The Cactus Creek Challenge (20 page)

Jenny edged a few steps away. “Will the horse be all right?”

“Probably. Don’t rent him to anyone else for the month.” He jammed his fingers through his hair. “This place is falling apart without me. The foal and the sorrel will need extra attention. Misery needs to be gentled if he’s to be any use. Half the horses need a trip to the blacksmith, and the first hay crop is going to come in ahead of schedule and I won’t be here to get it into the barn.”

With every sentence, Jenny’s confidence eroded, and she was transported back to her marriage where nothing she did was good enough, nothing she did pleased her husband.

Raising her chin, she looked him in the eye. What had made her think he would be any different, would treat her any better than Robert had?

“If you’re through insulting me, I believe I’ll head home now. It’s almost closing time. Perhaps you can accomplish some of the many things that you feel are not meeting your high standards. Perhaps when I get to the bakery, I can do the same. Good day, Mr. Gustafson.”

She turned on her heel and strode out, carrying her guilt and feeling smaller than that starving little foal in there. Men were all the same, and Carl Gustafson was …
samer
… than the rest.

T
he sun was barely over the horizon when Cassie arrived at the jail. She glanced at the clock and the calendar. Almost halfway through the Challenge month, and she hadn’t exactly been a rousing success as a sheriff. Certainly not enough so that Ben would be convinced that she was grown up and that their destiny lay on the same path together.

A rueful laugh clogged her throat. Her destiny. What a laugh. The man was thicker than two planks when it came to women. On the one hand, she supposed she should be grateful. After all, if he wasn’t so dense, he probably would’ve married someone else while she was in Philadelphia. On the other hand, having him continue to view her as a child, and even to speculate about who might come courting her one day was galling.

“Mornin’, Sheriff.”

Speak of the devil and then he appears. Ben stuck his head through the jailhouse doorway.

“Good morning, Ben. I was hoping to see you today. Why is it that I’ve noticed my students running about town with tablets and pencils these last couple of days when they should be in school?” She crossed her arms.

“Your students?
My
students for the next couple of weeks. They’re working on some projects. We might’ve gotten off to a rocky start, but I think we’ve hit our stride. You might see them around town again today. I haven’t decided.”

“They all melt away when I get close enough to ask them what they’re up to.”

His smile cut two creases into his cheeks, distracting her for a moment. Her breath hitched, and she twiddled with her collar button. The man had no right to be so handsome.

“I told them to be inconspicuous. They aren’t supposed to tell anyone what they’re up to.”

“That sounds … suspicious.”

“Naw, just keeping our business our business, you know?”

A stab of jealousy seared her. The bond that Cassie had worked so hard to forge with her students was being obscured by Ben and his charm. What if, when she returned to her classroom, the children let it be known they preferred the sheriff’s teaching to hers? Mary Alice hadn’t been very forthcoming with her reports each afternoon, and she was getting far behind in her studies for her exams. Worst of all, she didn’t seem to care, going on about how much fun they were having and how nice Mr. Wilder was. It sounded as if nobody missed Cassie at the schoolhouse.

A knock sounded and Ralph sauntered in. “Glad you’re here early. Telegram came in for the sheriff of Cactus Creek.” He started to hand the paper to Ben, but Cassie snatched it away.

“I’m the sheriff, remember?”

Ralph frowned. “This is serious, Cassie. Ben needs to know.”

She shoved the telegram into her pocket. “You’re legally bound not to reveal the contents of a telegram to anyone but the recipient, are you not?”

“Sure, but Ben’s the sworn sheriff, and this isn’t something to trifle about. When you read that, you’ll agree that he and you will have to swap places back for a while.”

“Not on your tintype, Ralph Campion. Not for eighteen more days.”

The depot manager/telegrapher sighed, shook his head, and shot Ben a sympathy-seeking glance. “These Bucknell girls are hardheaded for sure. A man would think twice about courting them if they weren’t so pretty.”

