Texas Lonesome (13 page)

D
ustin left Sidney Calhoun in her hotel room and exited the building. He needed a bossy Calhoun she-cat with soft curves, a graceful neck, and lush lips about as much as he needed a hole in his temple. She was a Calhoun through and through, and he would be well advised to remember that whenever her airy scent captured his attention.

Just like her old man, she’d like nothing more than to see the McCutcheon brand wither and die. Her bitterness was her badge and she wore it well, in defense of her lying father. Dustin pitied the man who ended up hitched to such a bull-headed woman. She could have at least indulged his mother this morning by eating breakfast.

And now he had Noah Calhoun to keep straight with the law. Two Calhouns to think about was enough to give him a headache, but more, he intended to keep them both out of his pa’s way as best he could. That family had caused his own family, and especially his pa, more heartache than ten years of drought, pestilence, and an avalanche of snowfall combined. A betrayed friendship was the worst hurt of all.

With saddlebags in hand, he strode down the boardwalk toward the bank. He’d pick up the payroll and get back to the ranch. He didn’t like leaving Calhoun—even with Manolito and Paulson looking after him.

The memory of his pa’s face when they’d broken the news pulled at him. His pa thought he was taking
their
side. Dustin didn’t know how he could be any more loyal when he’d been ordered by a judge to oversee Noah. He hadn’t asked for the job, and had tried his damnedest to get out of it.

Crossing Dry Street, he noticed his cousin John outside his doctor’s office, washing the front window. Dustin turned and headed his way.

John’s sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and a bucket of water sat at his feet. When John saw him approach, he dropped the large sponge he held into the bucket and reached for the towel draped over his shoulder.

“I see you have important business this morning, cousin,” Dustin teased.

They had an on-again off-again running joke—of sorts. Ever since John had wooed Lily Anthony out from under his nose, perhaps it wasn’t such a joke anymore, but they’d both gotten past the matter and were good friends, including Lily.

John laughed good-naturedly. “Someone has to do it, cousin.” He gave his work a dubious stare. “Not leaving streaks behind is more difficult than you’d think.”

Dustin lifted an eyebrow, astounded John didn’t mind what he was doing, and actually looked to be enjoying the chore.

“Better you than me, I guess,” he responded. “I suppose if I had a place here in town, I’d want to keep the condition up as well.”

An unusual expression pulled at John’s mouth. He toed at a nonexistent something on the boardwalk. “That may be the case, but you’d have the funds to hire someone to do the work for you.”

What isn’t John saying?
“True enough.”

“I’m surprised to see you in town today, Dustin. Didn’t you only get back to the ranch last night?” The worry lines on John’s forehead had disappeared and his demeanor was back to normal.

Dustin hoped there wasn’t trouble brewing between the newlyweds.

“Picking up payroll at the bank.”

“Today? Alone?” John glanced around and then back at Dustin.

Every other Wednesday was the usual pickup day for the Rim Rock, and funds doled out to the ranch hands on Friday.

“I’m not going it alone; I have a couple hands waiting at the bank. Colin Jorgensen, the new owner of the bank, is being quite obliging. I told him I wouldn’t be in for payroll on Wednesday, like usual, since Chaim and I would still be in San Antonio, and he said that wasn’t a problem. Any day was fine, he said, as long as he had notice. Quite a change from Shellston, who liked to control the air we breathe. I’m relieved to know that scoundrel got what was coming to him.”

“My thoughts exactly. The way he treated Lily and Harriett when they first arrived in Rio Wells still sets my blood pumping.”

“Well, Jorgensen wants to make a good impression on the town. Rebuild trust in the bank after the fiasco with Shellston. He’s even had several families follow him south from Wisconsin. He purchased a bunch of deserted homesteads to resell at very competitive prices to bring new blood into Rio Wells. That’s smart. And his plan is working. He also said a new merchant is opening a mercantile and dry goods store on Church Street.” Dustin shook his head. “Jorgensen is a wealth of information. I learned more in an hour’s talk with him than a month of Sundays.”

“I’ve already met the new merchant,” John said with a satisfied nod of the head. “Man, wife, and five daughters.”

Dustin’s eyes opened wide. “Five! My sisters and mother will be happy to hear that.”

“As well as all the bachelors around town. Mr. Knutson will be very popular.” John’s face darkened. “Bixby told me about the Calhouns. Why’re they in town?”

“I’ve been put in charge of Noah until he can pay off a fine he incurred in San Antonio. His sister followed, worried over our treatment of him.”

