by Unknown
At the mention of Mabel, the hat was quickly forgotten. The kid staggered and grinned broadly when he saw the heavily painted woman making her way toward him.
"Thanks, Shelton, I appreciate what you did, I owe you one," Adam said, turning back to his food.
"We'll call it even if you agree never to order milk in my place again."
Adam tensed when he felt a hand on his back. Turning his head slowly, he saw Tom Bastrop and a foreboding feeling swept over him. It wasn't so much Tom Bastrop that made Adam wary. It was the two men with him. To his knowledge the men were not wanted by the law, but he recognized them. Logan Banner and Ross Reynolds were hired guns, two of the most ruthless men who ever strapped on a gun.
Now why did Tom Bastrop feel it necessary to hire guns? There were no range wars going on. Could it be they were reinforcements to help back up this vigilante group Bastrop was talking about? If so, the vigilante group was past the "talking" stage. It had already been formed.
"Howdy, Deputy, I wondered how you were going to get out of that. I figured you'd have to shoot the boy. It wouldn't have been a big loss, he comes from nothing but white trash."
Shelton glanced around sharply when he heard what Tom called the stranger. He jammed a cigar in the corner of his mouth. "So you're a deputy? Then you do owe me one."
Having suddenly lost his appetite, Adam shoved his plate back and ordered a beer. "Keeping late hours aren't you, Tom? Especially here at roundup."
"Oh, I had business to take care of. Speaking of business, I imagine you'll have to be going back to Fort Smith before long." From his tone of voice that thought did not distress him at all.
"No, on the contrary. I'll be here for a while. I'm looking for a building now that's suitable for a jail" He smiled but it was without humor. "I figure I'll need one with an awfully strong cell."
"I didn't think a deputy marshal had any authority to open a jail here in the Indian Territory."
"As a rule, we don't. But the rules are changing every day now that they're about to open up that land." Dismissing Tom with a flicker of his eyes, he looked at the two hired guns. "Banner, Reynolds." He nodded his head. "Last I heard, you men were somewhere out in Wyoming. I've heard the trouble is getting a little rough out there."
"Not any more, it isn't," Ross Reynolds stated flatly.
"I see. You boys decide to start punching cattle for a living now?"
Logan started to reply, but Tom held up a hand to silence him. "As you pointed out, Cahill, ranchers shouldn't keep too late of hours. We need to be getting back to the ranch." His eyes narrowed. "Just a word of warning, though. There's more trouble here in Doughtery than you might realize. If I were you, I’d watch my back."
Adam looked at Tom for a moment and decided now was as good a time as any to let the man know his opinion and where he stood.
"Oh, I don't think that I've got anything to worry about just yet. Especially now that you're heading back to your ranch."
There was no turning back now. The challenge had been issued.
Chapter 17
"I’ll be ready to go as soon as I saddle my horse. You drive the buckboard and I’ll ride alongside you," Warren said, helping Blair into the wagon.
Blair stared at the reins as though they were something coiled, ready to strike if she so much as took them in her hands. She had told Warren during breakfast that she did not want to go to Doughtery, but he kept insisting. Why she allowed him to persuade her to get ready, she did not know.
She swallowed with difficulty and found her voice, "For the last time, Warren, I had rather stay here. I’m really not in the mood to go to town."
"Nonsense! There is absolutely no reason for you to stay here at the house on such a beautiful spring day. Furthermore, Tillie said you needed some lace and ribbons for that pretty yellow dress you're wearing to the dance tomorrow night."
Blair looked at him accusingly. "You could pick up those items for me at the mercantile. Besides, I haven't made up my mind whether I'm going to the dance or not," she added coolly.
Warren stopped beside the wagon and placed his hands on his hips. She had been dragging around with a long face and big sad eyes ever since Adam left without telling her good-bye, but that was no reason for her to continue to be so despondent. It had to be something else bothering her but she refused to discuss it.
"All right, young lady, I've had just about enough of this foolishness. You've been as touchy as a rattler and I'm tired of it." His hard gaze drilled into her. "I demand that you tell me what's wrong."
She sputtered, bristling with indignation, "Nothing is wrong! I can not understand why you are making such a big issue over the fact that I do not want to go to town!"
"It isn't just that, Blair, and you know it. It's your attitude the past few days." Although he sounded stern, his tone betrayed his frustration, "Since you won't tell me what is bothering you, I suppose I will have to try and eliminate the reasons step by step. Are you still upset about that argument we had when you first came home? I realize I haven't said anything in so many words, but I have reconsidered the position I took that night. Hell, I'll even admit to being unreasonable about the entire matter if it will make you feel any better!"
"No, Warren, that's not it." She turned toward him and caught his stare. "I-I figured we were well on our way of working that problem out."
"Then is it Coy? I know his behavior has been strange, but he'll straighten up as soon as he has a chance to come to terms with what all that's happened lately. This land rush situation has hit him hard, but he'll come to his senses when it’s over."
"No, Warren, it isn't Coy —not really, although I do worry about him."
"Then what in the hell is it? I’m not about to stand here and guess all day, and I can't read your mind!"
