Rustler's Moon

by Jodi Thomas

  He fell silent. They just walked. She listened to the water lapping against the shoreline and fish slapping the calm lake as they jumped to catch their supper.

  She thought of asking who the woman was that she’d seen in the sheriff’s house, but maybe he had a right to his secrets, too. Finally, she broke the silence. “I’d better turn in. Tomorrow will be a big day for me.”

  At the spot where she turned off toward her cabin, they stopped and he turned to face her. “Angela, don’t worry about tomorrow. You’ll be fine. We’re all glad you’re here. When I hand over the museum keys, a few representatives from some of the original families will be there.”

  He could probably hear her breathing stop, so he rushed to continue. “You’ve already talked to Staten Kirkland. He’s the one who hired you on the phone. You’ll meet the O’Gradys and Collinses as well as the Wagners. All from old families who settled here a hundred years ago. They’re just showing up to wish you the best.”

  “Is there anyone I should be worried about?”

  Dan laughed. “They are all good people. You might watch out for Wagner, though. Vern’s been known to ask any single girl around to marry him.”

  “How many wives has he had?”

  “None. Talk is, after he forgot to show up at the church a few times, every woman in town stopped believing anything Vern said.” Dan shook his head. “I don’t know if that story is true. Wagner told it to me himself.”

  “I’ll watch out for him.”

  Dan laughed. “I promise, he’s someone not easy to miss.”

  Angela said good-night and walked down the path to her cabin trying to remember all the names she’d heard. Kirkland, Collins, O’Grady and Wagner. Once she got settled in her new job, she’d look up all their family histories. Though she’d like to forget hers, most people wanted to talk about their roots.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING she was so early to the parking lot of the museum she waited half an hour before the sheriff showed up. While he was unlocking the huge double doors of the museum, cars and pickup trucks began pulling into the lot.

  The sheriff stood beside her as the families piled out and greeted each other. Dan leaned close to her and quietly gave her the lowdown. “The couple in the Cadillac are the Collinses, they own the Bar W Ranch. Both their sons are away at school. That van with all the kids are one branch of the O’Gradys. Lots of them around town.” He nodded to an attractive couple with a young son. “The tall couple with the toddler are the Kirklands. Staten owns the Double K. Biggest spread within a hundred miles. Word is his wife, Quinn, is pregnant again. The two men climbing out of that old rusty red pickup are Wagners. They own the Devil’s Fork Ranch.”

  Angela fought the urge to bolt. So many people, all coming to see her. Kirkland was tall, big like his voice had been on the phone. The man called Collins looked bored and his wife seemed overdressed.

  She suddenly had a dozen questions to ask the sheriff, but it was too late.

  People were too near the museum for him to fill her in on any more details, but she felt as if she had at least put a few names with faces.

  When the sheriff finally opened the doors, she was surprised to see a banner welcoming her. A long lace-covered table was set up with red velvet cupcakes, lemon squares and juice in tall champagne glasses. All made it seem more a party than her first day at work. Three round little grandmother-types stood behind the refreshments table beaming with pride.

  Fifty people crowded into the big two-story open foyer. Angela and the sheriff stood next to the mayor, Davis Collins, and his perfect, much younger wife named Cherry.

  Angela fought down a giggle every time the mayor called his wife “Cherry Baby.” Everyone in the room, except Davis Collins, could see his wife glare at him. She obviously hated the name and he obviously didn’t care.

  Everyone except two-year-old James Kirkland stood silently as the mayor said what a grand day it was to have a new curator over the museum they all loved.

  With keys in her hand, Angela moved among the people trying to remember names. Everyone wanted to show her their favorite exhibit. After two hours, Angela felt as if she’d had a private tour of every foot of the museum from archives with journals of the first settlers, to the gun collections, to a mock-up of the first wagons. All her years of studying Texas history came alive as she touched artifacts that had survived since the time of the first Austin colony, including weapons that were around during the fight at the Alamo, and Native American clothing now treasured as works of art.

  She loved it all. This was where she belonged. She’d grown up with her father and uncle always talking antiques. Every family member’s house had tables no one touched and chairs no one sat in. Yet, all these treasures of this Western past came alive as the descendants told stories of how life had been here on this very land a hundred and fifty years ago.

  When the last guest finally left, and the three volunteers vanished into a small kitchen in the back to clean up the refreshments, Angela almost danced up the stairs. She wanted to pull the pins from her tight bun and run like a carefree child through her new life.

  But of course she wouldn’t. She giggled. She’d do what was expected, at least until everyone was gone. Being here was both terrifying and Christmas morning at the same time.

  After stopping at her office to pick up a pencil and pad, she began at the top of the stairs jotting things down that needed to be done and ideas for new displays. It would take weeks to examine all the artifacts, but what fun she would have.

  She was so lost in her ideas, she didn’t notice a man moving up behind her until she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

  “I have a question.”

  She jumped, almost tumbling into the diorama of the canyon. Her notepad and pencil flew into the air. The pad slapped against the floor, but the pencil jabbed her attacker’s forehead drawing a drop of blood.

