by Linda Broday
She was in the midst of restocking the ladies’ notions one day when a woman came in who, judging from her low-cut bodice and painted face, was clearly a working girl. Her listless gaze hurt a place in Delta deep inside. But for the pure grace of God, this could be her life.
Delta put on a bright smile and hurried forward. “May I help you, miss?”
The young girl stared at her feet and mumbled low, “I need a pair of black cotton stockings, please.”
“Of course, right this way.” Delta led her to the selection of women’s unmentionables.
The bell over the door jingled and another customer walked in. The minute the woman spotted the lady of the evening Delta was helping, she sniffed loudly, turned on her heel and stomped back out.
The rude behavior stung and sent Delta’s thoughts scurrying back to Cedartown. People there had treated her the same way, and in her case, for circumstances totally beyond her control. Her heart went out to those who lived on the fringes of society. She knew what it felt like.
“I’m sorry,” the stricken girl whispered.
“You have nothing to apologize for, miss. You have every right to shop in here. People are always going to find a way to treat others poorly.”
“Thank you for being so nice.”
“My name is Delta Dandridge.” Delta stuck out her hand.
“I’m Emmylou.” The beginnings of a tiny smile brightened the girl’s face, replacing the dull, listless gaze.
“It’s a pleasure to know you, Emmylou.” Delta longed to ask if the girl was in Rand’s employ but she didn’t really want to know the answer. She preferred to think that Rand only sold beer and whiskey, not operated a flesh business. Surely he didn’t. Surely.
Emmylou paid for her purchase and left. A few minutes later, the customer who’d been so disdainful returned.
“Afternoon, ma’am. What can I help you with?”
“You can keep the likes of her out of here,” the sour woman snapped. “This is where decent people shop. John runs a clean store. He doesn’t allow that kind of riffraff in here.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am, but everyone is welcome here.”
“Where is John? We’ll just see about that.”
Suddenly Mr. Abercrombie spoke from behind them. “Miss Dandridge said it pretty plain, Mrs. Hatfield. If you don’t like it, you can trot on over to Corsicana.”
Mrs. Hatfield gasped. “Why, that’s over twenty miles.”
“Yes, ma’am, it still was the last time I checked.”
“Well, I never!”
“No, ma’am, I don’t suppose you ever have.” John calmly chewed on the end of a cigar.
“If Nell was alive, she wouldn’t put up with this nonsense,” the woman huffed.
A sorrowful look settled in John’s eyes. “Good day, Martha. And don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
She shot them both a glare and, with her nose high in the air, marched for the exit.
“She may cause you trouble, John,” Delta said.
“Oh, that old biddy? No big loss. Martha Hatfield’s always been more trouble than she’s worth. Ain’t anyone with half sense ever spared her a passing thought.”
With that, Delta dove into a job she’d dreaded but couldn’t put off any longer—sorting a drawer full of screws and bolts according to size. She needed something to take her mind off persnickety women who sought to make others feel as worthless as a sack of wormy corncobs.
Deep in thought, she glanced up in time to see Widow Sharp enter the store. Delta put her task aside and went to assist the veiled woman.
“I would like you to fill this order please.” The widow’s beautiful, cultured voice appeared a bit strange in an out-of-the-way town like Battle Creek.
“You must do a lot of baking,” Delta said as she gathered sacks of flour and sugar plus various other cooking supplies.
“I guess you haven’t heard. I furnish the saloon and café with pastries. My specialty is fried hand pies.”
“I’m sure they’re very delicious.”
Widow Sharp laughed. “You should try them. I think I can make a convert out of you.”
The widow intrigued her. What was her story? Had she known a great love? She’d evidently suffered much heartache.
Then it dawned on her. Mrs. Sharp knew what the inside of the saloon looked like. Few women went inside those dark, sinful male domains. Delta had always speculated about what went on inside there. If she and Mrs. Sharp became friends, she could find out.
