The Cactus Creek Challenge (13 page)

“It’s not yours at the moment. You don’t apprise Cassie of everything you do at the school, do you?”

She had him there. Ben relaxed. He’d find out from Jigger later.

His father limped in. “Hey, Ben.”

“What’s wrong? You hurt yourself?”

“I had a little disagreement with one of this year’s crop of colts.”

Ma sniffed. “Disagreement. You got piled up like last week’s laundry.” She slid a bowl of stew in front of him. “There’s fresh bread. Had to bake it myself this week. I’ve been buying from the bakery, but I’m afraid Carl isn’t quite the baker Jenny is. When I went in yesterday morning, there wasn’t a blessed thing to choose from in the case but sourdough biscuits.”

Ben grinned. “At least I’m not the only one making a hash of his temporary job.”

“At least Carl and Jenny and Cassie haven’t blown anything up.” Dad bent a wry look on him. He bowed his head and said the grace, then sopped some bread into his stew.

Ma took her seat across from Ben, leaned back to pluck an envelope off the sideboard, and handed it to him. “We heard from Marcus yesterday. He’s well, finally done with his undercover work for the moment.”

“Made a big arrest. Caught the railroad clerk who was embezzling.” Dad beamed, his chest puffing out. “Marcus is a born lawman. There isn’t a puzzle he can’t work out, and he’s never been scared of anything. Got a commendation from Pinkerton himself.”

Ben scanned the letter, reading the latest exploits of his oldest brother. As the youngest of three, Ben had always looked up to Marcus and Jonah. And all three boys had idolized their father, the bigger-than-life lawman they all aspired to be like.

“Any news from Jonah?”

“Not for a while. Last we heard he was heading into Indian Territory on the trail of a bank robber who knocked over some banks in Missouri. I wish Jonah’d quit the bounty hunting. He could get an appointment as a US Marshal in a blink.” A frown crossed Dad’s face, a worried look that often touched his expression when his middle son’s name came up in conversation.

“You know Jonah. He likes being his own boss. And he’s the best tracker I’ve ever seen next to you, Dad.” He shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth, savoring Ma’s good cooking. Much better than the fare he got at his boardinghouse, and certainly tastier than anything Jigger might pull together on the jailhouse stove.

“I taught him everything he knows. Him and you and Marcus.”

“Wish you’d thrown some lessons in on how to wrangle kids. The twins are going to be the death of me.”

“I heard you spent the morning putting the outhouse back together. How’re you going to convince the town that you’re doing the best job in the Challenge when all the evidence is pointing the other way? You’re a good carpenter, but as a kid minder, things seem to be going begging.”

He shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to turn on the charm. I’ll be lucky if they let me keep my badge after this thing is over. I still can’t believe y’all made us swap with the girls. It’s been a mistake from the start, and I have a bad feeling that something terrible’s going to happen. You heard about Cassie getting knocked on her bustle by one of the Shoop brothers when they were brawling?”

“I heard she dumped a bucket of shaving water on the pair of them and sent them off with a flea in their ears. Smart girl.” Dad shoved the last bite of bread into his mouth.

“The next time she might not be so lucky.”

“Will you relax? Nothing’s going to happen. Keeping law and order in Cactus Creek isn’t exactly the same as being the sheriff in Dodge City. We cleaned out all the outlaws and rabble back in my day. A scuffle from the Shoop brothers is probably going to be the highlight of Cassie’s ‘lawman’ career.”

And with those words, Ben’s father cut him right down to size. His father, the famous lawman, the fearless leader of posses, the legend in his own time, thought being the sheriff of Cactus Creek, Texas, tame enough that a woman could handle it.

Sometimes it stunk having a legend for a father.

I
ain’t no waiter. Ben won’t like you turning his jail into a teahouse.” Jigger scowled and hitched his belt. “This is a turrible idea.”

