Cowboy Charm School

by Margaret Brownley

  The sugar on her lips had nearly driven him wild with wanting to know if her mouth tasted as sweet. The blazing-red color of her tangled locks had made him long to run his hands through every shiny strand.

  Never had he fought so hard to resist temptation. Never had he failed so miserably.

  God forgive me. Stealing someone away from another was wrong. That he knew from personal experience. His brother had stolen Deborah Freeman from him. Snatched her right from beneath his nose. Never would he forget the pain of rejection and betrayal. Never could he do to another what his brother had done to him.

  Foster, even with all his faults, was basically a good man. A hard-working man. He didn’t deserve that kind of fate.

  Brett’s only hope was to finish his business in Haywire as quickly as possible and leave town. That might not be such a far-fetched idea. If he was right about why the local robberies occurred only on Thursdays, the Ghost Riders’ days could be numbered.

  If he was wrong, it was back to square one, and that’s what worried him. He couldn’t afford to stay in Haywire a moment longer than necessary. Not after what had happened last night. What was bound to happen again if he didn’t watch his step.

  Groaning, he pressed his heels against his horse’s flanks, but trying to outrun the memory of Kate’s sweet lips was a losing battle.

  It was with great relief that he reached the church. Maybe now he could concentrate on work. After dismounting and tethering his horse, he checked the church doors. They were locked, and there was no sign of the minister. Brett circled the building and found nothing that indicated a basement or cellar, and that was a puzzle. If the church had been used as an Underground Railroad station, where had the fugitive slaves hidden?

  He walked around the church a second time, poking the ground with a stick on the chance he’d missed a cellar door hidden by foliage or soil. But there was nothing.

  Turning with a sigh, Brett walked back to his horse. A low birdcall drew his gaze skyward. A buzzard flew in ever-widening circles overhead, wings raised in a V, its lonely cry spreading across the land. Oddly, it sounded like the cry of his lonely heart.

  After watching the bird for a moment, something occurred to him, and he ran back to hunt for the stick he’d tossed away. Finding it, he proceeded to walk around the church. With each completed circle, he moved outward a couple of feet at a time. He was a good twenty or thirty feet from the church when the probing tip of his stick hit something hollow.

  He dropped to his haunches and brushed away the foliage, revealing a wooden door. He lifted the rusty handle, and the heavy hatch door opened with a squeak of its hinges. He gaped at the hole in the ground. A ramp led downward.

  “Well, what do you know?” Buzzards were thought to be a bad omen, but in this case, Lady Luck seemed to be smiling down on him.

  Brett could think of only one reason for the lack of stairs: horses.

  He started down the ramp. Reaching the bottom, he pulled out a box of safety matches. Striking one, he spotted a lantern hanging from a granite wall and lit it.

  The light revealed a large underground room, the ceiling reinforced with rafters and the walls with chicken wire. So this was where the fugitive slaves had found shelter.

  Unless he missed his guess, it was also where the Ghost Riders hid out. To those giving chase, it would indeed seem as if the outlaws had vanished in midair. The cavern door was well hidden and hard to find. A closer look at the ground revealed bristle marks from a broom used to hide tracks. Even he had walked right by the hatch door and failed to notice it on his earlier visit to the church.

  He checked all four dirt walls. It turned out that the only way in and out of the room was by the ramp.

  The grotto was void of anything except the trash littering the floor. The empty whiskey bottles, cigarette butts, and a playing card suggested how the outlaws kept themselves occupied while waiting for the coast to clear.

  The cavern solved one problem but not the other. He now knew how the outlaw gang had managed to escape capture, but he was no closer to knowing their identities. That meant having to wait until the next holdup.

  Just as he turned to leave, something caught his eye. A slip of paper. He stooped to pick it up and immediately recognized Kate’s flowery script. It read:

  He who knows the road can ride at full trot.

  Arching an eyebrow, he tucked the scrap of paper into his vest pocket. It seemed that all roads led back to the candy shop, and that worried him.

  22

  By eleven o’clock the next morning, it was already hot, and Kate longed to go to the old swimming hole and cool down. Unfortunately, there was too much work to be done.

  She had just finished replenishing the display cabinet when Harvey Wells walked in. He greeted Kate with a silly grin. Despite his buckteeth and gangly appearance, Harvey was considered a catch by mothers of marriage-aged daughters. He’d earned the honor mainly through his rich uncle, who owned one of the largest cattle ranches in the Texas Hill Country.

  “Coming here that last time was the luckiest day of my life,” he announced, reaching for a free sample.

  “Oh?” Kate asked. “How so?”

  His grin grew wider. “I would never have asked Mary-Ruth to dance with me, had it not been for the fortune that said ‘Love comes in all colors, even yellow.’”

  To hide her irritation, Kate rearranged the jars on the counter. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “When I got to the dance, who should be dressed in yellow but Mary-Ruth. That’s when I knew what fate had in store.”

  “How did you know that? There were other women in yellow,” she said. Connie, for one.

  “Yeah, but once me and Mary-Ruth started kicking up our heels, I knew she was the only one for me.”

