Two

The sign on the door of the Silver Spur saloon forbade floozies, suffragists, Methodists, and other troublemakers from entering the establishment.

Since it said nothing about Texas Rangers, Cole strode inside and bellied up to the polished oak bar. Still early in the day, the saloon was empty except for two other patrons—one a drunk slumped over a table, the other a bearded man the size of a bear.

The sound of distant gunfire failed to merit so much as a flicker of curiosity by the saloon keeper. Hammered and Bear didn’t react either; the one kept snoring and the other kept working on the bottle of whisky in front of him.

For such a small town, Two-Time sure did have attitude. Already, Cole had witnessed more brawls on Main Street than could be found in the Huntsville penitentiary. Even the dogs roaming the streets seemed more ornery than most.

He rested a dusty boot on the gold railing.

The proprietor swiped a cloth across the bar. Bear had called him Stretch, and it was easy to see why. He towered over Cole’s six-foot height by a good four inches. Now he looked Cole up and down.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts.”

“Just passing through,” Cole said. Actually, he’d expected to be on the way to headquarters in Austin by now, but at the last minute had decided to spend the night in town and get an early start in the morning. He wasn’t feeling all that well. Maybe he was coming down with something. Or maybe he was just tired. It had been a hard day. He couldn’t stop thinking of Mrs. Carnes and her little boy. He felt sorry for the woman, and not just because she was a widow.

She’d looked exhausted, her hands callused. Keeping up a farm that size was no easy task, especially with a young child. Most women in her shoes would have collapsed upon hearing of a husband’s death, but not her. She bore the news with the same sort of grit Cole expected from his men.

“What can I do for you?” Stretch asked.

“Just water,” Cole said. He was hot and his mouth dry.

Stretch placed a glass of water in front of him. “Much obliged,” Cole said, and took a long sip. The cool liquid quenched his thirst but did nothing to alleviate his dark thoughts.

It was his job to keep his men safe. Not to have seen the ambush coming was pure carelessness. He’d been warned that the Carpenter brothers were tricky and would do anything to keep from getting caught. He should have known they’d pull a trick like that. Now a child was without his father and a woman without her man.

Cole reached into his pocket for his watch and grimaced. It hurt to move his arm. Hurt like the dickens. The doctor had warned him not to exert himself, but he’d wanted to deliver the news to Carnes’s widow in person. It was the least he could do.

He waited for the pain in his shoulder to subside before asking, “What time you got?”

“That depends.”

Cole clamped down on his jaw. He was in no mood for games. “I just want to know the time so I can set my watch.”

Stretch shrugged. “Like I said, that depends.”

Cole gave the man a fish-eyed stare. “On what?”

“On whether you go by Lockwood time or Farrell time.”

Bear set his empty glass on the bar and reached for the half-filled bottle. “That’s how the town got its name, Two-Time.”

Stretch tossed his rag aside. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go by Lockwood time, but stay clear of his three daughters. When it comes to them, the old man’s a tiger.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So I ask again, what time is it?”

Stretch pulled out his watch and flipped the lid open with his thumb. “Three thirty-five.”

Cole set his watch and hoped that his next question would have a less complicated answer. “Do you happen to know Mrs. Carnes?”

“Yeah, I know her from church. Haven’t seen her around much, since her baby was born.”

No one in town knew of Carnes’s death, and it wasn’t Cole’s place to break the news. That was up to the widow to do whenever she was good and ready. “Does she have family around?”

“You mean other than her no-good husband? Not that I know of.”

Cole rubbed the back of his neck. No-good husband? Carnes hadn’t been his best ranger, but neither had he been the worst.

“I take it there’s no love lost between you and Carnes,” Cole said.

“The man owes me money. So whadaya think?” Stretch narrowed his eyes. “Who are you, anyway? Why you askin’ all these questions?”

“Just curious, is all.”

“Yeah, well, here in Two-Time, curiosity can git you in a whole peck of trouble.”

Cole flipped a coin onto the bar. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Loud voices greeted Cole as he stepped outside, along with another round of gunfire.

Hand on a holstered pistol, Cole stood on the boardwalk and stared at the mayhem in front of him.

