The Texan's Reward (3 page)

Nell whirled her chair around and left the room.

JACOB DALTON STOOD IN THE STUDY DOORWAY AND watched the nurse careful y lift Nell from the wheelchair

and carry her up the stairs. Nel didn’t look in his direction, but he guessed she knew he watched.

To know that he saw her helpless would have hurt her pride, but he would be damned if he’d turn away. She

needed to know he didn’t care that she was crippled. He’d been her friend and protector most of her life, and

he’d be it now if she needed him. The chair wasn’t part of her. It was only something she used, nothing more.

When Nel and the nurse disappeared into the bedroom at the top of the stairs, he yel ed, “I’m not leaving, Two

Bits, so you might as well talk to me!”

“My name’s not Two Bits,” she yelled back.

At least there was nothing wrong with her lungs. She might have come home from that fancy school back East

all looking like a lady, but get her mad, and the scrapper came out.

“Go away, Jacob Dalton. I’m not talking to you about this. It’s none of your business what I do.”

He walked into the entryway, his voice shaking the windows. “You don’t have to talk to me. You just have to

marry me. Near as I can tell, that ends most of the talking between men and women!”

Old Gypsy, who Jacob swore must have come with the house when it was built, poked her head out from the

swinging door that led to the kitchen and covered her ears. She took one look at Jacob and turtled back behind

the door before he even had time to growl at her. The old hooker turned housekeeper was just one of the strays

Nel had col ected, but Jacob wasn’t about to al ow her to col ect a husband just because she thought she

needed a last name.

“Go away, Ranger.” Mary Ruth appeared on the landing, her nurse’s apron worn like armor. “Miss Nell is in no

mood to consider any more proposals today.”

Jacob opened his mouth to argue, but reconsidered. Maybe he should give Nel time to think about it. Maybe he

should think about them marrying. After all, the idea had only been in his brain a second before he voiced it. To

him marriage had always rated up there with yel ow fever. Something he didn’t want to catch, or be around too

many people infected because they felt the need to spread the disease.

The nurse pointed at the door again. A habit she had that was starting to bother him, and he’d only known the

woman a matter of minutes.

Maybe he should go. He could take a bath and cool off. He’d lost count of how many days it had been since he’d

had time for a proper bath, unless getting caught in the rain counted. Nel could probably smel him from the

second floor.

He sniffed at his shirt. Not that bad. He smelled like his horse . . . on a hot day . . . after a long ride. There were worse smel s. Glancing back into the study, he noticed the dandy who’d fainted was sitting up, rubbing the back

of his head. Randolph Harrison must not be al that used to being threatened.

Jacob stomped back into the room and offered his hand to the man.

Hesitating, Randolph finally grabbed hold and allowed Jacob to pull him to his feet.

Jacob slapped him on the shoulder so hard he was afraid the man might crumple again. “No hard feelings,

mister.”

Randolph looked at him as if he were staring at madness in motion. He made a weak effort to dust off his

trousers without taking his eyes off the ranger.

Jacob herded Randolph a few steps to the entry and yel ed up the stairs, “Nel , me and Number Twelve are going

over to the saloon to have a drink. I’ll be back after I’ve cleaned up.”

“I hope you drown!” she screamed back. “And take Number Twelve with you.”

“I’m coming back. Not hell or high water will stop me, and you know it.”

“You’re not invited back unless he comes with you, Jacob Dalton. I’m not seeing you unchaperoned.”

“What?” Jacob had been with her for years without anyone chaperoning them. What did she think? That he

would attack her now that she was crippled up? “I swear, Two Bits, you must have scrambled some brains when

you tumbled in that carriage. You know I’m not going to hurt you.” He looked at Number Twelve. “And if I was

going to knock some sense into you, what good do you think this guy would do? He couldn’t stop me.”

Randolph paled, as if fearing he might be asked to do just that. Jacob was not only almost a head taller, his

muscular body doubled Randolph’s lean form.

“At the most, he’d trip me on the way to strangling you, Two Bits.”

“Don’t call me Two Bits!” she shouted. “And don’t come to dinner unless you bring the man I’m considering

marrying.”

