by Joey Light
Dedication
This book is dedicated to a remarkable family: MINE.
Nanny and Pop, Emmy and George, Marie and John, Flora and Lester, Dan and Julie, Ray, Angie and Christina Anne, Dean and Lisa, Eric, Roxanne and Danny, Angie, Matt, Ray and Mella, Mike and Tammy, Steph and Andy, Kimberly, Josh (Joey), and you, JJ.
The gentle man who has shared my life for many, many years, Danny.
I love all of you and if I didn’t know love, I surely couldn’t write about it.
Special gratitude and love to part of my extended family, Donald and Iona Hoopert of Tulsa, Oklahoma, for providing the research material on your fair state. Thanks for the taste and feel of it all. And, JJ, thank you for always sharing one of your most valued possessions with me—your unending knowledge.
COME ONE COME ALL
Return with us to the wonderful days of yesteryear and live a day in the life of an outlaw, pin on a badge and become a sheriff, or swing your skirts on stage and be a saloon girl. Ride the stage-coach, try our horses. Join in a gun-fight. How fast can you draw? Be entertained by our actors as they reconstruct the days you’ve only dreamed about, watched on TV. Browse through our Western shops, eat in the hotel dining room just as they did one hundred years ago. Visit our jail. Try your luck on the gallows. See our cowboys and champion riders on wild, bucking broncs. Watch them test their skills in the arena. Kids! Chase a calf for prize ribbons.
Fun and entertainment for all ages. Educational, exciting, and restful.
Open Tuesday through Sunday 10 A.M. to 10 P.M.
Free parking
Chapter One
Late. Late. Some things never change. Adjusting the bonnet on her head with one hand and running, the long, full skirt of her period costume fisted up in her other hand, Victoria rounded the corner of Main Street. And collided with a solid wave of cowboy.
His hands shot out to grab her arms and right her. Still clamping the bonnet tightly over her curly hair, she looked up. And up. She blamed her sudden shortness of breath on the run. Certainly, it wasn’t due to the tall man who stood smiling indulgently as he cupped her elbows to keep her steady until she found her feet.
“Whoa there,” he laughed. “Excuse me,” she said impatiently, not unaware of the muscled forearms her hands rested on. Or the humor that sparkled in his beautiful dark eyes.
“Someone chasing you?” he teased. He idly wondered if he had wandered into the middle of one of the skits being put on for the tourists. He’d never seen such curls. A thick, brown mass of them surrounded her face and cascaded down to her shoulders. Green eyes. Emeralds that refracted the sunlight. A freckle or two had popped out on her nose.
“Not exactly. I mean, not yet. They will be. I’m on next. I have to catch the stage and get robbed,” she added breathlessly.
As quickly as she had tossed herself into his arms, she was sprinting out of them again. He was instantly sorry. He would have liked to hold on to her just a moment longer. He watched as she ran across the dusty road.
So she was one of the reenactors. This job might be gravy yet, he said to himself as he turned to watch her scramble to the front of the saloon. His last view of her before she disappeared into the stomach of the coach was dust flying from her boots and a nicely rounded bottom covered in yards of swaying skirts designed with tiny rosebuds. Whew!
He’d heard men mention the term bowled over from time to time. Knocked off his pins. Shot into orbit. Had his breath knocked from him. Knocked him dead. Stolen his heart. Changed his life. Foolishness. All of it foolishness. Until now. Now he understood the term. One look. One collision and he felt, well, he didn’t know what the words would be. Affected? Extremely interested? Curiosity aroused? Attracted? Intrigued? Fascinated?
In one brief encounter he had met a lady with zest. With a love of being alive shining from her eyes. Gusto. He shook his head. Ridiculous.
Wes folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the porch post. He had been on his way to a meeting with the owner of Glory Town, but now he decided to watch. He’d been to Glory Town plenty of times but he hadn’t seen this woman before. He would have remembered.
