Cowboy Charm School

by Margaret Brownley

  But first there was work to be done, outlaws to catch. And, of course, he still felt responsible for getting Kate and Foster back together. The way things were going, that shouldn’t take much longer. That is, if Foster didn’t mess up.

  And that was a very big if.

  The telegraph office was located next to the train station. Already, the morning train to Austin had left, and the station was deserted. Dismounting, Brett tied his horse to the hitching rail and stomped up the wooden steps. The sound of angry voices made him pause before entering the building.

  The moment Brett opened the door, the voices inside fell silent. Lucky Lou and Flash, the telegrapher, gaped at him. Seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two men, Lucky Lou’s dog, Ringo, cocked his ears and wagged his tail.

  Brett touched the brim of his hat in greeting, and Lucky Lou responded with a curt nod. Today, he was rigged out in fancy doodads, including a pair of spurs and a silver concho hatband.

  Just as Lucky Lou turned from the counter, he dropped a pen. Ringo quickly dashed forward, picked it up, and ran to the door.

  “Sit!” Lucky Lou commanded in a firm voice, and the dog did as he was told.

  Lucky Lou then attached a braided leather leash to the dog’s metal collar and retrieved the pen from his mouth. Tossing it on the counter, he left, slamming the door after him.

  Curious as to what the argument had been about, Brett turned his attention to the telegrapher. “Tough customer?”

  Flash shrugged and scratched his chin. The speed at which he tapped out dispatches had earned him his moniker. His big ears, razor-thin nose, and lantern jaw were his by chance. “Nah. Just a bad loser. Said I cheated last night at faro.” He shrugged again, as if being accused of cheating was of no consequence. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to send a wire.”

  Flash set paper, pen, and a bottle of ink on the counter and moved a book of riddles, puzzles, and rebuses aside. “Here you go.”

  Brett glanced at the book. “Like puzzles, eh?”

  “Yep. Give me a puzzle to solve, and that’s all I can think about.” He opened the book. “But I can’t figure this one out. What is long when it’s young and short when it’s old?”

  Brett thought for a moment. “That’s easy. It’s gotta be time.”

  Flash’s eyebrows practically reached his hairline. “Hey, you’re good. You should be one of those Pinkerton detectives or something.”

  “Or something,” Brett said under his breath and reached for the pen.

  He was required to send weekly accounts to headquarters, but so far, there had been nothing of any significance to report. He was still considering the problem when Foster burst through the door like a man with his pants on fire.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  Guessing what Foster had on his mind, Brett bit back his annoyance. Before the dance, the man had been so anxious, he’d been knocking around like a blind dog in a meat market. Today, he didn’t look much better.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  The question seemed to surprise Foster. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows you’re here.”

  “Yeah, just like everyone knows the identities of the Ghost Riders,” Brett muttered.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. What did you want to see me about?”

  “I just want to know what Kate said.”

  Brett raised an eyebrow. “Said?”

  “Yeah, you know, about last night’s dance.”

  “She said she had a good time.”

  Foster rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “That’s it? That’s all?”

  “What more did you want her to say? It was a dance, not a religious revival.”

  “She didn’t, you know, suspect anything?”

  Brett frowned. “Anything? Oh, you mean your red face. No, she blamed it on the heat. Blast it, Foster! What were you thinking?”

  “Me? You’re the one who told me to whistle.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t tell you to blow up a norther.” Brett sighed with exasperation. “You were lucky this time, but you’ve got to get that jealousy of yours under control.”

  “I’m working on it.” Foster lowered his voice. “Do you think she’s ready to take me back?”

  “Now slow down. These things take time. Capturing a woman’s heart is like fishing. You toss out the bait, and once she bites, you reel her in gently.” Brett made a circular motion with his hand to demonstrate. “If you reel her in too fast, you’ll lose her.”

  Following Brett’s example, Foster moved his hand as if pulling in a fish.

  “That’s the way,” Brett said. “Courtship requires a series of quiet, thoughtful actions. You don’t want to be too obvious, or you’ll scare her off. On the other hand, you don’t want to be too vague.”

  Flash, who had been listening to this conversation with great interest, asked, “What do you mean by too vague?”

  Before Brett could respond, Foster answered for him. “He means not to compare her to leather.”

  While Flash puzzled over that, Foster continued, “Okay, so how much longer before I land the fish…uh…Kate?”

  Brett rubbed his forehead and rued the day he set to work teaching Foster the fine rules of courtship. “Patience, my friend. Patience.”

  * * *

  Following a constant flow of customers, Kate welcomed the afternoon lull. After sending her aunt out for something to eat, she set to work counting money and organizing inventory.

  Just as she finished replenishing the penny candy jars, Cassie Decker walked in.

  Cassie was a widow with three young children, all under the age of six. Her husband had died the year before. To make ends meet, she took in laundry and mending.

  Today was her daughter’s birthday. “She’s five years old,” Cassie said, pulling off her threadbare gloves.

  “That calls for a special box,” Kate said.

