“Why didn’t he wake me?”
“He say you tired, you need sleep. She not foal for a few hours yet.” Yelena set a pan of biscuits on the table and went back to the counter for a crock of butter.
Tate didn’t hesitate. He filled his plate with split biscuits and reached for the meat and the bowl of gravy.
Yes, it was wonderful to be home.
The day was hot and windy. Tate spent most of the morning in the barn with Jorge. The mare, Lucy, didn’t foal until shortly before noon. The birth was a hard one; they were beginning to wonder if they might lose her. Jorge had to pull the foal. The filly was strong, and Jorge laughed with pleasure.
“Looky there, señor! Looky there! She strong and standing, looking for her dinner!” Jorge straddled the filly and guided her head toward her mother’s teat. The filly sucked lustily.
Tate went to get a large helping of oats for Lucy. The mare gobbled up the treat as Tate stroked her head. She had earned it.
When Tate came out of the barn, Emily was sitting on the edge of the porch. Old Bob lay on the ground at her feet.
“Hello, sweetheart. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Yelena says we don’t have any Post Toasties.”
“You didn’t get your Post Toasties this morning? I’m going to town today. Do you want to go with me and we’ll get some?”
Holding tightly on to the porch post, Emily pulled herself up so she could stand. Tate hurried over and scooped her up in his arms.
“Can I go? Can I really go?” she asked excitedly.
“We’ll go right after we eat.” He carried her into the kitchen and set her down on a chair.
“We’re going to town after a bit, Yelena. Make up a list of what you need. Put Post Toasties at the top.”
“Sí.”
Tate lathered his hands and washed. A fresh towel hung at the end of the wash bench. He carried his wash water to the porch and threw it out into the yard, barely missing Old Bob. Jorge came out of the barn.
“Better hurry, Jorge, if you want anything to eat. I’m hungry as a wolf.”
Jorge laughed. “You not like the mess they feed you at the fort?”
“I liked it all right, but it’s been three days since I was at the fort,” he growled.
Jorge followed Tate into the house. “How my bella chica?”
“Pretty girl?” Emily said with a big smile, pleased that she knew the Spanish words. “Jorge, you’re so funny!”
Still laughing, Jorge threw an arm around her little shoulders, gave her a gentle hug, and kissed her forehead.
“You Spanish is good, my bella chica.”
“We both your pretty girl,” Yelena said, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. All three of them laughed.
They were as affectionate as the day they’d come to the ranch, over six years earlier. Tate felt a twinge of envy and wondered if he would ever find love like they shared.
When they sat down to eat, Emily ate everything Yelena put on her plate. She was excited about going to town. “Hurry, Daddy! Hurry!”
Emily was beside herself with excitement as they approached the town.
Muddy Creek was little more than a cluster of unpainted buildings that lined both sides of a dusty road. The town got its name from a thin ribbon of muddy water a half mile to the south. After a flash flood in 1917 that almost washed away the buildings on its bank, the town moved to higher ground and had enjoyed a bit of prosperity since the rail line had come through.
The stores, their fronts decorated with tin signs advertising everything from Copenhagen chewing tobacco to NeHi soda pop, lined a wide boardwalk. The street was empty except for a few dusty cars and several wagons. Saddled horses were tied to a rail, their tails swatting at biting flies. The high, midafternoon sun beat down. A pair of chickens pecked and scratched their way across the street. As in most small towns, groups of men were gathered about gossiping and talking politics. The United States flag fluttered from a tall flagpole in front of a small neat building at the far end of the street. Tate planned on stopping at the post office before he and Emily headed home, but first they needed to tend to the list that Yelena had given him. After parking the pickup truck, they crossed the street to Ful-bright Mercantile.
With Emily on his arm, Tate entered the store through a squeaky door. Neatly stocked shelves full of bottles and tins lined the store walls. Barrels full of crackers, beans, and coffee rested on the floor in front of a long oak counter with a shiny brass cash register on one end. Tate’s nose was filled with all of the tempting scents that floated through the air.