Randolph swal owed hard, looking very much like a man who wished to change his mind about the proposal.

Jacob smiled and slapped Number Twelve on the back. “You hear that? We’ve been invited to dinner.”

Nel watched from her upstairs window as Jacob and the stranger walked to their horses. Randolph didn’t look

near as good standing next to the dusty ranger as he had when he rode up alone. He suffered in comparison.

She rol ed back a few inches from the window, thinking not many men would stand up to Jacob Dalton. Not

many men ever had. For as long as she could remember, he’d been her ideal of what a man should be: strong,

honest, trustworthy. She reconsidered. Stubborn, loud, bossy.

She’d worshiped him as a child, loved him as a school-girl, and needed him as a friend. But she’d not marry him.

Not ever.

Lifting her chin, she refused to allow a single tear to fall as she watched him swing onto his horse like a man born

to ride. He pul ed his hat low against the sun and waited for Randolph to mount.

“He frightens me,” Mary Ruth whispered from just behind Nel .

“That would probably please him to hear.” Nel smiled. “He thinks he’s tough.”

“And he isn’t?”

Nel laughed. “Oh, he’s tough al right, but no one could have a better friend.”

The nurse looked confused. “Why don’t you marry him, then?”

“Because,” Nell pushed herself back to her bed. “He should have a wife who can have his kids and make a home

for him. He needs someone who can love him with the kind of wild passion he deserves and not be afraid to

stand up to him when he takes a wrong turn.” She pushed herself from the chair, her legs holding her only long

enough for her to shift and lower herself to the bed. “He doesn’t need me.”

“Wel .” Mary Ruth tucked Nel in. “Maybe you need him.”

Nel shook her head. “Even if I wanted to marry him, and I don’t, I couldn’t tie him down.” She didn’t add that

even if she did marry him, she could never hold a man like Jacob. Not now. Not with a bul et lodged in her back.

He might be a big, tough man, but he couldn’t stand to see her in pain. And pain had become a part of her life.

Mary Ruth moved around the bed, making Nell comfortable. “You rest now. All this excitement is hard on you, I

know.” The nurse insisted Nell take three short naps each day.

“Tell Gypsy to help Marla fix supper. With the men coming, she’d better triple the usual amount. I don’t know

how much Mr. Harrison eats, but Jacob can put food away faster than a horse.” Nel closed her eyes, suddenly

tired. “And tell her to make a skillet of cornbread as well as hot rolls.”

Mary Ruth closed the door as Nel whispered, “Jacob loves cornbread.”

SUNLIGHT SLICED THROUGH THE STALE AIR AS JACOB Dalton walked across the sawdust-covered floor of the

town’s biggest saloon. He motioned for the bartender to bring two drinks and took an empty table near the

back. Number Twelve in Nell’s line of suitors followed, taking the other seat.

They drank and watched the crowd in silence for several minutes before Jacob asked, “What brings you to this

part of the country, Harrison? You’re not a cowhand. And not many pass through here for the scenery.”

Both men smiled at Jacob’s attempt at humor. Miles of flat land dusted by rol ing tumbleweeds could hardly be

called scenery. There was a beauty to the land that Jacob saw after years of riding across it, but he knew the

stranger wouldn’t see it.

Jacob couldn’t help but think the man had an honest air about him, but there was something cold in his eyes.

Something hidden away. His clothes were wel made but worn. His hands had tiny scars and cal uses, not the ink

stains of a bookkeeper. His body looked almost prison thin. Maybe he’d been il . Maybe he’d been poor and too

proud to ask for a handout.

Number Twelve lowered his empty glass. “You’re right, Ranger. I find little interesting in the life of a cowhand,

and this land looks like God ran out of ideas, but it’ll do for ranching. My talent lies not on a horse, but with

figures. I can tell you the success or failure of a business by the numbers, not the men who ride for the brand.”

Jacob smiled. He’d seen Harrison’s kind before. The pencil pushers who told ranchers they only needed so many

men to run so many cattle. The weather, or terrain, or threat of range wars didn’t matter to them. All that

mattered to Harrison’s type was that the number at the bottom of the page was written in black.

