by Kaki Warner
“I know you,” he finally said. “You’re Lottie.”
Warmth spread through her. “And you’re Ty. I heard the gray-haired ranger call you that.” She smiled.
He didn’t. But continued to lean against the bar, his dark brows drawn into a disapproving line above his blue eyes. “You work here?”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re a whore?”
Her jaw dropped. Henry stopped drying. It was a moment before anger gave her the strength to speak. “Of course not! Why would you say such a thing?”
“I saw the man pay you.”
“That means I’m a whore?”
He gestured to the room with a hand the size of a dinner plate. “This is a brothel, isn’t it? Why else would you be here if you weren’t a whore?”
“Because she’s my bookkeeper, you peckerhead!” Juno plunked the whiskey box on the counter with enough force to send several receipts flying. “And you’re done here. Get out!”
The ranger slowly straightened. His frown gave way to bafflement. “She’s a bookkeeper?”
Why was that so hard for men to grasp?
“Does she look like a whore?”
Those sharp blue eyes swept her from head to toe. “Not in that getup.”
Lottie looked down at her brown dress, one of Mrs. Brackett’s made-over castoffs. Granted, it was a bit faded and woefully out of style, but it was clean and serviceable and she was grateful to have it. Who wanted to look like a whore, anyway?
“My apologies, ma’am.”
Too little, too late. With a huff, Lottie snatched the box of receipts from the counter. She reminded Juno to put up a notice about the IOUs, then with a last glare at the ranger, whirled and marched out the door, desperate to escape before the burning in her eyes turned into tears.
To think she had once admired that man—had even harbored tender feelings toward him. Whore, indeed. She was sorry she had ever tried to help him.
“Been looking for you,” Becky called later that afternoon when Lottie stepped out of Fashions by Fanny. “Whoa. Is that a new dress you’re wearing?”
“It is.” Lottie smoothed a hand over the green dimity. The fabric was more of a summer color and weight and wouldn’t be much use in winter, but she thought the green suited her eyes. Plus, it had been on sale. “You like it?”
“I do.” Grinning, Becky stood back to make a thorough check. “I wonder if your ranger will like it, too.” Seeing Lottie’s flush, she laughed. “I was going to the store to tell you he was in town. But I’m guessing you already know.”
“I talked to him earlier. And found him to be the rudest man alive. I hope I never set eyes on him again.”
“Then we’d best get moving.” Grabbing her arm, Becky yanked her toward the gap that ran between the dress shop and the dry goods store. “He’s headed this way.”
“He is?” Glancing over her shoulder, Lottie saw the ranger walking toward them with determined strides. Suddenly, she was the one dragging Becky along. “Hurry,” she whispered. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Why not?”
“He called me a whore.”
“No!”
“He did. And just because he saw me in the Spotted Dog talking to Juno. Juno was furious.”
“Ma’am?” a deep voice called from behind them.
Lottie lengthened her stride.
Becky struggled to keep up.
“Miss Lottie?”
“Hadn’t you ought to hear what he has to say?” Becky whispered.
“Why?”
“Because it would be cowardly not to.”
“Drat.” She released Becky’s arm and stopped. “Go on, I’ll talk to you later.” Crossing her arms, Lottie turned to confront the man who had been following them. “What do you want?”
“To apologize.”
Why did he look so irritated? She was the one who’d been insulted. “You already did.” She started to turn.
His voice brought her back. “And, to thank you.”
“For what?”
This was the first time they had faced each other while standing and she hadn’t realized how big he was. She was almost five-and-a-half feet tall, herself, and it wasn’t often her eyes were level with a man’s shoulders.
“For trying to help me after I was shot.”
“Anyone would have done the same.”
“But anyone didn’t. Only you.”
He had a nice voice. Deep and mellow, with a slow drawl that marked him a Texan, but not enough twang to make him sound straight off the farm.
He shifted his weight, stared down at his dusty, surprisingly large boots. “And I, uh, wanted to say I made a foolish mistake earlier and I’m sorry for it.”
The pretty phrases had a rehearsed ring to them, but Lottie nodded anyway, just to put the ordeal behind her. “Fine.” Again, she started to turn.
This time he stopped her with a hand near her shoulder. A hand that completely encompassed her upper arm. “Could I buy you dinner to make up for it?” Not a very gracious invitation, since he was frowning when he issued it.
She gave his hand a pointed look.
He released her arm.
“No.”
If possible, his frown deepened. “You won’t have dinner with me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Did he truly think she would enjoy a meal spent with a man who didn’t smile, barely looked at her, and acted as if every word he spoke was dragged out of him by force? “It’s not necessary.”
Ignoring her refusal, he pressed on. This time, there was a hint of desperation in his tone. “I hear the restaurant at the hotel sets a fair table.”
“Passable. But as I said, it’s not necessary.”
He let out a deep breath and scratched the whiskers on his square jaw. “Well, that’s the thing. It is necessary if I want to go into the Spotted Dog again.”