They had been in the store for only a moment before Dickson Fulbright, the owner, came out of the storeroom with a warm smile and greeting. A short, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head, bushy mustache, and pince-nez glasses, Mr. Fulbright had been a fixture in Muddy Creek for decades. He’d opened up the store with his wife. She passed away nearly six years earlier after losing a bout with pneumonia. Well respected by the entire town, Mr. Fulbright, a very neat man, obsessively wiped his hands on his apron.
“Did you make the sale?” he asked.
“Yep,” Tate said matter-of-factly. It bothered him that everyone in the town knew everyone else’s business, but he’d never known it to be any other way.
Tate set Emily on the long counter, where she smiled up at the grocer. She kicked her little legs out in front of her, the heels of her small shoes lightly hitting the counter’s paneling.
“How are you, young miss?” Mr. Fulbright asked, wiping his hands against his snow-white apron. Tate couldn’t remember seeing him without the apron. He wondered if the man even wore it to bed.
“Daddy brought me a doll that says ‘Ma-ma. ’ Her eyes close, and she’s got a pink dress just like mine!”
“Now, I’ve seen a lot of things, but I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a doll that closes its eyes.” Mr. Fulbright winked at Tate.
“I’ll bring her next time,” Emily said.
“You do that.” Mr. Fulbright reached into a jar on the counter and handed Emily a stick of peppermint candy. Emily looked at her daddy, accepted the candy, and said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t open it until we are on the way home,” Tate cautioned. “You’ll be sticky clear up to your elbows.”
After Tate had handed the grocer the list Yelena had given him, he scanned the headlines on the stack of newspapers lying on the counter. Mr. Fulbright began to fill the order.
Alpine “Lonestar” Gazette
August 1, 1933
Nazis Pass Law to Purify German Race
Adolf Hitler announced a new program to weed out Germans who are less than perfect. Doctors will sterilize them for the glory of the Reich.
Amelia Earhart Breaks Record
Amelia Earhart flies from Los Angeles, California, to Newark, New Jersey, in 17 hours 17 minutes.
Tate shook his head.What is the world coming to? This guy Hitler is going to mess around and cause a world war.
Seeing that Mr. Fulbright had not filled his order, he picked up Emily. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
The grocer nodded, reached up to the shelf behind him, and brought down a can of baking powder.
Tate walked back to the truck, perspiring in the hot sun. He noticed that the chickens had given up their pecking and headed for cooler surroundings. Smart chickens. He got into the vehicle, rounded the corner, and drove into the alley behind the mercantile. At the end of the block, he came to a stop in front of the weathered building that housed the feedstore.
“I’ll be right back, and we’ll go to the post office,” he said to Emily as he leaned in the open passenger’s window. She nodded her head absentmindedly as she twirled the candy stick and watched the stripes go around it.
Tate returned to the truck with a bag of oats on each shoulder, dropped the bags into the back of the pickup, and slid behind the wheel. Emily glanced up at her father with one end of the candy stick stuck into her mouth.
“He
y, now. If you’re all sticky, you can’t go into the post office.”
“I won’t get sticky,” she mumbled past the candy.
“Put the paper back on the candy. And wait until we’re headed home.”
Emily silently obeyed but held the candy stick tightly in her hand. She ran her tongue over her lips, savoring every bit of peppermint goodness.
Tate pulled the truck to a stop in front of the post office, got out, and reached for Emily. At the door, he paused and held it open for a young woman and a small boy. The woman smiled, but the boy never even glanced up; his head was bent down as he worked on a candy stick. Emily stared at him. Tate tipped his hat and went inside.
“Glad you’re back, Tate,” Leroy Gaines, the town postmaster, called out from behind a barred cage. He wore a visor cap and bow tie. The sleeves of his shirt were held in place with garters. Wide suspenders extended from his pants over his ample belly to his broad shoulders. The air in the post office was hot, and rivers of sweat poured down the man’s jocular cheeks. Leroy didn’t seem to mind as he grinned from ear to ear. He bounced up out of his seat, pulled three envelopes out of a cubbyhole, and slapped them down on the counter.