John scoffed.

“Yeah. I feel the same. Anyway, it’s a long, convoluted story. I’ll retell the sorry account sometime over a—”

“Morning, Dustin, John,” a female voice called.

Martha Brown stood with her young daughter, Candy, in front of Grady’s Mercantile after exiting the store. They walked slowly toward the two men.

“Morning, Martha,” John said. “Candy, how does that tummy feel today? Better?”

The child nodded.

“Mornin’,” Dustin added, unable to miss the wide smile Martha shot his way.

She was nice enough, trim and pretty, but Daniel’s widow couldn’t understand he wasn’t interested in
that
way. He didn’t mind the attention she showered on him, just as long as she didn’t read her desires into his actions.

He’d never want to hurt her feelings. Daniel had been a good friend, so Dustin watched out for Martha and Candy, as all the townsfolk did. But he couldn’t marry her. She deserved a man who loved her for herself.

“Did Miss Emmeline get off on the train all right?” she asked.

She and Emmeline had formed a friendship in the few months his brother’s intended had lived in Rio Wells.

“She did,” he said. “And promises to be back before she’s missed.”

“Well, that’s not possible because I miss her already. And I’m sure Chaim does as well. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to take such a long trip with my wedding date so close.”

My thought exactly.

“But then, Emmeline has proven she’s brave after traveling alone to Texas in the first place,” she went on. “Think of those train stops and strangers.” Martha glanced down at Candy, who was playing a counting game on her fingers as she waited for her mother to finish her conversation and move on.

“She’s a bold one, all right,” John said, once again admiring his handiwork on the window. “And stubborn as well. I’m sure Chaim tried to talk her out of it, but once her mind is made up . . .”

Candy tugged on her mother’s arm. “Mommy, can we go in the dress shop? I like looking at the pretend lady. Ingrid.”

John laughed and nodded. “Go ahead. Lily’s there. I’m sure she’d like the company.”

Lily must have heard the conversation because she stepped out of her shop and smiled at them. “I thought I heard your voice, Martha. You too, Candy.” She hurried over and wrapped the two females into her arms.

“Did you recognize my voice too?” Dustin asked, and then laughed at the way her lashes lowered to her soft-looking cheek. Lily McCutcheon was always such a delight to see. John was a lucky man.

“I did. But I didn’t want to interrupt you and John.”

“I can understand why. We had important window washing to discuss.”

She was avoiding him, and that was fine. He understood. A day would come when hugging him felt as comfortable and natural to her as hugging Chaim was to her now. Dustin looked forward to that day, but also never wanted it to happen. Her cheeks had turned a dusty pink.

Martha spoke up. “As much as we’d like to come in, Lily, we can’t.” She looked down at her daughter and raised her brows. “My sister-in-law is expecting us at the post office. Louise wants our help in dressing up her work area since she spends so much time there. Today is our first meeting. We’re sewing curtains.”

She laughed, and then glanced at the watch penned to her bodice. “Why, we’re late already. Come along, Candy. Another day, Lily, I promise.”

Dustin watched them go, and Lily disappeared back into her shop. He needed to quit his lollygagging and get himself to the bank, and be on his way. Leaving Calhoun out at the ranch was playing with fire. He trusted Brick Paulson and Manolito with his life. Problem was, he had no idea how far Noah Calhoun would carry the grudge.

“Well, I’m off to the bank.” Dustin saw that odd expression cross his cousin’s face once more. He wished he had the time to learn what was on John’s mind, but he had more pressing problems to worry about. “And then I’m headed back to the ranch. Duty calls.”

Would Noah try to even the score with Winston, no matter how unfounded the stupid grudge might be? That was a question he couldn’t answer.

Noah was a Calhoun, and he’d not trust him for a second.

W
hen he was alone again, John hefted the water bucket, dumped the contents into the street, and headed toward the hot springs.

Mrs. Beck would arrive soon with Andrew, her six-year-old boy, for his biweekly treatments. The lad had patches of dry skin around his ankles that never completely disappeared. They itched something fierce, and the child was always scratching, making the problem worse.

After much reading on the healing effects of mineral water, John prescribed twice-weekly sessions for Andrew. Since the child was small, his mother didn’t want him sitting in the hot springs for fear he’d somehow drown. Therefore, instead of that, John fetched water back to his office, where Andrew was inclined to stay soaking longer with the entertainment Tucker provided. When the sulfuric water cooled, they heated it, soaked some more, and then coated the boy’s ankles in the aloe serum made by Bixby.