A group of women marched down the street, carrying signs demanding the right to vote. Since they held up traffic, the suffragists were partly to blame for the curses that rent the air.

Two men shot out of the saloon across the way. Rolling off the boardwalk and onto the packed dirt road, they battered each other like angry rams. From farther down the street came the sound of gunfire, setting off a chorus of barking dogs.

Cole shook his head. He’d traveled through some pretty wild towns, but this one took the cake. Where was the sheriff? Did they even have one?

Since the road was blocked, Cole left his tethered horse and started on foot toward the hotel. After securing a room, he’d stable his horse. It was still afternoon, but he was dog-tired and his shoulder throbbed to high heaven. A good meal and some shut-eye should put him in good stead for tomorrow’s journey.

As he passed the general store, something caught his eye. Though Christmas was still a few weeks away, the window was decorated with a tree surrounded by gaily wrapped packages. But it was the little wooden horse that caught his fancy. Carved out of pine, the horse sat on a wagon that had four wheels and a string for pulling.

The toy reminded him of something.

He slapped his forehead and groaned. He’d forgotten about the little wooden soldier Carnes had whittled. He walked back to his horse and checked his saddlebags, finding the carving at the bottom of one.

Holding it in the palm of his hand, he tried to decide what to do. The widow Carnes was still very much on his mind. She and her little boy. Her husband had carved the figurine, and no doubt she would want it. He could mail it, of course, along with the saddle, but somehow that seemed cold and impersonal.

With a shake of his head he stuffed the wooden soldier into his saddlebag. Shut-eye was what he needed right now. The rest he would figure out in the morning.

* * *

Sadie had just finished giving Adam his morning bath when the chickens started making a god-awful racket.

“Oh, no! Not again.” She placed Adam in his carriage where he would be safe, grabbed her broom from the kitchen, and dashed outside.

Panic reigned in the hen yard. Chickens squawked and ran in frantic circles, flapping wings and tossing feathers. At first Sadie couldn’t see what had them all up in arms. Then a strong musky smell drifted through the air, telling her that the old fox was back even before she spotted a flash of reddish-brown fur behind a bale of hay. Fortunately, he hadn’t yet made it into the chicken yard.

Wielding her broom—and wishing she’d grabbed her shotgun instead—she started after him. She wasn’t about to lose more precious egg-layers to that furry thief. “Scat! You yella-bellied scoundrel!”

The fox dodged under a bush. Crouching low, Sadie peered beneath the leafy shrub. Yellow eyes stared back, followed by a low growl and bared teeth.

She brought her broom down hard and the fox raced away. But once started, she couldn’t seem to stop, and a knot of emotions broke loose. She raised the broom over her head and slammed it down again and again. The animal forgotten, she continued beating the bush.

“Dang you, Richard Carnes!” Feelings she had held back for more than a year spewed out of her like wildfire. “I begged you not to go. You shoulda listened to me!”

Long after the fox had wiggled under a hole in the fence and vanished in the chaparral, she vented her anger and frustrations on that hapless bush. Richard had promised to quit the rangers if she married him. Always wanted to have a family, he’d said. Always wanted to own a farm. The man had a way with fancy talk. He knew what to say and how to say it and, fool that she was, she had taken him at his word.

If he’d kept his promise, he would still be alive. Adam would have a father, and she wouldn’t be standing in her backyard, acting like a madwoman.

She beat that bush until it was ground to a pulp. She was breathing hard and still she kept wielding that broom. All the frustration and anger bottled inside gushed out of her like hot lava.

“I think you can stop now, ma’am.”

The male voice startled her and she whirled about. The ranger stood a short distance away, holding Adam in his arms. His gaze dropped to the broom she held like a weapon. “I don’t think that bush will give you any more trouble.”

Embarrassed to be caught in a fit of temper, she lowered the broom, but nothing could be done about her flaring red face. What a frightful sight she must look, her hair falling down her back in tangled waves and her hands and face covered in dust.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I forgot to give you something.” He slanted his head toward the house. “The front door was open, and this little fella was airing his lungs.”