"It's . . . it's . . . well, if you must know, it is Adam!"
"Adam?" he mouthed dumbly.
"Yes, Adam. I'm not sure . . . I'm . . . confused by the . . . feelings I have for him." She pressed her fingertips against her temples. "And, please, I do not want to discuss him, and I had rather not see him today either."
Warren was stunned. After Adam asked permission to come calling on Blair, he thought everything was fine between them.
"I thought you . . . liked Adam."
"I do," she answered softly. "I probably like him too much." She could not admit to Warren that she loved Adam.
Confused, he shook his head. "Perhaps I am becoming dense with age, but I don't understand what the problem is."
Her expression clouded with uneasiness. "The problem is: he does not care for me, and I do not want to push myself on him."
"If he doesn't care for you, then why in the hell did he ask permission to come calling on you the other night before he left?"
"He did what?" She looked at him sharply.
"He asked permission to court you," Warren repeated.
Was it because of his guilty conscience? If that was the case, it was little consolation.
She shrugged as though indifferent. "You must have misunderstood him, Warren. Adam doesn't care for me . . . not the way I want him to."
He pursed his lips and cast her a sidelong look. "But you care for him."
"Yes, I do."
"Well, I don't think I misunderstood him, but if I did, why are you sitting there doing nothing?"
"W-what do you mean?"
He used the cajoling tone he had used on her when she was a little girl. It had never failed to draw her out of a pouting mood. "Blair, I've never seen you behave this way before. What in the hell happened to my little spitfire sister? Was it that eastern school? You were sent there to learn how to be a lady . . . not to break your spirit."
She shook her head adamantly. "I am still myself, Warren, I have not changed, except I am older now and more mature."
"Hogwash! Granted, you are older, and yes, you have matured, but
the old Blair was a fighter. If you saw something you wanted, you went after it without any qualms whatsoever. You say you care for Adam. Well, I don't believe you," he taunted her.
"I do care for him!" she protested vehemently. "But he does not care for me."
"I think you are wrong about his feelings. But even if you are, what do you intend to do? Allow him to walk out of your life without even making an attempt to win his affections?"
She folded her arms stubbornly. "You are not going to change my mind by making me angry."
Unable to conceal his disgust, he scoffed, "I'm not trying to change your mind. I know one thing though, if you are willing to give up this easily, you're not woman enough for a man like him." He whirled and stalked angrily toward the tack room.
Stunned, Blair sat on the wagon seat, unable to move. How dare he talk to her this way! Men! They were always too stubborn and bull-headed to comprehend how a woman felt. He did not understand that a woman could not chase after a man as though she had not one ounce of pride.
You set a lot of stock in pride, Blair, but will it hold you, kiss you, keep you warm on a cold winter night? How can you allow pride to stand in the way of the man you love? Pride is no answer, it's just an excuse. You are a coward. You would rather wallow in the safety of self-pity than to reach out for happiness. It might be that he'll never love you, yet how will you know if you don't try? You've always fought for what you've wanted; why quit now when something as important as your future is at stake? It's your decision to make, but are you woman enough to live with it if you make the wrong one?
Warren returned from the tack room carrying his saddle. He gave Blair a scathing look. "You still out here? I figured you would be in the house hiding under your bed."
She smiled ever so slightly at his sarcasm. "No, how can I stay at home when I need lace and ribbons? Even if you volunteered to pick up those items for me at the general store, you'd probably get the wrong colors, then I would look a fright for the dance tomorrow night." turning somewhat on the wagon seat, she placed her hands akimbo. "Well, are you going to stand there holding that saddle all day? If we hurry, we may reach Doughtery in time to have lunch with Adam."
"All right, all right, I’m hurrying!" he said, a wide grin on his face.
"Warren?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. Sometimes I think I have mush for brains."
"Well, maybe sometimes you do, but I guess that's just the female in you."
Blair was amazed at how much Doughtery had grown during the short time she'd been home. , Although the town was still a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city, the street traffic reminded her of it. Children darted in and around the horses tied to the hitching posts, a steady stream of wagons —some seeming to strain at the breaking point—filed down the street, and people jostled each other on the boarded walkway without a backward glance or a hint of an apology. The change had not been for the better.
Stopping behind a stalled wagon, Blair shouted in order for Warren to hear her. "Can you see what the trouble is?"
Nudging his horse forward, he looked, then rode back to the buckboard. "Yeah, that wagon has a busted wheel. At this rate, we'll be here all day. Pull the buckboard into the livery stable and we'll see if we can't find Adam on foot."
Pulling back on the reins, Blair backed the team of horses up, then easily maneuvered around the stalled wagon. It was gratifying for her to know she had not forgotten how to handle a team of horses in a tight spot. Within a few minutes she had parked the buckboard inside the livery stable, and Warren was dismounting from his horse.
"Mr. Townsend, you are just the man I wanted to see," the hostler said excitedly, hurrying toward him. "The other night a fellow rode in on one of your horses —I know it's yours, I recognized the brand. I didn't question him about it though, cause he was wearing his guns strapped mighty low, and he looked like he was familiar with using them."
"There's no problem, Calvin. I loaned the horse to him. His mount is out at the ranch ..."
