Lone Star Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Old Pickersly’s wagon.” The sheriff shifted from one boot to the other. “It ought to last long enough to get you to a new place. Don’t know what to suggest about an animal to pull it.”

  Chris tamped down a moan. The last thing he needed was to be saddled with a helpless female. Then again, he couldn’t turn his back on her. Mercy could probably use some help. I’m on my way home anyway.

  He locked eyes with the sheriff. “Miss Wren will come with me. I’ll find her a good placement—safe and happy.”

  “Wren, this is Chris Gregor. He’s—“ Chris gave him a slight warning shake of the head, and the sheriff recovered. “Believe me, I know plenty of his friends, and they’re all fine men. Real fine men. The very best. You’ll be safe as can be with him. He’ll make sure you land on your feet somewhere. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “But, Sheriff! I’ve never even met Mr. Gregor and—”

  “Now, Wren, some situations you have to look at as being put into motion by the hand of the Almighty. You can’t very well stay in these parts. Things just aren’t workin’ out. What with Mr. Hepplewhite spreading lurid tales, you’ll not be safe here.”

  Wren flushed deeply but still managed to whisper, “I’m not a woman to follow a stranger out on the open trail.”

  “No one in their right mind would ever figure you and Gregor were … ah, misbehaving.”

  “But they thought Mr. Hepplewhite and I were!”

  The sheriff frowned at her. “Consider the caliber of man you’re dealing with, Wren.”

  “I’m not able to! I’ve never met him before.”

  “He’s good friends with several of my buddies. That’s the best recommendation you’ll ever get.”

  Wren looked at Chris’s face. She stared with great intensity, a fact that surprised him since she’d been so timid until now. Uncertainty painted her unremarkable features.

  Chris no more than decided the woman was being rude when he realized her eyes looked cloudy. She couldn’t focus well enough to scan him for a polite instant. “Miss Wren, I’ll help you get spectacles straight off. It’ll make you feel better, seeing where you’re headed and what’s going on.”

  “There you are, Wren.” The sheriff absently helped himself to a fistful of gumdrops. “Mr. Gregor’s got things well in hand. And now you’ve got that buckboard. It simplifies the move.”

  “She ain’t goin’ till she pays up!”

  “That’s more than fair.” Chris nodded sagely. “And we’ll make sure she gets what you owe her, too.”

  “Me? I don’t owe her one red cent. She owes me rent!”

  “Rent?” The sheriff reared back. “She cooks for you in return for her space here. I was here when you came to that agreement.”

  “I told you thangs change. She ain’t all that good a cook.”

  The sheriff studied a red gumdrop. “Church socials and such—I’ve eaten what she made. Only woman around who can hold a candle to her is my wife. Wren, did you get paid for the weeks you minded the store when pleurisy laid up Mr. Hepplewhite? Or all the times he’s busy and tells you to help customers?”

  She shook her head.

  He popped the gumdrop into his mouth and frowned at a black gumdrop. “What about all the dustin’ and sweepin’ and window washin’ you do? You get paid for that?”

  “No,” she said in a shaky tone. She took a deep breath. “He’s demanded one-third of my commissions, too.”

  Chris kept silent.

  “Well, Wren, that seems fair enough to me. After all, he’s got a stake in the project—it bein’ his fabric and all.” The sheriff flicked aside the black gumdrop and popped a half dozen other gumdrops into his mouth.

  “I have to pay him for everything I use at the outset.”

  While the sheriff choked on the gumdrops, Chris took a menacing step toward Hepplewhite. “It’s plain to see the woman owes you nothing. Sheriff, you’re the law around here. What do you estimate this gentleman owes the lady?”

  “Plenty. Cabin next to Wren’s belonged to Pickersly. He kicked the bucket last week. Buckboard’s a sorry sight, but it’ll make one last trip. Go hitch it up, and I’ll make sure Wren gets what she needs to start a new life. Wren, run along home and pack your belongings.”

  “She needs spectacles first.” Chris scanned the mercantile.

  “Ain’t got none.” Hepplewhite glowered.