  “Oh, I can’t afford a box. Just…” Cassie’s wistful gaze traveled along the glass display case. “Two peppermint sticks will do,” she said at last. The shrug of her shoulders suggested she was trying to make the best of things.

  Kate couldn’t help but notice Cassie’s dull hair and chapped hands, and her heart went out to her. It couldn’t be easy raising three children by herself. “Nonsense,” she said. “Birthdays call for something more.” Cassie started to protest, but Kate cut her off. “Please, you’ll be doing me a favor.” She picked up the prettiest box of assorted candy in the shop. “This was left over from last night’s dance. Since it was a special order, I can’t sell it at the full price.”

  It was a lie, of course, but Cassie would never accept charity. “It’s yours for the same price as I would charge for the sticks of candy.”

  Cassie hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I am that your daughter will love it.” Cassie’s grateful smile did Kate a world of good. It wasn’t often that the young widow smiled.

  Kate placed the box of candy in a paper sack and added a slip of paper. Like most of her customers, Cassie couldn’t wait to read her fortune and dug it out immediately.

  “‘The troubles you have will one day be but a memory,’” she read aloud and laughed. “Since I have three children still under the age of six and no husband, I’m afraid my troubles are here to stay. At least into the far future.”

  “Maybe a rich man will come to town and sweep you off your feet.”

  Cassie shook her head, but Kate noticed that she carefully tucked the slip of paper into her purse.

  No sooner had Cassie left than others began to arrive. Between customers, Kate jotted down the names of people who had recently purchased peppermint candy, though part of her was reluctant to do so. She hated the thought that one of them might be a Ghost Rider.

&n
bsp; Tucker entered the shop just after three that afternoon, and it was all Kate could do not to be distracted by him and keep her mind on her work. While she waited on customers, he wandered over to the book section.

  Watching him as she filled a paper sack with candy, she noted that he reached for a Thomas Hardy novel over the more popular dime novels. A reader, she thought. Definitely a serious reader.

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Cranston peered into the bag Kate had absentmindedly handed her. “I asked for butterscotch, and I believe you gave me horehound instead.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Kate said, embarrassed to be found remiss. It wasn’t like her to mess up orders. She quickly corrected the error and added a few extra pieces of candy to make up for it. “Here you go,” she said.

  After Mrs. Cranston had left the shop, Kate tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and called over to Brett. “We better take advantage of the lull while we can. We have exactly thirty minutes until the next wave of candy lovers walk through that door.”

  He looked interested. “Oh?”

  “As soon as school lets out, the penny-candy gang will be here. I’m known as the candy lady.”

  “Ah.” Brett walked over to the counter and handed her a copy of Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi. “I’d say coming from a small fry, that’s quite a compliment.”

  Smiling up at him, she sensed something intense flare between them before she looked away.

  “I heard that Mr. Twain typed that whole book,” he said as she wrote out a receipt. “He’s the first author to accomplish such a feat.”

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “I suggested we purchase a typing machine for the shop, but my aunt said it would never replace the pen.”

  “I have a similar opinion about the telegraph.” His eyes flashed with warm humor. “Mark my words, it will never replace smoke signals,” he added, and they both laughed. Only after their laughter died did he slant his head toward the book section. “I must say, you carry quite a selection.”

  “During the war, soldiers requested books from home, and no one in town carried them. My aunt decided it was her patriotic duty to provide books along with candy to the military.” She tossed a nod at the well-stocked shelves. “That’s how books ended up in my uncle’s candy shop. When Aunt Letty found out that our soldiers needed shoes, she wanted to stock them too, but my uncle put his foot down.”

  “What a pity, Miss Denver,” Brett said with a quick smile. “I could use some new footwear.”

  She handed him the wrapped book. “Call me Kate,” she said.

  “All right, Kate.”

  She liked hearing her name on his tongue. Liked the way he strung out the A sound as if his mouth was reluctant to let her name go. Kaaate.

  “But only if you call me Brett,” he added.

  “All right, Brett,” she said. Since Brett was how she’d thought of him, it seemed natural to call him that to his face.

  After he’d paid for the book, she tore a sheet of paper out of her notebook. “I don’t know how complete this list is, but it’s a start.” She slid the written page across the counter.

  He picked it up and quickly scanned the length of the page. “Whew. That’s a lot of names.”

  “Peppermint is one of our most popular candies.” She should have stopped there, but didn’t. Blaming it on nerves, she babbled on about the health benefits of peppermint.

  “Is that right?” he said after a while, sounding more interested than the topic deserved.

  “Absolutely. It’s also said to cure stomach ailments and headaches.” She reached into a jar for a red-and-white peppermint stick and handed it to him. “That’ll help your throat.”

  His fingers touched hers as he took the candy, and she quickly pulled her hand away. To hide her reddening face, she pretended to rearrange the jars on the counter. “Some people prefer the taste of peppermint, but horehound works better. And to my knowledge, no one has ever smiled after popping a horehound candy in the mouth. Not like they do when tasting peppermint.”

