5

Kate left for the shop early Monday morning, anxious to work on her uncle’s special candy recipe. The candy itself wasn’t that difficult to make; adding designs to the center was the tricky part. Only the most skillful confectioners had perfected the art, and she was determined to join their numbers.

She’d been working on perfecting the necessary skills for months and had yet to get it right, but she was close. Oh, so close, and a thrill of excitement coursed through her. Wouldn’t Uncle Joe have been proud?

Usually, the town was quiet at that hour, but not today. As she parked her horse and wagon in front of the candy store, she narrowed her gaze on the commotion two doors away. Three barking dogs pulled on leashes while their harried owners struggled to hold them back.

The black-and-white cow dog named Ringo belonged to a faro dealer known only as Lucky Lou.

The snippy tan spaniel baring its teeth was owned by Ironman Watkins, the blacksmith.

Mrs. Tremble, the former schoolmarm, was having a terrible time holding on to her poodle, Mitzie. Fearing for the older woman’s safety, Kate raced to lend her a hand.

“Let me!” Yelling to be heard over the barking dogs, Kate grabbed hold of the poodle’s leash with both hands and yanked, but it was no use. The frenzied dogs growled and snapped at each other and resisted all efforts by the handlers to separate them.

A man suddenly appeared at Kate’s side. He grabbed the leash out of her hands and jerked the dog back—way back. He then ordered the poodle to sit and, much to Kate’s surprise, the dog did as it was told.

Since the poodle had created most of the commotion, its absence calmed the other two dogs, allowing their owners to gain control. As quickly as it had started, the fight ended, and Lucky Lou and Ironman hastened away in opposite directions, dragging their reluctant hounds with them.

Now that Kate had a chance to get a good look at the man who had saved the day, she could hardly hide her annoyance.

As if guessing her thoughts, the Texas Ranger quirked a smile. “Ah, we meet again.” He handed the leash to its rightful owner, but his gaze remained on Kate.

Mrs. Tremble couldn’t thank him enough. “You saved the day, Mr.…”

“Tucker. Brett Tucker.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Tucker.” Lifting her dog into her arms, Mrs. Tremble buried her nose in the poodle’s coat. The owner and dog had similar white, curly hair and brown eyes. “I don’t know what would have happened to my poor Mitzie had it not been for you. Not many people could step in and stop a fight like that.”

“That was nothing,” Kate said wryly. “You should see how good he is at starting a fight.”

Tucker cocked his head to the side. “Ah, but you give me too much credit.”

Kate scoffed. “You’re being far too modest, Mr. Tucker.”

“I can assure you that I have many flaws, Miss Denver, but modesty is not one of them.” A glint of humor warming his eyes, he tipped his hat and took his leave. “Have a good day, ladies.”

Next to her, Mrs. Tremble gave a schoolgirl sigh as she watched him walk away. “Oh, to be forty years younger.”

* * *

That afternoon, nine-year-old Dusty Campbell stopped at the candy shop on his way home from school, and Kate reached over the counter to hand him a sample.

He eagerly popped the white, spongy confection in his mouth. Behind a curtain of hay-colored hair, his eyes grew round as wagon wheels.

“It feels squishy, like a pillow.” He tossed his hair aside with a shake of his head. “Only it tastes better.”

Kate laughed. “I should hope so. Actually, that is called a marshmallow.”

“Where do marshmallows come from?” Dusty asked, standing on tiptoe to reach the plate for a second one.

“Why from a marshmallow tree, of course,” she said. Actually, that had been true in the past. This latest batch was made from a French recipe that replaced the sweet sap from the mallow tree with gelatin. She’d decided to try out the new recipe on customers to see if they discerned a difference in taste. So far, none had. Though she doubted that gelatin had the same health properties as real mallow.

“Would you like to try a sugarplum next?” she asked. Sugarplums were the most time-consuming candy to make, and she didn’t generally give out samples. But work helped keep her mind occupied, and since the wedding fiasco, she had immersed herself in making candy. Lots and lots of candy. The store was now overstocked.

The boy wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like plums.”

“Oh, but you’ll like this,” Kate said, holding up a sugarcoated nut confection. “In this case, plum is not a fruit. It’s just another word for good.”

Dusty stood on tiptoes to take the candy. He eyed it suspiciously before taking a cautious bite. A wide smile inched across his freckled face before he popped the rest in his mouth.

