First Love Wild Love

by Janelle Taylor

  The door to the jail opened and the sheriff came forward. “Dang you, Clint Deavers! I done told you to do your shooting out of town,” he declared, as if mildly correcting a mischievous child.

  “Now, Sheriff, I didn’t start anything,” Deavers innocently remarked, a tone of indulgence and a total lack of respect lacing his strong voice. “What was I supposed to do? Let them two gun me down? It was a fair fight, two against one. Ask anybody; they drew first. I was only defending myself.”

  “Yeh, like you claim every time you hand over a dead body. I’m trying to gain some peace and order in this town, Clint. I can’t have you battling on the street all the time. What am I gonna do with you?” The sheriff could have been talking to himself.

  “Ain’t nothing you can do. I drew last. I can’t help it if I’m faster and better. If I wasn’t, ole Greeley there would be stuffing me into a pine box instead of those two.” Clint discussed the two killings as if they were a joke.

  “One day, it is gonna be you if you don’t stop challenging any man who looks at you sideways. You’re itching to get killed, Deavers, and some man’s gonna oblige you,” the sheriff warned.

  “There ain’t a man alive who can beat my guns from their holsters. You gonna arrest me?” he teased lightly.

  “For what?” the sheriff scoffed, then ambled away muttering.

  When Clint focused his attention on Calinda’s window, she quickly ducked behind the curtains. Clint laughed merrily as he watched their enlightening movement. “Sorry about the noise, Miss Braxton. I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep. Care to join me for supper?”

  Before thinking, Calinda slammed the window shut. She could hear the satanic laughter from Clint Deavers at her foolish action. “Is that fearless uncle of yours here yet?” he shouted at her.

  Calinda shuddered. He was making fun of her, trying to frighten her. He knew her name—evidently he had questioned the clerk. What had that stupid man told him? Even if Deavers knew her name, he couldn’t be sure Major Jones wasn’t her uncle as alleged. There was no way for him to know the truth…

  She was hungry and she needed to send a message to the sheriff, even if it was ridiculous. That old man would never antagonize a ruthless gunslinger. Cal was afraid to leave her room, but she couldn’t remain locked in here for a week. It would be wiser to show a brave front and try to continue her bluff.

  Calinda went to see the obnoxious clerk to hire his service. She was disconcerted when the stolid man informed her he was too busy to run an errand for her, even with pay. She argued and reasoned with him, but she couldn’t change his mind. When she turned to enter the area where food was served, Clint Deavers was poised in the open doorway. He strolled forward and smiled confidently.

  In a lazy drawl, Deavers asked, “Having problems, Miss Braxton? Looks as if that uncle of yours has forgotten all about you. Now he shouldn’t go letting a pretty thing like you go roaming around in such a dangerous area. Ready to settle for my help and company?” he murmured suggestively, tugging on one of her shiny chestnut curls.

  Calinda slapped his hand away and commanded, “Stay away from me, Mister Deavers, or you’ll regret it. My uncle was probably delayed on Ranger business, but he’ll arrive very soon. You might use your guns and colorful reputation to frighten the local people, but I’m not afraid of you. And I don’t like you. So keep your hands off me, or you’ll discover what an excellent shot I am.”

  Deavers captured her hand, finding it cold and shaky. He was a man who depended on his keen observations and instincts to stay alive. He could read Calinda’s panic at twenty paces. He noted the enlarged pupils of her deep green eyes. He watched her moisten her dry lips several times. He caught the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He could see the throbbing of the pulse in her neck. Too, the letter which the clerk had refused on his orders was quivering in her tight grasp.

  Calinda yanked on her imprisoned hand, but Clint didn’t release it. He chuckled, then said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever been challenged by a woman, a beautiful one at that. Where you want this showdown to take place, Miss Braxton, in the street or in your room?”

  “You vile creature,” she gasped. “Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t rightly do that, Calinda. You have me all heated up over you. You don’t mind if I call you Calinda, do you?”

  Calinda stared at him. He was playing with her, mocking her. “Yes, I do mind. You appear a proud man, Mister Deavers; won’t it damage your ego and reputation to harass a lady because she rebuffs you and your rude manner?” she icily struck at his immense pride.