  His right hand shot out, catching her shoulder as his tall frame leaned forward. His grip was strong, digging into her arm as he fought to pull her toward him and away from the display glass.

  Opening her mouth to scream, she whirled. Her elbow plowed into his ribs as she found her footing. He folded over and his jaw slammed against her forehead, sending his hat flying into the display.

  Both let out a cry. Hers sounded more like a squeal, and his seemed more like swearing, but when they met one another’s eyes, both were in pain.

  She recovered first. “Mr. Wagner!” At over six-four, he was hard to forget. Especially when he’d added boots and a hat to his height. He had towered above her when he shook her hand at the reception, and he towered over her now.

  “Mrs. Jones.” He gasped as he straightened, rubbing his ribs.

  She had no idea what kind of man he was, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “My colleagues are in the back. If you are thinking of assaulting me, all I have to do is scream, and they’ll come running.”

  Wagner made an effort to smile. “I doubt your three volunteers have run in thirty years. A cattle prod wouldn’t budge them into more than a stroll. As for assaulting you, I’m the one with a hole in my chest from your elbow and several teeth loose from the blow to my jaw.” He brushed two fingers across his forehead. “It appears I’m also bleeding. All I planned to do was ask you a question, lady.”

  She saw his point. Surprisingly enough, she seemed to have won the short battle. “Well, Mr. Wagner, if you’re thinking of asking me to marry you, you can forget it. I’m wise to your tricks. I was warned by the sheriff.”

  The tall cowboy gave up looking injured and stared at her as if she’d gone crazy. Anger flared. “Look, much as I’m turned on by your plain, gray suit and those practical shoes, I’m not in the habit of proposing to complete strangers on first contact.”

  “I’ve heard different, Vern Wagner.”


  Now he looked shocked. Then, to her surprise, he smiled and winked at her. “You do fit the list, Mrs. Jones, except I’m thinking you’re too smart. Dumb was a definite on the criteria. That suit looks like it’s homemade, and I’m betting you cook. Now that I think about it, we might as well get married, assuming your bank account is hefty and your husband is missing.”

  She could only stare at the insane man. Maybe there was too much inbreeding in this county. He looked all right, close to perfect, actually. Tall, handsome with his sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. From boots to Stetson he was dressed as if he’d walked off the cover of a romance novel. Too bad he was brain-dead.

  “Maybe we should get on with the mating. After all, your being pregnant at the wedding would be a plus.” He leaned down to her level as he moved closer.

  Angela froze in total shock as his lips touched hers. The few times in her life she’d been kissed, really kissed, were nothing like this. His lips were soft against hers, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

  Her entire body warmed. This man was a lightning strike on a clear day.

  He hesitated as though just as surprised as she was, then leaned closer letting his body brush against her. One hand moved along her waist. She wasn’t sure if he was steadying her, or himself, as the kiss deepened.

  She accepted his gift, hungry for a passion she’d never tasted. She had no idea how to kiss him back like this, but for one wild moment in her life, she wanted to learn.

  Just as she wondered if crazy was contagious, someone hollered, “Wilkes!” so loud it echoed through the walls.

  Wagner straightened and pulled his hat down over his still-bleeding forehead. He was pulling away, straightening to the stranger he’d been moments before, but for one second, she felt his fingers press into her side as if letting go didn’t come easy.

  She stumbled as she stepped around him and felt his hand rest against her back once more, steadying her after his gentle assault.

  An old man limped into the room. “How long do you expect me to wait for you, boy? I got things to do back at the ranch.”

  She glanced at the man beside her. He definitely wasn’t a boy and hadn’t been for years, but he didn’t seem offended by the old man’s tone.

  “Angie Jones,” Wagner said as if, now that they’d kissed, they were old friends, “I’d like you to meet my uncle, Vern Wagner.”

  The older man took off his hat and smoothed his palm over the few hairs left on his head. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

  The man beside her leaned close to her ear. “I’m Wilkes Wagner, Angie. My uncle has been proposing to women for years and none have taken him up on it yet. I’m not sure, but I think he made up the part about leaving a few brides at the altar that everyone believes.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry for frightening you. I thought you were in on a joke my uncle was playing on me.”

  She thought over the odd encounter. She might not know how to fight off a man who wanted to kiss her, but she knew how to be professional. “And what was your question, Mr. Wagner?”

  Wilkes glanced at his uncle. “I’ll have to come back another time. I’d like you to help me with some research on an old house.”

  “I will be happy to,” she managed. “Only, please call before you come. I’m going to be very busy learning the museum.”

  “I’ll try.” He smiled, and she knew he was laughing at her. “Good day, Angie.”

  She straightened, trying to hold her ground. “My name’s not Angie, Mr. Wagner.” Only her father called her Angie.

  To her surprise Wilkes Wagner grinned. “It’s not Jones, either, Miss Harold, and there’s no ring on your finger. If you didn’t keep the man, don’t keep his name.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Angela

  Ransom Canyon Museum

  ANGELA PLOPPED DOWN in her office chair and swiveled around to face her huge window. The beautiful canyon welcomed her, calmed her. She felt the freedom of this place pounding through her blood.

