An Uncommon Protector

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  “Thomas Baker.”

  “Mr. Thomas Baker.” As if he suddenly remembered something, the judge pulled out a sheet of paper from a vest pocket. “Ah. Here we go. This man here was once a sergeant in the CSA. He fought with honor and was captured and spent the last of the war in captivity up in Johnson’s Island. By all accounts, he served bravely and was held in high esteem by one and all.”

  Thomas had no time to wonder where the judge had come across all that information before a thin farmer called out, “Then how come he’s in jail?”

  The judge glanced at his paper again. “Man couldn’t pay his debts.” Meeting Thomas’s gaze, the judge raised an eyebrow. “That right?”

  “Yes, sir.” He decided to leave out the fact that the men he owed money to had been playing in a poker game.

  To Thomas’s dismay, the judge’s account of his good character seemed a bit of a letdown for the assemblage. Perhaps they were hoping he’d done something far more dangerous or terrible.

  “If he’s only jailed ’cause he couldn’t pay his debts, how come he was whipped?” another man asked.

  “Foster Howell did that,” Sheriff Jackson called out as he lit a cheroot. “He shouldn’t have.”

  Judge Orbison motioned for Thomas to show him his back. After he took a good look at it, he frowned. “This ain’t good, Jackson,” he said to the sheriff, as if they were sitting in some gambling hall and talking about the weather. “Baker here might owe money, but I just received a telegram from a man about him this very morning. He’s got some powerful friends. They aren’t going to take it kindly when they discover how badly he’s been treated while staying in our facilities.”

  Thomas stiffened. Who was the judge speaking of? He hadn’t let anyone know he was here, especially not his friends from Johnson’s Island. He looked over at the sheriff, waiting for him to ask the judge who it was. But Sheriff Jackson didn’t look all that concerned.

  Leaning toward him, Judge Orbison asked, “You need anything right now, son? Water maybe?”

  There was no way he was going to sip water while half the town looked on. “I only need someone to offer me a job, sir.”

  “That would certainly fix things. We’ll see what we can do.” He inhaled, then turned back toward the crowd. “Alrighty. For those of you who might have forgotten, here’s how our prisoner auctions work. This man here will be on display for two hours. If you have questions, deliver them to me or Sheriff Jackson.” He cleared his throat. “If you are interested in hiring him on, come directly to me.”

  A hush fell over the crowd as more than one person approached, then turned away. After another twenty minutes passed, the square began to empty.

  As the sun beat down on him, Thomas’s optimism faltered. It had been a long shot, of course, but now it seemed he was doomed to spend many more nights in captivity. Even his “friends in high places”—or whoever had sent the telegram—couldn’t gain him early freedom. Not merely with some good words. He wouldn’t ask his friends for anything more anyway.

  He passed time by staring out into the distance, much like he’d done on Johnson’s Island. If he concentrated hard enough, he could imagine he was someplace else. Someplace better, more peaceful. Where his back didn’t burn and he could sit down.

  An hour went by.

  He’d just pressed his chapped lips together and was considering asking for that sip of water when the lingering crowd parted and two rough-looking ranchers approached. Their faces were craggy from years spent out in the elements on horseback. Sharp eyes examined him as though he were livestock.

  Thomas straightened and stared back. He wasn’t afraid of hard work and he wasn’t afraid of work-hardened men. But that didn’t mean he was going to let them imagine they’d be getting a greenhorn if they freed him.

  Time seemed to still. One of them nodded.

  “I hope I’m not too late?” a sweet voice called out.

  Immediately, everyone’s focus changed. Thomas moved his head to the right and blinked.

  Because there was Miss Laurel Tracey. She was moving gracefully through the crowd, dressed in a rather complicated-looking green calico and a straw bonnet with a bright-yellow ribbon threaded around its brim.

  The bonnet set off her face and brown eyes. The dress was worn but in good repair. It had a bustle that emphasized her small waist.

  She looked clean and fresh and perfect. Completely out of place.