  “Just think how it will improve my ‘reputation’ and ‘manner’ when I win you over. Haven’t been turned down by a female yet.”

  “There’s always a first time, Mister Deavers, and this is it. I’m sure you try to terrify any woman who catches your gaze. But I gravely doubt any one of them would…”

  When she flushed and stammered, he laughed. “Well, Calinda, people usually do try to keep on my good side.”

  “You don’t possess one,” she scoffed, her disdain visible.

  As it was noon by then, several men entered the hotel to eat, including the incompetent sheriff. He walked like a rolling wave, his slumped shoulders reminding her of the curl on its crest. She called him over to them. “Sheriff, would you please tell Mister Deavers I do not wish his company or conversation, today or any other day. He seems intent on forcing both on me.”

  The sheriff’s eyes rolled backwards in irritation. “Come on, Clint, ain’t you had enough fun and excitement for one day? Move along,” he ordered, his voice lacking any serious conviction or force.

  “I was only offering my protection and assistance to Calinda,” Clint insouciantly replied, retaining his grip on her hand.

  Calinda knew it was time to press her advantage and get away from this man. “Release my hand! Sheriff, my uncle, Major Jones of the Rangers, will hold you responsible for this mistreatment.”

  “Your uncle’s a Texas Ranger?” the sheriff asked nervously.

  “That’s correct, sir. I came here to meet him, but he’s obviously been detained. Mister Deavers has been harassing me since yesterday. I would appreciate it if you would handle this matter promptly,” Calinda demanded boldly.

  “Head on out, Clint. We don’t want no trouble bringing Rangers to Lampasas. You can see the lady ain’t interested in you,” the older man cautioned, sounding serious this time.

  Clint shrugged as if the sheriffs words had been convincing. “I guess you’re right. I hear you’re gonna be mighty busy between now and Saturday. Guess you won’t be in town too often this week,” he spoke casually, but Calinda seized his implication and paled.

  “That’s right. I got to head into the brush and see if I can flush out those other rustlers. But I don’t want no trouble from you while I’m gone. I’m leaving Deputy Barnes in town,” the sheriff told him, unaware of the part he was playing in Clint’s impending scheme.

  “Old Barnes?” Clint jovially hinted, then chuckled wickedly. “Why old Barnes is fifty if he’s a day.”

  “What’s wrong with that? So am I,” the sheriff muttered.

  “Why, I think he’s the best man you could leave behind. I’ll be seeing you later, Sheriff. Calinda,” he added, then nodded. A guileful leer spread over his face after revealing how helpless she was.

  “You want to sup with me, Miss Jones?” the sheriff offered.

  “Yes, thank you. I was planning to see you today and discuss my problem. I headed for your office yesterday, but you were out. That’s when I ran into Mister Deavers; he’s been pestering me since. Your townspeople aren’t very friendly or helpful,” she stated grimly.

  After they were seated and served, Calinda told him her carefully constructed story. The sheriff sympathized with her, but said there was nothing he could do to solve her troubles. She concluded this man was a discredit to his badge and to law and order. She felt no respect or confidence in him; he was useless to this town and to
her. She knew her only safety lay in sticking to her false claims. She dared not trust this man with the truth. It was also futile to plead for his protection, so she didn’t. She was tempted to flaunt Lynx’s name for added protection, but changed her mind. An egotistical man like Deavers might try to use her peril as a challenge to Lynx.

  As they finished their meal in stony silence, the sheriff stood up to leave. He lingered to offer, “If you’ll write out a telegram to your uncle, I’ll send it out for you.” He smiled affably.

  Calinda was pleased and relieved. Since she had been told the telegraph office was closed today, she assumed her message would go out in the morning. The sheriff sat down again for another cup of black coffee while she borrowed pen and paper from the sulky clerk to write out her message. Cornered, she fretted over how to word the message to indicate her dangerous position without making Jones think she was touched in the head and without giving away her deceitful claims.

  Finally it was ready. Cal handed it to the sheriff and withdrew the money to pay for it. He accepted it, bid her farewell, then left, promising to bring any response which came in later. She quickly made her way upstairs before Deavers could return to torment her. As before, she propped the chair under the doorknob.

