Texas Lonesome (25 page)

S
idney wondered if she’d lost hold of her senses. Crossing the hotel lobby in her riding clothes, hat in hand and her gun strapped to her thigh, she caught a curious glace from the clerk, but he said nothing.

She wasn’t quite so lucky with the restaurant cook she’d become quite friendly with over the past twelve days. The man stepped in the door as she was about to step out. His gray bushy brows shot up in question.

Should have used the back exit.

“Miss Calhoun?” he said as he warily eyed her weapon. His knowing look said he’d gotten an earful of how she’d shot bullets straight through Billy Burger’s feet without hesitation.

The man’s heart was as large as his belly. Once he realized she was a long-term guest subsisting on a few coins a day, he’d acted. Each night she found a napkin with leftover biscuits tied to her doorknob. Their being a little dry hadn’t bothered her a bit.

“Don’t worry, Bernard,” she replied with a kind smile. “I don’t shoot my friends.”

Why not give Rio Wells more to talk about? They already thought the worst. Her name was Calhoun, she been caught by Miss Tattletale kissing Dustin
beside
the barn, and now this escapade didn’t leave much room that she wasn’t much of a lady. But what would her reputation matter once she returned to Santa Fe?

“I didn’t think you would; you just surprised me is all. I’ve never seen you gussied up like . . .” He waved his hand around, indicating the picture she created.

“A cowboy?”

“Never that,” he replied, shocked. “But I’d say a cow
girl
. You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Wanting to avoid a lie, she shook her head. “I’ve been cooped up inside for several days when I’m used to being outside.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “You be sure to stay close.”

Well, she wouldn’t be staying close, but she’d be with Dustin. She wondered which was more dangerous, considering how much she’d enjoyed the feel of his lips on hers.

Some minutes later, she approached the large barn Dustin had mentioned, and was fifty feet away when he walked out from behind the dilapidated building, leading two horses.

“I was getting worried.”

“Just keeping you on your toes, McCutcheon,” she replied playfully.

His chuckle brought a spurt of warmth to her face. She was playing with fire and she knew it, but her actions were impossible to stop. Dustin got her, understood her without her needing to explain a thing. His appeal was something she couldn’t explain, and she admired him all the more. Her attraction to him was greater and more real than the expanse of blueness above her head.

He handed her the reins to a quiet palomino mare and didn’t assist with her mounting, which she appreciated. She slid a foot into her stirrup, reached for a handful of the mare’s golden mane, and swung aboard, the familiar feel of the saddle welcome. Once she was settled, she watched him mount his own horse, the one she recognized all too well from their ride from San Antonio.

“You sure about this?” he asked. “You’re being awfully quiet. I don’t want to coerce you into doing something you’d rather not.”

If he only knew. After that short-but-sweet kiss, he could coerce her into most anything he wanted.

“Seems you don’t like my quiet, and you don’t like my questions.”

He barked out a laugh. “Point taken, Calhoun. I’ll try and refrain from evaluating your moods.” He gave her the crooked smile she’d already begun to look for.

She turned her horse and headed down the road. “I appreciate that. I’d say you’ve become overly interested in my comings and goings.”

“My pa thinks the same.”

Sidney shot him a look. She’d been kidding, but she could see he was dead serious.

Never could she remember being so aware of a man in all her life. His eyes, his mouth, the way he held himself in the saddle. The reality of why almost made her gasp. She wasn’t the only one wondering about family, and this growing attraction between them.

The midmorning sun felt pleasant on Dustin’s shoulders as they walked along the well-worn wagon tracks in relative silence. They’d taken the right fork past the barn, the one that led first to Draper Bottom, and from there would continue over the long stretch of uninhabited prairie and finally arrive at San Antonio.

The small settlement where they were headed had sprouted up years ago, started by the Draper family, even before Rio Wells was founded. Draper—along with his wife, ten children, and a few hands—had been stranded when the wagon carrying their supplies broke an axle.

