The Texas Ranger's Secret (2 page)

If only her boss hadn’t mentioned his love of anything Texas that first day of work, she might have kept her mouth shut.

But no, she couldn’t wait to share some of her late grandfather’s tales of his legendary days riding with Captain Jack Hays, one of the bravest captains in the Texas Corps of Rangers.

That was just the start of her troubles. If only she’d been aware of what she’d stirred up at the time. Then again, she never recognized the exact moment she set herself up for failure. Did anyone?

What was taking the driver so long? She didn’t have that much baggage. Surely he would let her out first before changing the team.

Her legs cramped but she didn’t want to seem impatient with the man. After all, he wasn’t aware that she’d jammed herself between the seats. She’d just have to sit here and keep her mind on something until he opened the coach door and rescued her.

Willow’s thoughts returned to the days that followed her boss’s unusual interest in learning more of Texas. She’d told him of how her grandfather had read to her and her siblings the eight-page newspaper serials called story papers and that she’d preferred the frontier tales of derring-do about adventurous heroes.

She spouted a wealth of the jargon, giving him lots of details regarding the lifestyle and ways of the men who worked the ranging companies, feeling proud she recalled so much after all these years.

Biven Wittenburg Harrington III decided to take a risk and develop a limited series of story papers based on a fictional Texas Ranger and see how well the readers responded. Literacy was up and her boss-editor-publisher said he believed readers yearned for something to take their minds off the hard news of Reconstruction.

When he turned to her, Willow first realized she might be headed for more trouble than she knew how to handle.

He asked her to write the fictional stories under the name Will Ketchum, based on her grandfather’s tales. She should have listened to her initial hesitation, but she was being offered the biggest blessing of a would-be writer’s lifetime. A chance to reach readers.

Willow asked herself if she was ready for her dream. Was she capable of meeting such a challenge? The only way she would find out was to put aside her hesitation and do her best.

But her best proved as frustrating as pinning her hat back on today. Critics railed her efforts as pure fiction with no foundation in truth. Though the stories were never presented as anything but fable, the “no foundation in truth” complaint hurt her feelings. She had besmirched her grandfather’s memory and failed her boss’s expectations.

After researching further, she discovered Grandfather had taken creative license and jumbled parts of the facts. She even learned that a few of the stories he’d told hadn’t happened until after he’d retired from life as a Ranger and moved to Grandmother’s hometown in Florida. The criticism about lacking believability proved justified.

She understood now where she’d inherited some of her traits.

Surprisingly, when she went to Biven about what she’d discovered, he assured her that he expected the more conservative critics to berate any fiction he included in the paper, but it was clear from other readers’ letters that they wanted equal parts fact and fiction in the serial. He’d decided on a delay in future stories about Ketchum until she could improve that balance.

Exhaling a huge sigh, Willow hoped High Plains would provide the solutions needed to set things right with his expectations...or at least offer a hideout from anyone learning she had authored the tales that had stirred up so much gossip.

She probably wouldn’t have to worry about either if they found her all shriveled up between the coach seats.

“About ready to get out of there, miss?”

No, I enjoy my knees poking me in the chin
, she thought, but called upon the only gracious bone left in her body when she hollered instead, “Yes, please. I need help down, if you don’t mind.”

The coach door swung wide and the driver’s darkly stained leather glove thrust inside, offering a hand. “Problem?”

“I’m kind of stuck.” Willow inched her slender frame toward him, finally managing to scoot sideways enough to twist her legs without shifting her crinoline petticoats too high.
Use his language
, she reminded herself. “Thank you, partner. I’m much obliged.”

“Better hurry—you’ll want to get inside somewhere,” he warned. “Looks like it’s fixing to drop buckets out here.”

“How ’bout I help? You take care of getting her bags down,” offered a deeply masculine voice. “Then we’ll both change out the team.”

What
had
they been doing? Discussing the weather?

A hand twice as big as the driver’s reached in and latched on to Willow’s forearm, giving a mighty jerk that unfolded her.

