The Circle Eight: Caleb (4 page)

Aside from her choice of professions, Rory was not in the least feminine. She had muscles on her arms, back and shoulders, and wore trousers because they were a safer choice for a blacksmith. When she grew breasts, they got in the way of her hammer swing, and she’d been binding them down every day since then. She was usually dirty, with grimy nails, and her skin wasn’t soft. The heat from the fire took care of that. Her hair was short as a man’s and she wore a leather cap when she worked.

“I brought by some fresh milk, honey and bread.” Eloise held up a basket.

“Bless you.” Rory took a rag from the pile by the door and wiped off her face the best she could. “Let me wash my hands and we can sit and enjoy that treat.”

Rory hung up her apron, took a clean rag and stepped out into the early afternoon air. The breeze cooled her overheated skin and she breathed in deep. It really was a beautiful spring day. She went to the well pump and took time to scrub her hands until they were red. As she dried them, she walked back to the small building she lived in.

The blacksmith shop was larger than the tiny house next door. It was the perfect size for one, and now that Horatio was gone, she enjoyed the privacy. Eloise waited by the door, her expression tight. The pleasant time Rory had imagined was not going to happen. There must have been a fight between Eloise and Sven or something equally as horrible. Sometimes Rory envied her friend for having a partner to rely on, and other times, she was glad to be a widow.

“What happened?” Rory opened the door and let her friend follow her inside. The small iron table and chairs sat to the left and very small kitchen to the right. In the center of the building was a large stove used both for heat and cooking. Her bed was in the back, nearly end to end as the building was no more than ten foot by ten foot square.

She sat in one chair and waited for Eloise. The blonde set a tablecloth from the basket on the table. She might not care that Rory was a blacksmith but Eloise was a woman who prided herself on cleanliness. The jar of milk, a small pot of honey and a sliced loaf of bread were soon laid out for their dinner.

Rory’s stomach rumbled and she grinned. “It smells wonderful.”

“Today was bread day. I made half a dozen loaves and I knew I wanted to bring one to you.” Eloise pulled out two plates, a knife and two tin cups from the basket. She always brought everything required for a meal and Rory had come to expect it. One day she might actually make a meal for her friend of eggs, hash and corn bread. Although she wasn’t a great cook, Rory was quite handy on that old stove and the frying pan she’d made for herself years earlier.

One thing she didn’t make was bread. Never had the patience other folks had to knead and let the bread rise. She’d tried when she was first married but the bread was always harder than her hammer. She gave up and made quick breads like corn bread. That was hard to ruin in a frying pan.

Eloise served them each two slices of bread with honey drizzled on them, along with a cup of cool milk. Rory dug right in, taking a bit bite and closing her eyes as the sweet, delicious food danced on her tongue. That woman was an incredible cook.

“This is wonderful.” Rory spoke around the bite in her mouth. “You are gifted in the kitchen, Eloise.”

As expected, Eloise blushed, making her rosy cheeks a deeper pink. “I don’t do anything special. I follow my mama’s recipe, that’s all.” She nibbled on her bread and Rory waited for whatever was on her friend’s mind to come tumbling out of her mouth.

Outside the birds chirped, the squirrels chattered and the cicadas buzzed. If she could have this every day, life would be perfect. Rory didn’t know what lay ahead, but she would enjoy this moment, the good food and her good friend.

“I heard something today.” Eloise finally started in on whatever she had gnawing at her.

Rory took a big gulp of milk. “That so?”

“I heard there was a Texas Ranger who rode into town last night.” Eloise picked small pieces of bread and popped them in her mouth, chewing the tiny bits to mush as far as Rory could tell.

“Here? Hm, that’s new. I don’t believe we’ve ever seen one around these parts. I’ve heard of them of course.” All she knew was what Horatio told her. They were all hard men who had fought in the war and now served the Republic with their guns. Men of the law who tried to keep their new country free of lawlessness.

