Between Hell and Texas (23 page)

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Authors: Dusty Richards

BOOK: Between Hell and Texas
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Chet nodded, said he was glad to meet them, and held the chair for her. Obviously, these were all powerful men on the scene. Maybe he could find a purebred breeder among them to supply him some working-age bulls to replace Ryan's longhorns. Seated beside Kent's wife Kay, who passed him a platter of steaks.
“These are from Hereford,” Kay, a short blonde, said under her breath with a sound of pride.
“Good. Do you raise them?” he asked, selecting a T-bone cut.
“No. We usually order our bulls out of Kansas. Do you need some bulls?”
Chet nodded and passed the platter on to Margaret. She chose a small fillet and passed it on. The mashed potatoes were steeped in melted butter; he spooned some off onto his plate. Then fresh green beans came by next. A girl brought a selection of bread by and another waiter poured coffee.
He found the dark whole-grain bread delicious, and buttered a second slice halfway through his mesquite-smoked steak. Susie would love this—not that she was a snob, but the fancy ways they served it would impress her.
“Are you enjoying the food?” Margaret asked quietly from beside him.
“I will be eternally grateful for you inviting me here. Very good food.”
“Did you want some wine?” She looked concerned, as if they'd left him out of the serving going on.
“No. I want to be alert. I have no idea who might be one of Ryan's men.”
“You are serious, aren't you?”
“Yes. He's not an ordinary cowboy, and he doesn't think like one. I'm not afraid of him, but he might spring out any minute and try something.”
“I think you are a tough adversary. Sorry the situation will dampen you from having a good time here.”
“I'll try to not let it bother me and in turn ruin your evening.”
“Well, that sounds perfect. I can hear the music has started.” Her long hand reached over and squeezed his.
 