  That wasn’t what Kate had wanted to hear. How she hated knowing the part she’d played in breaking her friend’s heart!

  “Do you want your usual two-timing…uh, two-flavored stick candy?”

  Her slip of the tongue seemed to go unnoticed, as did the coolness of her voice. “Not today,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Today, I want the biggest, fanciest box of candy money can buy.” He puffed out his chest. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”

  Kate tried not to let her annoyance show. He definitely had what Aunt Letty called “the look,” so it was probably unfair to blame him for how he felt. Sometimes the heart had a mind of its own, and there wasn’t much a person could do but obey its command.

  “I can’t put it together right now.” She tossed a nod at the stack of orders. “I can have it ready later this afternoon.”

  “That’s fine,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his money clip. “Would it be possible to have it delivered to Mary-Ruth’s house?”

  “Yes, but it will cost you extra.” She slid a pencil and paper across the counter. “Write down what you want the card to say.”

  Harvey scrawled out his message and slid the paper back to her. The word love was printed in big, bold letters. “Want to see something?” he asked, pulling out what had looked like a steel rod from his pocket.

  “Don’t tell me that’s another one of your”—she’d almost said crazy—“inventions.” Most of his inventions had no real value. Like the baby sling that worked on a series of cables to lift an infant from its cradle across the room and into its mother’s arms. She was annoyed with him for hurting her friend, but she would never willingly hurt his feelings.

  He grinned. “Yeah, and this one’s gonna make me rich and famous. This here is what I call a marriage saver,” he said.

  Kate eyed the steel rod with curiosity. “How’s that going to save a marriage?”

  “I’ll show you.” With a quick motion, he secured a previously rolled cigarette to one end and extended the rod until it was a good ten or fifteen feet long. “If a man’s wife doesn’t approve of
him smoking in the house, all he has to do is attach his cigarette in the little clip at the end and poke the rod out the window. He can sit inside talking to the missus while the cigarette he’s smoking hangs outside.”

  Kate laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I think that might have a better chance of success than your rocking bathtub,” she said. “Or even your baby sling.”

  He looked pleased. “I hope you’re right. But if you’re not, I’ve got an idea for a device that could save your life if you’re ever accidentally buried alive.”

  Kate shuddered at the thought. “Good luck with your…uh…marriage saver.”

  “Thanks.”

  No sooner had he left than Mr. Thornton walked in the door. Resigning herself to another frustrating encounter, Kate greeted him with a forced smile. Two unwanted customers back to back.

  She’d first met him ten years ago when she was a young girl, and her unfavorable opinion of him had not changed. Having the misfortune of being born and raised in Massachusetts, Mr. Thornton had all the Eastern eccentricities of dress and speech but none of the charm.

  Today, his striped trousers were secured by red suspenders and his shoes protected by pearl-gray spats.

  Not once in all the years she’d known him had he smiled, nor had he ever bothered to say please or thank you. “What a crank,” she’d said after meeting him for the first time. Her uncle had looked appalled. “Well, he is,” she’d insisted.

  Uncle Joe had made no effort to hide his disappointment in her. But instead of scolding her, he’d reached beneath the counter for a gumdrop and held it up. “People are like candy,” he’d said. “Some are all sparkly like gumdrops. Others, like Mr. Thornton, are like lemon drops. You have to dig deep to find the soft centers.”

  Out of respect for her uncle’s memory, Kate still kept digging. She always greeted Mr. Thornton with a smile, though it was never returned. In addition, she never failed to add a little something extra to his order and enclosed a fortune she hoped would lift his spirits. To her knowledge, none ever had.

  Today, as always, he silently perused the candy displayed behind the glass and ordered his usual butterscotch candy. She was running out of fortunes and would have to make more. She finally settled on the one that read:

  Life is like a cup of tea. It’s all in how you make it.

  He slapped a coin on the counter, snatched up the bag of candy, and headed for the door without so much as a goodbye.

  Just as he left the shop, Kate made a face and stuck out her tongue. Before the door closed, Brett breezed in, catching her in the act.

  He laughed. “That bad, eh?”

  Blushing, she placed her elbows on the counter and rubbed her temples. “In the ten years I’ve known that man, not once has he ever smiled or said a civil word.”

  Brett’s amused expression melted into sympathy. “He must be related to the sheriff.”

  Dropping her hands, she smiled, her irritation forgotten. “I didn’t expect to see you again after—” Heat rose up her neck, and she fell silent.

  He stiffened and squared his jaw. “Something came up,” he said. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes, and his voice was as formidable as his expression.

  Not sure what to think, Kate waited for him to explain. Instead, he pulled a strip of paper out of his vest pocket and laid it on the counter. Recognizing her own handwriting, she raised her eyebrows in question.

  “‘He who knows the road can ride at full trot,’” he read out loud. His gaze dipped to her pursed lips before he quickly looked away. “Do you remember who you might have given that to?”

  She thought for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. Is it important?”

  “Could be.” Still avoiding her gaze, he moved the paper a tad closer to her with the tip of his finger. “Do you notice anything odd about it?” he asked.

  “Odd?” She shook her head. “No, why?”