“The thing is, I heard Sven talking to Mr. Stevenson, you know the man who owns the store in town? They were talking about this ranger and how he was here to find a specific person.” Eloise finally looked up and met her gaze, pity shining in their blue depths. “One Rory Foster.”

The bread turned to ash in her mouth and she could barely get the bite past the tightness in her throat. “Me?”

Eloise nodded. “Yes, he was asking where he could find the blacksmith shop and Rory Foster. That was just before I came out here. Sven sent him to the Bessie’s for dinner and then promised him directions on how to find you.”

She grabbed Rory’s hand and squeezed tight enough to cause discomfort. Rory had no time to be surprised because fear raced through her.

“He’ll be here within the hour? Is that what you’re telling me?” Rory didn’t know if she was going to vomit or shit her drawers.

“Yes, I’m sorry, Rory.” Eloise was a good friend and she looked perfectly miserable to be delivering the news.

“I wondered who it would be.” Rory pushed the plate away, the half-eaten bread taunting her with its sweetness.

“Who?” Eloise frowned.

“Horatio owed lots of folks money. I don’t know how much or who, but they’ve been arriving over the last year with his marker. There were a few letters from Texas but I didn’t understand them.” She ran her hands down her face. “I’ve been paying back what I could and when I could. This ranger means that Horatio’s stupidity will bite me in the ass once more.”

“Rory, your language.” Eloise wasn’t really chastising. She was too upset for that; her words were said out of habit. “You can run. I’ll help you.”

Rory shook her head. “I won’t run. This is my home, such as it is, and I can’t pack up the forge, my tools and the two-thousand-pound anvil. I’m a blacksmith, Eloise. I can’t make a living without it.”

“What will you do?” Eloise wrung her hands together.

“I’ll find out what the ranger wants and then convince him to be on his way.” Rory would do anything she had to, including chasing off one of the legendary rangers. Nothing he said or did would get her to budge from her smithy. Nothing.

Caleb was pleasantly full of meatloaf and green beans, and even a piece of peach pie. The restaurant in the tiny town of Marks Creek was a treasure. He hadn’t had such a wonderful meal outside of the Circle Eight. He was in a good mood, surprisingly good.

Not only had he located Rory Foster but he had directions to the smithy. The mission was by far the easiest he’d ever been sent on. Now he had to convince Foster to leave the property. Texas had plans for that particular parcel of land and they had let him squat there long enough. Caleb didn’t know the particulars, and he didn’t want to know. All he had to do was carry out his orders and then ride back to headquarters for his next assignment.

It should be as easy as the ride out to Foster’s smithy. Regardless of what a good mood he was in, Caleb made sure his pistol and rifle were both loaded. He was about to evict a man of what was perceived as “his” property. There would be resistance, but if Caleb were smart, he would control the situation from the moment he stepped foot on the property.

The area was beautiful with rolling hills, a plump creek running freely and the kind of thick grass cattle could get fat on. It was clear why the smithy stayed when the Republic of Texas told him to leave. Caleb might have stayed too if he’d been smack dab in the middle of such rich land.

He followed the smell of smoke and rode up to a square building with a sign that read “Foster’s Smithy” in faded red letters. It was a typical blacksmith’s shop, with large windows controlled by hinged wood panels. The smoke and heat could get fierce inside the building. The windows were currently open offering him a clear view of the inside. There was an enormous stone forge inside and a large number of tools scattered around, not to mention an anvil that probably weighed more than a team of horses. It was a solid shop and a smidge of guilt pinched Caleb for arriving to take it all away from Foster.

He dismounted and finally noticed the tiny shack in the shadows behind the smithy. It wasn’t quite a house, but it did have a door, one tiny window and a smoke stack, which meant there was a heat source inside, likely a stove of some sort. It must be where the blacksmith lived, modest as it was. There was great care taken in the actual smithy, which told Caleb the man might be more difficult to remove than he expected.