"Am I being discussed?" Adam asked, entering the livery stable. His expression brightened when he saw Blair sitting on the wagon seat.
The old hostler looked sharply about and his eyes widened when he saw the badge pinned to the man's vest front. "Well I'll be gal-darn, you're a deputy marshal! It's about damned time we got some law here in this town." He glanced at Blair. "Beg pardon, ma'am. I forget to watch my mouth 'round women folk at times, but I don't mean no disrespect."
"That's all right, Calvin, there was no harm done," Blair murmured softly.
Her gaze was riveted on Adam and she was mesmerized. He bore little resemblance to the gentle, compassionate, good-humored man she had come to know out at the ranch. It was almost as if that Adam no longer existed. She could hear Mexican spurs jingling as he walked slowly toward them, his catlike tread revealing inherent male power. He was graceful as a cougar, and, from all appearances, was twice as deadly. She also noticed he had acquired a double-barreled shotgun which was broken across his arm, but one quick snap and it would be ready for action —as was the man who carried it. It seemed as though he was two separate men, yet she had the most uncanny feeling that neither was complete without the other.
When Adam reached the buckboard, he removed the shells from the barrels, then snapped the gun shut and propped it against the wheel.
He extended his hand and introduced himself to the hostler. "I overheard you saying something about my riding a horse having a local brand."
"Yeah, and if you want to take offense . . ."
"No offense taken, but it gave me an idea. You are familiar with the local brands and I’m not. If you see a stranger riding a horse he shouldn't be, would you let me know? I’m in no position to speak for the local ranchers and farmers, but if a horse was recovered that had been stolen, I’m sure they would be willing to pay a few dollars reward."
"I’d certainly be willing to," Warren stated adamantly.
"I reckon I could do that," the old hostler mumbled, scratching his whiskered face.
Adam looked up at Blair and the sudden smile on his face deepened, crinkling about his eyes and deepening in his bronzed cheeks. He didn't move for a second; instead he surveyed her admiringly. "You look pretty today. I’m glad you rode in with Warren."
A tingling of excitement raced through her when he reached up, placed his hands around her waist and helped her from the wagon. She felt the strength in his hands even in gentleness, and her heart pounded faster. It seemed to her that his hands lingered around her waist just a bit longer than necessary, or was it just her imagination?
"How's it going, Adam? Making any progress?" Warren wanted to know.
Blair could have throttled Warren. Didn't the big lug realize he had interrupted them?
Adam reluctantly removed his hands from around her waist. "Yes, I’m pleased with the way it is going. But let me tell you about it over lunch. There is one restaurant in town that is reasonably clean and offers a decent meal — although I doubt if it would pass Tillie's inspection."
He placed his hand on the small of Blair's back, hoping she would not think it was too possessive of a gesture, yet he was reluctant to offer her his arm. Too many people were now aware that a deputy was in town and although there had been no trouble, many did not like his presence. An old lawman had told him years ago to keep his arms and hands free whenever he walked down a street in case he had to take cover quickly. He figured by placing his hand on her back, he could push her out of harm's way if the need arose.
There were curtains on the windows of the restaurant, and the red and white tablecloths were faded but clean, as were the napkins. Although the restaurant was crowded, the service was prompt and courteous.
Adam had told them the food was good, and they were not disappointed when the waitress brought out steaming cups of coffee, three huge bowls of beef stew, large wedges of golden brown cornbread, and a con
diment plate containing relish, bread and butter pickles, and a spicy hot tomato sauce.
Blair felt it would be senseless to barrage Adam with a countless number of questions since she was not that familiar with what had been taking place. She sat quietly by, but listened carefully, since his news could affect her in various different ways.
Even though the food was delicious, Warren was more interested in hearing what Adam had to say than in eating. He got right to the point of the matter. "You said you were making progress; does that mean you have a line on who is behind most of the trouble, or does it mean you’ve been successful in establishing a marshal's office?"
Adam laughed at his bluntness. "Both. I've talked Vernon Hicks into renting two seldom-used freight rooms in the train depot to me for use as a jail. With it being constructed from brick, I figured it would be the strongest building in town. The blacksmith is installing bars and I’m having a sign painted." He laughed wryly. "The sign really isn't all that important, but I thought it might help to deter petty crime—the petty criminals aren't the ones I'm after anyway. And after what I saw and heard the first night I was here, I sent a wire asking for more deputies."
"More deputies?" Warren asked.
"Yes, I figure they will be needed. There's more trouble brewing here than meets the eye. Hired guns are coming in. I've counted at least five and there are probably more. When hired guns are added to a powder-keg situation like we have here, it spells more trouble than one man can handle."
Blair's heart pounded ferociously at the thought of so much danger involved. She was suddenly concerned for Adam's safety. Unable to sit quietly by any longer, she asked, "Adam, I realize this may sound like a stupid question. But why are the hired guns coming in? I see no reason for them being here. Even with all the homesteaders, this is not a wealthy community."
"I've given it a lot of thought, and the only logical solution I can come up with is that someone is taking advantage of the impending land rush as a way of obtaining land here in the Nation."