“I’m going to tell Millie you said she was hardheaded.” Cassie made a face at him.

“Well, when you do, be sure to tell her I also said she was pretty. You and Ben work this out between you. Show him that telegram, and you two decide together what to do about it. Otherwise, I’m going to tell him myself.” He tipped his visor to her and left.

“C’mon, Cass, read it out. Is there a prisoner transport coming through and they need to use the jail? A bandit headed this way? What?”

She took the telegram from her pocket and scanned it. A dull pain hit her abdomen.

Ben crowded close and read it as she held it out.

“That tears it. This year’s Challenge is over for you and me.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? You read the message.”

“I can handle this.”

“You can’t, and you’d be foolish to try. If word of this gets out—and you can bet your sweet little sunbonnet it will—every outlaw, thief, and bandit this side of the Pecos will be camped on the doorstep. You wouldn’t stand a snowflake’s chance in Houston of holding them off by yourself.”

“Stop treating me like a child. It says a Wells Fargo guard comes with the shipment, and Jigger will be here, too.”

“Did you read the paper on Monday morning? Dick Grabel splashed it all over the front page that we have a girl playing sheriff here for the next three weeks. The whole article gave me the cold sweats. It’s practically an invitation to all the riffraff in Texas to come boiling in here for a good time. When they find out about a half a million dollars in gold bars sitting in one of our jail cells, they’ll be tripping over each other to get at it.”

“It’s only for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Just until the soldiers from Fort Benefactor get here. I don’t see why you’re so negative.”

He flipped his hat onto the desk. “I’m not being negative; I’m being realistic.”

“So am I. I’m a big girl. I can take care of the jail for two days while the gold is here, especially with a deputy and a guard to help.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

She folded the paper into a precise square. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll confer with Jigger and come up with a plan.”

“Did somebody say my name?” The deputy sauntered through the door in his usual cranky-morning humor, but instead of making his customary bow and hat tip, his boots hit the new rug she’d laid down the night before and skidded out from under him.

His arms windmilled, and he let out a little yelp as he slid toward the stove. Throwing himself to the side to avoid colliding with the cast-iron potbelly, he smacked into the wall, bracing himself with his palms to save his face from meeting the adobe. Something snapped with a dried-kindling sound and made Cassie’s skin crawl.

Jigger howled and dropped to the floor holding his wrist.

Ben and Cassie sprinted to his side, pushing each other to get there first. Ben won.

“How bad is it?” Ben helped his deputy sit with his back against the wall.

“Busted.” The word came out through clenched teeth. Sweat clotted on his brow. “Tripped on the rug.”

Cassie touched the deputy’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me see. Ben, you need to go get my father.” She elbowed Ben out of the way to survey the damage.

Ben shot to his feet. “This is what you get for sissifying my jail. Rugs and pillows and cushions. They’re a menace, and I want every last one of your so-called improvements out by tonight. Is that clear? Jigger, hold on. I’ll go get the doc.” He kicked the rug on his way out, sending it through the doorway ahead of him.

She took out her handkerchief and wiped Jigger’s brow. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I should’ve put something rough on the back of that rug to keep it from sliding. Does it hurt very badly?” The skin hadn’t burst over the break, thankfully, but there was definitely an unnatural bend to his right forearm that said he had diagnosed himself correctly. “Can you get up and into a chair, or would you rather sit here on the floor?”

“Mebbe you could drag a chair over.” He gave her a weak smile, then went back to clenching his jaw. “Don’t fret. It was an accident. Don’t let Ben get to you. He’s always like this when somebody he cares about gets hurt. Takes things to heart, he does.”

She pulled the desk chair over and helped Jigger onto the seat. His fingers below the break had begun to swell and discolor, and she prayed her father would arrive soon.

“What were you and Ben arguing about before I did my buffalo-on-ice routine?” Jigger shifted his injured wrist and sucked in a sharp breath.

“What makes you think we were arguing?” She tugged at her lower lip and paced, going to the door to see if they were coming yet.