“Thank y—” Her breath escaped as momentum carried Willow out, one of her boots skidding off the first step down, the other meeting only air.

Out she tumbled, tripping on the step, only to land face-first into the broad chest of a massive-sized man and knock him flat on his back.

He roared with laughter and batted away the feather sprawled on his face. “Welcome to High Plains, lady. Glad to meetcha.”

“Oh, do pardon me, partner.” Her lashes blinked rapidly, trying to widen her dust-filled eyes enough to see clearly.

“Bear. The name’s Bear. Blacksmith and liveryman.” Amusement shone in his brown eyes as he waited for her to stand. “And I figure that was most of my doing. My wife says I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

The bald man stood and handed Willow her hat, an apologetic expression slanting his lips to one side. “Guess I’m gonna have to buy ya a new one, miss. That bird looks plenty plucked.”

She accepted her hat and shook her head. “No need, Mr., uh...” She realized she didn’t know if the name he’d given was his first or last. “Bear. The hat was already ruined before I got out of the coach.” She launched into a brief explanation.

“Anybody else in there?” He looked past her.

“No, I’m the only one left,” she informed, wondering if he’d deliberately cut her explanation short.

“Well, then is there anything else I can do for ya since I handled ya too rough?”

Willow glanced around the immediate vicinity, taking note of the people milling on the sidewalks, a couple of vendors hawking their wares, a wagon parked in front of what she thought she remembered was a mercantile. She hadn’t been here since she was fourteen years old, when her niece was born. She’d not really paid that much attention to the town at the time. Boys were too much her focus back then. Willow supposed that was where she’d gotten her imaginings of what Will Ketchum might look and sound like. Texas males had a swagger about them and an interesting accent.

“Can you tell me if Daisy Trumbo or Snow McMurtry have been here today asking for me?” she finally inquired. “I’m their sister, and they were supposed to meet my stage.”

Bear walked to the back of the coach and took the baggage the driver lifted down, then set the mail sacks closer to his quarters. “So you’re the one,” he said. “Come to think of it, you kind of look like them, and they said you’d probably arrive without a bonnet.”

Did she have to be so predictable? And what did he mean when he said, “So you’re the one”? “Then they’ve been here and gone?”

“Told me they still had too much to do for the wedding tomorrow to stick around for a late stage. Some never arrived at all and several you’ve missed, according to Tadpole. Oh, sorry, that’s what I call your niece, Ollie. She’s my fishing partner. Guess you can understand the sense of their thinking.”

Relief and frustration washed through Willow as she brushed back her hair. She hadn’t missed the wedding as she’d feared but the man knew from dealing with stage arrivals and her niece that Daisy had expected her long before now. Some first impression she’d made on Bear.

“I’m supposed to tell ya they’ll check back around three to see if the stage made it or not.”

They meant if I made it or not.
Willow wished she didn’t always disappoint them. That was something she really meant to work on while she was here. Though both loved her deeply, she wanted them to be proud of her, to see that she could improve and to have faith in her when it counted most. She didn’t want to fail them or herself anymore.

Willow exhaled a long breath, setting her shoulders to the two-and-a-half-hour wait, wishing that was all the time it would take to improve herself and give her an idea how best to get started learning fact from fiction. She’d considered different ways to go about satisfying her editor’s request in the time she’d be here watching the children. After all, who knew better about Texas than Texans?

Bear took her baggage to the livery and set it just inside the door. “We’ll keep these here until your sisters turn up. You can go about your business for a while and your bags will be waiting for ya.”

When she didn’t move, he motioned to his quarters next to the livery. “My wife’s taken ill or I’d invite ya in. Are you a Miss McMurtry or a Mrs. Somebody?”

She realized she hadn’t given him her name. “Miss Willow McMurtry. I’m the youngest of the three.”

“If you’ll give me some time to help Gus get the team changed and the stage on its way, Miss McMurtry, I’ll see what I can do about getting ya some tea.” He motioned across the road. “Of course, you could always wait over at the diner. I can let your sisters know where you are when I see them. You must be hungrier than a polecat if you’ve been traveling all morning.”