Well stocked, they just put up a few shacks and began living off the land, as well as mining in a medium-sized tributary off the Guadalupe River, the same waterway that cut through McCutcheon land and provided water for their cattle. Soon other settlers came along and joined them.

Heard tell, old man Draper was a hell of a salesman. He’d have to be to get others to stay on and help build the place on the very edge of the prairie, with roving bands of Comancheros and Indians. Sidney didn’t know it, but they’d been traversing McCutcheon land for the last few miles. Most likely would rile her if she knew.

“’Bout the prettiest land God created,” he said, gazing out across a sea of brown grass. Texas was in his blood. He’d never be happy anywhere else.

From the corner of his eye, he caught her nodding.

“Sure is. Much different from our place in Santa Fe. Our ranch is greener. Cooler.” She glanced at the sun. “Higher in the mountains.”

“You’re a Texan.”

She tossed him a look.

“Born here, weren’t ya?”

She nodded.

“Well, that makes you a Texan, even if your family moved out. Can’t change the facts. Once a Texan, always a Texan.”

Now a good distance from Rio Wells, Dustin reached back in his saddlebag and pulled out the loaf of wrapped bread he’d procured from the Cheddar Box Café, as well as a wax-paper-wrapped package of thinly sliced beef.

Her eyes widened.

He felt guilty, softening her with food. “When we’re finished with this, I have dessert.” He lifted out a can of peaches he’d bought at the mercantile. He’d also brought two canteens, one filled with water and another with apple cider, all things he’d rounded up as Sidney had been changing her clothes.

The food went down easily as they rode, and much quicker than he’d expected. She wasn’t shy. More than eating the food himself, he enjoyed watching her indulge. She’d relaxed, softened. Her laughter had a way of making him smile.

He handed over the canteen of water and she took several long pulls, wiping away a few drops from her chin with the back of her wrist. He liked that she wasn’t all stuffy and caught up with being so proper that one had to walk on eggshells around her.

“McCutcheon?”

He’d caught sight of a deer, and watched it dart away before he looked over. She had the canteen held out to him. The sun brought a sheen to her face, and wisps of hair pulled free of the restraint that kept her hair pulled back on her neck.

“You keep it. I’ve another here.” He uncapped the lid to the apple cider, took a drink, and smacked his lips.

Her gaze searched his. “Beer?”

He chuckled innocently. “No. But I like the way you think. Cider. Would you like a taste?”

She stared at him and then at the canteen.

He’d sipped first on purpose. Wanted her to consider the possibilities. Get her thinking in the right direction.
I
should be ashamed, but I’m not.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Good girl.

He laughed, sat back in his saddle, and handed her the canteen. He’d steered the conversation to her childhood, but she’d artfully diverted the questions back onto him. He was sure she held many hurts inside. But the food had mellowed her mood and she was being generous with her smiles, and for now, that was all Dustin cared about.

When all the food was gone, he filled her in about Diaz Sanchez, and that the old Mexican remembered two brothers from the time around the attack on her father, but not their specific names. Diaz had always wondered why one of them quit when word got around about what happened to Calhoun.

The lead wasn’t much to go on, but something was better than nothing. If Dustin was to have a future with Sidney, he needed to clear his family’s name, one way or another.

W
hen they reached Draper Bottom, Dustin pulled his mount to a halt in front of a run-down box of a mercantile. They’d passed two saloons, the only places in town that were doing any type of business.

“I’ll ask inside. See what they know. The settlement doesn’t have a sheriff or a mayor, or just about anything.” He flipped his reins over the hitching rail. “You coming?”

Sidney dismounted. “Of course.”

An old man was slouched in a chair behind the counter.

Dustin picked up a package of tobacco. He wasn’t a fan, but someone in the bunkhouse would be interested. Better to make friends by making a purchase before he asked for information. Sidney stood quietly at his side, the immensity of the moment written on her face. The good name of one of their fathers was on the line, and might be proven wrong or right. He was confident the outcome would go his way.