  Thomas tried not to stare, because, well, he was already standing in the hot sun in a cage with his back burning like the devil himself had set his pitchfork on it. The last thing he needed was to get punished for being disrespectful.

  But Lord Almighty, she was a sight to see. Pretty and curvy and oh so innocent looking. She also had a little lift to her chin that said no one should make the mistake of thinking she didn’t have a backbone.

  Men and women moved to the side as she continued to walk toward him. Judge Orbison lifted his hat. Sheriff Jackson extinguished his cheroot and moved to her side.

  “Miss Tracey,” Judge Orbison said. “Afternoon.”

  “Sir.” She smiled more brightly at the sheriff. “Will, hello.”

  “Miss Laurel. Good to see you,” Sheriff Jackson greeted in a smooth tone, giving her a small bow. “What brings you here?” he asked, looking worried. “Are you having some kind of problem at the ranch?”

  “I am, but it’s nothing this man can’t fix.” Turning to Thomas, she smiled.

  Sure he hadn’t heard right, Thomas gripped two bars and leaned as close as his cage allowed.

  Jackson pushed back the rim of his Stetson a couple of inches. “I understand he’s been part of the crew that’s been working on your fencing. Do you need them back?”

  “Oh, I don’t want that crew back. No offense, but I, well, I don’t care for Mr. Howell’s company much.”

  Judge Orbison stepped closer to her. “Did Foster Howell harm you, Miss Laurel?”

  “Oh, no. It’s just . . .” She opened her mouth and shut it with a firm shake of her head. “I don’t think it matters anymore, does it? I mean, not if I’m here to hire Mr. Baker.”

  Thomas exhaled. Tried not to smile. Not because he wasn’t pleased about what she was offering him. No, it was more like he wasn’t sure if she should want him nearby. He was a war-worn man with next to no experience around ladies. Though he knew without a doubt that he’d never harm her, he wasn’t sure if he’d always be able to hide his attraction to her.

  And if he couldn’t hide that, then chances were more than good she’d realize sooner or later that he wasn’t necessarily the best man to have on her property.

  Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Do your siblings know you’re here?”

  Instead of answering directly, she lifted her chin a tad bit higher. “Bess and Jerome are my stepsiblings, not my true brother and sister. Furthermore, they do know. And what they think is no concern of mine.”

  Jackson looked momentarily shamefaced. “Of course not. But I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. This man might not be a felon, but he is no gentleman.”

  Miss Tracey darted another look his way. “Sir, I don’t need a gentleman. I need a man willing to work hard and help me with my ranch. I also need him immediately.”

  It took Thomas everything he had to keep from laughing. She really did have a spark to her.

  Judge Orbison seemed as though he was trying not to laugh as well. “I see,” he said.

  Laurel Tracey fastened her pretty eyes on the judge and said sweetly, “If I hire him, are there any stipulations?”

  “You have to keep him on for one year.”

  She glanced Thomas’s way. “And after one year, if he wants to leave or I no longer have a need for his assistance, we can end our contract?”

  One of the two ranchers who had been staring at him grunted. “Hey, now,” he said. “You can’t just give him to her.”

  Jackson glared at the pair. “Judge Orbison can do whatever he likes.”


  After a pause Judge Orbison nodded in Miss Tracey’s direction. “Yes, miss. That is how it goes.”

  “I see.”

  When she met Thomas’s gaze again, he was pretty sure he flushed.

  Leaving the judge and sheriff, she stepped up the first two steps of the platform. “Sir, do you remember meeting me yesterday?” she asked Thomas.

  As if there was any chance that he’d forget. “Yes, miss,” he replied, hating that his voice sounded a little hoarse, a little thick from nerves. “But there’s no need to call me sir. Best just call me Baker, Miss Tracey. Or by my first.”

  “And what is that?”

  “My full name is Thomas Travis Baker.”

  She looked about to comment on that when she seemed to notice his bloodstained shirt. She gasped as she walked around the cage to get a better look at his back. “My goodness! That’s quite a scar on your neck. And, why, I do believe that is blood seeping through your shirt. What happened to you?”