  Chris threaded her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’ll escort you home. We’ll get you glasses as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  When he stopped at the door to the place she lived in, Chris felt a spurt of gratitude that she couldn’t see his grimace. The place was no more than a shack. When she opened the door, he fought the urge to slam the door shut and set a match to the place. The only furniture was a single chair by the window. She slept on a pallet on the floor.

  “I won’t take long, Mr. Gregor.”

  There’s an understatement. “I’ll hitch the wagon and load things up.” In the few minutes he used to hitch the wagon, Wren bundled her meager possessions into a blanket. Chris silently placed it in the buckboard and drove up to the front of the mercantile.

  “You’re robbin’ me blind!” Hepplewhite whined at the sheriff as they entered.

  The sheriff slammed down the lid of a trunk. He kicked Hepplewhite’s leg out of his path and sneered, “Servants get room and board and wages for their work. Clerks earn a salary, and renters don’t have to give back anything more than a percentage. To my way of thinking—legal-like, you know—you owe that gal a whole year’s wages for two jobs. Thin as she’s gotten, you ain’t fed her much, neither. Count yourself lucky all I’m doing is taking it out in goods and not takin’ it outta your sorry hide.”

  Chris helped him heft the trunk and load it into the buckboard. “What’s in this?”

  “Kitchen stuff—silverware, coffeepot, skillet, and such. Spices, towels … Oh, I put in some soap and a washboard, too.”

  It would take three days to get home. “She’s going to need a warm blanket or two.”

  “Reckoned as much. We’ll use them around the sewing machine to protect it.”

  The heavy machine would weigh them down. Chris shook his head. “Hepplewhite’s cheated and mistreated her, but sewing machines are costly.”

  “I own the machine.”

  No wonder she doesn’t have much else to her name. “Then we’ll take it.”

  The sheriff motioned to a pair of young men. They came over, and he ordered them to load up the machine. He grinned at Chris. “The thing weighs a ton.”

  Chris watched as Wren tucked shears, a pincushion, and sundry other sewing notions into a small box. She’d need fabric or money to start up shop somewhere. He’d rather it be money. “Sheriff, how much do you estimate Hepplewhite still owes?”

  “I kept tally of what I packed. Including the trunk, the total’s just shy of twelve bucks.”

  “While I was in Chicago, I heard some of the lasses from a factory talking. Until May, they earned almost seven dollars a week. Since Black Friday and the market’s drop, it’s been cut to just under three.” Chris yanked a strip of brown paper from the wrapping roll and started scribbling. “How long have you worked here, Miss Wren?”

  “Since May of last year.”

  Chris worked out the arithmetic. “Twelve months at seven bucks, and three more at three comes to ninety-three dollars.”

  “I been feeding her and giving her space!”

  “Which is why she cooked for you.” Chris stared at Hepplewhite. In a matter of seconds, the man started squirming and blustering. “You took advantage by taking part of her commissions and exacting all sorts of labor. I willna allow her to take what she didna earn, but she’s leaving here fairly compensated. Subtracting the twelve dollars’ worth of goods already out in the wagon, you need to give the lass eighty-one dollars.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money!”

  In the end, Wren had fifty
-three dollars in her reticule and a wagonload of fabric, lace, and every sewing folderol ever invented. She went to the back room and returned with her arms heavily laden.

  Mr. Hepplewhite erupted from his chair and tried to grab the clothing she carried. “Oh no! You can’t take those! I’m selling them!”

  Chris tensed, ready to spring into action, but Wren surprised him. She held tight to the clothes. “You wouldn’t allow me to take deposits at all, and none of these garments was paid for. They’re rightfully mine. I’ll need samples of my work when I begin anew elsewhere.”

  “Git outta here and don’t come in for one more thing!”

  “I’ll be back in just a sneeze. I still have several garments back there.”

  Chris smoothly unburdened her and shoved them into the sheriff’s arms. “I’ll help you go get the other clothes, Miz Wren.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gregor.” She gave him a nervous smile and sidled closer.

  Wren carefully selected a shirt before stepping back to allow the men to tie the clothing beneath one of her quilts in the buckboard.

  Since she was out of earshot, Chris murmured, “The poor thing’s scared of her own shadow!”