And suddenly it made sense—his irritation, the forced words, his inability to even look at her. “Juno’s making you do this, isn’t he?”
“Well . . . he does own the only saloon in town.”
“And brothel.”
At least he had the grace to blush.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him with her reticule. And maybe hit Juno, too. The absurdity of the situation put the Devil in her mind. If the ranger was being browbeaten into taking her to dinner then, by God, she’d make sure he had a miserable time of it. He didn’t like talking to her? Well then she’d make him talk by asking him every question she could think of. Then she’d go after Juno.
“Fine. The hotel it is.” Smiling through clenched teeth, she tucked her hand at his elbow. “Shall we?”
He wasn’t a talker, was even worse as a smiler, and wasn’t anything like the handsome hero her imagination had painted him to be. But his arm felt solid and warm beneath her hand, and his sturdy form made her feel almost dainty.
She was glad she’d bought a new dress.
As he towed the woman called Lottie down the boardwalk, Ranger Ty Benton tried to figure out what had just happened. He’d thought he was off the hook then suddenly she’d changed her mind. Now he was stuck trying to talk to a woman he hardly knew, when all he wanted was to knock back a few drinks, look over the whores, then get some sleep.
He wasn’t much of a womanizer. Mostly, he did his job and stayed to himself. Not that he didn’t like women. He liked them fine. But he steered clear of women like the one beside him because they didn’t fit into the ranger lifestyle. The Frontier Battalion didn’t allow married men or those with children. There were already too many widows and fatherless children running around Texas since the war, and being a ranger assigned to patrol the Nueces Strip carried a high death rate.
What in the hell was he going to tal
k to her about?
“What are you doing in Greenbroke?” she asked, jarring him back to attention.
“I was on my way to pick up a prisoner but got word he died in an escape attempt, so I got off the train here.”
“What had he done?”
“Robbed a bank.”
She studied him for a moment, her head tipped slightly to one side. It made him nervous. What did she see when she looked at him that way?
“Do you like being a ranger?” she finally asked.
“Most of the time.”
“But not always.”
“Not always.” Luckily, his clipped tone discouraged further questions and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the Greenbroke Hotel. But after they’d taken seats by a big window and the pregnant waitress had taken their orders, Miss Lottie resumed her interrogation.
“What would you do if you weren’t a ranger?”
“Try ranching.”
“That’s a costly undertaking. Land is expensive.”
He’d forgotten she was a bookkeeper. “My uncle left me a few acres up near the panhandle.”
“How many acres?”
“Eight thousand, or so. You sure ask a lot of questions.”
She smiled. It was less disturbing than the smile she’d given him earlier, but still made him uneasy. “Do my questions bother you?”
He shrugged, unwilling to admit they did. Her curiosity put him off. Plus, he hadn’t used so many words in weeks, especially to a woman—paid or not.
“I know your first name is Ty. What’s your last?”
Those pretty hazel eyes bored into him with unnerving focus. She would have made a fine interrogator. “Benton.”
“Is Ty short for Tyson? Tyler?” That smile again. “Or maybe you were named after the corrupt Roman emperor, Tiberius?”
That surprised him. Not many people knew about Roman emperors. She was smart, no doubt about it. He would have admired her for it if she hadn’t been so nosy. “Tyree. It’s the name of the island in Scotland where my mother was born.”
“She must have been homesick.”
“I suppose.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“One brother. He died in the war.”
“Parents?”
“They’re dead, too. Does it seem hot in here to you?”
Luckily their food came and the grilling stopped for a while. By the time they pushed their plates aside, he’d come up with a question of his own. “Why did you decide to become a bookkeeper?”
“I like working with numbers. How do you think Hayes is doing?”
“Who?”
“Our president.”
He was starting to sweat. “Doing about what?”
She laughed in genuine amusement, although Ty had no idea what was so funny. Dropping her napkin beside her plate, she picked up her drawstring bag and held it in her lap. “I see my questions have made you uncomfortable, Ranger Benton. I’m glad for it. Perhaps you’ll remember this wretched evening the next time you give a woman false apologies and ask her to dinner when you obviously don’t want her to accept.”
He blinked in astonishment. She’d played him, and so thoroughly he wondered if there were puppet strings coming out of his back. “You thought it was wretched?”
“You didn’t?”
She had him there. “My apology was sincere. Both of them.”
Rising, she smiled down at him. A real smile that brought a sparkle to eyes that nearly matched her dress, and a flush to her pretty face.
Remembering his manners, he stood, too.
“Then I appreciate the apologies, Ranger Benton. Both of them. And the meal . . . if not the company. I’ll be sure to tell Juno you did your duty. No need to walk me back. Good evening and safe travels.”
He watched her walk away, so bemused he didn’t realize he stood there grinning like a fool until the waitress gave him an odd look.
Chapter 5
The following morning, Lottie was transferring pumpkins from bushel baskets into a bin outside the market’s front door when she saw Ranger Benton coming down the boardwalk.