After the widow left, Delta put her musings aside and returned to sorting the screws. She was making progress when Rand Sinclair sauntered in as if he were out for a Sunday stroll. The man was a nice diversion and she welcomed his friendship, but he didn’t make her heart race and her palms turn sweaty the way Cooper Thorne did. Every time the bell jangled over the door, she half expected to see the tall rancher standing there. Many times she’d wanted to ride out to the Long Odds Ranch. She needed to check on the dog. Just to see how the animal fared, she told herself. Nothing more.
But unsure how Cooper would take her visit, she’d talked herself out of renting a buggy and going to check on things.
“Afternoon, Miss Dandridge,” Rand greeted her.
“Mr. Sinclair. What brings you in?”
“I was thinking of buying my brother, Brett, a pair of moccasins. Would you happen to carry such a thing?”
“I do believe I saw some the other day stuck at the back under a pile of horse blankets.” She rummaged around and pulled out a pair of buttery soft leather footwear with long leggings. “Here they are.”
“I can’t believe it.” Rand grinned. “I always heard this mercantile had everything, and now I see it for myself. Bless you, Miss Dandridge.”
“Delta. I insist.”
Rand leaned against a rack of bedding. “Miss Delta, would you do me the honor of taking another supper with me?”
“I don’t think that’s wise, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Rand. My friends call me Rand. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t, and I promise to go on my way.”
He seemed bent on pestering her until she gave in. She had no idea why Rand had taken such an interest in her. No one ever had, and she’d long despaired of ever catching a gentleman’s attention. She chewed her lip. If only she knew his motives.
“I don’t exactly…” She quickly swallowed the trust you part of that sentence.
“Know what to say,” he finished for her. “Say yes. It didn’t kill you before. I’ll be on my best behavior.” He winked and crossed his heart. “I promise.”
The saloon owner could be quite persuasive when it came to getting his way, and he most assuredly knew it. Still, it was only a meal, not an invitation to sleep in his bed. And she did enjoy his company.
Delta laughed. “Then, yes, I’ll dine with you.”
“Excellent.”
It bothered Delta that she didn’t yet know what Rand Sinclair was up to. A niggling in her brain whispered it was far more than an innocent meal. But she guessed until she found out, it was all right to enjoy the pleasure of his company. After all, she didn’t struggle under the enormous weight of other invitations of any sort.
By the time the orange sun dipped below the horizon, Delta was seated with Rand in the Three Roses Café. She couldn’t help but smile at the charming blue-eyed saloon owner across from her who certainly portrayed the perfect gentleman.
So far.
“I met a young lady today by the name of Emmylou. Would you perhaps know of her?”
“Matter of fact, I do. She’s one of Miss Sybil’s girls out at the edge of town. Stay away from there. Why do you ask?”
Relieved that Rand didn’t have such women working out of the saloon, Delta relaxed. “She came in the store today. I felt sorry for her. She seemed very sad.�
�
“Emmylou’s had her share of hard times. You can’t help everyone, Miss Delta,” he said softly.
“Maybe not.” Didn’t mean she couldn’t try.
“And just to clear up any misconceptions you may have, I only employ two saloon girls and I have strict rules. The main one is that no customers are allowed upstairs no matter what. I catch ’em, they’re gone.”
“Thank you, Rand.” She told him about Cooper rescuing the poor little dog. “I feared he would kill that man. I’ve never seen anyone so angry.”
“Coop can keep a lid on his temper for a while, but when it blows off, you’d best duck behind something. One thing about my brother is he never leaves anything half-done. Sounds like the man deserved everything he got and then some,” Rand said quietly.
“You’re exactly right.”
“Where did you say the man lives?”
Delta told him. “Do you know him?”
“Afraid so. Cyrus Tull is a mean drunk. I’ve thrown him out of the saloon more times than I can count. Always causing a ruckus.” Rand reached across the table for her hand. “Now let’s talk about more pleasant things. Would you like to ride out to the Long Odds with me? You could check on the dog and I could watch the branding. I told Cooper I’d come out while the roundup is in full swing. What do you say?”
The warmth of his hand was nice but nothing exciting. “I’d have to ask Mr. Abercrombie for some time off. Not sure I should, though, in light of how busy we’ve been. And I wouldn’t leave him in the lurch.”
“We could go on Sunday, when the store is closed.”
“Before I answer, please tell me one thing—what do you hope to gain by seeking out my company?” The question was blunt, but she needed to know. Better to lay all the cards on the table so to speak. It saved time.
Rand chuckled and released her hand. “I see you like things straight and to the point. My kind of lady. You’re safe. I want your friendship. I think you’re an exciting woman and a breath of fresh air. Frankly, I enjoy being with you. You remind me of someone who was once very dear.”
Pain flashed in his eyes and Delta had to look away.
“Whoever she was, you must’ve thought a lot of her.”
He cleared his throat. “Enough about that. Please say you’ll ride out to the ranch with me on Sunday.”
The offer proved too tempting. Just the chance to see Cooper Thorne in his element enticed her.
“How can I refuse? All right.” Delta prayed she wouldn’t regret the decision.
***
Cooper stood on his porch early Sunday morning inhaling the fresh air that held just a hint of moisture and taking a moment to reflect. Though he’d just risen, he was already bone weary. Most days he climbed into the saddle at daybreak and didn’t fall out until it got too dark to see.
Roundup always took a lot out of him. Luckily it only came once a year. He was anxious to see how much of his herd the hoof-and-mouth disease had wiped out.
It still continued to sweep through his cattle. He’d had to shoot at least a dozen more and burn them to try to stop the onslaught. There seemed to be no end. More unbranded cows were showing up among his adult population.
It was amply clear that someone had it in for Cooper.
But who?
What had he done that someone would seek his destruction?
He’d done his best not to rile anyone and thought he’d managed just fine, except for last week, when he’d whipped Cyrus for abusing his dog. Cooper couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever turn a blind eye to cruelty, whether it be man or animal. But other than Cyrus, he couldn’t think of anyone else who’d have so much hate for him.
Bandit scampered from the barn, apparently eager to see Cooper and get a belly rub.
Or maybe the dog smelled the bacon frying.
“Hey, boy. How are you?” Cooper knelt and accepted the wet kisses Bandit plastered on his face. “You’re really feeling your oats these days, aren’t you, fellow? Miss Delta will hardly know you.”
Now where had that come from? Delta Dandridge snuck into his thoughts in the oddest moments lately. But she was there when he’d rescued Bandit, so it was logical her name would cross his lips. Wasn’t it? Not that thinking of Miss Georgia Peach was such a bad thing.
A grin insisted on covering his face. Thank goodness no one was watching him make a fool out of himself.
He quickly roped his thoughts and dragged them back to the dog. Though the mutt’s bones were still clearly visible, he was beginning to fill out.
How could he not, with Mack around? The cook had taken to fixing special meals for the dog. Shoot, Bandit ate better than Cooper’s ranch hands. And when Mack wasn’t putting out a plate for the animal, Zeke was. Cooper was surprised they didn’t include silverware and napkins.
“You’re gonna be spoiled for sure.” Cooper rubbed the dog’s belly. “Not gonna be fit for crow bait.”
Bandit’s tail wagged in excitement as if the mutt thought crow was something tasty to eat.
Zeke O’Grady sauntered from the bunkhouse and joined Cooper on the porch. “Morning, boss. Smelled the coffee all the way out here.”
“Got some with your name on it inside.”
Zeke disappeared and emerged a minute later with a steaming cup of dark brew. “Reckon me and the boys’ll finish up the north pasture today.”
“That’s my plan.” Cooper stood. “Damn if I can figure out the rhyme or reason for this disease. I won’t rest until we round up every last cow and see where we stand.”