Dustin gently cleared his throat.

The old man snorted loudly and then sucked in a deep breath. A moment later, his eyes opened and his chin lifted. He focused.

“Well, howdy,” he said, slowly coming to his feet. “Didn’t hear ya come in, young man. What can I do ya for?” A gap-toothed grin was directed at Sidney. “And you, ma’am.”

With a finger, Dustin pushed forward the pouch of tobacco.

“Oh, sure. That’ll be a nickel.”

“Thank you,” Dustin replied. He pulled out the coin and placed the money on the counter.

“Say, don’t I know you?” the old man asked as he narrowed his gaze.

“You might.” Dustin chuckled. “The name’s McCutcheon, over from Rio Wells. This is Sidney Calhoun.”

“That’s right,” he replied slowly, still looking Dustin over. “I’ve seen you around here a time or two. Welcome to Draper Bottom. We’re a quiet little place, nothin’ like Rio Wells, I’d imagine. Ain’t never been there myself.”

Dustin lifted the tobacco and pushed it into his front pocket. Leaning on the counter, he looked around and said, “I was wondering if you might know a fella by the name of Law or Shorty Harris? Might be between forty and fifty years old. I’m not sure.”

The clerk scratched his chin. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Can’t say as I do. Neither of those names rings any bells. Sorry. There’re a lot of bleached bones between here and San Antonio. Maybe those fellas ya named are some of ’em.”

“Could be,” Dustin replied. He turned and looked around the store. “But I hope not. Newson around?”

“Oh, sure.” The man’s scratchy voice perked up. “Just walk anywhere down the street, and you’ll find him somewhere. And if that don’t work, go around to his icehouse. He ain’t hard ta find.”

“We’ll do that. Thanks”—he patted the pocket over his chest—“for the smokes.”

Sidney turned and walked with him out onto the porch.

When she sighed, he said, “We’ve only just begun. I hope you’re not giving up yet.”

“Do you really think after twenty years someone will remember something, something that would either condemn or clear your father?”

He studied her downturned mouth. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re a better man than me, McCutcheon.”

“I hope so, Calhoun. I seriously do.” He nudged her with his shoulder and smiled. “Let’s go find Newson.”

After walking the streets, and no one admitting knowing the Harris brothers, Dustin and Sidney veered toward Newson’s icehouse, the place that had recently held the outlaws captive until the marshal could arrive.

“McCutcheon, you back again so soon?”

He turned to see Newson hurrying their way.

“That’s him,” Dustin said under his breath. “I hope he can shed a little light.”

After introductions and a few words of greeting, Dustin got down to business, but the man only shook his head. Refusing to be discouraged, Dustin thanked him and moved on.

“What now?” Sidney asked.

“We’ll go see another acquaintance of mine. Alistair Fry. Owns the forge and livery.” He pointed down a side street. “It’s just down this way.”

A sweaty-faced Alistair looked up when they walked into the small, exceptionally hot shed. “Dustin!

“I know, I know,” Dustin said, grasping the man’s beefy hand. “I just couldn’t stay away.”

“Guess not. Only been a few days since you were last here.” He took his time looking Sidney over until she raised her chin. “You’ll be happy to know I got good news.”

Alistair grasped Dustin’s arm and led him into the adjoining stable. Dustin glanced at Sidney and shrugged.

Sidney stopped in her tracks. “My horse!”

“You betcha,” he proudly said. “Came in looking for water yesterday morn. Couldn’t get to my trough in my back pasture, so he stood at the fence just waiting for someone to see him.” He wagged his brows at Dustin. “Been on the lookout for him since you mentioned it, Dustin. With the outlaws and Comancheros, it’s pretty amazing that he’s here at all. And it’s especially astonishing your money and possessions are still inside.”

Sidney gasped. “I can’t believe this.”

Alistair unlocked a large wooden cabinet and swung the door wide, hefting out Sidney’s saddlebags, and then handed them over.