“Thanks, Leroy.” Tate scooped the letters up and glanced at them. There was one from the government and two from relatives who had moved to the West Coast. None to Emily from her mother. He put the letters in his pocket.
“Sell your horses?” Leroy asked.
“Sure did.” Does everyone in the county know I’ve been to the fort to sell my horses? With Emily on his arm, he said his good-byes and left the post office.
They were nearly to the truck when a voice from behind them called out, “Hey there, Tate.”
Tate turned at the sound and saw a familiar face. The man coming toward him was short, with bowed legs and long arms. Light blond hair, a smooth baby face, and an easy smile made him look more like a preacher than what he really was. Nothing about him suggested that he was a well-known and feared Texas Ranger.
“Hello, Lyle. What brings you all the way out here?”
“Well,” Lyle started, flashing the easy smile, “I could say we’re meeting accidentally, but the truth of the matter is that I came to see you.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Now, is that any way to talk to an old friend?” Lyle said, his smile getting wider and more preacherlike.
“Depends on why you came to see me.”
The Texas Ranger’s smile vanished, and his brow creased in a serious look.
“I need your help, Tate.”
“No, Lyle. The last time you came here for my help I was almost killed. I don’t know what kind of case you’ve got, but I can’t get involved. I may not be a very good parent, but I’m the only one Emily’s got.”
Lyle turned to look at the little girl, his preacher’s smile back on his face. “And a fine hello to you, Miss Emily.”
Glad to have been brought into the conversation, Emily blurted out her important news. “Daddy brought me a doll that closes its eyes. Come out to my house, and I’ll show her to you.”
“You know, I just might do that.”
“You’ll not talk me into anything, Lyle.”
“I wouldn’t think of trying, Tate,” Lyle said. As he turned back toward him, Tate noticed that he’d kept the smile. “Thing is, I’ve got a problem that I think you can help me solve. You know this country better than just about anybody. Just give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be out of your hair. If Yelena’s planning on making some of her biscuits and milk gravy, I could come out tonight. She does make the best durn biscuits in Texas.”
Tate thought for a moment before he said, “I agree to that.” The least he could do was feed the man.
“You’ll eat with us?” Emily was all smiles. “Yelena will make a cake.”
“She needn’t go to all that trouble.” Lyle laughed heartily. “Well, all right. She can go to a little trouble.”
“We’ll see you tonight,” Tate said.
“Tonight, then.”
Lyle turned and walked away, his bowlegs rocking him down the dusty street. Fifteen feet away, he stopped, turned, and fixed an earnest look on his face. “By the way, I heard Hayden’s back in these parts.”
“I thought he was long gone from here,” Tate answered.
“So did I, but something brought him back.”
“Nothing good, I reckon.”
“I’d reckon the same. We’ll talk tonight.”
Tate watched as Lyle walked on, rounded a corner, and was out of sight. He opened the pickup door and set Emily down on the seat. He slid behind the wheel and started the truck but didn’t put it into gear. Lyle had put too many thoughts into his head.
A tug on his arm pulled him back to the present. He looked down to see Emily clutching the peppermint stick. “Can I eat my candy now?” she asked.
“Let’s wait till we get the groceries,” he said. “Then it’s all yours.”
“Yay!” Emily shouted.
The entire way back to the ranch, Tate rolled Lyle’s request around in his head. He thought back to the day, not long before, when Lyle had saved his life. The debt that he owed could never truly be repaid. But his allegiance to Lyle was far more than a debt. The Texas Ranger was a good man; the kind of man that he was proud to call a friend. It would be hard to refuse Lyle, but for Emily’s sake, he would. As the ranch came into sight, one final thought stabbed into Tate’s mind.
Hayden is back.
Chapter 7
YELENA, EXPECTING THE TEXAS RANGER AT THE TABLE, had out done herself. There was venison from the smokehouse, biscuits and gravy, and a delicious cake for dessert. Emily’s happy voice and laughter filled the ranch house kitchen.
