The Texas Ranger's Secret Read online

  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.

  He had tracked his longtime adversary here, ready to put an end to their six-month cat-and-mouse game before he gave his notice that this was his last manhunt as a Texas Ranger. He’d always brought in his man before. He didn’t plan to fail his captain this time either.

  Hodge had managed to stay out of sight so far. Gage suspected the viper was playing it slippery until things settled down from the recent bank robbery and town-burning attempt that were so fresh in everybody’s mind here in High Plains. The thief probably wished he’d headed some other direction when he found out about the recent crime spree. Hodge liked rattling about his feats and the wait to pull his next theft must have been eating at his ego.

  That was the one thing Gage could count on. Lack of bragging rights would lure Hodge from his snake den to make a quick strike before things got too dull. Gage knew that was when he’d catch him off guard. The outlaw had been curled up and cozy too long now. Gage sensed the man would be getting anxious, and the woman pacing across the street might just be the pretty twist of petticoat Hodge would use to carry out his next crime.

  He sure hoped not, but she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d had to lock up.

  As a man who saw the world as dark and the people in it as ready to do whatever they could to get away with something, Gage rarely gave the benefit of the doubt. He’d learned the hard way that a woman could be just as nefarious as any man.

  But a man was his focus now. Gage rubbed the scars beneath and around his eyes, feeling the raised flesh and vowing vengeance once more upon the man whose actions were forcing him to choose a new way of life for himself. Being a Ranger was everything to Gage. If he lost that, he would be nothing. His failing eyesight would take his soul, his heart, his whole life. If a man looked weak, he’d forever bow down to others. Gage couldn’t bear the thought of losing his whole identity.

  Stanton Hodge had stolen something far more precious than the horses Gage was tracking him for.

  He pushed aside his self-pity, and despite the clouded day and the threat of rain echoing in the thunder that rumbled above, he squinted hard to define this new arrival’s approximate age.

  Long years of riding saddle all over Texas made distances seem fa
rther than they appeared, but she couldn’t have been more than forty or fifty feet from where he stood. Still, he couldn’t quite catch the color of her eyes or whether she had freckles. All he noted was that she was in her late teens or early twenties, and she had stealth to her walk, which revealed a long stretch of legs and decent health.

  Maybe she would prove the break he was looking for in the case. Hodge often chose a young, impressionable gal able to travel fast.

  Gage decided he’d watch her, find out her identity and make sure she was not sister, sweetheart or any other connection whatsoever to the man he would bring to justice.

  The wind got up again, wailing through the alley and buffeting him hard enough that he had to rock back and forth on his spurs to catch his balance. A quick glance at the pretty lady revealed she fought the gale, as well, swatting down her billowing skirt.

  A loud crack of thunder echoed across the sky. Then within seconds, large pellets of rain splattered the ground, leaving rows of golden eagle–sized dots. Grayish-yellow clouds dipped so low he could almost touch them, signaling their weight would not be contained any longer. High Plains was about to receive an onslaught of hard, pounding rain that would become a gully washer by the time it ended. Best to seek shelter until the Texas sky finished its tantrum.

  Most folks took heed and headed inside the closest door available. Not the newcomer. She put her hat back on and glanced up at the sky, swiping at the dangling feather as if it were a pesky fly biting her. The wind suddenly spun her around so fast she fell to her knees. Gage bolted toward her to help, but she jumped to her feet and shook the dust from her skirt.

  The steam of her anger seemed to radiate across the thoroughfare as the downpour came, soaking her from hem to haphazard hat.

  The bull of a blacksmith ran out of his quarters and spoke to the woman. Gage halted in his tracks, waiting to see what she would do. The smithy pointed to his home, but she shook her head and elected to disappear inside the livery instead.

  Gage’s curiosity got the better of him as he watched the blacksmith dash home. Feather Hat’s stubbornness made him wonder why she refused the better place to wait out the rain. He’d met Bear and his wife not long ago. Both were kind people who seemed to be well liked by everyone. That meant Feather Hat wasn’t from around here. She was a stranger who didn’t know them well enough to trust their hospitality. All the more reason to find out her identity and connection to Hodge, if any.

  Soaked to his boot tops, Gage took off at a dead run for the livery. If she questioned his presence there, he would just tell her that he’d taken shelter in the nearest place he could find. That should allow at least some polite conversation between them and maybe he might learn a few things about her.

  He stepped out of the rain and shook water from his duster, then tilted his hat to empty its brim. The sound of a match being struck against wood flared his nostrils as the pungent odor of sulfur and hissing kerosene filled the air.

  “Ouch, that hurt!” exclaimed a female voice, then, “Oops! No! Oh, please, no, not that!”

  Instinct made Gage look for a stove or a lantern, but reality flared in front of him as flames crept up one of the stall walls.

  She had dropped the match.

  * * *

  A low, angry voice cut the air like a whip. “See if there’s water in any of those buckets. Hurry!”

  Willow heard the man’s command before she saw him. He didn’t sound like Bear. Not taking time to look at him or wonder who he was, she did as instructed and ran into the first stall ahead of her. Sure enough, one of the water buckets remained half-full.

  “Here’s one.” She thrust the pail toward him and assumed he would take it.

