by Kaki Warner
“Thank you.” She looked him over and smiled her approval. “You clean up nicely yourself.”
He was glad she’d noticed. He would have been disappointed if his bath, fresh shave, and clean clothes had gone unnoticed.
This morning, when he’d asked her to dinner a second time, he had only intended to show her that he could behave better than he had the previous night. She’d set him down soundly. Not that he didn’t deserve it—probably—but he wanted to leave her with a better impression of him.
And leave her he would. He already had a ticket in his pocket for tomorrow’s train to Austin. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have an enjoyable dinner tonight, did it?
Before he could escort her to the door, Mrs. Brackett pushed forward, a worried look on her round face. “Could I speak to you for a moment, Lottie?”
“Now?”
“It won’t take long.” With a quick smile in Ty’s direction, as if to assure him their chat wouldn’t be about him, Mrs. Brackett pulled Lottie behind a tall cabinet displaying guns and knives.
After a rapid, whispered exchange, which he and Mr. Brackett tried to ignore, the ladies reappeared . . . Lottie showing high color, but minus the price tag.
“I hope you don’t mind eating at the hotel again,” Ty said, trying to put her at ease.
“Not at all.”
“Good.” He offered his elbow.
Leaving the Bracketts grinning after them like possums eating persimmons, they finally escaped to the boardwalk.
“What am I to call you? Ranger Benton? Mr. Benton?”
“Ty.”
“All right, Ty Benton.”
It occurred to him he didn’t know her last name. But it was probably a bit late to admit that, so he stuck with Miss Lottie. It suited her.
“The Bracketts seem a nice couple,” he ventured as they headed toward the hotel.
“They are.”
“Work for them long?”
“Over three years.”
“You must have started pretty young.”
“Fourteen. But a very capable fourteen.”
Ty didn’t doubt it. She was disturbingly capable now. “It’s a nice night.”
“Yes, it is.”
“A little nippy, though. Winter’s definitely on the way.”
“You’re right about that.”
Having exhausted his range of meaningless conversation, Ty gave up. She didn’t speak, either. It wasn’t a comfortable, companionable silence, but rather the stiff reserve of two people who had last parted on a sour note, and now didn’t know what to say to each other to get past it. Ty was starting to regret his impulse to ask her to dinner, and almost wished she’d start with her questions again, just to give them something to argue about.
She must have felt the same way. When she finally spoke, it was with the tone of someone trying to start something. “I thought I asked you to wear a smile.”
“You did.”
“So why aren’t you?”
“Say something amusing and I will.”
He hadn’t meant it to be funny, and was surprised when she laughed out loud. But it broke the stilted mood, for which Ty was grateful. He let out a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to relax. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “What’s your last name?”
“Weyland. Why do you sometimes not like being a ranger?”
He gave her a look. “You’re not fixing to pester me with questions again, are you?”
“You could ask me questions,” she suggested.
“I already did.”
“My last name? That’s all you’re curious about?”
“I also asked if you’d worked for the Bracketts long.”
She didn’t respond.
Fearing another prolonged silence, he posed another question. “Did you grow up in Greenbroke?” Although he’d come through Greenbroke occasionally on his runs between Austin and northeast Texas, he didn’t remember ever seeing her. But then, whenever he was in town, he rarely strayed far from the Greenbroke Hotel and the sheriff’s office. And the saloon.
“Only since summer of ’85.”
“Your family still live here?”
“No. They never have.”
“Ever?” He looked down at her in surprise, but she didn’t meet his gaze. “You came here alone? At fourteen?”
“You needn’t make it sound like they booted me out. They died. And I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
Ty wished he’d thought of saying that when she’d questioned him. But respecting her wishes, he moved on to another topic. “Why did you pick this town?”
“My grandfather had mentioned it a couple of times. He’d been through here years before and thought if ranching didn’t work out, he’d come back here to teach. I came, instead.”
“He was a rancher?”
She nodded with a wry smile. “Not a very good one. When he died, we were down to one horse and less than a dozen cows.”
“How’d that happen?”
She shrugged. “The usual. Indians, rustlers, poor graze, and bitter water.”
Ty knew how that went. He’d lost the family ranch to similar causes.
“Grandpa had been a teacher back east, but he’d always been fascinated with the West. When it looked like war was coming, he and my grandma moved to Texas. She died soon after. My mother and I moved here after my father went to fight the Yankees.”
“Is your grandfather the one who taught you about Roman emperors and how to bookkeep?”
“Mostly. Mr. Brackett taught me some, too. What made you decide to be a ranger?”
“I didn’t have anybody around to teach me to bookkeep. Here we are.” Grateful to have the burden of conversation lifted from his shoulders, Ty held open the door into the restaurant of the Greenbroke Hotel.
After they’d settled at the same table where they’d dined the previous night and given their orders to Mrs. Peterson, Lottie was over most of her nervousness.