  “You’ve just cut my workload in half. I can now assume that one of the Ghost Riders suffers bouts of indigestion and looks happy.”

  Meeting his gaze, she laughed and pointed at the list. “In that case, you can cross off Mr. Thornton. I don’t think there’s enough peppermint in the world to make him smile.”

  Brett studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “I noticed earlier that you had your customers’ orders memorized. How do you do that? How do you remember what they like?”

  “Practice,” she said. “Some of my customers have been coming here since the store first opened.”

  “What about the woman with the doodads on her head? I heard her say she’d never been here before. How did you know she’d like those whatchamacallits?”

  Kate laughed. The doodads, as he called them, were feathers. “French kisses,” Kate said. She lowered her voice. “The woman had love on her mind. I could tell by the twinkle in her eyes. She had what Aunt Letty calls the look.”

  “The look, eh?” Brett chuckled. “What about her friend? Why those purple thingies?”

  “That’s easy. She was British and smelled of lavender, so it just stood to reason she would like lavender candy.”

  Brett’s gaze swept over her face. “Chocolate. Pure, rich chocolate with something sweet and soft inside.”

  “I don’t think so,” Kate said, meeting his gaze. “You’re more of the adventurous type.” She tapped her chin. “I think you’d prefer something crunchy. Something you can sink your teeth into, like brittle or pralines.”

  A faint glimmer of humor returned to his eyes. “I was thinking of you. The candy that suits you.”

  “Oh.” Feeling flustered, she blushed. She regularly analyzed her customers to determine their preferences or needs, but never had anyone turned the tables on her.

  “Am I right?” he asked.

  “Chocolate melts with the least bit of heat,” she said. Reminded of how the other orphans had taunted her as a child, she wondered if he thought her weak too. After how she’d carried on at the river, she could hardly blame him if he did.

  “Ah, but when it melts, it’s even more appealing,” he said, putting her mind at ease. He tilted his head. “So, am I right?” he asked again.

  “Maybe,” she said quickly, anxious to change the subject. “Do…do you think the list will help?”

  “What? Oh, the list.” His gaze traveled down the page still in his hand. “Yes, I’m sure it will. But I don’t see Hoot Owl Pete’s name here.”

  “Oh, I forgot about him. Like I said, the list isn’t complete. I’ll add more names as I think of them.” She frowned. “You don’t suspect him, do you?”

  “Not really. He doesn’t fit the Ghost Riders’ descriptions, but you never know. Eyewitnesses aren’t always reliable.”

  “Hoot Owl Pete is not an outlaw. He was a friend of my uncle’s, and he’s a good person.” She tilted her head. “How do you know he likes peppermint candy?”

  “He offered me one.” After a short pause, he added, “Interesting man. He told me he was once a conductor for the Underground Railroad.”

  She nodded. “That’s how he and my uncle became friends.” She pointed to a quilt on the wall. “This shop was once an Underground Railroad station.”

  Brett stared at the quilt she’d indicated. “I saw a similar quilt at the church. Does that mean the church was also a station?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know how many runaways my uncle helped, but I heard that thousands crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico. That was a great source of pride to my uncle. Hoot Owl Pete too. Occasionally, we receive a letter of gratitude from someone my uncle helped escape. I keep them in a box in the back.”

  Brett studied her. “You really have a passion for this shop, don’t you? Its history.”

  The qu
estion brought a smile to her face. Growing up, she’d spent many happy hours under her uncle’s tutelage. He’d taught her more than how to make candy; he’d taught her how to speak to a customer’s heart.

  “You’re right. I do love this shop.” She blushed beneath Brett’s studied gaze. “I know it sounds crazy. People like you do important work. All I do is make and sell candy.”

  “Don’t say that,” he said. “Don’t even think it. I’ve watched you with your customers. It’s not just candy you’re selling. It’s…hope.”

  His observation surprised her. More than that, it touched her deeply, and she felt a tug on her heartstrings. She’d never thought about the shop’s purpose in quite those terms, but it seemed like the perfect way to describe what they did there.

  “Everyone can use a little hope.” She smiled at the memory that sprang to mind. “My uncle used to say that hope is the glue that keeps a heart from breaking.”

  Brett nodded in agreement. “You uncle was a wise man.”

  She smiled. “Yes, he was.”

  “So…what’s my hope for today?”

  She thought for a moment, then reached into the box for a prewritten fortune. Rifling through them, she finally found one that seemed to apply. She then dropped it into a bag filled with peppermint candy.

  He immediately drew out the slip of paper and read it aloud. “‘That which you seek will soon be found.’” He tucked the slip into his pocket. “I certainly hope that’s true.”

  “Oh, it’s true,” she said and smiled. “Nobody in their right mind would argue with the candy lady.”

  16

  The Ghost Riders struck again.

  And again.

  The sudden streak of holdups worried Brett. It worried him a lot.

  In the past, the robberies had been separated by weeks and even months. Though his last name was different from his stepsister’s, the possibility that Foster One might have figured out who he was worried Brett. Foster could be making a last stand before skipping town.