Texas Bride

by Leigh Greenwood

"I'll answer all your questions when we reach the bank," Hetta said.

  She kept wondering if Owen had been able to get to the sheriff's office. She hadn't heard any shots or shouts for help. Mr. diViere had gotten everybody so worked up, they were liable to act first and think later.

  She hoped Owen wasn't worrying so much about her that he didn't pay attention to what he was doing. It was nice having somebody worry about her. She told herself to go slowly. She didn't doubt that Owen loved her, but marrying him meant a whole different kind of love. She wasn't certain she trusted herself not to turn into her mother. Owen was the kind of man it would be so very easy to love to the exclusion of common sense.

  She would go to her grave alone before she turned into her mother.

  And Owen was so much like her father in some ways, it gave her cold chills.

  "All of you can't come inside." Fred Moody had met the crowd at the bank door.

  "There's only room for about a dozen."

  "We're all coming inside," the woman said, "even if it means some of us have to stand on your desk."

  It took a while for everybody to get settled, but Hetta didn't mind. And the more noise they made, the less likely they were to hear any sounds from the street. Once they were quiet, the sheriff turned to Hetta. "I have evidence that shows you have been rustling cattle for nearly a year. What have you got to say for yourself?"

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  "This is almost like the war," Broc said.

  "Except it's daylight," Nate added.

  "And it's our own people who'll put our necks in a noose if we're caught," Owen said.

  "We're depending on your silver tongue to protect us," Broc said.

  "You'd better depend on Hetta."

  "Are you going to marry her?" Nate asked.

  "If she'll have me."

  "I never thought I'd see the day a female would refuse you," Broc said.

  "Well, you've seen it. Now stop picking at me and concentrate on getting to the jail without being caught."

  "We don't have to worry," Nate said. "Nobody knows us."

  "Yeah. We can just melt away and leave you to fend for yourself."

  They had been making their way through the brush that grew along the edge of town.

  "Do you think he'll have anybody guarding your friends?" Nate asked Owen.

  "I don't know."

  When they arrived at the jail, they found two deputies inside. "What do we do now?" Nate asked.

  "You've got to get their attention," Owen said. "Give them some tale about following rustlers and wanting their help."

  "Which has the virtue of being true," Broc pointed out.

  "See if you can get them to go with you. If you can't, distract them long enough for me to get in through the back. Whatever you do, don't create a ruckus. If they find out I'm involved, Hetta will be in danger."

  "You really are serious about her."

  "Yes."

  "Wait until Cade hears. He won't believe it."

  "He'll have to when he's invited to the wedding. Now get going."

  If there was a wedding, Owen thought as he watched Broc and Nate make their way to the main street. Hetta hadn't acted the least bit anxious to marry him. Maybe after almost marrying the wrong man, she had cold feet. He'd just have to convince her to change her mind.

  The back door of the jail was locked, but the lock was so old-fashioned it didn't present any problem to a man who had taken apart and repaired locks when he was helping his father build houses. It wasn't really a jail. It was a house where the sheriff lived. Owen could hear his wife moving about upstairs. Two iron cells had been built in one of the rooms to serve as the jail. He would need keys to open them.

  "What are you doing here?" Myrl asked the moment he saw Owen.

  "You've got to get out of town," Ben said. "The sheriff is talking about hanging you."

  "I'm getting you two out so we can find the rustlers and clear our names," Owen said. "Where are the keys?"

  "The sheriff took them off a hook on the wall in the next room."

  When he approached the door to the front room, Owen could hear Broc's sonorous voice--he'd been trained to act on a stage--through the wall. The responses of the other men were faint by comparison.

  "Careful," Ben warned. "The deputy's lost nearly his whole herd. He's determined to make you pay for it."

  Owen eased the door open enough to see that Broc and Nate had the two deputies in conversation, their backs turned to Owen. He could also see the keys hanging on a hook practically behind Herman Meyer, a hothead with a habit of blaming his failures on someone else.