But not her curiosity.
Ranger Benton was making a concerted effort to be more sociable tonight, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. At first, when he started asking so many questions, she’d thought he was paying her back for her interrogation of him. But every now and then, she caught a flash of genuine interest. Which only confused her more. “You’re being very talkative tonight.”
“I’m trying.”
“That big an effort, is it?”
Again, he almost smiled. “Not as big as I thought it would be.”
“I’m gratified to hear it.” The man had a wickedly dry sense of humor. She liked that. And the intelligence behind it. “May I ask you a question?”
He raised one dark brow. “Could I stop you?”
“I’m curious about something you said last night.”
He sat back, hands resting on his thighs, a wary look in his striking blue eyes. “What did I say?”
“You said you didn’t always like being a ranger. I’ve been wondering why.”
Instead of speaking, he looked out the window beside their table. She thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then his gaze swung back to hers, and she saw a wealth of sadness in his eyes. “I don’t always like command decisions.”
“But you obey them, anyway.”
“So far.”
She waited for him to elaborate.
It was a long time before he did. “You probably heard about that business with Sam Bass in Round Rock last July.”
Lottie nodded. “Rangers shot him after he’d gunned down that Williamson County lawman.”
“Deputy Grimes. A good man.” As he spoke, Ty idly toyed with the knife beside his plate, rolling it back and forth across the folded napkin. “What you probably didn’t hear was how we made one of Bass’s own me
n turn against him. Ever heard of Jim Murphy?”
“Was he a ranger?”
“One of Bass’s men. We’d been tracking Bass and his gang for a while. When we learned Murphy’s father lived in the area, we brought him in for questioning. He wasn’t well.” Ty quit fiddling with his knife and frowned out the window as if watching unpleasant memories unfold in his mind. “John Jones was commander of the Frontier Battalion back then. A hard leader with a stone for a heart. He decided not to let the sick man see a doctor until he answered his questions. But Murphy’s father tried to protect his son by keeping his silence. So he got worse and worse. When Jones realized he couldn’t break the old man, he decided to use his illness to break the son.”
Lottie swallowed back her distaste. “How?”
“He sent word out that rangers had Jim Murphy’s sick father and wouldn’t allow him medical help unless Jim turned himself in.”
No wonder Ty was upset. Lottie had heard whispers about questionable practices involving Leander McNelly, leader of the Frontier Battalion, and the brutal executions carried out in the lawless country along the Nueces River. But she’d hoped the rumors weren’t true. That Ranger Benton might have been involved saddened her. “What did Murphy do?”
Ty’s troubled expression became one of disgust. “What could he do? He didn’t want his father to die, so he came in and told Jones what he wanted to know. That’s how we found out Bass planned to rob the Williamson County Bank.”
“Did the father go to the doctor then?”
He shrugged. “We didn’t stay to find out. As soon as Jones got what he wanted, we left to set up an ambush. Deputy Grimes blundered into the middle of it and got himself killed. Then everybody started firing at once. Bass tried to make a run for it and caught a couple of bullets. We tracked him to a pasture west of town, but he died the next day. It was his twenty-seventh birthday.” Ty let go a deep breath and shook his head. “Not our finest mission. But at least we put a killer in the ground, even if the way we went about it wasn’t altogether aboveboard.”
Lottie could see the episode had left a bitter taste in Ty’s mouth, which spoke well of his honorable character. She knew what it was like to make hard choices. She’d faced the same with Grandpa. And even if setting that fire three years ago had been the right thing to do—and her only option—guilt still left a hole in her heart. She understood what Ty was going through.
Their food arrived, and she was glad to put the conversation behind them. Ty looked relieved, too. They ate without speaking. But it wasn’t as awkward as previous silences between them had been and as the food on their plates disappeared, the somberness of the mood eased.
“That was delicious.” Lottie leaned back with a sigh. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a meal—or the company—more.”
“Me, too.”
She looked up to find him studying her, the muscles in his cheeks bunching as he chewed. She saw the smile in his remarkable eyes, and was glad they would be parting on friendlier terms. But sad, too.
She liked Ranger Tyree Benton. She liked that he regretted his earlier treatment of her and wanted to do better this time. Liked that he was troubled by his commander’s treatment of a sick man and his son. And she especially liked that he had remembered the girl who had tried to help him on that hot summer day months ago. She would miss him.
When they left the hotel a while later, a full hunter’s moon hung in the night sky, haloed by lacy clouds that reflected back its pale glow. It had a lonesome feel to it, reminding Lottie that her time with Ty was almost over.
“Where do you live?” he asked when they neared Brackett’s Market.
“In the storeroom.”
“Here? At the market?” He seemed troubled by that.
“For now. I’ll probably move soon.”
They went around to the back stoop then stood in awkward silence for a moment. She studied him in the moonlight, wanting to remember every arc and plane of his chiseled face. A sense of loss stole over her. “One thing before you go,” she said on impulse. “Will you smile for me?”
