Texas Brides Collection (69 page)

He knew he looked ridiculous wearing it to jail on a Tuesday morning, but it was better than parading over to the jail in his long johns.

“Be still, Miss Lydia, or I’m never gonna get that honey outta your hair.”

Lydia leaned farther over the basin while May poured yet another pitcher of water over her sticky hair. She gritted her teeth and entertained a few unsavory thoughts as the icy water splashed onto her neck then began to trickle down her back.

“That Wilson fellow is the most irritating man I’ve ever met. I mean, the nerve of him. Last night he hauled me around like a sack of potatoes. A sack of
potatoes
, May. Do you hear me?”

“Um-hum.” May began to work lavender soap through Lydia’s tangles. “Potatoes. I hear you.”

“And today. If you’d been there, you would have seen what a cad the man is. Can you feature that he would actually be amused by causing me to spill butter and honey all over myself?”

May stopped scrubbing and reached for the pitcher.

“And of all the nerve. Do you know what he said to me? He said he was a gentleman, and he didn’t want to imagine me in my—.” Lydia yelped as icy water cascaded over her head. “Warn me next time, May.”

“Cold water ain’t what you need to be warned about, chile.” She set the pitcher down. “You all done. Now let’s get you dry.”

Lydia stewed until May finished the process of drying and braiding her hair. When the last pin went in, she could stand it no more.

“What exactly do I need to be warned about, May?”

May pressed the wrinkles out of the skirt of the yellow frock Lydia had worn the day before, then held it out toward her. “I don’t believe you really want an answer to that question, Miss Lydia.”

She stepped into her dress and frowned. “And why not?”

“Why, indeed.” Whirling Lydia around, May began fastening the row of buttons that ran down the back of the dress. “It most certainly wouldn’t be to your likin’.”

Lydia stepped away and turned to face May. “Try me.”

The older woman shook her head. “Chile, you are as stubborn as your mama sometimes. When are you gonna learn that the Father knows what’s best, and it ain’t no use to run from Him or put off what He’s a-wantin’ you to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s no use frettin’ and fussin’ when the good Lord brought you here for a purpose. You know why you’re here—now you need to go present yourself.”

Lydia swallowed hard. “You mean, just walk up to him and say, ‘Hello, I’m Lydia, the bride you ordered’?”

May rested her hands on her hips. “That’s exactly what I mean. Now you scoot outta here and do just that, or I’m gonna start worryin’ you’re gettin’ sweet on that fella who ’bout ran you down in the kitchen.”

“That man?” Lydia grimaced. “Trust me, May. He’d be the
last
man I’d ever be sweet on. I can promise you that.”

“Oh, I don’t know ’bout that.” May made a soft clucking sound as she turned her back to empty the basin out the window. “I got me a feelin’ ’bout you and that fella.”

She pointed to the letter her mother had sent along with the one she’d written. The man who paid her way to Dime Box had penned this. The man who bought her lock, stock, and petticoat.

Lydia took one last look in the mirror. “Your feelings aren’t worth anything when compared to that letter over there. Fetch it and let’s go get this over with.”

“How ’bout we take him a pie, Miss Lydia?”

She stopped short. “A pie? Whatever for?”

May shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ a man likes better’n a good fresh-baked pie, and you done made an extra this mornin’. I doubt Miz Sykes’ll mind.”

“Oh, all right. But if this fellow’s awful, I’m heading for the hills. You understand?”

May chuckled. “Oh, I been speakin’ to the Lord, and I believe He’s got a nice surprise for you.”

Lydia squared her shoulders and refused to comment.

C
aleb had already reached the porch when he thought to go back inside and make his apologies to the landlady. He found her clearing the last of the honey from the floor with a mop. The room smelled of cleaning fluid and pie crust.

“I’d be obliged if you’d let me help,” he said.

“It’s nothing but a little spill.” She shook her head and leaned up to give him an appraising look. “Now don’t you look sportin’?”

“I suppose.” He glanced down at his suit, then back at the Widow Sykes. “Let me pay for the dry goods I ruined.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t think of it.” The widow climbed to her feet and gestured toward the stairs with her cleaning rag. “What with the answer to my prayers staying right under my roof, nothing bothers me today.”

“The answer to your prayers?” Caleb chuckled. “That feisty gal?”

“Let me tell you something about feisty gals.” She slung the rag over her shoulder, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m of the opinion that behind most feisty gals is a little girl crying for attention. I figure once she settles down, so will her temper.”

Caleb laughed out loud. “For the sake of her poor husband, I certainly hope so.”

He chuckled all the way to the sheriff ’s office, then sobered his expression when he walked through the door. The room had been cleared of the tools they’d left last night, and someone had put a pie on the corner of the desk. Upon closer inspection, he decided it was a Jeff Davis pie.

“Just like Mama used to make,” he said as he inhaled one more time.

Situated between close buildings, the office was darker than it seemed it ought to be. An old Regulator clock chimed, and he took note of the time. Fifteen minutes early. At least no one could accuse him of procrastination.

He gave the jail cell a wide berth, searching instead for some way to light the kerosene lamps in the dark corner of the office. A search produced a match, and soon enough he had sufficient light to see the wanted posters stuck up on the wall.

Right off he recognized three fellows he and his brothers had ridden with. Two were back home in Missouri, having retired to become gentleman farmers, and the third owned a dry goods store in Kansas City. Last he heard, Reuben made the place his favorite hideout when the law got too close.

Reuben.