  “It ain’t nothing to worry about, miss.”

  Walking back to the sheriff’s side, she glared at him. “Did you do this?”

  To Thomas’s surprise, instead of telling her such things were none of her concern, the sheriff shook his head. “I did not, Miss Laurel.”

  “Then how did this happen?”

  “There was some miscommunication last night in the jailhouse. It was taken care of.”

  Now staring at Thomas, she bit her lip.

  As Thomas watched those perfect white teeth dig into the soft flesh of one plump bottom lip, he resigned himself to two things. One was that he could no more look away from her than he could get out of this cage on his own.

  The second was that it was foolish to get his hopes up. After all, there was every possibility she was going to change her mind.

  He didn’t know her, but from what he could see, though she had a backbone, she was also a sweet, sheltered woman. She was gentle and she smelled good. She was everything he’d ever imagined a woman should be but hadn’t really believed existed.

  Time seemed to stand still again.

  As she continued to look at him, she no doubt regretted her impulsiveness. He was dirty and smelled bad. He was standing in the middle of a cage and sweat was rolling off him like the tide at sunset.

  Then, of course, there was the fact that he’d allowed himself to get whipped at all.

  And even though she didn’t know him from Adam, she had no reason to completely trust him. Even if she suspected he would never harm a hair on her head, that didn’t mean his working at her family’s ranch wouldn’t have certain dangers all its own. She was liable to lose a good chunk of her reputation, and even he knew a woman could never afford to let that happen.

  After staring at him so long that quite a few biddies in the crowd started whispering behind gloved hands, she seemed to come to a decision. “If I want Mr. Baker, can we take him out of there now, Judge Orbison?”

  He was going to get hired on. A jolt rose up his spine as he realized his wish was about to come true.

  When Miss Tracey met his gaze again, Thomas almost felt tears in his eyes.

  She was the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. As far as he was concerned, heaven did exist, and it was right here in Sweetwater, Texas, in the form of one rather tall, buxom, blond-haired beauty with wide-set brown eyes.

  4

  AS HER QUESTION RANG THROUGH THE AIR, A COLLECTIVE sigh tore through the crowd.

  Laurel wasn’t sure if it was because everyone surrounding them agreed with her assessment or if they were eager to see her regret the consequences of her decision. Chances were good that either might be the case.

  It didn’t matter much to her either way. She’d ceased to care too much about everyone else’s opinions. Verbal chatter didn’t help a woman bury her relatives or take care of twenty head of cattle alone in the dead of winter.

  As the seconds passed, she steadfastly did her best to look as if she were oblivious to the man in the cage who was staring at her in a bold way. Instead, she focused on the men standing on either side of her who could grant her wish.

  Both of them looked a little surprised, but not completely dismayed.

  “You sure about this, Miss Laurel?” Sheriff Jackson asked at last.

  “I am. Now, it’s hot, and I imagine the wounds on Mr. Baker’s back are festering. I think it’s time he got out of that cage. Don’t you?”

  Fingering the last of his cheroot, the sheriff said, “I’m talking about you hiring this man. Though he ain’t known to be violent, he still isn’t one for gentle company.”

  “I need a man to help me fight those squatters on my property. I need a man to work hard, Will. Not sip tea with me.”

  Judge Orbison’s lips twitched. “Point taken.”

  Excitement bubbled up inside her. They were taking her seriously, and she was going to get the help she needed. “So may we release him now?”

  “Yes. Well, maybe. We’re supposed to wait another hour, in case someone else offers for him,” the judge said doubtfully. “That’s how we’ve always done things in the past.”

  It was obviously time to push a little harder. “I could be wrong. After all, I’m only a lone woman used to living on a ranch. But waiting a whole other hour seems kind of hard on everyone, don’t you think? Surely you have many more pressing things to do than keep a caged man in the hot sun?”

  As she’d hoped, the judge straightened his shoulders. “Indeed, I do.”

  “Then perhaps you could take care of things right now and move on with your day?”