  She’d been at work less than three hours and already she’d survived a party in her honor, injured a man she thought was attacking her and had a marriage proposal. Well, the proposal part was a joke, but still he had asked. Maybe living in this little town wasn’t going to be as boring as she’d hoped. Maybe she’d be different here. Braver.

  “Miss Harold?” Dan Brigman’s voice sounded from the hallway. “May I come in?”

  She turned toward the office door. Since the sheriff’s head was already in her office, she figured the rest of his body might as well be. “Of course.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk, but he walked around to stand at the floor-to-ceiling window.

  Brigman looked exactly like what she imagined a county sheriff would look like. They should cast him in a series. He was tall, but not too tall. Brown hair in need of a cut. Boots well-worn and polished, and a weapon strapped to his leg as if it were simply a part of him and nothing more. She’d known the moment she saw him that he was a man she could trust.

  “If I had this great a view in my office, I’d never leave.” Leaning against the edge of the glass, Dan added, “The town gave you a nice welcome, I thought.”

  “It was wonderful! The president of the museum board—Staten Kirkland?—said if there is anything I want around the place to just tell one of the volunteers and it will get back to his grandmother, who’ll pester him until he gets it done. Strange chain of command, but maybe it works.”

  Dan smiled. “That sounds about right. Staten can move mountains it seems. The Kirklands are about as close to royalty in these parts as it comes. Legend is Staten’s great-great-grandfather bought his wife at kind of a swap meet the outlaws used to have down in this very canyon. The Kirklands come from rough stock, but they’re solid.”

  “Rough stock?”

  “Sorry, I forget you’re not from around here. Rough stock is mostly a rodeo term these days. Bulls and horses that have never been tamed or broke to ride.”

  “What about the Wagners? Are they rough stock, too?” She could still feel the tingle of Wilkes Wagner’s lips on hers. No man had ever kissed her like that—all out and wild.

  “No. The Wagners come from a German family who were carpenters. Very civilized. The first Mrs. Wagner was a midwife who delivered half the babies born in the county back in the late 1800s. Somewhere along the way, a few of the sons or grandsons started farming. The Wagner you met owns the Devil’s Fork Ranch. Farms mostly to raise crops for winter as feed. Supplies several of the ranches around.

  “Wilkes runs a few head of cattle along with farming over eight hundred acres, but nothing like the Collins and Kirkland spreads. I’ve never seen a Wagner who couldn’t fix anything that broke. They’re good with their hands.”

  Angela blushed. She could still feel the imprint of Wilkes’s hand at her side.

  The sheriff pushed away from the window. He seemed to have stretched his skills at conversation to the max. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Call me if you need anything.”

  He was halfway to the door when she asked, “Where’s my staff?”

  “Staff?” Dan asked.

  “You know, the people who work here?” She’d hoped to meet them first, not last.

  “Oh, I thought you understood. You’re it. That’s why we had to close the place when the old curator left.”

  “You’re kidding.” She could not run the entire place by herself.

  Brigman must have seen her panic. “Of course. You got help. Nigel Walls comes in twice a week to clean the floors and bathrooms. He also works at the courthouse, so if you need him, I can send him over early.

  “The ladies auxiliary holds a brunch here the first of every month and their president assigns two members to the front desk every hour you’re open. I think they work in two-hour shifts, but
sometimes the ladies get to talking and there will be four to six women at the desk. The county keeps up with donations and bills. We don’t charge for our time, but the volunteers keep a count of attendance and give tours. The building is open from nine to five, six days a week. If you take a day off, all you have to do is call one of the board members to step in.”

  “That’s it? That’s all the staff?” Angela listed in her mind all the duties that didn’t include greeting or cleaning. Kirkland had probably explained it to her during the phone interview but she’d been so excited and tired she must have missed the details.

  “Of course we have others. Anyone doing community service is sent here to do yard work. The judge tends to make the hours longer around mid-November to help put up Christmas lights. But don’t worry about the Christmas party, it’s still two months away and the school tours don’t get packed back-to-back until spring.”

  Angela was glad she was sitting down. She did her best to understand what the sheriff was saying, but invisible boulders kept falling on her head. She was the only employee.

  “Anything else I should know about?”

  Dan looked out the window. “There is Carter Mayes. You’ll see his little RV parked out here on the museum lot now and then. He comes every spring and stays till late fall, has for years. Folks say he’s looking for something he lost in the canyon when he was a kid, but I think he just loves walking the back trails. Don’t worry about him. He’s a good guy.”

  She saw a lean figure far down in the canyon moving slowly toward the bottom. Carter Mayes.

  “Anything else?” the sheriff asked with his hand on the door.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think I’ll go back to my maiden name.” It seemed like a good idea, since she’d never really been engaged to the man named Jones, who never really existed. “When I talked to Mr. Kirkland, I thought I’d be married, but it didn’t happen.”