Though she would have loved to go inside, Willow shook her head, which served only to loosen her top knot of curls. “Not hungry at all, and I don’t want to put you to any trouble, especially with your wife sick. I’ll wait until I’m at Daisy’s.”

The last thing she wanted was to make her first public appearance in a crowd looking this side of insane. It was embarrassing enough that Bear had seen her this way. Visiting the diner was out of the question. “Mind if I just wait out here?”

She explained that she wanted to put her best foot forward, so to speak. Even though she hadn’t, in fact.

“No problem.” Bear glanced up at the overhanging clouds and started backing up. “I’ve got to get that mail in and sorted before it gets wet. Feel free to take shelter inside the livery. I always keep a couple of fresh blankets on the shelf, if ya get chilled. There’s a lantern or a stove, if you need it. Like I said, I’ll let the ladies know you’re here if they don’t spot ya right off.”

“I appreciate it, and I hope I get to meet Mrs. Bear when she’s...” Willow could tell he was eager to be about his business. She’d learned that people tended to back up from her when she kept prattling and they really wanted to be on their way.

The driver said something to the smithy and Bear took the opportunity to dash away to grab the mailbags.

Maybe she ought to make a list of all the don’t-dos she needed to remember.
One: don’t get too chatty
, she chastised herself,
even if the Texan is chatty himself
. She’d always been told Texans were known to be the strong silent types. She’d have to revise that old belief. They liked their women less talkative than themselves.

Her eyes focused on the town again, and she thought it might be best to take this time to familiarize herself with what she remembered about High Plains. She didn’t want to leave the livery yard. That way her sisters could easily spot her, and she preferred not to be by herself in the livery. She hated being alone. At least out here, she could watch people milling around.

It was then she saw him.

A dark-haired stranger standing in the alley between the boarding house and the mercantile, leaning against one of the outer walls. Tall and lean, he wore a long black duster that hung to the top of his spurs, and his boots stretched clear to his knees. The duster was pulled back over a pistol-filled holster that rode low on his right thigh. His right hand remained gloveless, making anyone aware he was proficient at shooting from that side. Her gaze swept past his broad chest, and she noted he favored a scruff of a beard and mustache. A hat shaded his eyes. Though she couldn’t determine their color, the force of their intensity touched her even this far away as she sensed him staring at her.

A chill of recognition ran up her spine, yet she’d never met the man. A handsome stranger who’d suddenly stepped out of her imagination? A hero? A villain?

Whoever he was, he looked exactly as she’d pictured Will Ketchum in her mind. Like the kind of man who would have ridden with her grandfather in his days of ranging. Her fictional character had sprung to life as a flesh-and-blood man right in front of her.

Would he talk like Ketchum?

If the stranger proved to be on the right side of the law, he just might be an answer to her prayer.

She started pacing, wondering how she could gain a proper introduction to him. Maybe she needed to practice saying “howdy” a little better.

* * *

The stage had come and gone. Still, the slender reddish-blond-haired woman remained in front of the livery talking to herself. Gage Newcomb thumbed up his hat brim and admired her persistence, if nothing else. How long would she wait for whoever was supposed to have met her there?

He’d made it his business to check out and make himself familiar with every new male or female who landed in High Plains these past few weeks, learning early on that Stanton Hodge knew no remorse in enlisting anyone to help him escape the long arm of justice. Lady, gent or fresh-out-of-short-britches lad could be party to Hodge’s plans, so it wouldn’t surprise Gage at all if this shapely newcomer had come to town to lend the outlaw aid.

But Hodge hadn’t shown yet. Maybe the sidewinder was waiting for the weather to blow over.

Wherever the elusive horse thief might be holed up at this point, Gage meant to find him and turn him in or die trying. After that, he’d ride off into the Davis Mountains downstate and live his life alone, far away from so-called civilization. Far away from pity. Far enough to make sure he became a burden to no one.

That was the only way he could deal with accepting a future he’d wish on no soul.