Kate smiled back and filled a bag full of the boy’s favorite treats, including gumdrops and a lollipop. As much as she enjoyed working in the kitchen in the back of the store, her favorite part of the job was making people smile. The candy store was truly the heart and soul of the town.

When a pretty girl struck a young man’s fancy, Kate was the first to know. That’s because a shining new love required the biggest box of candy that money could buy. Her sweetmeats helped celebrate births, birthdays, and anniversaries. When Mr. Ain turned ninety, a friend purchased him a glass jar filled with ninety jelly beans, the same kind of candy people once sent to soldiers during the War Between the States.

But her confections didn’t just help celebrate happy occasions. They also consoled broken hearts and offered a sweet reprieve when things went wrong. When Mrs. Wheaton scandalized the town by obtaining a divorce, she insisted upon ordering chocolate bonbons, even though it was summer and Kate had warned her that the chocolates would melt.

When Mr. Ellsworth fell off his horse and broke his leg, he comforted himself with a bag of toffee. When little two-year-old Wendy Williams wandered away from home, the frantic search party sucked on peppermint rounds for the calming effect peppermint was known to have. When the child was found safe and sound, the town celebrated with a fondant party.

“How much do I owe you?” Dusty asked, bringing Kate out of her reverie.

“You know I don’t charge for samples,” she said, though the bag she’d handed him would normally fetch twenty-five cents. He was the youngest of seven children, and the family struggled to make ends meet. He was small for his age, and the older boys tended to pick on him. Today, as always, the candy shop provided a safe place for him until the bullies were gone.

He grinned up at her. “Thank you, Miss Denver.”

“You’re very welcome.” She thought of something. “Oops, almost forgot.” She reached into her box of fortunes and picked out the one she’d written especially for him. “Hmm, it says you’ll soon make lots of new friends.”

Dusty’s eyes flickered with hope. “Will they let me play baseball?” He wanted to play ball more than anything in the world, but the older boys refused to allow him on the team.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they do,” she said. “Maybe if you—” A loud popping sound made her jump. Shards of glass exploded from the store’s front window, bursting through the air like fireworks.

With a cry of alarm, Kate raced around the counter and pulled the boy out of harm’s way. “Are you okay?” she asked, frantically checking him for signs of injury.

Clutching his bag of candy, he gaped at her, his lips quivering. Before he could answer, the door sprang open and he flew into her arms.

A man entered the shop, gun in hand and a flour sack over his head. The gunman was halfway through the store before he halted, and Kate’s heart practically leaped to her throat. Acting purely by instinct, she yanked Dusty behind the counter, shielding him with her body.

The gunman’s gaze zeroed in on Kate for an instant before he rounded the counter. Certain that he meant to do her harm, she pushed Dusty to the floor and grabbed a glass jar for a weapon. Fortunately, she didn’t have to use it, because the masked man quickly ducked into the kitchen.

No sooner had his footsteps faded away than the front door flew open again. The flash of a gun made her gasp. Without thinking, she hurled the jar as hard as she could. The jar bounced off the intruder’s raised arm, crashing to the floor in a frenzy of jelly beans.

She quickly reached for another jar and was ready to hurl it when a commanding voice shouted, “Stop!”

Her hand froze. In her panic, she’d failed to take a good look at the second man entering her shop. “Mr. Tucker!”

He skidded to a halt in front of her. “Next time I’ll announce myself. Where’d he go?”

She pointed to the kitchen. “That way.”

Tucker raced past her, spurs jingling and boots pounding the wooden floor. She heard him yell something before the back door slammed shut.

Forcing herself to stay calm for the boy’s sake, she set the jar down and helped him off the floor. “You can get up now. It’s safe.”

Dusty’s cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk’s.

“You shouldn’t eat all your candy at once,” she said and wiped his mouth with a corner of a clean handkerchief. “It could make you sick.”

Dusty swallowed hard before replying. “I didn’t want that bad man stealing it.”

She pulled him into her arms, and his slight body trembled next to hers. Her gaze traveled over his head to the broken window in front. It was a miracle that neither of them had been injured by the glass. She’d told Dusty he would always be safe in her shop. If anyone picked on him or tried to harm him in any way, he had been instructed to come there. The hooded bandit had put the safety of her shop in question.

She held the boy close, stroking his head and murmuring words of comfort. Warmth gradually returned to his thin frame, and he stopped shaking.

Hearing the back door open, she stiffened at the sound of footsteps. Releasing the boy, she grabbed another jar.