 
The fiddles sawed and he waltzed with her around the smooth floor, slick with soap shavings. They managed to find a seat after the third dance and Kent's wife, Kay, asked him for a dance. Obviously, her husband was busy talking to others.
“Does Kent dance?”
“No. I have to beg his friends,” she said cheerfully, as he swung her slender girl-like figure around the floor.
“Well, you dance very well. Why doesn't he dance?”
“He says he has two left feet and refuses to try to learn.”
“He's missing some good times.”
She nodded. “That's not all.”
“Oh,” he said, not interested in hearing of any more of her husband's shortages in social skills.
He felt her exhale with his hand in the center of her back. “I'll bite my tongue. You're not married?”
“No, ma'am. Never have been. Too busy running a large ranch.”
“I see.”
“A couple women have been in my life. One was ruthlessly murdered. Another at home is very close to me, but we have many obstacles.”
“I'm sure you'll find a woman. You have danced a lot with many partners. You are a very easy man to dance with.”
Chet took her back to the bench and Margaret was on her feet to claim him. They swept off to a polka, whirling around in great circles. At the end, they were out of breath, and she guided him to the open doors for a breath of the cooling evening air outdoors.
“Did Kay tell you about her problems?” she asked, backed against the wall of the building and holding his hands.
“She said he wouldn't learn how to dance.”
“That is not all.”
“Oh.”
She looked around to be certain she would not be overheard. “He won't even sleep with her.”
“Oh.”
She nodded. “I think it is killing her. She's hardly past thirty.”
“What caused that?”
“No one knows.”
“Ah, the problems of the world are all on our shoulders.”
“Good thing you have strong ones.”
“I tell you, since I was in my teens I have had to run a ranch. My father and mother both went near crazy over the kidnapping of two of my brothers and a sister. So I never had a chance to sow many wild oats, look for a new land for myself. I have always been in charge. I wouldn't be here tonight if a family hadn't started a feud with my family. It cost my other brother his life, and others as well.”
Margaret nodded and pulled Chet close enough to quickly kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the dancing. I have not felt so free in a long time.”
“Hey, as good as you dance, no problem.”
“I want to polka again with you before the night is over.”
He noticed the broad shoulders of Hampt standing off in the night, away from the crowd as if waiting for a split second to tell him something. “Excuse me, one of my men has something for me.”
“Certainly.”
Leaving her, Chet walked over to his man. “What's happening?”
“They say Ryan has been here tonight. Sarge, Wiley, and Bixsby are checking around to see if they can learn anything about where he is.”
“Thanks. Don't any of you tangle with him without me. I can leave on the drop of a hat and join you.”
“I'll tell them. You know, there ain't no love lost between the three of us and him.”
“You do anything, you come get me.”
“Yes, sir.” And the big man was gone. Chet watched him fade in the dim light from the big blaze illuminating the school yard.
“Is everything alright?” Marge asked.
“Alright enough. Let's go dance.”
“I can see you are upset. Don't you trust me enough to tell me?”
“It isn't your war. Hampt thinks Ryan is around here somewhere. He's gotten some competent word on it.”
“And?”
“I told him to get me before they plan to do anything.”
“Boy, who do I thank for all this?”
He hugged her shoulder, feeling guilty that he was spoiling her event. “Let's just go inside and dance, and forget this mess out here.”
“Amen. I'm willing.”
Before Chet went back in, he looked over the orange-lighted men and woman standing outside. Nothing he knew about showed up. Maybe it would all blow over—but somehow he doubted it.
Chapter 24
After the dance broke up, Chet and Margaret stood holding hands. He felt like a bashful sixteen-year-old boy, standing facing her, gripping her long fingers in his own calloused ones. The campfire's red glow shone on her face and her eyes danced with excitement.
“Thanks for the evening,” he said. “It sure beat reading the Police Gazette for the fifth time.”
“Maybe we can do it again—sometime. I know you're trying to get things settled so you can go back to Texas.”
“I have to do that. My family isn't safe back there.”
“I hadn't polkaed in such a long time, I thought I had forgotten how. Whew, I am still dizzy. But don't you dare feel sorry for me. That was great. Dad has a place here for me to sleep tonight. I'll either come after the team or send a worker. It won't stain your reputation like me sleeping at your house might.”
“My rep ain't that good. Why don't I drive them by the ranch Monday morning when I go in to Preskit? I can tie a horse on behind.”
“Do you like fried chicken?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Come by the house about noontime and I'll have some Southern fried chicken ready for you to eat.”
“Sounds great. Do they always call you Margaret?”
She cocked her head to the side. “You can shorten it to whatever you like.”
“Is Marge alright?”
She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. “Wonderful. I loved the entire evening. Thanks for accepting my invitation.”
Chet let go of her fingers. “My pleasure. Now I need to go get the team.”
“My fault. I talked you out of bringing your horse.”
“No problem. I see some of my hands are ready to ride home with me. So I won't be lonely after all.”
“Lonely? Why, Chet Byrnes, I bet you haven't been lonely for a day in your life.” Then she laughed until she looked embarrassed, and then patted his arm. “Sorry, it simply sounded too funny.”
“No problem.” He could see the young stable hand had the horses hitched and ready. Hampt rode up about then, and dismounted.
“Take my horse,” he said. “I'll drive that rig.”
Chet frowned, but he knew the big man had a purpose—only he wasn't certain what it might be. Margaret hugged him, and on her toes, kissed him softly in front of his ear. “It turned out wonderful.”
“I'll be there Monday to eat chicken,” he promised her.
Margaret waved, and he fell in with the crew member. When they were a good distance away, Chet turned to Wiley. “What's the deal?”
The cowboy twisted in the saddle as if to make sure no one was close. “We think Ryan is going to try and stop you tonight.”
“You hear anything to make you suspicious?” Chet frowned in the starlight at the three of them.
“Roamer warned us earlier. He was trying to arrest him, but never connected. Ryan had bragged somewhere that he'd have that ranch back in a few days. And Roamer figured the only way that could come true was for him to kill you. He said that tonight might be his best chance since it was common knowledge that you drove her over here in that fancy surrey.”
“Why's Hampt driving it instead of me?”
“His head's clearer than yours. You kinda took a shine to her and we didn't want you distracted. Me and the boys think if you can't convince that gal to come from Texas, well, Margaret might not be such a bad deal.”
“Hmm,” Chet snuffed out his nose. “I sure have a different impression of her now from the one I had riding on the stage with her.”
“You need anyone to go along with you to Preskit Monday?' Bixsby asked in his hoarse voice. “We figured the fried chicken she offered you will be some of the best in the land. It'll damn sure be better than any you've had lately.”
Chet held his hand up to stop them. In the half moonlight, all he could make out was a man's outline ahead of them. His right hand sought the butt of his gun.
“Boys, don't shoot,” Roamer said aloud.
“It's Roamer,” Wiley said, checking his horse.
“What're you doing out here?” Chet asked the deputy.
“Trying to keep a rancher friend alive.”
“I appreciate that, mi amigo. You have any trouble up here?”
“Naw, but when Ryan's bunch figured I was watching them, they lit a shuck.”
“Come on to the ranch. Hoot will have some food ready, and we can find you space to sleep.”
“Might as well. I won't make it back to town tonight. Thanks,” Roamer told him.
“No problem. I have to go in to Preskit Monday morning and check on a few things myself.”
“Good, I'll go back with you then. Beats riding alone.”
They rode home with the crew teasing Bixsby about some plump widow woman he'd taken a shine to. Chet guessed that he must have danced some with her and then they disappeared for some time, which brought on much suspicion about what they might have done out of sight. Bixsby was shedding their words like a duck did water on the subject of his involvement with Mrs. Kelly O'Brian, and simply rode along.
“She'd sure keep you warm snuggled up to her in the winter,” one of the men said, and they all laughed at the man's expense.
“Why, she'd be like having a big furnace all to yourself,” someone else promised him.
No matter how hard they tried, Bixsby never gave them one word of satisfaction to settle their questions or his guilt. Chet mused about how the cowboy had simply Indianed up on the matter.
At the ranch, Hoot had a big kettle of hot beef stew on the stove and welcomed them all back. Heck and the new boy, Cory, got up and joined them. The crew was waving spoons around eating stew, still intent on Bixsby's romance, and also told the stay-at-homes about the threat of Ryan's that had never emerged.
“What are you going to have to do about him?” Hoot asked. “Ryan, I mean. I know you can't break up this romance with Bixsby.” His words drew a knee-slapping laugh from the rest.
Chet simply shook his head. “Can't do much about either one.”
The funning crew finally dragged themselves off to their cots and found Roamer one, too. On his back on the bed Chet'd chosen for himself, he stared at the dark ceiling for a long while. What could he do about Ryan? How was everyone in Texas doing? Could he ever bring Kathren out here? His chances looked slimmer and slimmer. Not that he didn't want her, but he worried about all the problems she'd have over leaving the hill country. Damn.

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