“Relax. After all the work I’ve put in on this place, getting it spruced up, I’m entitled to show it off a bit.” Cassie turned the vase of flowers on the desk, then turned it back again. Excitement fluttered in her chest. “I don’t imagine many of the town’s women have been to the jail, and I need their votes. What better way to show them how I’m doing than to invite them to tea and let them see for themselves?”

Jigger harrumphed and clunked a chair down hard on her clean floor. Three small round tables, borrowed from the café, filled the office.

“You go get cleaned up, and don’t forget to pick up the pastries from the bakery. I sent Carl a note yesterday that I wanted two dozen tea cakes. Then hotfoot it back here. The ladies will arrive in less than half an hour.” Cassie polished the gun rack, rattling the chain looped through the trigger guards.

The old deputy grumbled and slammed the door on his way out.

She smiled. The door. Though it had cost her a few splinters and a banged thumb, she’d managed, with Jigger’s help, to remove it from its hinges, plane the bottom, and rehang it so it no longer scraped on the floor. This improvement, however, was offset by Jigger’s new tendency to slam the door whenever he disapproved of what Cassie was doing … which was pretty much every time he left the building.

She fussed around the room, straightening tablecloths and plumping the new pillows on the cots in the cells. Every few seconds she checked the clock, willing it to hurry.

Cassie was straightening the map of the Texas Panhandle when Jigger returned carrying a towel-covered basket on his arm. She turned and gasped.

“Don’t you start in on me. I got enough from Carl over at the bakery.”

He wore a white shirt so stiff with starch it practically crackled, and he’d parted his hair directly down the center and slicked it down like a schoolboy’s. She’d never seen him so clean and presentable.

He dropped the basket on the desk. “And Carl didn’t have your pastry thingamabobs. He just had sourdough biscuits.”

“I can’t serve sourdough biscuits to my guests.” Cassie hurried to the desk to peek under the dish towel. Sure enough, two dozen or so perfectly round, perfectly browned biscuits filled the basket.

“No choice, unless you can whip up some cookies or something in the next couple of minutes.”

She tried to ignore the satisfied smirk on his face at this hiccup in her plans. “Biscuits it will have to be then. Stoke the fire and get the kettle boiling. Our guests will be here any minute now.”

Before she got the last biscuit on a serving plate, Mrs. Pym entered, her mouth pursed in a vinegar vat pucker. She leaned heavily on her cane.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pym. I’m so glad you could come.”

“Don’t know why you couldn’t have tea at your mother’s house like a civilized person. I’ve never been in jail before.” Her piercing eyes pinned Jigger. “What are you doing dressed like a parson going courting? You look ridiculous.”

Her deputy reddened and gulped, but before he could snap back, Cassie intervened. “Mrs. Pym, you’re not exactly ‘in jail.’ I just thought it might be nice to show some of the ladies in town the progress I’ve made this week. Tea is almost ready. Why don’t I show you some of the improvements?” She put her hand under the older woman’s elbow and led her toward the cells.

Her mother and sisters were the next through the door, and they took over amusing Mrs. Pym, which meant they listened to a laundry list of her aches and pains, as well as her opinion on everything from the spring weather to the price of calico to whether or not the church should invest in an organ.

For his part, Jigger stepped up and handled pouring tea and serving biscuits, though he grumbled and blushed and looked with longing at the door.

All twelve ladies, every one she’d invited, toured the jailhouse and admired how clean and bright it was. Cassie drank in their compliments. Everything was going so well, she released Jigger from his bondage to patrol the town.

Mrs. Wilder patted Cassie’s arm. “You’ve worked wonders here, Cassie. The place was fairly grimy when Obadiah was sheriff, and it just got worse when Benjamin took over. And neither one would let me clean the place. They swore they’d never be able to find anything again if I tidied up, and they didn’t want to make the place so nice that lawbreakers would want to stay. Benjamin declared that this was his kingdom, and he didn’t want anyone interfering with the way he ran it. He’s always been like that, not wanting anyone to touch his belongings. Even when he was a child he didn’t want me or his brothers messing about in his room. How did he take it when he saw what you’ve done?”