“Foster?” Caleb walked into the larger building. The forge wasn’t fired up, the embers glowed orange. “Is anybody here?”

He hoped like hell nobody told the man there was a ranger on the way. If so, his job got even harder. Caleb kept his hand on his pistol as he walked around the building. Whoever the blacksmith was, he had skills. The iron work was top notch, even in the pieces that weren’t finished yet.

“Who are you?” A woman’s voice startled him from his perusal.

He turned to find a man wearing a leather apron and cap, and trousers that had seen better days. Caleb shook his head and frowned at him.

“Ranger Caleb Graham. Who are you?” He couldn’t equate the husky woman’s voice with the blacksmith. Was he hiding her in the apron?

“Aurora Foster.”

The voice came from the man’s mouth. The ground shifted beneath his feet as realization hit him. Sweet heaven above. Rory Foster. Aurora Foster. Holy hell. The blacksmith he was there to evict was a
woman
? When he got back to headquarters, he’d give his commander a piece of his mind about this particular assignment.

“You’re a woman.”

“I can see why you’re a crack man of the law, Ranger.” She raised one brow. “You’re trespassing.”

He swallowed his response to her sarcasm. She definitely wasn’t a wilting flower, but the leather apron should have told him that. “You have that backwards, Mrs. Foster. You are the one trespassing. This property belongs to the Republic of Texas.”

Her mouth twisted. “That’s ridiculous. My parents settled this land twenty years ago. The Republic can go find someone else to harass.” A very large, lethal looking sickle appeared in her hand from beneath the apron. “Now leave.”

Caleb took a few moments to study her. Taller than the average woman, she also had muscles most women didn’t. Honed, lean arms and long hands, a heart-shaped face with an upturned nose. The one thing that set her apart were the amber eyes currently staring holes in him. They were an unusual shade, like the colors of the embers in the forge behind him.

“I can’t do that.”

“Then I will make you.” She pulled a huge cleaver out with her other hand. The woman was a lethal weapon with all the blades she made.

Caleb decided to appeal to the woman’s logical side, if she had one. Truth was, he was distracted by the way she looked and spoke. He’d had plenty of experience with females, but no one like Aurora Foster. “You’re the blacksmith, Rory Foster. Is that correct?”

“Only my friends call me Rory. You can call me Mrs. Foster as you ride off my land.” She ran the sickle down the edge of the cleaver. It made a screeching sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Was she going to chop him into pieces?

“It’s not your land.”

“That’s a pile of horse shit. This land belonged to my father and now it belongs to me.” Her tone and her expression told him he had a hell of a fight on his hands.

“Females can’t own property in Texas, Mrs. Foster. I’m guessing no one ever told you that. It’s understandable that you think this is yours—”

“I don’t think anything. I know.” She stepped closer, her hands tightening on the weapons. “Now get out before I make you leave.”

Caleb sighed. “I can’t leave.” He didn’t want to pull his pistol on the woman. Hell, even the most aggravating female deserved respect. “Ma’am, this is my job. I have an assignment to remove an illegal squatter off land owned by the Republic of Texas. I can’t leave until it’s done.”

She bared her teeth. “Get out of my smithy.”

“It seems we are at an impasse. I’ll go wait outside while you gather your things. We can ride to Marks Creek and get the legal paperwork in order.” Caleb watched her hands, her strong, capable hands, as she edged closer with the sharp implements.

“I have work to do. I’m not going anywhere least of all to town. No one there for me and the legal paperwork means nothing.” She threw her arm wide. “This is all I have. This is who I am. I can’t leave either.”

Well, shit.

Caleb wanted to be on his way, the blacksmith firmly off the property. However, that wasn’t going to happen easily. The woman was fierce as hell, not giving even an inch.

He’d dealt with dangerous criminals, wily thieves, even murderous outlaws, but never with a woman like Aurora Foster. Rory was a man’s name and she worked in a man’s profession. She was stronger than expected. Now he had to devise a plan to get her out of the smithy and off the land. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy.