by Nan Ryan
“I don’t know, Sally. Buck might not appreciate me intruding.”
“Don’t be silly! He’ll be tickled to have your company. Say you’ll come, please.”
Anna smiled at last. “All right, I’ll come. Sounds like a pleasant way to spend Saturday afternoon.”
On that same hot July afternoon, two good friends worked side by side under the blistering Texas sun.
Wearing big straw, shade-giving sombreros, Brit and Buck, along with several dozen vaqueros, were laboring to dig deep, furrowed fireguards in the Sierra Blanca pasture along the northern edge of the Agua Fría division. Bare chested and sweating profusely, the men shoveled tirelessly despite the sweltering heat, their constant thirst and aching muscles.
Every man on the job knew how dangerous the bone-dry conditions were. One carelessly tossed match, one flash of heat lighting, and an inferno would rage out of control, racing across the barren, brushy acres. Unstoppable. Destroying everything in its path. The prospect of fire was so frightening, the vaqueros were as eager as their boss to take every possible precaution to protect their land and livelihood.
Brit was fully aware that his mere presence both calmed and spurred them on. Made them feel a little more secure. Made them work harder. They were, he knew, nervous, worried, just as he was.
But he carefully concealed any anxiety from them.
He laughed and teased and joked with the men as if he didn’t have a care in the world. When he spent the night at one of the division headquarters, he drank whiskey and played cards with the cowboys and vaqueros. And when, in the quiet of the evening, someone pulled out a guitar and started strumming, he sang along with the others in their native tongue, his Spanish flawless, his inflection decidedly romantic.
Now, at the hottest part of the day, Brit pushed the wide brim of his sombrero up, tipped his head back and squinted at the white-hot sun. He quit shoveling, lodged his shovel in the dirt, put two fingers to his lips and give a loud, piercing whistle.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, turned to look at Brit.
Brit smiled sunnily, said, “Mis amigos, it is siesta time!”
Loud cheers went up from the hot tired men. Shovels were immediately laid aside and everyone hurried to the tall water can on a wooden table beneath a huge black tarp stretched between four tall poles. Chattering and wiping sweat from their faces and chests, the thirsty workers lined up for a nice cooling drink, then sought out a spot where they could lie down.
Ten minutes after Brit had whistled, all was quiet. Sombreros pulled over their faces, the men lay slumbering in the century-mark-plus heat.
Brit and Buck didn’t sleep, but they rested.
Buck lay on his back with an arm folded beneath his head. Brit sat leaning against the sturdy table where the water can was, his long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. A cup of water in his hand, he drank slowly, sparingly, saving a little of his precious ration. His dark torso and leanly muscled arms were glistening with sweat, so he turned the cup up and let the water spill down over his chest.
He set the cup aside, raised his hands and spread the water over his chest, belly and arms, sighing with the simple pleasure of it. He reached for a cigarette, lit it and slowly blew out the smoke.
“You sleepy?” Buck asked softly, so as not to disturb the others.
“Nope,” said Brit, drawing on his cigarette.
“Me, neither.” Agilely, Buck rolled into a sitting position, locked his arms around his knees and exhaled heavily. He studied Brit for a long moment, then asked, “Are you okay?”
Brit shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be okay?”
Buck shrugged massive shoulders. “No reason, I just…”
“You just what? Spit it out, for Christ sake.”
“Now that’s exactly what I mean, Brit. You’re so damned testy. Something’s eating you.”
Brit took a long drag from his cigarette, blew out the smoke. “In case you’re the only human being in Texas who hasn’t noticed, we haven’t had any rain since early April. You think that might have something to do with my mood?”
“Well, sure, I know you’re worried about the drought but…”
“But what?”
“It’s something more.”
“Buck, you’ve gone loco.”
“No, I haven’t. I’m not crazy. I’ve known you for years and I…” Buck paused, debating whether or not he should continue. His curiosity winning out, he said bluntly, “When are you going to tell me what happened on the Fourth?”