“That why you think you’d be the right man to manage Nel ’s holdings, Number Twelve?”

Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “That’s why I know I’m the right man, so there is no need for you to be Number

Thirteen on her list. She won’t need another after I’ve had time to talk with her and explain what I plan to do, to

merge her little ranches into one.” He hesitated, then added. “It’s Rand, by the way. Not Number Twelve.”

Jacob had to give the stranger credit, once he recovered from the threat of dying, he seemed wil ing to stand up

for his rights. Or maybe he thought he’d be safe here in the bar with twenty witnesses around. “All right, Rand,

what about Nel ? How does she fit into your numbers?”

Harrison shrugged. “I see the marriage as a business deal. She needs a manager and wants my last name. My

name’s al I have left to sell. She’l give me the start I need, and I’l give her respectability. With a little luck, in ten years I’l double her holdings.”

“And walk away?” Harrison didn’t look like the type who’d be happy in a small town.

“No,” Harrison answered. “Not unless she wishes to end the contract. I’m giving my word, and I’ll hold to it.

She’ll have my name for the rest of her life if that is what she wants as part of the bargain.”

“But not your love?”

Harrison played with his empty glass. “I don’t believe in love, sir, or witches or fairies, or the man in the moon. I

live by facts and figures. A marriage in name only suits me fine.”

“No love, no children?”

“No heart to engage, none to break. I have no interest in children of my own.”

His stare met the ranger’s. The cold gray of a winter morn colored his eyes, leaving no doubt that he meant his

words.

Jacob offered him another drink, but the bookkeeper refused. He wasn’t sure if Randolph Harrison wanted to

keep his head clear or if he didn’t have the money to buy the next round, so he’d not take the offer. Either way,

Jacob’s measure of the man rose a notch.

They watched the crowd in silence. Typical trouble brewing for a Friday afternoon, Jacob thought. A few

cowhands looking for excitement after a boring week of work, two gamblers looking for suckers, but most men

just drank, hoping to watch whatever might happen. Jacob figured out a long time ago that the best nights in the

bar always happened when he wasn’t there. Somehow in the telling the next morning everything always

sounded grand, but in the living, it dimmed.

He glanced around, noticing no blood sprinkled in the sawdust. Either the town was settling down, or the saloon

owner had just completed his annual sweeping. Settling down would be his guess. There were a few trouble

spots along the frontier line, but for the most part Jacob was seeing most of the Wild West in dime novels and

not in real life. The Indian Wars were over, and most of the range wars were settled. Before long he’d be able to

walk the streets without a gun strapped to his leg.

One of the barmaids walked near their table. Her green dress, which had been washed so many times it looked

dusty, brushed the arms of their chairs. The material lingered a moment as if hoping to be invited to stay.

After making no progress flirting with Harrison, she moved to Jacob. It took her a while to recognize him

beneath al the dirt and beard. “Howdy, Ranger, want some company?”

Jacob shook his head. “Got one too many women on my mind already,” he answered, then thanked her for the

offer. Barmaids and bartenders could be a great help, an extra set of eyes and ears when needed. Jacob guessed

he knew a hundred barkeeps and saloon girls in little towns across Texas.

Before Jacob could think of anything else to talk to Harrison about, the sheriff walked through the batwing

doors. Parker Smith was a skinny fellow, years past his prime, but still lethal with a Colt. Jacob liked him and

knew him as an honest lawman who always tried to do his best. But Parker was crippling with age, starting to

slip. He no longer rode out to the ranches to check on rustling. The rangers were aware of his shortcomings and

tried to cover if they knew trouble might be riding his direction.

Sheriff Parker walked up to their table, and Jacob stood, his hand already outstretched.

“Sheriff, good to see you again,” Jacob greeted him warmly.

The old man smiled. “About time you got to town, Dalton. I was worried that you might not be here in time to

straighten Nell out this time.”

“I’m not sure I can,” he answered honestly. “You’d think that wheelchair would slow her down and keep her out