He walked with determined strides, coming down hard on his heels, hips rolling, wide shoulders swaying with every step. Almost a swagger. A horseman’s gait. When he spotted her, he quickened his pace.
She finished emptying one basket and started on another, wondering why he was still in town, and why breathing was suddenly so difficult.
“We’re starting over,” he announced, coming to a stop beside her.
Lottie set another pumpkin on the pile then straightened.
He loomed over her, a tall dark form backlit by the morning sun, close enough that she could smell coffee, horses, a faint trace of sweat.
“Starting what over?”
“This. Us. And this time no one’s making me ask you.”
“Ask me what?”
“To dinner.”
Was this a joke? Pushing a loose wave from her eyes, she squinted up at him. He didn’t appear to be jesting, although how could she tell since the man never smiled? “You’re asking me to dinner. Again.”
“I am.”
“With no threats from Juno.”
“All on my own.”
“Why?”
He spread those big hands in a palms-up gesture. “To get it right. I might have handled it poorly last time.”
“Might have?” Hiding a smile, she added the last two pumpkins to the bin, then dusted her hands. “You’ll probably leave on the train tomorrow, Ranger Benton, so why go to the bother?”
He almost smiled. She could tell by the crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the slight twitch of his lips. “So you’ll have fond memories of me?”
She snorted. “Don’t put yourself out on my behalf.” Picking up the empty bushel baskets, she went back inside.
“I’m not trying to court you, Miss Lottie,” he called after her through the open door. “Just ask you to dinner.”
At the front counter, Mrs. Brackett and Mrs. Jarvis stopped chatting to stare at the ranger. Then at Lottie. Then grin.
Oh, Lord. Now the gossip will start. Defeated, yet oddly not that upset about it, Lottie gave the man in the doorway a backhand wave. “Fetch me at seven, then. And wear a smile if you have one.”
As soon as he left, she asked Mrs. Brackett to excuse her for a minute then rushed over to Fanny’s to look for a new dress. She wasn’t sure why—after their dinner tonight, she would probably never see Ty Benton again. But for some reason she wanted to look her best when they parted. Maybe to send him off with fond memories of her.
She knew nothing about attracting men. In fact, most of them steered clear as soon as they learned she could read and write and work numbers. So why would Ranger Benton show interest? And why was she so pleased that he had?
Because she was loco, that’s why.
She wished Becky was awake so she could ask her advice. The pretty blonde could twist men around her finger with little more than a smile and a jiggle of those bouncy breasts. But Becky rarely rose before noon after a late night dealing at the Spotted Dog.
Lottie would have to charm the ranger all by herself—which must not be too hard, if he had already come back for an encore. Wondering if she’d have anything left to invest after this day was over, Lottie pushed open the door of Fashions by Fanny.
An hour later she left, her new and very expensive dress wrapped and tucked beneath her arm. It was the prettiest thing Lottie had ever owned—a deep gold poplin with tiny embroidered flowers on the ruffled ivory collar, cuffs, and underskirt that showed below the hem. Miss Fanny said the color brought out the highlights in her hair and gave an amber cast to her hazel eyes. Lottie wished she had new slippers, too, instead of her worn walking shoes, but the store had nothing suita
ble in her size. Hopefully the ranger would be too dazzled by her dress to check her feet . . . and well he should, since it had cost her almost a month’s wages.
After hanging it on a peg in the storeroom, she spent the rest of the morning avoiding Mrs. Brackett’s questions by tallying receipts and checking invoices in the back room.
And fretting.
It still puzzled her that the ranger had invited her to dinner a second time—he certainly hadn’t seemed to enjoy their first outing. He must have realized she’d asked all those questions just to needle him. Was tonight his chance for payback?
If so, she’d be ready. She liked a challenge.
He arrived at precisely seven o’clock. Through the thin walls of the storeroom, Lottie heard his deep voice greeting the Bracketts, and suddenly all her doubts rose to the surface.
What if she was overdressed? Or her upswept hairdo was too fancy—he’d only ever seen it coiled up in a braid. What if he thought she’d spent all this time and money fixing up just to impress him? Or even worse, what if he wasn’t impressed?
She felt like vomiting.
Instead, she ran a trembling hand over her hair one last time, pinched her cheeks for color, and fluffed her skirts. Then, pressing a hand against her stomach to calm the butterflies, she stepped into the store, hoping her smile didn’t look as shaky as it felt.
Ty wasn’t sure what he expected . . . certainly not the vision moving toward him. Miss Lottie had surprised him again. Last night she had looked real pretty in that green dress. But tonight, she was beautiful. Maybe because this time her smile carried more shyness than anger. Or because the light from the overhead lantern shimmered off her hair, giving it an almost golden glow. Or because she had bought a new dress just for him. He knew it was new because the price tag was still pinned beneath one arm. He wasn’t sure what had changed between yesterday and today or why she had softened toward him. But it pleased him.
She pleased him.
“Evening, Miss Lottie,” he said with a tug on the brim of his Stetson. “You’re looking right pretty tonight.”