“Jesus, how many times do I have to say it? Nothing happened. Nada.”
“You say nothing happened, but Beverly Harris was frantically hunting for you and—”
“So you told me.”
“Anna was missing all that time, too.”
“Was she?”
“Yes, she was. Where were you from midnight to 2:00 a.m.? Were the two of you together?”
His dark eyes starting to snap with anger, Brit said through thinning lips, “You’re not my keeper, Buck, so drop it. I don’t know what you’re driving at, but I’m sick and tired of your questions. Not a damned thing happened the Fourth other than I got separated from Beverly. Typically, she got angry and went home. That’s it. There’s no more to it and I don’t want to hear any more about it. Comprende?”
“Comprendo,” said Buck, knowing Brit was on the verge of really losing his temper.
Brit crushed out his cigarette, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Brit?”
Brit cocked one eye open. “Can’t you be quiet for five minutes?”
“I can and I will, but first, I wanted to tell you I’m planning to take off Saturday afternoon. I promised I’d meet Sally in town for a late lunch. That okay with you?”
“Sure. I’m taking the afternoon off myself. Got some business to handle in town.”
“You’re going to be in town Saturday, too? Why don’t you join Sally and me for lunch at the hotel?”
Brit tilted his head to one side. “Sally might not appreciate me horning in on—”
“Why, she’d be thrilled to death,” Buck interrupted. “Honest, she would. How about it? Say, two o’clock? We’ll meet you in the Regentville Hotel dining room. Say you’ll come.”
“Sure. Why not?”
Twenty-Two
In need of a shave, his faded Levi’s dusty, his gray chambray shirt wrinkled and sweat stained, Brit Caruth took off his Stetson and walked into the Western Union office at noon on Saturday, the second of August.
Dub Harrison, the balding telegrapher, was seated on a stool inside the barred cage. He looked up from behind his wire-rimmed glasses when Brit came in.
“Britton Caruth? That you?”
“In the flesh,” said Brit, and stepped up to the window.
Dub climbed down off the stool, shaking his bald head. “Why, I like not to recognized you, Son.” He chuckled then and added, “Thought for a minute you was one of them bad outlaws come to hold me up.”
Brit grinned good-naturedly, his teeth showing starkly white in his dark, whiskered face. Scratching an itchy jaw, he said, “Guess I do look a little rough.”
“A visit to the barbershop wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Brit nodded, then pointed to a yellow pad at Dub’s elbow. “Hand me one of those blank message forms. I need to send a wire.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” said Dub, shoving the entire pad through the window.
Brit tore off one page, turned and walked away. At the front window, he placed the blank paper on a high writing table, took a pen from its well and wrote out a lengthy, urgent message to the Pinkerton Detective Agency in Denver, Colorado.
He repeated the request he had made several weeks ago, and asked that they put a high degree of urgency into their ongoing investigation of the woman calling herself Anna Regent Wright.
Concluding, he penned, “Time is running out.”
Brit repl
aced the pen in its inkwell, blew on the message paper to dry it, turned and crossed to the caged window. He passed the message through and said, “Dub, see to it this telegram reaches the Pinkerton office within the hour.”
“It’s as good as there,” said Dub, already reading the missive with undisguised interest.
“One last thing, Dub.”
Dub peered at Brit over his glasses. “Yes?”
“Be sure you exercise that strict Western Union policy of total secrecy you swore to when you took this job.”
“Why, I wouldn’t think of revealing—”
“Good day, Dub.”
“What about this gunmetal-gray organza?” The petite Lily held up the dress for their inspection. “It’s the latest style and quite exquisite, don’t you agree?”
“Mmm, I don’t know,” said Sally, rising from the velvet sofa where she and Anna were seated. “I do like the tiered skirt, but…” She looked back at Anna. Anna quietly shook her head. “No,” Sally told Lily decisively. “It doesn’t suit me. I won’t be trying it on.”
