a nod, sure his friend was good and ready to get out of that sinkhole they called a jail. A few months ago, Dustin himself had spent a night there along with his cousin John, incarcerated for busting up a restaurant. He’d been angry over losing Lily to John, and had followed them to San Antonio for the wedding—not to cause trouble.
But then he’d downed a few too many whiskeys while drowning his sorrows. All he wanted was to have a little talk with his cousin and congratulate him, or at least that was what he’d told himself.
One word led to the next, and soon he and John were throwing punches in the restaurant. They were both hauled into jail for disturbing the peace. Brandon Crawford—the sheriff of Y Knot who’d followed his sweetheart, Dustin’s cousin Charity, from Montana Territory to Texas—had bailed them both out in the morning, much to their relief.
Embarrassment filled Dustin at the memory. He’d let his anger over losing Lily get the best of him, which ruined her wedding night with John. Dustin had learned his lesson the hard way, and vowed to himself to be a more patient, civil person.
And I’m working on it. Yes, indeed, he was.
He rested back into his chair, mulling over what he’d do tonight while Chaim was out to dinner with Emmeline. Maybe find a good steak, play a little poker, and see what kind of female attention he might corral.
If only the young woman in the store hadn’t hurried away so quickly when he’d been distracted. Now that was a woman! One worth getting to know . . .
A murmur at the door stirred the predominantly male crowd, and he glanced back.
It was her! The woman. Hope still existed.
Snapping straight in his seat, Dustin barely had time to take in her tall, picturesque beauty before he heard the bailiff call out, “All rise.” As he stood, he remembered that bounty of fawn-colored hair piled high on her head all too well.
She hurried forward to an empty seat in the front, ignoring the interested looks from the gawkers. The prosecuting attorney appeared and claimed the table opposite the defendant’s.
Judge Halford came through the side door. A commanding presence filled the room as the man strode to the bench, his black robe billowing around him, and sat. The judge banged his gavel several times, frowning at the crowd as they took their seats amid a murmur of voices. His brow arched when his gaze landed on him and Chaim.
“Order in the court!”
Standing, the bailiff held a piece of paper before his bespectacled eyes. “Case number eighty-five, the city of San Antonio charges Spiny Ford, Luck Drummond, and Jason Jarome with illegal entry and robbery.”
The prosecuting attorney stood. “On Saturday night last week, the three defendants are accused of breaking into a home at 23 China Hill Road. The owner, Javier Smith, was not at home. Eight hundred dollars’ worth of gold coins were stolen from beneath the floorboards of his bedroom. Gold coins of the exact amount, split three ways, were found at each of their residences. Gerald Black saw them at midnight, hurrying away the best they could from the crime scene, with several large sacks shaped like money bags.”
“Are you calling the witness?” the judge asked the prosecutor.
“No, Your Honor, he can’t be found.” The counselor shot a disgusted look at the three in chains. “I won’t be surprised if his body turns up floating down the Blanco River, or in a shallow grave.”
Judge Halford looked at the defense attorney. “Mr. Wormer, how do your clients plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor?”
“That sounds like a question, Mr. Wormer. Are you asking me or telling me?”
The man grasped the edge of the table. “Telling you, Your Honor.”
The three accused looked amongst themselves and snickered.
Dustin would be amused if the possibility of the missing witness didn’t mean the man had most likely been murdered. He leaned over to say something to Chaim, but closed his mouth at the utter devastation he saw on his brother’s face.
His lovesick sibling had been in a trance since his fiancée announced she was going home for a visit. Dustin liked Emmeline Jordan well enough, he did, but to his way of thinking, she’d jumped pretty darn quickly at a chance to go home to Boston when she received the letter from her mother about her father being ill.
Texas and Boston were worlds apart—at least, that’s what his cousin John had told him. John had lived there several years while he received his doctor’s training. It was also where he’d met Emmeline Jordan. She’d originally come to Rio Wells to marry John, only to meet and fall in love with Chaim. Her father was indeed sick, but with gout, a condition that was not life-threatening and surely treatable. She’d promised to be back in plenty of time before the wedding planned in a month.
Right. Dustin didn’t want to be skeptical, but cynicism was part of his nature, albeit a part of his nature he wanted to change. At this point, he couldn’t help himself.
Tomorrow, after Emmeline departed on the nine o’clock eastbound train, Chaim would need his support more than ever. And Dustin planned to be there for him. Hopefully, once she reached Boston and got a taste of her beloved home-sweet-home, she’d still want to return to Rio Wells and become Mrs. Chaim McCutcheon.
Women!
“They were all home in their beds,” Mr. Wormer, the defense attorney, went on in a small voice. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty forehead. “None of the accused went out that evening at all.”
One of the said suspects sneered and discreetly jabbed his elbow into the side of another.
“Do you have a witness to corroborate that?” Judge Halford asked.
Mr. Wormer swallowed. “No, sir.”
Dustin actually felt a little sorry for the defense attorney. The skinny man looked
so unsure of himself.
He leaned over and whispered close to Chaim’s shoulder, “Do you recognize that kid in the lineup? Seems I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
Chaim looked at the tall young man in chains. “Seems I do, but I don’t know from where. He looks familiar, but his face isn’t ringing any bells.”
“Do you have any defense at all?” the judge barked. Seemed his anger intensified as the room grew warmer.
From his fifth-row seat, Dustin noticed the woman in the front straighten and look over to the same fellow he’d asked Chaim about. Was she here for him?
Dustin craned his neck, but all he could see was the back of her head and a small portion of her profile. The meager glimpse he’d had when she’d rushed forward hadn’t been enough. This was the first woman since losing Lily that stirred his interest. He’d like to know more about her.
Much more.
The judge slammed down his gavel. “Given that these three men have been in my courtroom on almost a weekly basis on lesser charges for the past eight months, and given that you don’t have any defense worth speaking of, Mr. Wormer, and given the evidence is pretty clear even if the witness isn’t here to state it, I’m sentencing them to a year in the penitentiary—if for no other reason but to get them out of San Antonio. If, indeed, Javier Smith is found dead with circumstances pointing to these three, I’ll hang ’em, no more questions asked. Maybe that’ll wipe the stupid grins off their faces.”
A ripple of whispers went through the gathering, and the three accused snapped their mouths closed.
“They finally get what’s coming to ’em!” a man in the back of the room shouted. “Two months ago, they ruined a good portion of the inventory in my store and didn’t care less. I’ve had to close my doors because of the varmints. Good riddance! I hope they hang!”
“Order!” the judge called out.
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