  “She’s got a nervous constitution. Sorta shy, too, but she’s helped out here and there when one of the ladies had a young’un or someone took sick.”

  “Why didn’t anyone help her out? It’s plain to see he’s mistreated her.”

  “Hepplewhite’s richer than just ’bout anyone else in the county. Most everyone’s had a bad time, what with the depression and drought. They all owe him big money on their accounts. Wren never complained. I tried to get her to talk a few times, but she’d just go real quiet.”

  “Was he just boasting, or do you think he’s … hurt her?”

  “Not a chance. Get a few beers in Hepplewhite and he lies about everything.”

  The lady tied on a sunbonnet and handed the sheriff a shirt she’d kept aside. “Thank you.”

  “Farewell, Wren.”

  Chris wrapped his hands about her waist and lifted her onto the seat. He climbed aboard and flicked the reins. As soon as they’d drawn away from the town, Wren broke their silence. “I’ll be happy to purchase a horse if you give me some advice. Soon as I do, you’ll be free of your obligation.”

  “Where would you go?”

  She shrugged. “Wherever I find a town. There’s one a day or so south of here.”

  “Dogtail? You don’t dare go there. It’s worse than Sodom and Gomorrah. Don’t you have any relatives at all?”

  “I have no one upon whom I can depend.” She inched a bit farther away. “Mr. Gregor, we’ve not even been properly introduced, but I must tell you I’m not a …” She blushed vividly. “That is to say, Mr. Hepplewhite made inferences, and I want you to know I won’t … If you think I’ll—”

  He squinted at the horizon and added matter-of-factly, “We’re traveling companions—nothing more—so you can stop fretting and fussing.”

  For all of her acute chagrin, she still manufactured a grateful flash of a smile, but she sat as far away from him as she could and wouldn’t look him directly in the eye. Chris didn’t mind the silence, but her tension grew palpable with each passing minute. “What you said was right, Miss Wren. We weren’t properly introduced. I’m Chris Gregor. I had some business in Chicago and am on my way home. How about you?”

  “Forgive my curiosity, but will there be a wife, children, a few dogs, and a crop waiting?”

  He chuckled softly. “No ma’am. My work involves a fair bit of traveling. I built a house in town, and my brothers live across the street from one another. I thought to take you to Rob and his wife. He’s a doctor.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose on them!”

  “Mercy’d be tickled pink to have you there. She’s got a wee little daughter and another on the way. Now suppose you tell me about yourself, starting with your full name.”

  “I’m truly not of any interest, Mr. Gregor. My name is Kathryn Regent. I’m a very drab spinster.”

  He thought it interesting she chose the adjective drab, since that was the very one he’d mentally assigned to her. Nevertheless, it would be terribly rude to confirm her assertion. Instead, he moved his boot half an inch as he wondered aloud, “How’d you ever get stuck getting called ‘Wren’?”

  “It’s from my school days. I’ve always been plain as can be with unremarkable brown hair. I’m not very big, either. Given the last syllable of my given name and likeness, the name was inevitable.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Wrens might be wee little birds, but they sing a grand song. Do you?”

  Wrapping her arms about her ribs, she curled forward a bit and shrugged. Her bonnet shaded her face entirely, so he couldn’t read her expression. In a dull tone, she whispered, “I haven’t had call to sing in a long while.”

  He fought the wild urge to pull her close and soothe her. He simply reached over and hitched her shawl up a bit toward her nape. “Dinna worry anymore, little songbird. I’m taking you to a bonny new nest.”

  A short while later, Kathryn stretched a little and looked down at her brooch. The tin heart nestled a small timepiece in its center. She squinted and sighed. “Excuse me, Mr. Gregor, but I can’t quite manage to tell the time. Do you have an estimate?”

  He glanced down at the shadows. “Close to half past three.”

  “I don’t mean to tell you your business, but shouldn’t we be going due south?”

  “Not a chance.”

  A frisson of fear danced up her spine. After steadying herself with a deep breath, Kathryn pulled her shawl more closely about herself.

  “You getting cold, Miss Regent?”