“Very well,” said the sedate Lily, smiling. “Not to worry, Sally. I’ve dozens of lovely dresses to show you.” With the gray organza gown tossed over her arm, she hurried away. Moments later she returned with a couple of fashionable choices—a frothy, rose-colored chiffon and a shimmering lavender silk. She held both up.
“The lavender silk!” Anna and Sally said in unison, then laughed and hugged each other.
Anna stayed in the main salon while Lily ushered Sally to the dressing room to try on the silk dress. No one else was in the shop. Anna was alone. She glanced at the gold-trimmed, freestanding mirror at the center of the big salon.
A wistful smile tugged at her lips as she recalled standing before that mirror in the lovely white eyelet dress. She remembered how she had saucily turned from the mirror and moved purposely up to the salon’s front window, where Brit had stood looking in.
If she lived to be ninety, she would never forget the expression on his handsome face as he’d gazed at her. Without a word he had told her that the white eyelet was the dress and that she looked incredibly beautiful in it.
Anna sighed sadly, recalling the fun and flirtation of that day.
She shook her head to clear it, rose from the velvet sofa, and moved restlessly around the spacious salon, idly looking at dresses with no real interest. Soon she returned to the bench, but before she sat down, she glanced out the plate glass storefront. Her lips fell open and she hurriedly moved closer to the window, squinting to see across the plaza.
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought that she had caught a glimpse of Brit’s iron-gray stallion being led inside the livery stable by a young groom.
Dear Lord, was Brit in town this very minute? Was the stallion she saw Captain, or just a look-alike?
Anna sat down heavily on the velvet bench, put her hands to her hot cheeks and told herself she was being foolish. It wasn’t Captain she’d seen. Brit wouldn’t be in town at noon on a Saturday. She was imagining things. She took several long, deep breaths to calm herself, turned and again glanced through the clear plate glass.
She saw no one on the street resembling Brit. He wasn’t in Regentville. He was miles away, working on the ranch. After all, Captain wasn’t the only iron-gray stallion in southwest Texas.
“How do I look, Anna?” Sally asked, rushing toward her wearing the lavender silk.
“Absolutely elegant,” Anna replied.
“The key to The Regent’s suite, please,” Brit said to the desk clerk.
“Right away, Mr. Caruth.” The hotel employee was pleasant. He fetched the key, handed it across the polished counter and said, “I believe you will find everything exactly as you requested. Your bath has just been drawn, should be the right temperature by the time you get upstairs. And you’ll find a fresh supply of your favorite cigars and a bottle of fine Kentucky bourbon on the drink trolley in the suite’s sitting room.” He smiled, added, “If there’s anything else you need or want, please let us know.”
“Will do,” said Brit, before he turned and walked across the spacious, marble-floored lobby, his big roweled spurs jangling with each step he took.
Upstairs, Brit let himself into the quiet, spacious suite, crossed to the tall front windows and yanked the heavy drapes open, flooding the room with hot August sunshine. He turned, went directly to the drink trolley and poured himself two fingers of bourbon. He drank it down in one long swallow, wiped his mouth and exhaled.
He poured a second, but did not down it as he had the first. He leisurely sipped the whiskey while he lit a cigar, then stood there in the sunny sitting room, undressing, not stopping until he had disrobed right down to his bronzed skin.
His soiled clothes left in a heap on the sitting room’s plush carpet, Brit stood blinking in the wide shaft of sunshine slicing through the room. Finally he frowned, stuck the cigar in his teeth and crossed to the open drapes. Quickly he closed them and then nodded in approval. It was cooler with the curtains closed and the room dim.
Brit returned to the drink trolley, snagged the bourbon bottle in two fingers, plucked a shot glass from a neat stack and headed for the master suite with its adjoining bath. Just as ordered, a full tub awaited him, along with a fresh bar of soap, a long-handled brush and a half-dozen white towels.
Brit placed the bourbon bottle and shot glass on a low tubside table, stepped into the steamy water and sighed as he sank down in its depths.