The reminder of his brothers sliced like a knife to his gut, so he squared his shoulders and stepped away from the posters. Last thing he wanted was to see one of them up there.

Not that it would have surprised him.

“You’re early.” Ed stood just behind him, proof positive that Caleb’s outlaw instincts were rusty.

“No sense putting off what I can’t change.” He walked over to the desk and removed his pistol, then set it and his holster on the desk. Without a word, he walked over to the cell and placed his hands on the bars.

“I’d be much obliged if you’d let the Widow Sykes know I appreciate her hospitality. I know I won’t be takin’ my meals at her place for a spell, but I left her some money in my room just the same.” He turned to look Ed square in the eye. “I wonder if I might have her good home cooking carted over here every once in a while. I’d pay, of course.”

“Well, I don’t see as how that would be a problem. Although you could just as easily go fetch it.”

Caleb shook his head. “But, Ed, I’ll be—”

“There’s the man of the hour.” A burly redhead lumbered in and parked himself behind the desk. “What say we get this started?”

“Are you the judge?” Caleb asked.

“Judge?” The man slapped the surface of the desk with his open palm, then laughed. “I like that idea, Ed. Since you’re the mayor, why don’t you make me the judge?”

“Wouldn’t that be like putting the wolf in charge of the henhouse, Elmer?”

The men shared another laugh while Caleb stood and watched. It was all well and fine that the fellows enjoyed one another, but did they have to do it while he waited to hear his crime and receive his sentence? He was about to ask them when Ed held up his hands and stopped his chuckling.

“Elmer, I don’t believe you and Cal have been formally introduced. Cal Wilson, meet Elmer Wiggins. He’s the barber and the undertaker. Guess you could say Elmer gets you comin’ and goin’.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wiggins.” Caleb rubbed his chin. “I got a fine shave and haircut over to your place. Wasn’t you who did the job, though.”

Elmer shook his head. “No, that was my brother-in-law Pete. He generally only works on the corpses, but I let him try out his skills on live folks every once in a while.”

Ed clapped his hands, then rubbed them together as if he actually looked forward to what was about to happen. Elmer looked more interested in the pie than anything else.

Neither of them seemed to give a second thought to the prospective inmate.

Caleb felt his temper rise, then reminded himself he was no longer that sort of man. “Let’s get on with it then.”

Elmer rose and pushed away from the desk, giving the pie one last look. “That from your wife?” he asked Ed.

“The Widow Sykes, actually.” Ed gestured to the door. “I got a surprise for you, Cal.”

A surprise? Outside?

That’s when he heard it. The sound of people. Caleb leaned toward the window and lifted the red-checked curtain. Sure enough, half the town was waiting for him in the middle of Main Street.

If the good folks of Dime Box, Arizona, wanted to lynch him, they’d have to find him first. His gaze darted around the room in search of a back exit.

Finding none, he contemplated a different means of escape. In the old days, he would have shot his way out, risking any number of innocent lives in the process.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Caleb looked around to find Ed had joined him at the window. “Cal, as mayor, I want to be the one to—”

The door burst open, allowing the sound of cheering to drift in from outside. Miss Bertrand practically fell into the room, followed by the same dark-skinned maid he’d noticed with her earlier.

Oblivious to Caleb’s presence, Miss Bertrand addressed Elmer. “I need to speak to the sheriff.”

Her voice sounded as if she’d run all the way from the boardinghouse. Under her arm she carried a tin of what he hoped were more of her biscuits. While the feisty gal irritated him to no end, she sure could cook.

“Hold on there, girlie,” Elmer said. “The menfolk are carrying on important business here. Is this here an emergency?”

“Emergency? You could call it that.” She set the tin on the desk beside the pie, then caught sight of Caleb. “What are
you
doing here?”

Ed released his grasp on Caleb’s shoulder to slap him on the back. “Haven’t you heard? Cal here’s the new—”

The Widow Sykes came bustling in. “Ed Thompson, what’s taking so long? You got everyone in town out there waiting. If you’re not gonna make the announcement, then leastwise go and tell them so.” She shifted her attention from Ed to Caleb. “Hello there, Mr. Wilson. What’re you doing here?”

“That’s what I asked.” Miss Bertrand inched forward and swiped at the spot on her cheek where butter and honey had been only an hour ago. “Did the law finally catch up with you?”

A few responses came to mind, none of which was particularly nice. He settled for ignoring the question.

“In a manner of speaking,” Elmer said with a chuckle. “You might say he’s gonna make the jailhouse his home now.”

“Hush, Elmer, you old fool.” Ed pressed past the ladies to reach for the door knob. “Come on, Cal. Let’s get this over with.”

Irritation turned to white-hot anger. Now both of them were grinning. Meeting his Maker was one thing, but enduring ridicule was another.

“Now hold on a minute, Ed,” Caleb said. “I got some rights here, and before I go out there, I’d like to know exactly what you’re charging me with.”

“What we’re chargin’ you with?” Elmer guffawed. “We’re chargin’ you with being the new sheriff.”

“Sheriff? Hold on.” Caleb shook his head. “You got the wrong man, Ed. I’m Caleb Wilson.”

Ed slapped Caleb on the back and pushed him toward the open door. “That’s right. You’re Sheriff Caleb Wilson.”

“I’m who?” He shook his head. “Is this a joke?”

While Elmer guffawed, Caleb took a step backward to try to make some sense of the situation. Somehow he’d obviously been mistaken for a man whose name was similar to his. In nothing flat, he’d gone from inmate to jailer.