She moistened her lips beneath the ranger’s steady gaze. “A fox was after my chickens,” she said.

His gaze traveled to the pile of crumbled leaves. “I guess you showed it,” he said. Adam began to fuss, and the captain jiggled him up and down.

“He’s ready for his morning nap,” she said. “Would you mind waiting for me inside? I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.” Holding Adam in one arm, he walked back to the house with long, easy strides.

In an effort to calm both the chickens and herself, Sadie tossed a handful of corn on the ground. She grabbed a shovel from the barn and filled in the hole under the fence, for all the good it would do. The fox dug more holes than a gravedigger. Picking up her broom, she leaned it against the barn. Then she straightened her shoulders with a sigh and marched to the house.

After wiping her feet on the rug, she stomped through the back door to the kitchen. Adam’s laughter drifted from the parlor and, despite her harried condition, she couldn’t help but smile.

She splashed cold water on her face at the kitchen sink. After drying herself off, she gathered up her hair and twisted it into a bun, pinning it to the back of her head.

Her apron was soiled, but it hid the patches on her dress. For that reason, it stayed.

She found Captain Bradshaw on the parlor sofa, her son on his lap. Even seated, the ranger’s presence seemed to crowd the room.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“For now,” she said, lifting Adam off the ranger’s lap. “You certainly have a way with children. He doesn’t usually go to strangers.”

“Maybe he’s just a good judge of character.”

She met the ranger’s gaze. “Maybe.” Straddling her son on her hip, she studied the man’s rugged features. Now that she thought about it, he had a nice face. Some might even say a kind face. His sun-bronzed skin was the color of tanned leather, and his eyes were as blue as the bluebonnets that popped up in the spring. She liked that he was clean-shaven and his brown hair neatly trimmed. Liked even more the way he smiled, though his smiles were for Adam, not her.

Embarrassed to be caught staring, she jerked her gaze away. The man stood for everything she hated, and she’d best not forget it.

“If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll just put him down for his nap. I won’t be long.”

He said something, but she’d already left the room. Fled the room, more like it. She was still embarrassed—horrified—at having been caught in a fit of rage. What must the ranger think of her?

Reaching the safety of her bedroom, she laid Adam in his bassinet. The boy had almost outgrown his temporary bed and would soon have to sleep in the iron cot in the other room.

She covered him with a blanket and rubbed his forehead until his eyes drifted shut. Smiling, she tiptoed away. With a quick glance in the mirror, she braced herself with a sigh before rejoining her guest.

“Can I get you something, Mr.…Captain?”

“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I’m leaving on the afternoon train.”

“You said you forgot to give me something.”

He stood and reached for the little wooden soldier on the end table. “Your husband wanted his son to have this.”

She stared at the carving in his hand and something snapped inside her. There was nothing she hated worse than lies, and this was a bald-faced lie if she’d ever heard one. “You have some nerve coming here, pretendin’ to know what my husband wanted.”

He reared back, brow furrowed. “Whew, now. I apologize if I offended you in some way, ma’am. Carnes…your husband…was always whittling.” He glanced at the two wooden dogs on the windowsill. “But I guess I don’t have to tell you that.” When she made no effort to take the wooden soldier from him, he stood it on the end table next to the oil lamp.

She regretted her hastily spoken words. Under normal circumstances she might have felt sorry for the man. Telling a woman her husband was dead couldn’t have been easy, but she was having a hard time conjuring up sympathy for anyone associated with the Texas Rangers.

Forcing herself to breathe, she smoothed her apron and tried to calm her tense nerves. His presence only reminded her of Richard in the worst possible way.

He glanced at the door as if measuring the distance before he could make his escape. “I best get a move on.” Grimacing, he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. Though the fire had died down, the ranger looked flushed and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “First, could I trouble you for a glass of water?” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he swayed.

Hand extended, she started toward him. “Are you all right?” she asked in alarm.

He nodded and tugged on the collar of his shirt. “Just a little—” He seemed to be having trouble breathing and the color drained from his face.

“Maybe you better sit for a spell,” she said.

He opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he swayed like a windblown tree and, before her startled eyes, toppled to the floor at her feet.