  Owen eased the door open and slipped into the room. He knew he couldn't reach the keys without being discovered, but he wanted to get as close as he could. Broc helped by talking still louder to Meyer. Nate moved in so close, the other man couldn't do anything but gaze back. Owen had nearly reached the keys when some instinct warned Meyer to turn around.

  "What the--" Meyer had his gun halfway out of the holster when Broc brought the butt of his own gun down on the back of Meyer's head. The man crumpled into a heap on the floor.

  "The sheriff will come after you," the other man said, no fear showing in his eyes.

  "I'm just collecting my friends so we can find the real rustlers," Owen said. "When we do, we'll bring them and the cows back." He took the keys off the hook.

  "The sheriff says diViere has proof you and Hetta are the rustlers," the man said.

  "He has forgeries," Owen said. "Now, I hate to do this, but I have to lock you and Herman up so you can't sound the alarm before we get out of town."

  "Do you know who's been doing the rustling?" the man asked.

  "Some of it. Maybe most."

  "And you'll bring him in?"

  "Yes."

  The man walked willingly into the cage after Owen had released Ben and Myrl. "I'll make sure Herman keeps quiet," he said.

  "What makes you believe me?" Owen asked.

  "No rustler would do what you did for Ben and Myrl."

  It was nice to know that some people believed in him despite Laveau's evidence. "I wish more people felt like that."

  "You'd be surprised how many don't think you're the rustler. The sheriff didn't have any choice, not after diViere showed him those signed papers."

  "Let's get going," Broc said. "You can chat with your neighbors later."

  "Get your horses and meet me at the ranch," Owen said to Ben and Myrl.

  "Where are you going?" Ben asked.

  "To get Hetta."

  "What do you want us to do?" Nate asked Owen as Ben and Myrl hurried out the back.

  "Mix with the crowd at the bank. Find out what's happening."

  "Where will you be?"

  "Right here. Remember, no matter what happens, you're not to let anybody lay a hand on Hetta."

  He wished he were the one to make sure Hetta was safe, but he knew he was the one person who would endanger her. He had to trust in Hetta's ingenuity and his friends' loyalty, but he swore he'd never let anything like this happen to her again.

  "I don't care how many pieces of paper you have," Hetta said to the sheriff. "I didn't sign any of them."

  "Then why would Mr. diViere say you had?"

  "Because he's the rustler."

  "Mr. diViere is a valued customer who has a substantial account with my bank," Fred Moody said.

  "You've known me all my life," Hetta said. "Has any one of you ever known me to tell a lie?"

  More than one person squirmed under her gaze.

  "No," a man in the crowd said. "Nobody here has ever heard you lie."

  "Maybe we haven't asked the right questions," a woman said.

  "What questions would you like to ask, Alva?" Hetta said, turning to face the woman who'd heckled her on the way to the bank.

  "Where'd you get the money to build that big house?"

  "I borrowed it."

  "Where? Fred didn't lend it to you."

  "I borrowed it from O
wen Wheeler."

  "And just how do you propose to pay him back?"

  The implication was obvious, but Hetta refused to blush. "By selling every steer I own in the spring."

  "You could sell your whole herd and you wouldn't get enough money to pay for that house."

  "Owen's cousin is taking my steers to St. Louis this spring. He says I can get at least thirty dollars a head."

  A babble of voices erupted, all wanting to know if she really could get thirty dollars for one steer, when Owen's cousin meant to leave, and would he take some of their steers.

  "I don't believe a word," Alva said. "You're just trying to get folks so excited they'll forget about your rustling."

  "What I am trying to do is get folks to believe I had nothing to do with the rustling. I mean to prove it by going after the rustlers myself. I know some of you think I ought to be arrested right now--"

  "You got that right," Alva said.

  "--but that won't help stop it."

  "It will if you're doing the rustling," Alva said.

  "What are you proposing?" someone asked Hetta.

  "You give me and my men a week to bring the rustlers in."

  "I can't let you go," the sheriff said.

