Give Me A Texas Ranger

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  “I’ll get my tape.” Laney excused herself long enough to grab her measuring tape and writing ledger from the workroom. She quickly measured Maher from wrist to fingertip and wrote down the figures. She started to check the other hand, but Maher waved her off.

  “They’re a perfect match. Not an inch of difference in either,” he announced proudly. “And one swings as good as the other.”

  The shop door opened, jangling the bell. Maher slipped his hands away from the counter and pulled his slicker closer around him. He started to turn away, but Laney stopped him. “I’ll need to know when you intend to—”

  Maher didn’t let her finish. “Ten o’clock tomorrow. We’ll talk more then. I’m due at the Gem Saloon. I can count on you not to say a word?”

  “Not a word. Ten o’clock tomorrow then.”

  The boxer put his hat back on, tipped it in a polite, silent good-bye, then started to pass the newcomer entering the shop. The tall, ruggedly handsome customer directed his steel gray gaze at Mr. Maher, giving Laney the distinct impression that he was gauging the boxer in some odd way.

  He turned for a moment and watched Mr. Maher go, then swung around abruptly and asked, “Just what have you promised not to say?”

  Chapter 2

  Backed in a Corner

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” The woman’s pert chin lifted and her eyes flashed like sunlight glinting off an amber chandelier. “That’s none of your business.”

  Of all the people he suspected might be working with the boxers and promoters to secure a fighting arena, a woman saddle maker was the last person Thomas thought would be involved. But from what he’d heard of that last bit of conversation with Maher, she certainly knew something that was meant to be kept secret. He could pull his badge and end any question of his right to answers, but something in the set of her shoulders and determined expression gave him pause and made him wonder if maybe he was too quick to underestimate her.

  “Guess I’ve got a curious bone that’s hard to shake.” He offered her an apology, an act rare to his nature. Not that he was never wrong. He just preferred the justice that went with being right. Made life easier on him and everyone he had to arrest.

  “I suppose you reporters have to be a bit nosy to do your job well,” she said, her eyes softening to a warm shade of golden honey.

  A reporter? So, she thought he was one of the bloodhounds chasing Maher for a scoop. He didn’t know her well enough to tell if she was teasing or just easy on forgiveness. Thomas found himself holding his breath for a moment before he realized what had made him do so. Her hair looked like the cinnamon brown of a male lion’s thick mane, flowing in long waves past the almond-shaped, amber-colored eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips that gave her an exotically regal air. Her figure was slightly fuller than the current fad of petiteness seen in other cities, but he liked what he saw. She seemed solid and sturdy, well grounded on her feet. She wouldn’t blow away with the first high wind of trouble, he’d bet. Thomas was no stranger to beauty, but hers was stunning. What was she doing walled up in a saddle shop?

  Let her think what she would for now. Maybe she would be more willing to talk if she thought he was a newshound and might bring publicity to her business. Thomas didn’t have the luxury of hoping she wouldn’t be that sort. Time wouldn’t keep him here any longer than necessary. Still, he hoped she wasn’t someone whose confidence could be bought easily.

  “Nosy—huh?” He liked a good challenge. Changing her mind appealed to him. “I prefer to think of it as keeping aware of things around me…of people.”

  She didn’t blush at the husky tone his voice deliberately took on, and that appealed to him even more. She was no shrinking violet and not easily swayed. His last stint with the Ranger detachment north of Ysleta had left him no time for courting a woman worth her salt. The few times he’d taken release in the cantinas that offered such for the flip of a coin, he rode away with no readiness to return. Suddenly he found himself wondering if he would be as quick to leave her bed.

  Thomas liked what he was feeling. The sudden rush of blood in his veins, the hint of adventure stirring in his mind, the thrill of sensing something he’d never done before. Whoever this O’Grady’s Saddle Shop and Leather Goods woman was, she called to him like a seductive siren from some beckoning shore. The possibility that this assignment might take long enough for him to find out more about her might just be the one thing that made it worth tolerating this frustrating delay.

