Three

The sound of gunfire stirred Cole into action. He reached for his gun, but came up empty. His Colt was missing. So for that matter was his holster. He opened his mouth to warn his men, but nothing came out.

More gunfire. This time his body jerked and his eyes flew open. Battling his way through the fog, he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

He blinked. Was that an infant’s bed on the far wall? What the…?

He closed his eyes and tried to think. A vision of a pretty round face with big blue eyes and a pretty pink mouth came to mind. Shaking his head, he waited for the fog to clear before battling off the confining bedcovers. By George, it was an infant’s bed!

Grimacing, he sat up slowly and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. Another shot rent the air. This time his instincts kicked in and he rose unsteadily to his feet.

He staggered around on rubbery legs, looking for his guns. Unable to find them, he made his way from the room and through the parlor to the kitchen. Hands on the counter, the walls, the cookstove to keep from falling, he followed the sound of gunfire to the mudroom and cracked the back door open.

Blinded by the bright sunshine, he peered through the crack with one eye before swinging the door open. A blast of cold air struck his bare chest, and the last of the fog cleared from his head. That was when it hit him. Not only were his guns missing, but so were his trousers. He was wearing his long johns, but nothing else.

He spotted the widow, her honey-blond hair ablaze in the bright golden sun as she fired her shotgun.

Stepping outside, he lumbered to the edge of the porch. “I think you can stop shooting, ma’am.”

At the sound of his voice, she lowered her gun and spun around.

“I reckon whatever you were shooting at is in the next county by now.”

She looked like she meant business, even with her lowered shotgun. Her gaze lit upon him with a frown. “That old fox was back. Won’t leave my chickens alone.” She started toward him. “You should be in bed.”

He squinted against the yellow glare to get a better look at her. “I was just telling myself the same thing,” he said.

He swayed and he heard her gasp. “You better go back inside. If you pass out again, you’ll be stuck here on the porch till tomorrow. I sure in blazes can’t pick you up by myself.”

He frowned. “What happens tomorrow?”

“That’s when my friend Scooter comes to help out. His father owns the bakery. He’s the only one strong enough to carry you. Mr. Watkins tried, but he has a bad back. Mrs. Compton wanted to help, but she’s expectin’ her tenth child, and I wasn’t gonna take the chance on her havin’ the baby here.” After a beat, she added, “Mr. Peterson couldn’t lift you either, on account of his wooden leg.”

Cole stared at her. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

“Three—!” He rubbed his forehead. It didn’t seem possible.

“Yeah, but don’t go worryin’ none. Scooter saw to it that your modesty stayed intact.”

He studied her. “I wasn’t worried.”

She eyed him with a thoughtful frown. “Got yourself a bad infection. I’m no expert, but I’d say you owe the hole in your shoulder to a bullet. Probably from the same gun that shot my husband.” After a beat she added, “Sure hope you returned the favor.”

“I tried, ma’am. I’m sorry to say…the killers got away. But don’t you worry none. The Texas Rangers always get their man.” He fingered the bandage at his shoulder. Something felt sticky. Thinking it was blood, he drew his hand away and stared at it.

“Sugar,” she said, as if to guess his thoughts. “Can’t beat sugar for drawing out the poisons.”

“You did that?” he asked. “You doctored me up?”

She shrugged. “No one else ’round to do it.”

“I’m…mighty obliged to you. Didn’t mean to add to your troubles.” He still couldn’t believe it: three days. “My horse?”

She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “In the barn.” Stomping the mud off her boots, she started up the porch steps toward him. “Like I said, we better get you inside before you go passing out again.”

He grimaced and willed his rubbery knees not to buckle. “I’ve got to get to Austin,” he said, surprised to find that even talking was an effort. “That’s where my company is camped. They’re waiting for me.”

She stood her shotgun in the corner of the porch. “Right now, you don’t look so good, mister. You might not even make it as far as the bedroom.”

Feeling light-headed, he thought better than to waste his energy arguing with her. She grabbed him by the arm, her grip surprisingly strong. Ever so slowly she walked him into the house. He wasn’t used to having to depend on someone. The fact that she was such a small package—barely reaching his shoulders—made him feel all the more helpless.

Slipping an arm around his waist, she steered him through the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. He fell groaning onto the straw mattress, breathing hard.

She pulled the quilt over him. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

Coffee sounded good. Still, business had to come first. He rubbed his forehead in an effort to clear his thoughts. “I need you to do somethin’ for me.” His voice was low, so low that she had to bend over to hear him. She smelled of soap and something else that reminded him of a spring meadow. Distracted by the pleasing fragrance, he forced himself to concentrate.

“I need you to send a telegram to my men.”

Drawing back, her eyes flashed with blue fire and her hands balled at her waist. “Well, mister, here’s the thing. I’ve got a child to take care of, a cow to milk, butter to churn, laundry to wash, and a sick man to feed. Frankly, I don’t have time to drive into town.”

“Take my horse.” The swaybacked mare he’d spotted in the corral could barely stand on all fours. “My horse’s name is Hercules, and he’ll get you there and back in no time.”

“Your horse? You’re joking, right? What am I supposed to do with Adam? Tie him to your horse’s tail?”

“Leave him here with me.”