A white handkerchief waved in the doorway. “Hold your fire. It’s only me.”

Relief rushing through her, she lowered the jar to the counter.

Tucker walked out of the kitchen, shoving his handkerchief into his pocket. He looked none too happy. “Lost him,” he said. “This maze of a town is an outlaw’s paradise.” Beneath his wide-brimmed hat, a strand of blond hair had fallen over his furrowed brow. “You okay?” His gazed dropped to the child hiding behind her skirts. “The boy?”

“He’s fine. We both are.”

Dusty pulled away from her to stare up at the tall ranger. “The bad man didn’t get my candy.”

“Good to hear,” Tucker said.

“What did he do?” Kate asked.

“He attempted to rob the bank. Him and his buddies.” Tucker walked around the counter to the shattered window. “Sorry about that. I thought I could nail him before he entered your shop, but my bullet ricocheted.” He pushed back his hat and looked at her over his shoulder. “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

She bristled. “Like you tried to keep me safe when you stopped my wedding?”

“I don’t know what to say, ma’am. ’Cept I’m sorry.” She heard his intake of breath. “I’ll see to it that the glass is replaced as soon as possible.”

His apology sounded sincere, but she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. Not yet.

“I must say, Mr. Tucker, that ever since you arrived in town, it’s been one catastrophe after another.”

He rubbed his chin. “I was kind of thinking the same thing. Almost seems like Haywire has it in for me.”

“Or you have it in for Haywire,” she said.

“Oh no, ma’am,” he said, holding up his hands. “I have nothing against Haywire. And you can rest assured that as soon as I finish my business here, I’ll be outta your hair.” He backed toward the door and stopped. “Just one thing.” He stared at her over the counter. “Did you happen to notice anything strange about the man?”

“Strange? You mean other than the flour sack over his head and the gun in his hand? No.”

He shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask. You never know.” After a beat, he asked, “Did he say anything?”

“No, nothing.”

He tossed a nod at the broken window. “If I can’t get anyone to take care of that today, I’ll board it up myself.”

She shooed away a buzzing fly with the wave of her hand. “Thank you.”

He studied her, and she felt oddly self-conscious beneath his steady gaze. “Blue,” he said.

At first, she thought she’d heard wrong. “What?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I was just taking a guess that your favorite color is blue. Same color as your pretty eyes.”

Heat climbed up her neck to her face. Considering what had just happened, it seemed like a strange thing to say. More than that, she wasn’t used to men complimenting her on her appearance—or even mentioning it. Except, perhaps, to tease her about her red hair and freckles.

“Am I right?” he queried.

She wiped her damp hands on her apron. “Yes, blue is my favorite color, but what has that got to do with the bank holdup?”

“Not a thing,” he said. “I…just wanted to get your mind off what happened. A clear mind is better able to remember details.”

A sense of disappointment washed over her. She’d hoped the compliment had been sincere, but it seemed that everything with Tucker was about his job. She only wished he hadn’t used the color of her eyes to distract her. All it did was call attention to his own sultry blue eyes.

“So, do you recall anything else about him?” Tucker pressed.

She cleared her throat. “All I remember is that the man was a little shorter than you.” Practically every man in Haywire was shorter than the Texas Ranger. “He was also dressed in black.”

“And he wore a ring,” Dusty added.

Tucker turned to the boy. “That’s good, son. Can you tell me what the ring looked like?”

Dusty shrugged. “It was just a ring.”

“Do you remember what finger it was on?”

“This finger,” Dusty said, pointing to his pinkie.

The corner of the ranger’s mouth curved upward in a crooked smile, revealing a flash of white teeth. The smile had been meant for Dusty, but somehow, it managed to steal Kate’s breath.

“Okay, then. If you think of anything else, let Miss Denver know.” To Kate, he said, “You can reach me at Mrs. Crowell’s boardinghouse.” He headed for the door, pieces of glass crunching beneath the soles of his knee-high boots.

With a tip of his hat, he left the shop. Gazing out the broken window, Kate followed his progress as he dodged a horse and wagon and bounded across the street. I was just taking a guess that your favorite color is blue. Same as your pretty eyes.

“Can I have another sugar good?” Dusty asked.

“May I, you mean?” Kate said, turning toward the counter. Ah, the resilience of children. She was still shaken, but Dusty was beginning to look like his old self again. “You most certainly may. In fact, I think we both could use a sugar good.”