  Deavers watched the sheriff head for the telegraph office and enter. He decided to check out this action before seeing the beautiful redhead again. He waited until the sheriff had left and disappeared into his office. He ambled over to the telegraph office.

  “What’s doing, Slim?” Clint asked the chubby man behind the desk.

  Slim glanced up and tensed. He didn’t like this man who wore his guns low on his hips and tied securely to his muscled thighs. Slim pulled his beady eyes from the roguishly handsome face and chilly blue eyes. “Nothing, Clint. Kind of quiet today.”

  “I saw the sheriff leaving a while back. Did he hand you a telegram to send out?” he asked, his expression relentless.

  “Yes,” Slim hesitantly replied. “It wasn’t about you,” he quickly added.

  “The sheriff made a mistake, Slim; he doesn’t want that telegram to go out after all. Just hand it to me and I’ll take it over to him.” Clint didn’t even try to make his lie sound plausible.

  “You know I can’t do that, Clint; it ain’t legal,” Slim weakly argued. “Anyway, it’s too late; I just tapped it out.”

  Clint’s eyes narrowed and frosted. His rigid stance exposed his anger. “What did it say? Where did it go?” he demanded coldly.

  “Clint, please. You know that ain’t allowed. I could get in big trouble. Telegrams are the same as U.S. Mail; they’re protected by law. It was personal business for some lady stranded here.”

  “Smart people say the law is made by the strongest man and fastest gun,” Clint hinted lucidly, pulling out one of his weapons and lazily fondling it as he spoke. “I got my eye on that little gal, Slim. If she’s planning to leave town, I need to know. Who’s to know if I take a look-see at her telegram?” His voice was smooth and firm.

  Slim knew from observation that Clint always spoke and acted in this deceptively calm and sportive manner when he was seething with lethal fury. What did it matter? “Just don’t you tell anyone,” he acquiesced, fetching the handwriting sheet.

  Slim could tell that Clint didn’t like what he was reading by the way he moved his jaw from side to side and frowned. Slim shook his head, delighted he wasn’t in Miss Calinda Braxton’s shoes.

  Clint’s sharp mind took in the facts on the page:

  Major J.B. Jones, Fort Fisher Ranger Post, Waco,

  Came to Lampasas as your letter requested. No Elliott Braxton. No Major Jones. Why? Town unsafe. Stranded. No help in sight. Please explain delay. Must return home. No stage for six days. Send message promptly. Hurry.

  Calinda Braxton, Keystone Hotel, Lampasas.

  Clint’s gaze lifted to pierce the distance between him and the stocky man who was trembling in dread. “You’re positive this has already gone out to Jones in Waco?”

  “I’m sorry, Clint, but the sheriff said it was important.”

  So, Clint reasoned, that old buzzard wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. He was trying to help Calinda, even if that meant bringing a Ranger here. Clint glanced over the missive again, then chuckled. He had the girl worried and frightened. It would take days for anyone to arrive, if Jones didn’t think her crazy. Still, the weird telegram might stir Jones’s curiosity. If his time was limited now, he should halt this silly game with that ravishing flower. Clint glared at the station agent. “When the answer comes in, Slim, you best bring it to me first. Understand?”

  “You’ll give it to her after you read it, won’t you? If they find out she didn’t get it, them Rangers could get nosy and nasty.”

  “I’ll see she gets the message, loud and clear, Slim.” Clint’s chest rumbling with laughter, he strolled out into the afternoon sun. This was turning out to be a most rewarding favor…

  Dusk began to lightly drop into dark shadows. Calinda had been sealed in her room since mid-day. If a response didn’t come tomorrow, she would be on slippery ground. Perhaps Jones had run into trouble; perhaps he wasn’t coming; perhaps he wasn’t in Waco to receive her urgent plea for help. If he was absent, would anyone read his messages, or hold them until his return?