“While we’ve been out beatin’ the brush, I’ve kept an eye open for signs of trespassers. Yesterday I found some places that looked like someone had dragged something heavy across the south pasture. There were three dead cows. None of ’em had our brand.”
“Hell and damnation! You didn’t see fit to tell me?”
“Tellin’ you now. Couldn’t find you yesterday, and it was late when me and the boys came in. We was so beat, we fell into bed.”
“Take me out there. I want to see for myself.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Right after breakfast, Cooper, Zeke, and five cowboys rode out for the south pasture. While the cowboys went to work rounding up strays and getting them in a bunch to drive to the corrals, Zeke showed Cooper the drag marks.
Cooper slid off his buckskin and knelt to eyeball them. Looked to be six horses involved.
A round piece of metal half-buried in the soft ground caught his attention. He picked it up and ice formed in his veins. It was a brass token for the Steamboat Bathhouse in Hannibal, Missouri—the same bathhouse in which he’d shot Tolbert Early.
A coincidence? He didn’t believe in that nonsense.
Could Early somehow be alive? Was that even possible, given his horrific wound? Wild tales of ranchers cutting off the head of a snake that still tried to inject its venom crossed his mind.
No, Tolbert Early was dead. Only one thing made sense—this was simply a friend of Early’s, someone familiar with the story and out to exact revenge.
His breakfast churned in his stomach, threatening to spew.
The barbed wire would fix them from bringing the sick cows onto his land. But the wire wouldn’t arrive for two weeks.
In the meantime, he’d get some men to stand guard at night across the two-and-a-half-mile section that was the only way in and out of the ranch.
His hands clenched tightly.
He would catch these culprits. And then he’d get his answers one way or another.
Eleven
Delta met Rand at the livery Sunday afternoon. Excitement and anticipation hovered in the air as though the world had thrown a party and invited her. For once in her life she was accepted. The realization made her heady.
Rand hitched his horse, a black-and-white piebald, to a buggy he insisted on renting
. Said it was more fitting for a lady than the buckboard he hauled whiskey in. She cringed at the thought of seeing a few turned heads when they set off, but no one paid them any mind. She relaxed, determined to enjoy the day.
Mother Nature had put on her most glorious smile and decked out the countryside in a profusion of dazzling color. Spring flowers of every kind carpeted the hills and valleys. Their wonderful fragrance wafted in the slight breeze.
An hour and a half later they drove under the huge crossbars that proclaimed the ranch as the Long Odds.
Following the cloud of dust and the sound of bawling cattle, they found Cooper. He was astride his buckskin, going after a calf. When he got alongside the animal, he leaped off the horse and tackled the calf. He quickly tied its legs and dragged the unfortunate thing to a fire where a branding iron waited. Delta’s heart went out to the poor frightened calf. It seemed horribly cruel, but Rand had explained everything on the ride out. He assured her the animals didn’t feel a thing. It appeared they had tough hides. At least she prayed they did.
Cooper spied Delta and Rand. He said something to one of his men and led his big buckskin over to them.
When he got closer, she noticed the layers of dirt and the perspiration soaking his underarms. Probably a normal state from working with cattle. From the whisker growth, she could tell he hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days. But it lent a dark ruggedness to him that made her pulse beat a little faster.
From beneath the brim of his hat, his stormy gray eyes found her, and she squirmed under his piercing stare. She reconsidered the wisdom of coming.
“Miss Delta. Rand. What brings you here?” His deep voice sent tingles dancing up her spine.
“I wanted to check on the dog,” Delta explained. “Rand was kind enough to offer to bring me.”
“I’ll just bet.” Cooper’s curt tone cemented the fact that he didn’t want her or Rand there.
“Now, brother, don’t get your tail feathers on fire,” Rand said. “I told you I’d be out to watch some of the branding.”
“I remember. I’m still in control of my faculties. Just didn’t know you planned to bring an audience. This is no place for a lady on a Sunday stroll.”