“You were in the same room, weren’t you? Seems all you two do these days is strike sparks off each other.”

She paused, ashamed of herself. Just this past Sunday she’d vowed to behave better, to be nice to Ben and treat him as she wanted to be treated, to act like a grown-up. That resolve hadn’t lasted through a full week.

“I’m trying, but Ben Wilder rubs me the wrong way.”

“I might be a bachelor, but I have eyes in my head. If you two didn’t care so much for each other, you wouldn’t be scrapping all the time.”

Panicked that he might’ve guessed her feelings for Ben, she sought to cut him off. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk right now. The doctor should be here soon.”

“Talking keeps my mind off the pain. Anyway, I’m happy for you two. Ben’s a good man, better than he gives himself credit for. You two will do well once you figure out that you’re meant to be together.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head on the wall? Ben thinks of me as a child, a little sister. We argue all the time because he’s impossible, not because we’re fighting tender feelings for each other.”

“Poppycock. Ben’s busy right now trying to live up to his daddy’s reputation, and that takes all his time, but if you’ll be patient, he’ll get around to noticing that you’re all grown up and the perfect little bride for him.”

As if she hadn’t been patient for more than ten years already.

Ben jogged up the street, fuming at her stubbornness. He’d like to turn her over his knee. Look where her girly ways had gotten his deputy. Laid up with a broken wrist. And now she was thinking to tackle protecting a gold shipment that would’ve had Ben telegraphing the Texas Rangers, his brothers, the Pinkertons, and swearing in a couple more deputies from right here in town to guard it while it sat in his jail.

Pounding on the Bucknells’ fancy front door, he waited.

The doc himself opened the door, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Breakfasty smells hit Ben right in the nose. “Good morning, Ben. Care to come in for some eggs and bacon?”

“No, sir. Jigger’s down at the jail with a broken wrist. It needs setting.”

The amiable expression faded from Doc Bucknell’s face, and he reached behind the door for his bag. “Mother, I’m headed out on a call,” he shouted down the hallway.

As they hurried back toward the jail, Ben couldn’t resist saying, “Sir, we’re going to have to call off the Challenge this year as far as Cassie and I are concerned.”

He frowned but didn’t slacken his long-legged stride. “Over a broken wrist?”

“No, sir. Cassie can fill you in when you’re done with Jigger, but something’s come up that will mean I have to take my job back, at least for a few days.”

The doctor frowned but mounted the single step to the jail porch and ducked inside. “We’ll talk about it later.” He went straight to Jigger.

Ben hovered in the doorway while Cassie leaned against his desk, her arms folded at her waist. A pair of furrows crinkled the normally smooth skin between her brows, and for some ridiculous reason—especially when he was so frustrated with her at the moment—he wanted to reach out and touch them, soothe them away and bring a sweet expression back to her face.

Of course, he was more likely to cause her to spit and scratch at him. She was so passionate about everything, never did anything by halves, and this sheriffing lark was no different. She’d jumped in, boots first, and now she was in over her head. The parents of the school children had told him she was the best teacher their kids had ever had, that she truly cared about them and taught them well. He wasn’t a bit surprised. As a kid, she’d been a good student, a fearless adventurer along the creek bank, and a staunch defender of anyone she thought was getting a raw deal.

But he had to draw the line, for her own safety and that of the town, not to mention the army’s gold.

The clock chimed, drawing his notice. He had a quarter of an hour before children would start showing up at the school. And today was a big day. The kids had begged him to teach them to track, and he had roped in his dad to help. Even now, his father was probably laying a trail from the school door to an unknown destination. And if Ben knew the old fox, it would be as full of twists and turns as a rattler winding through a patch of prickly pear. He’d want to test Ben as much as he would the kids. And Ben would have to call upon all his concentration to work out the trail. The last thing he needed was a distraction like Cassie or Jigger’s broken wrist or a wagonload of gold sitting undefended in his jail.