  After glancing over her head at the prisoner, Judge Orbison lowered his voice. “Miss Tracey, I know you need help. But . . . are you sure about this? Once this is done, it’s done. Furthermore, I can’t help but wonder if your parents would have supported this plan.”

  It was a legitimate question, one she should be pondering for hours, or at least a whole lot longer than a mere five or six minutes.

  But something—something deep in her heart—was telling her to act now and to act quickly. It was as if she no longer had a choice.

  Or maybe it was simply that she didn’t have a decision to make. She wanted this man out of the cage. “While I agree that my parents wouldn’t have necessarily wanted me to hire a prisoner, I don’t believe they could have foreseen what my circumstances were going to be like. The truth is that I am sure, sir. In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life.”

  At last the judge inclined his head. “Well then, it looks like you’ve got a new ranch hand, Miss Tracey.” Turning to the sheriff, he said, “Release him, Will. I need to get out of this blasted heat.”

  Laurel smiled at the judge as the sheriff pulled out a ring of keys. “Thank you, Judge Orbison.”

  “You’re welcome. If it means anything, I’m plumb relieved he’s getting out of here.”

  “I am as well.” The moment the words left her mouth, she could practically feel the prisoner’s hot gaze settle on her like a hovering bee. It was a tangible thing—so real, Laurel knew she wasn’t imagining it.

  She supposed she didn’t blame Mr. Baker. She was talking about him as if he weren’t right there, witnessing her transaction.

  She hoped he wasn’t scowling at her.

  She didn’t dare look at him. Not because she feared him. No, it was more that she feared what he’d see if he looked at her.

  Inside his cage, Thomas swallowed hard. He wasn’t real sure if he was eager to be a woman’s ranch hand, even if that woman was Laurel Tracey. But he was definitely up to the task. He needed to get out of jail like he needed to breathe. Though he had few choices about what to do with his life next, most of them were a far sight worse than helping a woman in need for one full year.

  His mother would’ve been proud of him for doing that. Well, he liked to think that such a thing was possible.

  He was drawn out of his thoughts when the hefty judge turned and gently bent over Miss Trace
y’s hand.

  “It’s been real good working with you, Miss Laurel.” Raising his voice, Judge Orbison said, “Jackson, bring him to my office. I’ll prepare the paperwork and then he and Miss Tracey can get on their way.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sheriff said.

  Before the judge left, he turned to Thomas. Even though he was a good four inches shorter and was also standing four steps below the platform, the judge somehow managed to sound like he was talking down to Thomas.

  “You’ve just been given the opportunity of a lifetime, Baker,” he intoned. “Miss Tracey is a lady and gently bred. You’d best remember to give her the respect she deserves. If not, I don’t even want to think about what could happen to you.”

  “Of course,” Thomas said.

  “Work hard and keep your head down.” Hardening his voice, the judge whispered, “Squatters can be big trouble. Don’t lower your guard.”

  “I won’t, sir,” he answered in the same tone of voice he used to answer Captain Monroe.

  “Good. Hope it works out,” the judge said before turning and walking away.

  After Judge Orbison disappeared into his offices, Sheriff Jackson ascended the steps and placed his hand on the bars of the cage. Then he turned around and called out, “Alrighty, everyone. It’s time to settle down and move on. The show’s over. Our prisoner will now be working for Miss Tracey.” Then he turned to his guard.

  “Ollie, escort Miss Tracey to the judge’s office. I’ll bring the prisoner along presently.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ollie said. Holding out an elbow, he smiled at her. “Let’s go, Miss Tracey.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Please, just give me one moment.”

  Then, to Thomas’s surprise, she walked up the steps to his cage.

  Motionless, he stared at her. Her scent—lavender and magnolia and clean, fresh woman—caught hold of him and held him in its grip. It was a mesmerizing thing, and so beautiful he feared she could see its effect on his face.

  “I’m glad this worked out, Mr. Baker,” she said softly. “I promise that I’ll do my best to be a good boss.”