Dustin thought she would cry. She hugged the leather to her chest, and a grateful smile blossomed on her face.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” At first, her words were directed at Alistair, but soon her attention slipped over to Dustin.

Her eyes softened as she reached out and touched his arm, the first contact she’d ever willingly given him. His chest filled with warmth.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. You asked Mr. Fry to be on the lookout,” she added with a smile. “That was very thoughtful.”

She knelt, set the bags on the ground, and pulled out a large object from one side. “The music box for Carmen’s birthday. I thought I’d lost it.” She pointed to a delicate outline of a bird inlaid in the memento’s lid. “She loves birds and music. I thought it the perfect gift.”

Carmen? Another mystery. “Your purchase in the San Antonio mercantile?”

Her face colored with emotion, she nodded. This was a side of Sidney he’d never seen.

In one fluid movement, she stood and wrapped her arms around the livery owner, making him sputter in surprise.

“No need for this, young lady. I’m happy to do whatever I can for my good friend Dustin McCutcheon. He looks out for me as well.”

Dustin was warmed by his friend’s fine declaration.

“I was getting ready to ride over to Rio Wells and deliver the horse and rig myself. Now I don’t have to.” He gave a toothy grin. “It’s a good day.”

That it was. And maybe a good time to see what he knew, if anything, about the Harris brothers.

When Dustin put his arm over Sidney’s shoulder, he noticed she didn’t pull away. “Let’s go back out into the sunshine so we can talk.”

“Sure,” Alistair said, stepping out the door and into the noontime light. “How long ya staying?” he asked, looking at him and then eyeing Sidney.

He’s just realized we rode out here alone.

“Not long,” Dustin replied. “We’re looking for information—
old
information. As soon as we ask around, we’ll be heading back.”

“What are you waiting on? Spit it out.”

Sidney was hanging on his every word, her saddlebags clutched in her arms. Her changed attitude struck him, and he couldn’t even imagine her tough outer facade any longer. The softness was back in her eyes, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let anything in the world hurt her.

“We’re looking for two brothers with the last name of Harris. They worked at the ranch some twenty years ago.”

Fry planted his hands on his hips. “You think they’re here in Draper Bottom?”

“Don’t know. It’d be a stretch, but I heard their family once lived somewhere around here. Law or Shorty. Either one.”

“Law or Shorty Harris?” the blacksmith mumbled.

Someone called out from down the street and he waved, distracted for only a moment.

“Sorry, Dustin, but I’ve never heard of either one. You know I pretty much know everyone, down to the town drunk that lives out back of the saloons and steals whiskey whenever the opportunity presents itself.” He shook his head. “I ain’t never heard of either one.”

Disappointment crashed down on Dustin’s shoulders. Was uncovering the facts so old, so hurtful, even possible? He wanted to be the one to unearth the truth for his father’s sake, as well as for him and Sidney. The only thing that kept his spirits buoyed was knowing they still had a couple of hours together on the ride home.

“We best be going. Don’t want to get her back too late. First, though, I need to ask around in both the saloons. Maybe someone there knows something.”

Alistair nodded. “I’ll get Miss Calhoun’s horse saddled up.”

Sidney extracted several dollars from inside. “Please take this reward, Mr. Fry. I never thought I’d see my things again.” She touched the side of the bag. “Or my dress.”

“Put away your money.” He gave her a stern look. “I insist.”

“That’s very kind. While you’re in the saloons, I’ll go up and down and ask in the shops,” Sidney said, turning to Dustin.

“That won’t take you long.” With a large hand, Alistair shaded his eyes and shook his head sadly. “Aren’t but two other businesses besides the mercantile and saloons. And one of ’em’s mine.”

“Fine,” Dustin replied, holding in his frustration. “I’ll meet you back here.”

Somewhere, somehow, he needed a lead on the Harris brothers if he wanted to clear the way for him and Sidney. Problem was, there wasn’t a lead to be found.