  "Suppose I leave the deed to my ranch as collateral? Everybody knows I own the best graze and the only permanent water source in the county."

  "You could be out of Texas by then," Alva said.

  "If I don't come back, you can sell the ranch to the highest bidder and distribute the proceeds to everyone who's lost cows."

  "I say we let her do it," someone yelled.

  "I could use the cash," someone else said. The chorus of agreement grew.

  "I just hope Owen was able to get Ben and Myrl out of jail," Hetta whispered to Ida. The words were hardly out of her mouth when she recognized Broc squeezing his way into the room. A wink told her all she needed to know.

  "If you don't find the rustled cows, I'll buy your ranch and give it back to you," Ida said. "You've given me far more than a ranch."

  William looked uncomfortable.

  "I never had him," Hetta said. "Now get your uncle to talk the sheriff into letting me go. We've got some rustlers to catch."

  And after that, she had to decide what to do about Owen's offer of marriage.

  * * *

  "I can't believe you put your ranch up as security," Owen said for the hundredth time.

  "It was the only way to make everybody believe I was serious," Hetta replied.

  "You realize Laveau could already have taken the herd Nate and Broc were tracking to Mexico."

  "You'd better hope not. Or you'll never get back the money you loaned me."

  "I don't care about the money."

  "I do. Now stop arguing and try to figure out where those cows could be."

  The six of them had been over every corner of the county without finding a trace of the herd. Laveau wouldn't have had time to take the cows out in small groups. They were still in the area. The question was where.

  "Okay," Owen said to the men gathered around the campfire on the fifth night of their search, "they have to be here. Think. We can't allow Laveau to outsmart us."

  Owen was feeling desperate. He would be responsible if Hetta lost her ranch. If he hadn't been so intent on proving that Hetta couldn't resist him, he could have driven Laveau so far away he would never have come back to bother Hetta. But as usual, his ego had gotten in the way. Every time he thought he'd finally proved he was different from his mother, he did something to prove he would never escape his heritage.

  If he really loved Hetta, the best thing he could do would be to leave and let her find someone who could be the kind of husband she wanted. God knows he had tried to be different. But every time he made a little headway, something came along to push him right back where he started.

  But he wasn't about to give up Hetta. He had never believed he would be loved. Now the possibility was within reach, and he didn't mean to let it go.

  But if Hetta lost her ranch, she'd never marry him. She was more likely to get a few cows and homestead part of the creek where it ran through her land. The ranch was so big, a new owner would never notice, or try to drive her out if he did.

  He sat up as if he'd been stuck with a pin. He was a fool! Why hadn't he thought of that before?

  "I know where they are," he announced.

  "Where?" Hetta asked.

  "The only place within fifty miles we haven't searched."

  "But we have searched everywhere," Ben said.

  "We forgot Hetta's ranch."

  "But ..." Myrl started to speak, then stopped.

  "Laveau didn't bring the herd in," Owen said. "Somebody else did it, and where did they always take the cows?"

  "My ranch," Hetta said.

  "Laveau always planned to use your land. He intended to use those forged papers to keep you quiet if you tried to refuse. And if by chance someone did discover the herd, it would be proof you were a rustler. He had you in a tighter corner than you knew."

  "I say we go after them first thing in the morning," Ben said.

  "We go tonight," Owen said.

  "We outnumber them," Hetta said.

  "We don't know how many are on guard," Owen said.

  He had found the rustled cattle in a basin where the water course fanned out and provided enough grass to support a herd of around two hundred for up to a month. Two men lay asleep in their bedrolls near the embers of a nearly dead campfire, but Owen was certain there was at least one more man out there somewhere.

  "Do you recognize either of them?" Owen asked Ben and Myrl.

  Both shook their heads.

  "Then there has to be at least one other man," Owen said, "someone who can go into town for supplies without arousing suspicion."

  "Who would that be?" Broc asked.

  "Newt Howren."

  "He won't be alone," Myrl warned.

  Broc took out his binoculars and slowly surveyed the area. "I don't see anybody," he said. "Not even horses."