After Yelena had washed the dishes and put Emily to bed, Lyle and Tate went to the front porch. The moon hung low and amber on the horizon. The only sounds came from the horses and a lone coyote howling.
Lyle sank down in the bentwood chair with a groan. He stretched out his legs and patted his bulging stomach. “If I ate like that every night, there wouldn’t be a horse in Texas that could carry me. That woman makes the best damn biscuits I ever ate. If I thought I could, I’d steal her away from you.”
“Well, get that idea out of your head, because you’d have to take Jorge too. He can be a bit of a handful when he gets his back up.” Tate chuckled.
“It might be worth it for those biscuits.”
As if on cue, Jorge ambled out onto the porch and sat down on the steps. Tate lit a cigarette, took a drag, and blew his smoke into the night air. “You don’t need to worry about holding your tongue, Lyle. You can talk freely in front of Jorge. What I know, Jorge knows. I trust him with my daughter’s life.”
The three men sat in silence for a moment. Lyle shifted his weight in the chair and cleared his throat. “Your word’s good with me, Tate, but what I’ve got to say needs to be kept among the three of us for a while.”
“Done,” Tate answered, and Jorge nodded his head.
“I need your help to find a missing woman,” Lyle continued. “Her father thinks she was taken from the New Orleans-Texas train after it passed through Simon.”
“Anyone I know?” Tate asked.
“No. The woman’s name is Katherine Tyler. Her father’s an old friend of mine who lives in New York City. The last he knew, Katherine was on the train that left Marietta. He knows that she got that far because she sent him a wire. The next wire was to come from Marathon. It didn’t come. Yesterday he got a note asking for money and warning him not to call in the authorities or his daughter would be killed.”
Lyle paused, stretched his legs, and continued. “I did some checking around but didn’t get much information. After talking to the depot agent at Simon, where she got off to check her baggage, she boarded the train from Marietta. I kept heading up the line to see if anyone had seen her, but she hasn’t been seen. I’ve never met her, but she’s the type that most folks around here woul
dn’t forget. From what I hear, she’s a beautiful girl. Tall and blond.”
“Did you say she got off the train at Simon?”
“That’s what the depot agent told me. ’Bout the only other thing I got out of the man was that there were a couple of strangers hanging around the Simon station with Katherine. The baggage handler got the best look at them. Said one was a cowboy, but that the other one really stood out. Some dandy in a striped suit who looked like a salesman, but he never tried to sell anything in Simon, never even opened up his case. Something doesn’t quite sit right with me about those two. Could be just a coincidence, but I’ve got a missing woman’s father asking for help, and I’m gonna check out every possibility.”
“Wait a minute,” Tate said. “What day was this?”
“Last Thursday.”
The last piece of the puzzle was filled in, and the realization hit Tate square in the chest. “It was me. I was the cowboy at the station.”
“What?” Lyle practically jumped out of the chair.
“I’d been up at Fort Davis cutting a deal for our horses. I came south to Simon and was waiting to catch the train from Marietta,” Tate explained, his mind searching back to that night. “The depot agent was right. There were two other people on the platform with me. A young woman and a man with a wooden case. I guess he could have been a salesman, but I didn’t get much of a look at him. It was dark, and he stayed to the other side of the platform. The woman wasn’t traveling with him. It didn’t look like they knew each other.”
“What luck!” Lyle said. Even in the near darkness, Tate could see his bright preacher’s smile. “Did she say anything to you?”
“She asked me if the train was on time,” Tate answered, the calamity of the woman’s bag left unspoken. “That’s all.”
“Still, you’ve seen her. Did you see where she got off?”
“No. When we got on the train, I went ahead to the next car. When I arrived at Muddy Creek, I looked into her car, but I didn’t see her. Didn’t see the salesman either.”
“Between Simon and Muddy Creek,” Lyle mumbled.
“You think this is the same woman?” Tate asked.
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