  Maher had said he was headed to the Gem Saloon, the assigned gathering place in El Paso for journalists to interview the fighting community. Now that he gave it a second thought, Thomas remembered talk of the possibility of Rector’s Kinetoscope Company being there this morning to meet with the boxers to discuss film rights to the bout. Edison’s new camera was all the talk, and would allow the fight to be viewed in nickelodeons all over the world.

  The most respected Ranger of all, Captain Bill McDonald from Amarillo, had been assigned to patrol the Gem Saloon. Maher wouldn’t be able to flick a finger at a gnat, much less make secret arrangements, under the near-mythical captain’s eagle eye. Nothing would happen under McDonald’s watch. Thomas could take a minute or two to investigate this woman’s involvement and to satisfy a little of his curiosity about her and why Maher had taken her into his confidence.

  “You know who that man was, I take it?” Thomas waited to see if she would lie.

  “He’s my customer.”

  She was loyal, if not forthright, Thomas decided. “Is he buying a saddle?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss my customers’ arrangements, sir.” She placed her writing ledger on the counter as if to take an order, glanced down, then abruptly flipped the page.

  Thomas instinctively knew something about Maher was on that paper. A location? He’d have to get a look. He moved closer to the counter.

  She slipped the ledger into her apron pocket. “How can I help you, Mr.—?”

  “Longbow. Thomas Longbow.” He was going to tip his hat as he would to any woman, but instead the strong urge to touch her compelled him to offer his hand for a shake. “And yours?”

  She hesitated for just a moment then abruptly stretched her palm across the counter, nodding toward the storefront window. “O’Grady. Killaney O’Grady.”

  He took her hand in his and felt the warm, calloused strength of her slender fingers. She was a woman who worked with her hands and relied on no servants to pamper her. “Miss or missus?” he asked.

  “Widowed.” Her chin lifted higher.

  “Is that how you came to work in the family shop?”

  “You are an inquisitive sort.” Her hand pulled away and returned to her side.

  “Goes with the job.” This time no apology was given.

  “I run the place. I make the saddles. You’ll get a good buy for a fair cost. That’s all that should matter to you, Mr. Longbow.”

  She didn’t say she owned the place. She said “run” it. So, there was another O’Grady of some sort involved. A father or brother-in-law? Why weren’t they here doing a man’s work instead of making her do it? “How long does it take to make a new saddle?”

  Relief eased the corners of her mouth and he realized she’d been tense. He hadn’t meant to put her ill at ease and the fact that he had, made Thomas get down to the real business at hand. He needed some reason to return tomorrow and see what transpired between her and Maher and to see what was written in that ledger. Ordering something would provide him with a reason to return…on several occasions, if necessary. A saddle seemed the logical answer.

  She pointed to a handsome example of her work that rested on a sawhorse made for display. “If you want one for show like that one, it’ll take about forty hours. That style takes a lot of fancy stamping and shivving. But if you want one intended to last and to get a lot of good use from, it’ll take sixty-five hours to build.”

  “Sixty-five hours!” He wanted to spend a little time with her,
but everything about this damned assignment seemed to be demanding more time than it took to ride across Texas. “Something that takes that long to make better last a lifetime,” he announced.

  “Something worth having should last a lifetime, Mr. Longbow.”

  “Thomas,” he insisted. “If I’m going to invest sixty-five hours with you…er…in your shop, then we ought to be on a first-name basis.”

  “All right then. Thomas it is.” She offered her hand once again to seal the deal. “My friends call me Laney.”

  “Laney,” he repeated, holding her hand. He liked the way the name suited her, and the sound of it on his lips. He could imagine whispering it in the heated rush of passion, and that simple imagining made him want her now—not someday, but now.