  “No.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Frankly, Mr. Gregor, I’m concerned. I’m not particularly good at remembering directions, but the nearest towns were almost due south of us as we set out.”

  “Aye, that they were.”

  Her hand fisted in her lap. “Without my glasses, I can’t see well at all, but the shadows make me think we’re traveling southeast.”

  “Aye.”

  His casual tone alarmed her even more. “What must you be thinking? We could have sought the relative safety of a town and spent the night under proper circumstances.”

  “I told you Dogtail was like Sodom and Gomorrah, all rolled into one.” His tone made it clear he considered his outrageous plan to be perfectly reasonable. “ ’Twas the first town, and I’d be a fool to take you there. You’ll have to take my word that neither safety nor proper circumstances are to be found there.”

  Shawl edges fisted in her hands and pressed to her breastbone. She croaked, “Do you mean to tell me you planned for us to remain unchaperoned for the night?”

  Chapter 3

  That’s about the size of it.”

  “Oh, dear Gussy!”

  “There’s nothing sweeter than bedrolling under the night sky, Miss Regent. It feels like angels are peeping at you from behind each and every star.”

  “Sweet Almighty, might You please arrange for one of them to be my guardian angel?” Wren hadn’t realized she’d spoken her prayer aloud until she heard Mr. Gregor’s chuckle. Scorching heat rushed from her bodice clear up to her sunbonnet.

  “Dinna be mortified, lass,” he said once his laughter died down. “I canna blame you for being a shade man-shy. Here’s what we’ll do: I’ll keep to one side of the campfire, and you can have the other. Does that ease your mind a bit?”

  “No.” She turned toward him. “You know I have that money. Since we’d stop at my request, I’ll gladly pay for two hotel rooms.”

  “We’re nowhere near a hotel, and we’ll be even farther from one by the time we stop tonight. You’ll have to put up with things as they are.”

  Her heart thundered, and she could taste the salt of her own blood from having bitten the inside of her cheek.

  “I appreciate a fine tune now and then, Miss
Regent. Why don’t you promise me you’ll sing a bit as soon as I manage to bring down our supper?”

  The way he switched subjects took her off guard. “Are you suggesting I sing for my supper, sir?”

  His voice lilted with humor. “Could be.”

  “I’ll sing whatever you request as soon as we reach the hotel.”

  He made an exasperated sound. “Nagging willna change what canna be changed.”

  “Had I known you intended not to have proper evening arrangements, I’d never have come with you.”

  “You can trust me.”

  Kathryn shook her head. “I have yet to meet a trustworthy man.”

  His head swiveled toward her. He dipped close so she could see his piercing gray-blue eyes. “You have now.”

  She gasped and held that breath for so long, her lungs started to burn. Should I apologize? No, I’m not. I won’t. Thanks to him, I lost my job. Now he’s compromising my reputation. Why should I think he’s—

  “I’m not perfect.” His Scottish burr sounded far more pronounced. “Nae, I’m no’. But ne’er once hae I harmed a woman. And ere ye ask, I’ll confess I’ve tangled wi’ a few men—and then, only because they’d broken the law or hurt someone.”

  I knew it. He’s a bounty hunter.

  “I’m accountable to the Lord for all I do. Rest assured I’ll not hae to stand afore the Almighty on Reckoning Day and say I e’er took advantage of a lass. You’re perfectly safe wi’ me.” He nodded for emphasis. “Aye, you are. And I’ll e’en give ye my Bowie knife to clutch during the night. ’Tis wicked sharp.”

  His offer didn’t amount to enough to allay her fears, but she’d have a means to fend him off if necessary.

  “I’d give it to you now, but I might hae need of it to see to supper.”

  Kathryn still didn’t trust him. He could talk until the Second Coming, but they were just words.

  Mr. Gregor heaved a prolonged sigh. She knew it was for her benefit. He leaned closer, and she fought the nearly overwhelming urge to slap him and scream. Just as quickly, he straightened back up. He’d removed his knife from his belt sheath and placed it in her lap. “Here. I’ve used it on occasion to shave and near cut my throat. I hold a healthy respect for that blade. Now will you calm down a mite?”