Cassie twisted her fingers. She’d had no idea Ben had felt so strongly about anyone touching his possessions. All things considered, he’d handled things rather well. Before she could answer, the door opened, and Jigger came in dragging a reluctant man.

“What’s going on?” Cassie skipped out of the way as Jigger dragged the man toward the cells.

“I’m arresting Wally Dunn.” He had Wally by the collar and gave him a little shake.

The ladies all looked on with interest. Cassie felt their eyes on her, and she set her shoulders, taking charge. “Why?”

She wanted to kick herself. She should’ve said “On what charge?” or something else that sounded official.

“He laughed at me and called me a strutting rooster, just because I combed my hair and put on a clean shirt.” Jigger’s jaw jutted, and he glared at poor Wally. “He’s disrespecting the law, and I ain’t gonna put up with it.”

Several of the ladies put their hands over their lips, and Mrs. Pym tapped her cane on the floor. “You do look like a strutting rooster, Jigger Donohue, whether you’re wearing a boiled shirt or not. If you start arresting everyone who thinks so, there won’t be room enough in this jail.”

Everyone froze. Then Jigger released Wally, who stumbled into the desk and upset the vase of flowers, spilling the blooms. The water gushed out and soaked the seat cushion on the chair. Jigger growled, loosened the string tie at his neck, and glared at Cassie.

“This is all your fault. The jail ain’t no place for women, especially gabbity old crones and uppity little girls. I quit. I’ll be back when the month is out and not a second before.” This time when he slammed the door, the glass in the windows rattled.

For a moment, no one spoke. Wally picked himself up, bobbed his head to the ladies, and scooted for the door, leaving it open behind him. Cassie’s mother sent a sympathetic look her way and began gathering her things. Mrs. Pym seemed oblivious to the effect of her words and popped the last of her biscuit into her mouth. Cassie’s guests began scooting back their chairs. Unable to speak for mortification, Cassie could only nod as they filed past.

The clock chimed the half hour, and Ben stuck his head through the doorway, eyebrows raised.

“Jigger just said he was quitting and hustled down the street like he was late to a fire.” He scanned the room full of ladies, then scowled right at Cassie. “What on earth have you done to my jail now?”

A tea party? In his jail? Ben pinched the bridge of his nose against the headache that threatened to pound right out of his skull.

“Woman, don’t you know that a man’s office is sacred? It was bad enough that you had to sissify everything in here, but did you have to invite the women of the town in to gossip and guzzle tea?”

“They did not
guzzle
. What a vulgar word.” Cassie jerked the vase upright and grabbed a tea towel to mop up the water.

He slammed his hat against his thigh. “You’ve set my jail on its tail, driven off your deputy, and you want to argue about my word choice? Look at this place.” Café tables, flowers, teacups. A shudder rippled through him. “I’ll never be able to look an outlaw in the face again.”

“What are you talking about?” She continued to fuss with the flowers and the water. “Everything in here is temporary. As soon as the month is out, you can go back to working in a hovel.”

Ben took hold of her arm and forced her to look at him. “You don’t get it, do you? You might waltz out of here at the end of the month, but I’m the one who’s trying to earn his reputation as a lawman, and none of this”—he waved toward the remains of her little soiree—“none of this helps me do it.”

“Why are you so worried about your reputation? People in this town love you. They’ve known you practically all your life. You don’t have to prove yourself. You’ve been groomed for this job since you were a kid.”

Unable to stand the sight of so many feminine fripperies in his jail, Ben began stacking teacups and clearing the tables. The sooner they were out of here, the sooner he could start erasing this image from his mind. “Of course I have something to prove. Every day I have to prove that I’m not only worthy of wearing that badge, but that I’m a worthy successor to the man who wore it before me.” He snatched up a fistful of teaspoons and threw them into the basket on the corner of his desk. “I not only have to prove it to the law-abiding citizens of Cactus Creek and every renegade who’d like to tear up the town, but I have to prove it to my father, too.”