He studied her for a moment. Then in a voice so soft she scarcely heard it, he murmured, “I’ll do you one better,” and bending, pressed his lips to hers. Once. Then again. And again. “I’ll never forget you, Lottie Weyland.” And before she could think of anything to say, he faded into the darkness.
Chapter 6
Lottie slept little that night and was up and dressed long before the morning train was due. Not that she intended to go to the depot to see Ty off. What would be the point? He might come through Greenbroke again someday. Or he might not. Either way, their lives pointed in different directions so it would be foolish to fan the spark that had flared between them last night when he’d kissed her.
Her first kiss. Short and sweet. Not the dizzying reaction she had expected, but something much more tender. A good-bye kiss. Whatever had happened between them was over. Best she accept that.
And she was able to . . . until she heard the train whistle announce the arrival of the southbound. She tried to ignore it and stay busy straightening store shelves. But the refrain he’s leaving he’s leaving kept circling her mind.
The train was already pulling away when she reached the depot. She feared she’d missed him, but as the last car rolled past, she saw a man wearing a dark hat and duster leaning against the railing on the rear platform. When he caught sight of her, he slowly straightened and lifted a hand.
Rising on tiptoes, grinning even as tears filled her eyes, she waved back.
And there it was—the smile she had been seeking. And she was totally lost.
An hour later, Becky found her in the back room that served as the store’s office, staring blankly at invoices she had already gone over twice. “I came by earlier, but you weren’t here.” Dragging her crate from a corner, she plopped down. “So, how’d it go?”
“How’d what go?”
“Dinner with your ranger. I would have come by yesterday, but I was painting a rocker for when the baby comes.”
Lottie gave a brittle laugh. “Which dinner?”
“You went twice? Two days in a row? You sly thing!” Leaning forward, Becky rested her crossed arms on her knees. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
Trying to look busy, Lottie shuffled through the invoices. “What’s to tell? We ate, we argued, he apologized, we went to dinner again. That’s the end of it.”
Becky tipped her head down to study Lottie’s face. “Good Lord! You’re crying! You never cry!”
“It’s the dust.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, honey. What did he do to you?”
Giving up all pretense of working, Lottie swiped a hand over her leaking eyes. “He kissed me is what he did.”
Becky made a face. “That bad, was it?”
“It was awful. And wonderful. And now he’s gone back to Austin and I’ll probably never see him again.”
“Oh, dear.”
Lottie struggled to bring her emotions under control. She hated to cry. All she gained from it was a headache and puffy eyes.
“You really care for him, don’t you?”
Lottie picked up the invoices again. “I might have, but now we’ll never know.”
“Would it make you feel any better if I told you that some foreign woman paid cash money for that old dance hall by the tracks?”
Lottie wasn’t sure how that would make her feel better, but she was glad of the distraction. “When did you hear that?”
“Last night. Griffin told Juno who told me she plans to turn it into a fancy dining and gambling palace.”
Now that did perk up Lottie. A place like that could probably use a bookkeeper. “I hope it’s not another brothel.”
“I guess we’ll know soon
enough. They’re starting renovations next week. Folks are already hiring on. I might, too.”
“You’d leave the Spotted Dog?” And Juno?
Becky avoided her gaze. “Nathaniel doesn’t like me working there. Says a good woman shouldn’t be in such a place.”
“But it’s okay for a preacher?”
“He’s only watching out for me.”
“And gambling away the collection plate.”
“Don’t you start, too. I get enough nagging from Juno.” Rising, Becky moved restlessly around the small room, finally stopping at the tiny window on the back wall. She wiped at a smear then looked at her hand in disgust. “You ought to clean this place. I can hardly see out the window for all the fly specks and grime.”
“Then don’t look. Juno nags you about the preacher?”
“All the time.” With a sigh, Becky plopped down on the crate again. “If he’s not carping about Nathaniel, he’s on me about keeping Sally’s baby, or accusing me of flirting with the cowboys. There’s no pleasing that man.”
“Maybe he’s jealous.”
“Jealous?” Becky laughed at the notion. “He’s old enough to be my father.”
At first, Lottie had thought so, too. But after spending time with him she’d come to believe the hard shell he presented might be due to past disappointments rather than age. “I doubt he’s much over thirty.”
Becky snorted. “Well, he acts older. Man’s got the disposition of a snapping turtle.”
Lottie recalled the small tintype in the saloon owner’s office. A lost wife and child, perhaps? “Maybe he has reason,” she suggested. “There’s a lot about Juno we don’t know.”
“You’ve got that right. But being jealous over me ain’t one of them.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Lottie tried to get up the gumption to tackle the invoices. Becky stared thoughtfully at the far wall.
“You really think he could be jealous?” she asked after a while.
“Maybe. I know he cares about you.”
Becky grinned. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot.”