  “Throw what you’ve got over the flames and grab another,” he ordered. “I’ll beat out what I can with this.”

  She heard him beating something against the wall and, with a quick glance backward, realized where he’d come from. He’d taken off the trail coat she’d noticed earlier when she studied him in the alley.

  Will Ketchum to the rescue, she thought, wishing this stranger could be the man she dreamed might someday come true.

  “I—I broke my nail when I struck the match against the board.” She shook her forefinger, embarrassed that such a small pain had caused all this. “It made me drop the match.”

  Horses whinnied in their stalls, their powerful legs dancing to get away from the threat that sent gray vapor spiraling into the air.

  The stranger kept beating his coat against the wall. Orders fired in rapid succession. “Find another bucket, lady. Be careful. Don’t go near the horses. They’ll stomp you to death. Got to get this out before it reaches the loft. That hay goes up, we’ll all go up with it.” One glance in her direction told her he wasn’t worried about the finger she still held up.

  She hurried, only to find nothing in the next three stalls. All that remained were the feed tins with the horses. Thunder roared overhead and a crack of lightning rent the air, telling her that it had struck close by.

  Please, Lord. Don’t let this happen to me. Don’t let me burn down the livery on the first day here. And while it’s raining, at that. If You’re going to let it rain, let it be enough to put this out, please.

  “There’s no more. What do I do?” She searched for the blankets Bear had said were stored somewhere and found them on a shelf above where her baggage had been set.

  Why hadn’t she just grabbed one of them to keep warm instead of trying to light a lantern so she could see to make a proper fire in the potbellied stove?

  She’d made a fire, all right.

  Willow grabbed a blanket and shook it open to help him beat out the flames. A daddy longlegs spider ran across her hand. She screamed in fear.

  The man raced toward her, swatted the spider away and exchanged his now-charred coat for the blanket.

  “That kind of spider isn’t poisonous even if it bites you,” he assured her as he ran back and attacked the flames even harder.

  The fire seemed to be climbing faster.

  “Take empty buckets,” he insisted. “The trough is outside closer to the blacksmith’s quarters. Bring back what you can carry without spilling. Fast as you can. And don’t worry about your nails.”

  Nails were the last things on her mind. Being burned or bitten occupied her every thought. She grabbed the pails and ran, determined to carry both back full and in time. She spotted the trough quickly and the first bucket wasn’t that hard to fill. The second proved almost unmanageable once she was done and tried to lift both.

  With every step, the water sloshed over the sides until she had to take slower ones to keep from spilling it. Her pulse raced, thrumming in her ears, lodging in her throat in a dry knot that felt as if it were drumming to her heartbeat.

  As she finally reached the livery, she had to set a bucket down to open the door but forgot to move it back far enough to allow her enough space to enter. Not now, she prayed. Please let me prove helpful. I’ve got to save him. The horses, too.

  What to do? What to do? Willow took one boot and scooted the bucket backward. It inched away. Another scoot. Too hard this time. The bucket tilted.

  “No, don’t spill!” She couldn’t keep her prayer silent. Her boot hurried to sweep around the pail to prevent it from turning over. She misjudged the distance and ended up stepping directly into the tin container, sloshing water everywhere.

  Willow grabbed the door and jerked it backward as she removed her foot from the almost empty bucket. One would just have to do for now.

  She gathered the remaining pail in hand and ran toward the cowboy, relieved to see his battle with the fire had taken a turn for the better.

  He emptied a bucket on the flames.

  Where had he gotten that from? One of the horse stalls? How brave!

  “Move out of the way,” she shouted, wanting to let him rest a moment while she took over. It was the least she could do.

  Instead of stepping aside as she threw the water from her
pail, he turned.

  A faceful of her helpfulness drenched him just before the liquid hit its true mark, extinguishing the threat of fire.

  “Oh, my,” she said, dropping the pail as her hands shot to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that, mister. Honestly. The bucket was so heavy and you didn’t... I mean... I guess my aim was off.”

  He sputtered and tipped the brim of his hat so the water could run off. Before he settled it back on his head, he wiped his eyes with his forearm and blinked hard. “Actually, your aim was perfect, pretty lady. Your timing stinks. You could use a little improvement there.”

  His admonishment hit her right where she hurt most—her past. Her need of a better future. But she heard the truth in his criticism. Timing was everything. It might just be the one skill she needed to learn in order to improve all the others she wanted to handle better.

  After all, learning to do everything right the first time would sure make everything easier and save her lots of embarrassment.

  Question was, she wondered as a possibility sparked in her mind, did he have the necessary skills to teach her what she needed to learn—and would he even want to?

  Looking up into his warm eyes, she thought for a blink she saw laughter. Would he be someone who’d help? Someone who’d understand? Or someone who’d judge?

  Chapter Two

  The barn burner grabbed another blanket off the shelf and carefully fanned it out, he supposed to make sure no more critters had set up house among the folds. She approached Gage as if she meant to cover him with it.

  “Here, let me help you dry,” she offered.

  He allowed her close enough to smell the hint of some flower that had wilted and lost part of its fragrance. Peach blossoms, maybe. Dying on the vine. Probably the effect of the long stage ride on whatever perfume she wore mixed with her sodden clothing. Sweat didn’t smell any prettier on a woman than it did on a man.