  Clear your head, Longbow, he told himself, before you make a fool of yourself. “Okay, so when would you like to measure my horse for a fitting?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She grabbed a measuring tape from inside the apron tied around the becoming flare of her hips and moved from behind the counter. “I noticed you were on foot.”

  “Won’t be necessary?” Thomas glanced at the door and back at her. “How did you know I was afoot?”

  She laughed. “I didn’t hear hooves on your approach and I glanced past my customer when he walked by you as he went out the door. There’s no horse tied to the hitching post.”

  The woman was observant. Admiration begrudgingly mixed with the mounting suspicion she stirred in him, as Thomas wondered if that was the reason she might be part of the mix in the boxer’s game.

  “Now would you care to step into my workroom to take off your pants, or would you prefer that I measure you with them on?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with challenge.

  “Measure what?”

  She extended the tape several inches and said, “Hmmm…that looks about the right size.”

  Thomas glanced down at where she was looking then back up at her. A full-blown grin stretched across her lips.

  “I have to either measure the horse’s cantle or your…shall we say…pant seam, if I’m to get the right fit for the saddle.”

  Thomas did what he had never done in all twenty-nine years of his life. He blushed. And, for the first time in his life, he wondered if he’d met a woman who might be too much for him to handle.

  For a man accustomed to barreling inside places with no holds barred, the Ranger was in a hurry to back out of this woman’s door. “You can measure my horse tomorrow.”

  Thomas rushed away from Laney O’Grady’s saddle shop, certain a howl of feminine laughter now blended with the wind.

  Chapter 3

  Thrown Punch

  Laney rode up in front of the tall brick building and halted near the Vendome Hotel’s entrance. She leaned her bicycle next to the wall, wishing for the dozenth time that the business would allot curb space for bicycle enthusiasts as well. One would think, with it being 1896, the venue would allow hitching places for horse and bicycle alike. At least there was no worry that anyone would steal her mode of transportation. Few in these parts were ready to embrace the new contraptions yet.

  Straightening her skirt over her bloomers, she gathered her confidence to enter the metropolitan meeting place for captains of industry, moneyed moguls, and high-hatted women. A quick glance back at the vast and raw desert that stretched south of the twin cities of El Paso and Juarez gave her strength. She might work in a city and behind a counter, but somewhere deep within her still ran a touch of the untamed Irish and Spanish blood that mixed in her veins. Both factions had known their share of tribulations and had fought fearlessly for the right to live and own property. But hers was the right best fought for, and she knew it. The right to love what was hers.

  Dannell O’Grady, be forewarned, she thought, setting her shoulders with determination. Thanks to a boxer and a nosy journalist, I’m finally ready to have my say. She took a deep breath, garnering her strength of purpose, and suddenly felt like her ancestor warriors. Today she meant to get her stepson back.

  Laney walked inside the busy lobby and headed straight to the hotel desk. She received more than one look of admiration as she passed the well-dressed men who lined the lobby. As well she should. She’d taken extra time to look her very best. She wanted Dannell, and everyone else who cared to look, to know that she was quite capable of caring well for both her and the boy. But fancying herself up for any other reason was the last thing she desired at the moment. Men were too much trouble, and she hadn’t yet met one worth trusting.

  “Please ring Mr. O’Grady’s room and tell him his sister-in-law would like to see him,” she told the clerk.

  The clerk did as instructed, then after a few moments his forehead creased with apology. “Afraid he’s not answering, ma’am. I believe I saw him leave earlier, but he usually returns around six for his evening meal. Would you like to leave him a message?”

  “No, thank you.” She opened the saffron-colored fan laced about her wrist and cooled herself. The matching yellow tea gown she wore was made of cool linen, but it offered little comfort when the temperature outside could melt an iron rail on one of the train tracks. These hotels might offer the finest luxuries, but the person who invented a way to stave off this ungodly heat would rule the world. “I’ll just wait over there for him,” she informed the clerk.