The voice coming over the well-hidden loudspeaker asked that the street be cleared to set the mood for the stage holdup. It was explained as the creaking, rocking stage was driven out of town by the dusty driver that it would come around the back of town and pull in from the other end with the bandits close on its heels. The tourists were challenged to use their imaginations and picture the event happening miles from any help.
“Please stay on the sidewalks, folks. We don’t want anyone getting hurt here at Glory Town, except the bad guys.”
Wes looked around. The smart pop of cap pistols darted the air as boys and girls adorned in blue and red cowboy hats chased each other up and down the boardwalk. People from all walks of life lined up on the sidewalk to enjoy this latest display of frontier living. Babies watched from strollers beneath sun shades, and old people rested on benches or merely sat on the edge of the sidewalk.
Old buildings sandpapered smooth by the wind, faded by the unrelenting sun, leaned lazily while others stood stoically against the colorful backdrop of Oklahoma sky. Light blues, dull grays, and red dust that came with the breeze and rolled constantly, coating every flat surface. Hitch-rail brown, wrought-iron black and green. Lots of green. Tall buffalo grass swayed on the hill beyond. The deep, dark dusky green of the tree line below punched toward the cloudless sky towering above the sprinkles of bright yellow, purple, and pink wildflowers skipping along the edge of the pond that glistened from the hollow.
At the first sound of commotion from the other end of town, Wes turned his gaze, along with the crowd, to watch. The air was filled with actual and fabricated tension.
The stage careened around the corner and sped down the street to pitch and roll to a stop in the middle of town. It was surrounded by five desperadoes, handkerchiefs pulled up over their noses, pistols firing in the air. The stage driver slumped over in the seat after a brave attempt to reach for his shotgun. Dead. Ordered to disembark, the frightened passengers climbed down. The cowboy riding shotgun watched, helplessly, as the two men and lone woman proceeded to slide rings and watches and empty wallets into a cloth sack.
The man on top of the stage was ordered to throw down the strongbox.
And as he did, he reached for the same shotgun that did in the driver. He was gunned down immediately.
The bandits’ horses skittered and danced a circle. A passenger made a grab for one of the holdup men and was booted in the face to land in the dust. The tourists let out a groan in unison. Wes smiled. It was like watching some bad spaghetti Western. Suddenly he itched to get on with his job. And then he saw her.
The woman dressed in 1870s garb who had blindsided him only a few moments ago lifted her skirt knee-high and wrapped her fingers around a derringer held tight to that smooth skin by a gaudy lilac and lace garter. A sound of appreciation worked its way through the crowd. He smiled and thought she must have legs up to her shoulders.
To the cheers of the crowd and the support of the kids and their cap guns, she planted herself in front of the thieves and fired at them. The little gun popped, and two of the big men grabbed their chests and folded, flinging themselves off their horses and dramatically to the ground. The remaining banditos, including the one with the strongbox over his saddle, hightailed it out of town in a cloud of dust and a thunder of hooves.
Just then, from behind the jailhouse, came a mounted rider, hat pushed low on his head, droopy mustache and dark eyes revealing his determination to capture the outlaws. He fired the shotgun and reloaded on the run. The hero took up chase and the crowd roared and clapped their support. Dust whirled to settle down once
again. Tourists stepped off the boardwalk and began their explorations once more, smiling and enthusiastic.
Wes pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Shaking his head, he chuckled low. Three bandits ran from a lone woman with an empty derringer before the lone rider began his chase? No way.
Looking back out on the street, Wes watched as the reenactors loaded some of the kids into the stage and set out for a ride.
Glancing at his watch, he turned toward the hotel and his meeting.
Buck was waiting for him. Seated at a table, the aging cowboy ate a cheeseburger and french fries, washing them down with orange juice. Wes grimaced and smiled. Who else would have lunch for breakfast? There wasn’t another man in all of Oklahoma like Buck, unless, of course, it was his father. Put the two of them together and you had one hundred percent disregard for rules, regulations, and good eating habits.