  “See that crease?” He pointed. “Someone took the time to carefully fold it in half. I noticed that most people read their fortunes and toss them aside. But this person folded his, which means he meant to keep it. And if that’s true, it could mean that he takes these things seriously.”

  “You kept the one I gave you,” she said, watching his face carefully. “The day at the river, you showed it to me. Does that mean you take such things seriously?”

  This time his gaze met hers. “I always take warnings seriously,” he said. Something in his eyes suggested he wasn’t as immune to her as he tried to let on. That maybe their kiss had affected him as much as it had affected her. In a flash, the look was gone, making her doubt her own eyes.

  “I believe I found a Ghost Riders’ hideout,” he said, changing the subject.

  “You found it?”

  He nodded. “Not far from the church.”

  “Oh, Brett, that’s wonderful! It means you’re getting close to catching them.”

  “I hope so,” he said, though there was no gratification in his voice. “Then my work here will be done.” He glanced at her as if expecting some sort of objection. When none came, he said, “Think again. Who might you have given that particular maxim to?”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. “It might have been someone going on a trip,” she said and brightened. “Like Mrs. Ambrose. Oh, yes, now I remember. She was planning a trip abroad. And that seemed to fit the occasion.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Let me think.” After a beat, something occurred to her. “I also gave that same fortune to Mrs. Applegate before she delivered her second child.” She thought a moment. “Oh yes. I also added it to Mrs. Cambridge’s order. She’s been widowed twice and was trying to decide whether to take another chance on love. And then there was…” She cited several other customers, all of whom she’d hoped had benefitted from that particular maxim.

  He waited for her to finish before shaking his head with warm approval. “That’s amazing, You’re amaz…” He coughed and looked away. “A…a magician.”

  She blushed. “It’s just something I learned from my uncle. He was a big believer in the power of suggestion.” She sighed. “I wish I was more help, but…” She shrugged.

  “So far, you’ve named a few women.” Now he was serious again. “Can you think of any men who might have received that particular saying?”

  Hitting a blank, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll ask my aunt if she remembers anyone.”

  “That would be a big help.”

  “Is…is there anything else I can do for you? How about some rock candy?”

  “Maybe later.” He started to leave but then changed his mind. “Maybe there is something you can do.”

  “Oh?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he hesitated a moment before asking, “How would you feel about helping me catch a couple of real, live ghosts?”

  23

  All during the following week, Kate included the same fortune in every bag of candy, per Brett’s instructions. It read:

  On the day of the next full moon, your path will be bathed in gold.

  Most of her customers would probably not give the handwritten fortune a second thought. But if Brett was right and one of her regulars was a Ghost Rider—and took such things to heart—the fortune might force him into action.

  Nothing, of course, had been left to chance. Brett had personally seen to it that word had discreetly filtered out about a big shipment of gold coins heading for Haywire by stage on Thursday. Not only did that day correlate with Reverend Johnson’s visitations, but also with the full moon. Even nature seemed to be working in their favor.

  Now all that was left to do was wait.

  Kate felt honored to have such an important task to do. But even as she dutifully played her part, she hoped and prayed that none of her customers were involved.

  That included Mr. Thornton, who�
�d entered the shop that morning with his usual grim-faced expression just as Harvey Wells was unveiling his latest invention to a curious crowd.

  Hoot Owl Pete moved to make a spot for Thornton. Next to them, Mrs. Tremble watched with her poodle cradled in her arms. Mitzie’s sharp-eyed gaze was fixed on Ringo happily chewing on a dog cake. Standing between former mayor Bellwether and Reverend Johnson, Lucky Lou switched the dog leash from his right hand to his left and helped himself to the plate of candy Kate had set out. The cinnamon candy was new, and she wanted to test it before offering it for sale.

  Harvey pointed to the strange-looking contraption on the counter that resembled a paddlewheel. “This here is every candy-maker’s dream,” he said with a flourish.

  Mrs. Cuttwell made a face. “I certainly hope it works better than the dressmaker’s dream you invented,” she said with a haughty shake of her head. She turned to the crowd. “He said his mechanical scissors would take the drudgery out of cutting, but all they did was fray the fabric.”

  “Anything’s gotta be better than that danged horseshoeing machine.” The blacksmith imitated Harvey’s high-pitched voice. “Just put the horse’s hoof in the hole, and the machine will do the rest.” Ironman returned to his normal voice. “It did the rest, all right. The horse jumped sky-high and never did come back down.”

  Harvey cleared his throat, “Yes, well, even the greatest inventors experience a setback or two.”

  “Or three or four,” Hoot Owl Pete said and then promptly reminded Harvey about the mannerly hat that automatically raised in polite salutation. “It raised, all right, along with half the scalp.”

  Ignoring his critics, Harvey drew everyone’s attention back to his current invention and continued. “The moment of greatest achievement has finally arrived.” He proceeded to demonstrate. “This is what I call a taffy puller,” he explained. “It’s easy to use. All you do is wrap the taffy mixture around these paddles here, like this.” He pulled a mass of sticky, boiled sugar out of a bowl and demonstrated. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “you are about to witness candy-making history.” He then turned the crank.