  She motioned to a rosewood davenport that offered a view of the front entryway as well as the dining room. Laney refused to let another day go by without Dannell knowing she had the means to have her way. “Please let him know that I’m here when he checks in with you.”

  Laney took a seat and began to study the room and its furnishings, focusing a particular interest in a series of designs on a small tapestry hung over the fireplace that took up a huge portion of one wall. She knew she wasn’t like many women who oohed and aahed over every fabric and lace, but she did look for unique patterns and designs. They made her leather goods unusual, one of a kind. Buyers had come from as far away as England for her saddles. She’d deliberately set out to make her wares different than anyone else’s, so she could ask the better price. The extra effort had helped her squirrel away her share of the profit in order to be able to afford to adopt her stepson.

  It had taken two years, two long years of working into the wee hours of the night, of saving every peso, of putting up with Dannell’s taunts that she would never see the day when she could afford to get any judge to sign over her stepson into her care. Not when the boy’s very own uncle could give the boy everything she couldn’t. Everything, she’d told him, but the most important thing. A mother’s love.

  It had broken her heart when Marc had died and she’d learned that she would not get custody of her beloved stepson. Dannell hadn’t wanted his nephew. He wanted the yearly stipend left in Marc’s will to take care of Gideon until he became of age and took over Marc’s half of the shop.

  The law had been clear on the issue. She was not Gideon’s true blood. Dannell was and, unless she could find the means to legally adopt Gideon and prove Dannell unfit, she had no chance of keeping the boy.

  But a visit with Judge Townsend gave her hope. He was aware of some of Dannell’s less-than-upstanding dealings, and had told Laney that if she could find a way to establish herself in business and pay the legal fees of adoption she stood a chance at winning her stepson away from his wealthy uncle—that Dannell’s alcoholic ways would finally come face-to-face with justice. Well, Dannell would learn tonight that in one week she would have that money, and everyone from here to Liverpool could attest to the quality of her workmanship and ability to earn her way.

  The shop had meant everything to Marc and so it meant everything to Gideon. Though she owned the other half, she put all the profits away in a fund for Gideon and allowed herself only a worker’s pay. She’d lived in the back room of the shop, scrimping and saving, focusing on nothing else but the day she could save him from the clutches of an unloving uncle.

  Laney blinked, moistu
re threatening to well in her eyes. She glanced away, unwilling for anyone to see her cry. She hadn’t let herself do so these past two years. She wouldn’t do it now in a hotel full of strangers. Willing the tears away, she focused on a group of resolute-looking men sitting at a table in the dining room. To her surprise, she realized one of them was the journalist who had ordered the saddle this morning.

  Most of the men were dressed in white hats and buckskin breeches. Long revolvers rested against each man’s thigh. A handful held ferocious-looking Winchesters. Texas Rangers. Everyone knew they’d been called to El Paso. No one else could look as formidable. What was Thomas Longbow doing in their midst? Getting an interview?

  Curious, Laney moved to the other side of the davenport, trying to catch a hint of their conversation. She hid behind her fan, pretending the need for further air. Thomas didn’t have any pen and paper with him that she could see. His memory for detail must be really good not to need the benefit of written reminders.

  “Two of us?” demanded Thomas, his eyes hardening to gunmetal gray. He reached inside his frock coat and tossed a badge on the table in front of the fiercest-looking of the men. “If my arrests don’t speak for themselves, I don’t need that and you don’t need me.”

  “You’ve done every job I asked of you, Longbow,” the leader said, grabbing the silver star and flipping it back to Thomas. Thomas caught it and returned the badge to its hidden pocket. “I just consider it a better idea for you to follow that saddle-maker lead and let Sawyer stick to the boxer while he’s training in Las Cruces. That would leave you time to check out the O’Grady woman and track Maher whenever he’s in town here. I know you’re a damn miracle man, but even you can’t be spending three hours on a train, going to and from, and track the woman too, if she proves to be the lead we’ve been looking for concerning the fight location.”