If one didn’t know this was all pretend, he wouldn’t take a second look at the scruffy cowboy wearing worn boots, work-faded jeans, and a ten-gallon hat with a crinkled crown. His shirt had a rip down the sleeve and his suspenders were stretched out to capacity from long use.
At other tables scattered around the room, the tourists enjoyed a buffet that Wes eyed speculatively. He was hungry and the aroma of food reminded him how much.
“Morning, Buck.”
Buck set his burger down to rise and slap Wes on the back. “Get yourself a plate, boy, and fill it up. We’ve got some talking to do.” But when Buck spoke, he would catch attention. His voice was low and raspy, as though it was worn out from issuing orders all day long. His eyes were kind eyes, worldly eyes. A twinkle of his love for life shone through, along with a spark of the mischief Wes knew he indulged in from time to time.
Tickled that the show went well, Victoria pushed through the door of the hotel. Buck spied her on her way up to her room and called to her.
“Yo! Vic. Come on over here, girl.”
He watched her cheerfully turn and head back at the exact same time Wes turned from the food bar. He had to swing his plate up and out of her way to keep her from bumping it out of his hand.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” She laughed, recognizing him and feeling the flush of embarrassment pink her cheeks.
“Seems I’m developing a habit of getting in your way.” A ripple of anticipation rolled through her. She felt like steel being drawn, sliver by sliver, toward a magnet.
Wes grinned and tipped his hat. “Some habits are hard to break. In your case, I hope you leave it alone.”
When they found they were both headed for Buck’s table, Wes pulled a chair out for her to sit. Some earthy, flowery scent reached him as she moved past him and sat down, smiling up at him. A long-forgotten explosion of sensations shot through his body.
Manners. Victoria instantly liked the handsome cowboy whose body she already knew was as hard as a rock, whose smile was spontaneous, and whose eyes were honest and beautiful.
She looked questioningly at Buck when Wes sat down with them.
Buck beamed and grinned, ear to ear, from one of them to the other. And then he announced, “Well, here he is. Vic, meet Wes Cooper. Wes, my new partner, Miss Victoria Eugenia Clay, formerly of Leesburg, Virginia.”
She extended her hand only to have it lost in Cooper’s huge work-roughened one. He clasped her fingers tightly and smiled.
Wes’s interest peaked. So this was Buck’s new partner. Amazing. Simply astounding that he had failed to mention she was a female. On purpose, Wes would bet.
“J. Weston Cooper. Wes. Hello.” Her long cool fingers warmed his hand. What kind of games was the old man playing with him now? All he had said was that his new partner was stubborn, Eastern, and unwanted.
“Nice to meet you.” Boy, she thought, is it ever. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was tall, well over six feet. His hair was black with a sprinkling of gray. A well-shaped pair of thick sideburns grew down to his jaw, Clint Eastwood style. His face was tanned and in sharp contrast to his nice white teeth. Slashing cheekbones met near a slightly Roman nose. A strong jaw and chin indicated a stubbornness.
The nice slightly crooked smile hinted of gentleness. And his eyes. Black. Almost black, beautiful, keen, see-right-into-you eyes. One thing she had learned from life was that you could tell a lot about a man just by his eyes. He seemed to have seen much in his life. At the moment his eyes were glued to her own green ones and causing all kinds of reactions to run along her insides.
“This is the man you wanted. The trainer.” When Victoria didn’t respond right away, Buck added with conviction, “The cowboy to train the boys how to shoot and ride and rope better.”
Bristling, she felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as resentment twisted around inside her. It was her idea! She had planned to start her search for the right man for the job today. She had planned to make him her pet project and now Buck had beat her to the draw. Damn.
“What’s the matter, Vic?” Buck asked, using his chosen name for her. It was only the purely innocent look in his eyes that stopped her from pulling his hat down over his face and strolling away.
“Nothing. I’m just surprised.” She stammered and could have kicked herself. Annoyed at her quick temper, she folded her hands in front of her and forced them to be still as she rested them on the table.