His intent was to lie luxuriating in the tub for at least an hour. Sipping his bourbon. Smoking his cigar. Relaxing. It was not quite one o’clock. He was to meet Buck and Sally downstairs at two. There was plenty of time to rest and unwind.
Brit stretched his long legs out full length, laid his dark head back against the tub’s rim, placed his arms along the sides, closed his eyes and sighed, preparing to take a little catnap.
But his dark eyes opened almost immediately. A muscle flexed in his jaw. He ground his teeth in frustration. Damn it to hell. He found no peace here. Not here, not anywhere. Would there ever be any again?
His darkly whiskered face set in rigid lines, Brit bolted up into a sitting position, reached for a washcloth and the soap. He vigorously scrubbed his body, as if in so doing he could wash away more than just sweat and dirt. He wanted to cleanse away the nagging, persistent memories that so tortured him.
After his bath, Brit carefully shaved away the three-day growth of beard. He studied himself in the mirror, turning his head one way, then the other. He needed a haircut, but there wasn’t enough time. Maybe he’d get one after lunch.
Naked, Brit opened the door of a large closet, which was filled with his clothes. Garments kept here for just such occasions as this one. Uncaring what he wore, he took down the first suit he saw, grabbed a shirt, a pair of shoes and got dressed.
When he was ready to leave the suite, he paused for a moment before the gold-trimmed mirror mounted above the mantel. He hardly recognized himself with a fresh shave and a clean suit of clothes. It was then, while he was inspecting his image in the mirror, that he realized this was the first time he had bothered to be well groomed and nicely dressed since…since…
Brit turned and stalked out of the suite.
“There he is!” said Sally, waving madly as she and Anna entered the wide arched doorway of the hotel’s partially deserted dining room. “And look, Brit’s with him.”
At the mention of his name, Anna’s heart stopped beating. Then almost pounded its way out of her chest when she glanced across the room and actually saw him. Horrified and instantly furious with Sally, Anna felt like a trapped, frightened animal. She couldn’t turn and run, although that’s exactly what she wanted to do. She was held powerless by some indefinable force that emanated from him.
Surprised that her feet and legs still worked, Anna found herself crossing the capacious dining room, moving steadily closer to the two tall men, who had risen to acknowledge the presence of ladies.
Hi
s dark head cocked a little to one side, Brit stood there looking handsome as the devil in a suit of crisp beige linen and a shirt of powder blue, open at the throat. His tanned face was smoothly shaven, his midnight hair brushed and shiny and a trifle too long, curling appealingly over his shirt collar.
Though she was horribly uncomfortable, it was apparent that he was not. That habitual air of egotism clung to him like his finely tailored suit, and it was insulting to her. Was he eagerly anticipating her crushing embarrassment and chagrin at his unexpected presence? Had he come here purposely to upset and shame her for his own selfish amusement? Was he hoping she’d be so flustered she’d make a spectacle of herself?
Her throat was so tight it hurt, and her pulse was pounding with apprehension, but Anna’s innate pride quickly rose to the surface and she told herself she would survive this ordeal with her dignity intact.
If the cocksure, coldhearted bastard was waiting for her to make a fool of herself, he would have a long wait. She was a fool; she had proved that the night of the Fourth. But she wasn’t about to let Sally and Buck and half the population of Regentville know what a pitiful fool she was.
After the first moment of surprised astonishment, Anna quickly regained her self-control. She had to get through this ordeal somehow, so she pretended that she was a great stage actress and this was the most important role of her entire career. Her performance had to be flawless.
Anna crossed the dining room looking cool, unruffled, even pleased, as if she were delighted that Brit had decided to join them. When she and Sally reached the two men, Sally and Buck embraced and whispered to each other like the lovesick pair they were.
Anna tilted her face up to Brit’s and favored him with a dazzling smile.
“What a nice surprise,” she said in a soft, level voice. “I do hope you’re staying for lunch.” She held her breath, praying he would make some excuse and leave.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied calmly.
Brit held out a chair for her and Anna slid into it. Then instinctively drew in her breath when he sat down directly beside her.