Her eyes widened. “You? Look at you. You can barely stand. And what if he needs changing?”

“I’ve changed the ways of some of the most ornery and cantankerous outlaws this side of the Big Muddy.” The fact that he did it with the help of a well-aimed gun was beside the point. “I reckon I can change a child’s britches.”

Doubt clouded her face. “What if you pass out again?”

“I won’t.”

“You might.”

“I said I won’t.”

She drew in her breath and stared down at him. “Why should I believe anything a Texas Ranger says? You’ve already lied to me twice.”

Scratching his temple, he frowned. He wasn’t used to people questioning his honesty. “If that’s true, ma’am, then it must have happened when I was out of my head. I assure you, I’m normally a man of my word. When I say I’m gonna do something, I do it, and that includes takin’ care of your son. All I’m asking is that you ride into town, send a telegram, and ride back.” When she said nothing, he added, “I’ll pay you for your time.” That got her attention, or at least made her look less opposed to the idea. “So what do you say?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Fair enough. While you’re thinking, I’d appreciate that coffee you mentioned and maybe some grub. That is, if it’s not too much bother. The sooner I get my strength back, the sooner I can get outta your hair.”

Turning to leave, she stopped at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. “Anyone else I should notify? A wife?”

He shook his head. “Not married.”

She studied him for a long moment. “If you’re smart, mister, you’ll keep it that way.”

* * *

Sadie felt guilty for leaving her son with a man who was little more than a stranger.

It was the first time she’d been away from Adam since the day he was born. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the ranger to take care of him. But now that Adam was beginning to crawl, he could wear out a string of mules. He certainly wore her out. Who knew what effect he’d have on the wobbly-kneed captain? The thought made her urge Hercules to go faster. The sooner she conducted her business, the sooner she could return home.

Still, it felt good riding into town on the ranger’s fine horse, the sun at her back and the wind in her hair. As she continued down Main Street to the telegraph office, she imagined everyone looking at her. She could almost guess what they were thinking. What is Sadie Carnes doing on such a fine horse?

The thought brought a smile to her face, and she threw her shoulders back another notch. She might look like a pauper, but by George, she didn’t feel like one, and the shiny gold eagle the ranger had paid her was partly responsible. She hadn’t wanted to take his money but he insisted. Told her to consider it payment for room and board.

“Buy something for Adam,” he’d said. “Or something pretty for yourself.”

Pretty. She tried recalling if she’d ever bought anything pretty and couldn’t. Any store-bought purchases were out of necessity practical and cheap. Fabric to make clothes for herself and Adam. Cheap cuts of meat for stew. Sacks of flour. Bags of rice.

At the telegraph office, the youthful dispatcher greeted her with a nod. Nervously, she sidled up to the counter. She’d never sent a telegram. Had no reason to. Couldn’t have afforded to even if she did.

The dispatcher must have sensed her hesitation, because he set pen and paper in front of her. “Just write your message down, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

She pulled off her threadbare cotton gloves and drew a piece of paper out of her drawstring purse. The ranger had written down what he wanted the telegram to say, and she copied it word for word. The whole thing took less than a minute or two. If the dispatcher thought it odd that she’d addressed her message to the Texas Rangers, Austin, Company B, he kept it to himself.

She paid with two coins and left. Not wanting to leave Adam any longer than necessary, she intended to ride straight home, but Main Street was blocked. Amanda Lockwood was at it again. The girl never gave up. Hardly a week went by when she wasn’t marching down the street for one of her many causes. Today, she was leading some sort of protest outside the mayor’s office.

While Sadie waited for the road to clear, she gazed at the window of the general store.

Buy something for Adam. Or something pretty for yourself. She reached into her purse and fingered the heavy coin.

Dismounting, she tethered the horse and, shoulders back and head held high, marched into the general store. The proprietor, Mr. Cranston, didn’t look particularly happy to see her. An older man with white hair, his missing teeth caused him to lisp.

“I told you. No more credit.”

“I know what you told me,” she said, letting the shop door slam shut behind her.

Mr. Cranston went back to arranging the stock, leaving her to browse in peace.

What should she buy? A pair of kid gloves caught her eye. Picking them up, she rubbed the soft leather against her cheek and imagined sinking her hands into their silky depths.

The gloves were both pretty and practical, but she kept looking. Adam was growing like a weed and would soon outgrow the flannel gowns she had made for him. She considered buying more fabric when a ready-made dress caught her eye.

It was a simple blue calico dress and she could make something similar a whole lot cheaper, but she had always dreamed of buying something off the peg. She fingered the soft fabric and tried to imagine what the captain would think if he saw her in it. Would he smile at her as he smiled at Adam? Would he think her pretty?

Startled by the thought, she pulled her hand away. She had no business thinking such thoughts. Even if she weren’t a recent widow, the captain was totally off-limits. She’d already lost two men to the rangers. She sure in blazes didn’t plan on going down that same path again!

As for Adam’s father, he deserved her respect, if nothing else. That meant mourning him like a proper wife would do. If she purchased anything, it should be black crepe to make widow’s weeds. Spirits dropping, she pulled her gaze away from the blue dress.

Aware, suddenly, that Mr. Cranston was watching her, she made a hasty retreat, the gold eagle still tucked in her purse.