“I’ve known this fella since he was knee-high to a cactus.” Buck beamed proudly. “Was raised on a quarter horse ranch ten miles up north. His father still puts out the best animals in the country. He’s been in the military as a weapons expert, so he knows about all kinds of guns and rifles…and he just quit the Oklahoma State Troopers, so he’s free.”
Buck sat back, satisfied with himself, and waited for her jubilance. He was still waiting as Victoria merely turned a very forced smile toward Cooper and asked, “Do you need a family-sized trailer or a single?”
Feeling and not liking the ice in her voice, Cooper opened his mouth to answer but Buck beat him to it.
“He wants a room in the hotel here. Said he wants to be on the scene all the time so he can get the feel of just what I want. You want. We want.”
“The hotel has only one working bathroom,” she managed through clenched teeth, her fingers now drumming a rhythm on the dark, scarred table.
“I don’t mind,” Cooper said with all the innocence of a babe. And the slyness of a cougar, she judged.
The smile on Cooper’s lips was one of quiet amusement. He looked from one to the other and just sat back in his chair. It was becoming quite clear to him that Buck hadn’t been completely open with him when he offered him this job. Or was offered the correct word? Coerced? Cajoled? Hoodwinked? Buck’s story had been one of desperation. He needed Wes’s expertise immediately or this horrible partner of his would take over. He claimed he only allowed a partner to come in because Glory Town needed money. He hadn’t thought that partner would actually make a physical appearance and be a hands-on associate. And then Buck had gone into more detail about just what it was he wanted Wes to do. Now Wes was truly confused, but it wasn’t up to him to decipher Buck’s motives. He’d accepted the job of tutor and partner-chaser-away and he’d see it through. Only, there was a niggling question in the back of his mind. Did he really want to see this pretty lady turn tail and run?
“Why did he quit the police force?” she asked Buck, defiance clear in her voice.
“Who knows? Who cares? He’s just what we need. Rides, ropes, rodeos, shoots.” Buck sipped his coffee.
She stole his orange juice and took a gulp. Anything to keep her anger at bay. “I thought I was going to hire the man we needed. You didn’t even give me a chance to look around.”
“I would’a if I thought you knew where to look. You’re green to these parts and you made it sound like we needed someone right this minute. Like it was some dang emergency.”
He grinned at her, the light glancing off the gold filling in his tooth.
“I was going to intervie
w, see what they had to offer. This is an important step. We have to make sure we have the right man or we’ll just be wasting our money.” Her shoulders sagged a little. But only for a minute. She straightened up.
“You think I ain’t capable of knowin’ if this is the right fella? I just told you. I’ve known him all his life. He’s good at what he does. He is a cowboy, so I know he can do the job and, boy, can he make a horse do what he’s told.”
“I’ll just bet he sings and dances, too.” Victoria pushed her chair back to leave them but Cooper’s voice stopped her. It was smooth and rich, like hot fudge syrup.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” A slow grin spread across his face. He was almost sorry he was finding all this so amusing. Almost.
Victoria glared at him. She had forgotten he was sitting there. Disconcerted, she stood and offered her hand again. “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude. It was just that you…all this just happened so quickly. Welcome aboard, Mr. Cooper.”
“Wes.”
“Yes, Wes.” Cool and aloof, Victoria regally made her way out of the dining room. Just what I need. A superhero. A genuine cowboy who’s good at everything. He probably whistles and swaggers when he walks, too.
Outside, Victoria walked purposefully up the road. The town functioned as usual, oblivious to the turmoil and resentment in her heart.
Two of the men rode through the street, their paint horses at a walk, the men exchanging small talk. The blacksmith shop was in operation, shoeing one of the horses. Children rolled hoops down the road and one little boy had his Matchbox cars lined up under the wooden boardwalk. The owner of the general store washed windows while his wife swept the walk free of the stubborn red dust that would simply blow back across the boards in a little while.
The tourists milled here and there.
It was as it must have been over a hundred years before. Nothing had changed since yesterday. The town, the re-enactors, the visitors, yet she felt defeated.