  "He's here," Owen repeated.

  "Then he's got some sort of hideout," Broc said.

  "How are we going to flush them out when we can't see them?" Nate asked.

  "We could stampede the herd," Broc suggested.

  "But that would wake up the two who're sleeping," Owen said.

  "Then we have to draw them out of their hiding place," Hetta said.

  "Got any ideas?" Nate asked.

  "Yes, and I think it'll work."

  Even before Hetta started to explain her plan, Owen knew he wouldn't like it. "Don't put yourself in danger again," he warned.

  "I'm the only one who's not in danger," Hetta assured him. "Newt won't know I suspect anything. He'll just think I'm assuming he's taken over from Tom Manly."

  "He'll want to know what you're doing out here in the middle of the night."

  "I'll tell him Mr. diViere sent me with a message."

  "What message?"

  "Not to do anything until he hears from him. That people in town will be suspicious of any herd they see moving south."

  "Sounds like excellent strategy," Broc said.

  "I agree," Nate added.

  "I won't let you do it," Owen said.

  Hetta's reaction was all the more unnerving because it was slow and deliberate. "Since this is my ranch and my reputation that's at stake, I have the right to decide what to do and who does it."

  "We agreed I would be in charge of this search," Owen said.

  "That was when we were wandering all over the county. We're on my land now."

  "Somebody has to handle the two men at the campfire," Owen said, conceding defeat. "Myrl, you and Ben do that."

  "Be careful," Owen said to Hetta. "I didn't go through everything to lose you now."

  "What did he go through?" Nate asked.

  "Not nearly enough," Hetta said. She removed her hat and let her hair fall down over her shoulders.

  "What are you doing?" Owen said. />
  "Making sure they know I'm a woman," Hetta said. "And I'm going to sing. I can't carry a tune, but they'll know I'm coming."

  "I still don't want you to do this," Owen said.

  "You'd better get used to it," Broc said. "I suspect this is just the first of a lot of things she's going to do you won't like."

  "It's not the first," Owen snapped.

  Broc laughed softly. "I thought I'd never live to see this day. If only Cade was here."

  "I'm riding out," Hetta said.

  It was all Owen could do to keep from reaching out and pulling her back. If Newt or his pals so much as laid a finger on her, he'd hunt them down and feed their carcasses to the coyotes.

  "You sure you want to marry her?" Broc asked, a laugh in his voice. "She seems a trifle strong-minded to me."

  "She's hardheaded as a mule," Owen said, "and I'm going to marry her if it's the last thing I do."

  "That woman will eat you alive," Nate said, his face wreathed in smiles.

  "I can see it now," Broc said. "Hetta'll be sitting on the porch after dinner smoking a thin cigar while Owen cleans up in the kitchen. What kind of apron do you want me to give you for Christmas?"

  Owen punched Broc so hard he fell over, still laughing.

  "Make sure the kids are tucked in," Nate said in a high falsetto. "It's chilly tonight." He dodged Owen's fist. "I think I'd like pork chops for dinner tomorrow."

  Owen tackled Nate and they went down on the ground. But Nate was laughing so hard he couldn't fight back. Owen let him go in disgust. "My turn will come," he said. "And by God, I'm not going to miss it."

  "Of course you can't go to the saloon," Broc said, imitating Nate's falsetto. "You have to stay with the children. You know I have a stockholders meeting."

  Owen aimed a kick at Broc's behind, but the sound of Hetta's unsteady and very out-of-tune singing robbed it of any force. He grabbed Broc's glasses. Hetta was walking her horse toward the herd, singing softly. Five minutes passed and no one appeared. She was so far away, Owen knew they wouldn't be of any help if there was trouble. He handed the binoculars to Broc and headed for his horse.

  "I can't leave her out there by herself. I'm going to follow through the brush."

  Hetta hoped she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. Though she didn't think her singing could be any worse if she'd been shaking with fear. She was surprised the cattle didn't stampede, but they only turned their heads as she passed, apparently as tone deaf as she was.