John’s thoughts drifted to the problem that was never far from his mind. How could he earn more money?

He’d considered applying for the sheriff’s job. Surely, he’d get that position with no problem. He bore the McCutcheon name, which everyone around here respected. Taking on outlaws didn’t scare him, and he was a good shot.

Still, would sheriffing and doctoring mix? By his way of thinking, the duties were a contradiction. And what if an emergency occurred when the bank was being robbed? What if something happened when he wasn’t around?

Sure, Bixby was always here. In all likelihood, the old coot would probably be around for a good long time, and John was glad for it. But the retired doctor was getting older by the day, and liked having turned the reins over to John. The doc had gone fishing three times last week.

No, he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, count on him. The two jobs didn’t go hand in hand. As boring as Rio Wells was when nothing was happening, John needed to be in town in case something did.

Ranching was always a possibility. He was a proven hand at that vocation. A month’s pay as sheriff earned about as much as riding for an outfit—twenty dollars a month. Maybe he could hire on at the Rim Rock, and ride for his uncle and cousins. Surely they’d welcome him with open arms.

But that solution didn’t feel right either. If he was returning to ranching, he might as well pull up stakes and head back to Montana where he’d have a percentage in the ranch. Where he’d make real money. His pa had told him he was always welcome to come home anytime.

John knew one thing. He couldn’t give up doctoring completely.

Nodding to a few women making their way past him on the boardwalk, he continued on, the bucket by his side, swinging from a rope handle. Bartending and clerking were options, but those jobs paid a pittance.

John rounded the corner of Dry Street and Spring.

Lily hadn’t asked him about her sister since their last conversation. As a matter of fact, she’d steered clear of the subject altogether. Why? Had she spoken with someone? Had she discovered how little cash they actually had?

Having dealt with Jas Bixby for the last forty years, people of Rio Wells were not used to paying cash for services. Just yesterday morning, Martha had tried to leave him a fresh-baked pie after she brought Candy into his office complaining of a stomachache. A quick checkup and a few simple questions had revealed the little girl had eaten three unripe apples straight from their tree.

For those few moments he’d examined her daughter, John could hardly agree to take a whole pie, even though Martha had assured him that the pie had been made with perfectly ripe apples. On the other hand, he certainly could take his patients’ money.

Bixby, a bachelor and in need of very little, had been fine with bartering. Being old and unmarried, he sometimes preferred the cooked and baked offerings over cash payments.

The townsfolk think bartering is the normal way to do business, and I don’t have the heart to insist otherwise.

Sure enough, he was in a pickle.

Discouraged, John trudged down Spring Street. The sulfuric aroma grew stronger as he drew closer to the bridge. At the edge of the ten-foot wide steaming pond, he ignored the heat that touched his face and carefully picked his way down the bank, then dipped the bucket into the churning waters.

The hot steam brought to mind the image of Aunt Winnie’s burn he’d recently seen. Bixby’s salve had done an outstanding job healing that, and the same with the scar on his face. She’d even asked for more.

An idea struck him. He stood at the edge of the spring, staring at the bubbling hot water.

How many doctors did he know? The college had hundreds of students, most who went on to start practices of their own. Not only that, but he’d struck up a friendship with the dean, an older, retired physician who had all kinds of connections.

As far as he knew, aloe vera plants were nonexistent in cooler climates, which made procuring the restorative juice much more difficult. And who cared if they could anyway? Who had the time to go through the process of extraction? Wasn’t ordering a case from a company in Texas easier?

John’s heart raced as he thought through the possibilities. The concoction belonged to Bixby, but maybe he’d go fifty-fifty. John would do the work and make the contacts, and Bixby would provide the knowledge from his years spent tinkering with the formula. They’d have to take into account the cost of cooking up the salve, bottling, and shipping. Nothing of value was ever free or easy—at least, that was what his mother had always preached.

For the first time in several days, John’s mood lightened.

Perhaps raising enough money to rent a real house in town wouldn’t take long once production began. Then, if Lily wanted, she could use the profits from the shop to bring Giselle from Germany, and when his new business took off, he’d pay her back.

That was something he would insist on, and only if she didn’t want to wait for him to save enough to do both. He was the breadwinner, and he aimed to stay the breadwinner. No wife of his would wear the pants.

He had work to do. First and foremost, he would speak with Bixby.