  Calinda had spent the last two hours huddled by the window, remaining out of sight, watching for any sign of Clint Deavers. What kind of town and people were these? A lynching on Saturday night and a gunfight on the main street on Sunday morning…A town where a villain held more respect and authority than the law …A town where a decent lady wasn’t safe…This peril and fear reminded her of her danger and situation in Fort Worth. Since coming west, she had found no safety or serenity except at the ranch. When a knock sounded on her door, she jumped and nearly screamed.

  When she didn’t answer it, the sheriff called out, “You in there, Miss Braxton?”

  Calinda rushed to open it, sighing in relief. She never thought she’d be delighted to see this particular man. It was strange how a person could get extremely hungry when sitting around with nothing to occupy her mind or hands, and her stomach was growling softly.

  “I wanted to drop by to say there’s been no word yet. I been busy, so I came over to eat before heading home.”

  Calinda quickly asked, “May I join you? I haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Surely, Miss Braxton,” he replied, suspecting why she hadn’t left her room. He had heard the scraping of the chair on the floor when she had removed it. Poor child…But he was retiring next month, and he was finishing his duty without endangering himself. A man would be a dead fool to challenge Clint Deavers, and he didn’t want to be one. More accurately, he didn’t want to be another notch on a gun. He had done all he could for her; he had sent her telegram.

  They talked little as the meal was consumed. While they were having coffee and pie, Calinda asked about the violence she had witnessed last night. Recalling the fragility of men’s egos from the stage incident, she didn’t ask why he had done nothing to stop it. She listened as he talked of rustlers and armed citizens resisting the outlaws. He even excused his cowardice last night by saying they would have killed him if he had interfered; one man was no match for a riled mob with loaded guns and functioning on hatred.

  “If you think this town is wild and lawless, Miss Braxton, you should visit Junction in Kimble County. It’s south of here, two day’s ride. This town is peaceful compared to Junction. I’m too old for this job. I’m retiring next month when the election is held. Gonna do myself some fishing and hunting. Gonna read some books and rest plenty. This job needs a man with iron in his back and courage in his blood. I used to have plenty of both.” He sighed heavily. It was difficult for a man to accept growing old and useless.

  Calinda watched his sad expression. Her heart went out to him. She couldn’t blame him for her crisis or for wanting to survive. She smiled warmly and thanked him for his help. As he was leaving, he whispered, “I wouldn’t wor
ry about Deavers tonight. He’s over to the cantina. Once into a card game, he usually stays the night.”

  She smiled gratefully and thanked him again. Before going up to bed, she approached the clerk about some water for her room. She wanted to freshen up before turning in. The clerk groaned as if in pain. She was shocked when he told her there were buckets by the door and guests were responsible for fetching their own water.

  “Surely the hotel charge covers such services?” she argued.

  “Just the first day, Miss. We ain’t got time to do more ’an cook meals and clean rooms after that,” he lied.

  “You can’t be that busy; you have only three guests. Shall I pay extra?” Cal sarcastically asked, feeling he was cheating her.

  “Don’t have time, Miss. I was turning in. The well’s by the door and there’s a light. See you tomorrow.”

  Calinda gaped at him as he hurried to his room. What a rude and selfish man! Surely he could take a moment to fetch water for her, at least go along with her. She hesitated to go for the water. But it was humid and hot today, and she knew she would rest better if she washed off before bed. The sheriff had said Clint was busy for the night. And no one else had bothered her since Clint had made it clear he was pursuing her.

  Calinda went to the door and unbolted it. She picked up a bucket and walked outside, finding the well nearby as informed. She lowered the pail, allowed it to fill, then drew it up again. She dumped the water into her own bucket. Before she could lift it, she noticed a man’s legs behind her as she leaned over for it.

  Cal shrieked in alarm, straightened, and whirled around. “How dare you sneak up on me!” she declared in a strained voice.

  A sinister chuckle escaped his mouth before he teased, “I do believe your temper is as fiery as your hair, Missy.”

  Calinda was filled with panic. She deserted the water bucket in a vain attempt to hurry inside and bolt the door. Just as she reached it, it was slammed and locked from the inside. Taken by surprise she crashed into it, wincing in pain as she forcefully struck the immovable object. She hammered the door with her balled fist. No one responded. Terror seized her wits and dazed them.