9

Less than twenty minutes after leaving Texas Ranger Tucker, Kate reached the farmhouse where her friend Connie lived with her parents.

Her friend opened the door to her knock. “Kate! What a surprise! I was just—” She took one look at Kate’s disheveled appearance and gasped. “Oh my, what happened?”

“Just a little…accident,” Kate said, stepping into the cool interior of the house. “Nothing to be concerned about.” She dangled a paper sack. “I brought you something.”

Connie took the bag and peered inside. “Ah, my favorite lemon drops. Thank you.” She pulled out the slip of paper. “‘What you’re looking for can be found in your own backyard,’” she read aloud and sighed. “I’m afraid the only things that can be found in my backyard are some cows and a bunch of chickens.”

“And Harvey Wells,” Kate said. Harvey’s family owned the adjacent property.

Connie was the oldest of four children, and it bothered her that all her siblings were already married and she had yet to find a beau. With her dark hair and good looks, Connie could probably have most any man she set her cap for.

Unfortunately, the only man she was interested in was Harvey Wells. Connie had carried a torch for him ever since the two had attended grammar school. But Harvey had not shown the slightest interest in Connie, at least not in a romantic sense. His mind was on other things, mainly his many inventions.

“Next subject,” Connie said, failing to fall for the bait.

Kate refused to be deterred. “What are you wearing to the spring dance?”

“What makes you think I’m going?”

“You always go,” Kate said. “And I have it on good authority that Harvey will be there.”

Connie set the bag of candy on the mantel. “Well, I hope he has a good time, but it won’t be with me. I have no intention of attending.” After a beat, she asked, “Are you going?”

Kate sighed. The spring dance was the social occasion of the year and one of her favorite events. “How can I?”

“Oh, Kate.” Connie’s face softened in apology. “I’m so sorry. I hoped that by now, you and Frank would have patched things up.”

“I don’t want to talk about Frank right now,” Kate said. Her mind was still in a whirl over her near-drowning. She shuddered to think what would have happened had the Texas Ranger not arrived when he did. You’re safe, he’d said. You’re safe.

She shivered at the memory of being in his arms. A strange inner fire flared up, and a rush of heat raced through her body all the way to her toes.

Connie must have noticed something, because she stepped forward, arms extended. “You poor thing.” She gave Kate a quick hug before pulling away. “Oh my! Your hair… You’re wet. You still haven’t told me what happened.”

“Long story. Do you mind if I borrow dry clothes?” Fortunately, they were close to the same size and had often swapped clothing in the past.

“Oh yes, of course. Come to my room.” Connie turned and led the way upstairs.

“I just need a petticoat, pantaloons, and a dry shirtwaist,” Kate said as she stared at the vast assortment of clothing crammed into Connie’s wardrobe. There were enough items to dress half the county.

Connie pulled out a blue gingham shirtwaist, a petticoat, and white unmentionables. “Here. You better change your corset too. You don’t want to catch your death of cold.”

Kate laughed. As if such a thing was possible in the Texas heat. “Now you sound like Aunt Letty.” With the dry garments in hand, she took only a few moments to change. She stared at herself in the mirror. “That feels better.”

Connie looked over Kate’s shoulder. When they were younger, some people mistook them for sisters. That was mostly because of their hair color. Connie’s, however, was a rich auburn and lacked the brassy brightness of Kate’s.

“You still haven’t told me what happened,” Connie said.

“If you must know, I spotted a dog floating on a log and was afraid the poor thing would get caught in the rapids.” Kate turned away from the mirror and, as quickly as she could, told her friend the rest. Or at least as much as she dared.

Connie’s eyes widened in horror. “You could have drowned.”

“I’m quite aware of that, but as you see, I’m perfectly all right.”

“But had that Texas Ranger not saved you—”

Kate felt her cheeks flare. Saving her was only part of it. He’d then held her in his arms and made her feel safe and protected and…

“I know, I know,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Kate, I worry about you.” Connie reached for a hairbrush. “It’s not the first time you’ve put yourself in danger. Remember when you saved that lamb from a pack of wolves and almost got mauled yourself?”

Kate took the offered hairbrush and set to work untangling her hair. “Yes, well…”

“And then there was the time you climbed a tree to save Mrs. Watkins’s cat and dislodged a beehive and—”

Kate shuddered at the memory. “Don’t remind me.” Her face and arms had been covered in bee stings. “Can we talk about something else?”

“What I want to talk about is Frank.”

Kate set the hairbrush down on the dresser. “Okay, let’s go back to the bee stings.”

“Oh no. You’re not getting out of it that easily,” Connie said. “Are you and he…done for good?”

Kate pulled her hair back and worked it into a bun. “Yes.”

Connie reached into a drawer for a box of hairpins. “I can’t believe that. You have so much history together.”

“I know.”

Connie finished helping Kate pin her hair in place. “I would give anything to meet a man like Frank. He’s handsome and successful and clever. More than anything, he adores you just the way you are and doesn’t try to change you.”

“But he’s also got a terrible jealous streak,” Kate said.

“That’s because he loves you so much.”

“It doesn’t feel like love. It feels…like he doesn’t trust me.” Was it possible to fully and completely love without trust?

“You always said that Frank made you feel safe.”

Kate bit her lip. You’re safe now. Even as she silently recalled those soothing words, she felt a tug in her heart. Unfortunately, the voice in her head belonged to the Texas Ranger, not Frank, and for that, she felt bad. Even guilty.

When Kate failed to respond, Connie persisted. “Isn’t feeling safe the same as trust?”

“You don’t need another person to make you feel safe,” Kate said, checking her hair in the mirror. “Trust is different. It requires at least two people. Just like true love.”

Connie patted her on the back. “Oh, Kate…”

Kate held up her hands. “Let’s talk about something else. Like what you’re going to wear to the dance.” She perused the open wardrobe and pulled a yellow dress off the wooden peg. The dress had a low, square neck, elbow-length sleeves, and a draped skirt trimmed in lace.

“Oh, this is perfect! You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Connie folded her arms across her chest. “I told you I am not going.”

Kate held the yellow gown up to herself and glanced in the mirror. “Then I won’t tell you my plan for getting Harvey to notice you.”

Connie dropped her arms to her side. “You have a plan?”

“Yes, but you have to agree to go to the dance before I tell you what it is. Deal?”

Her friend hesitated before finally giving in, as Kate knew she would. “Deal.”

* * *

Brett found Hoot Owl Pete seated in a rocking chair in front of the general store.

He greeted Brett with a nod and a flash of large, white teeth. “Come and join us. Sit for a spell.”

A sturdy-looking man with wide shoulders and ebony skin, Hoot Owl Pete wore his salted black hair tied at the back of his neck with a piece of rawhide. Dressed in overalls and a red-checkered shirt, he held an unlit corncob pipe in his hand and looked Brett up and down.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Brett Tucker, Texas Ranger,” Brett said, offering his hand.

Hoot Owl Pete shook it with a firm grip. “Heard about you. You’re the one who broke up Kate’s wedding.”

Brett pulled his hand away. “Right now, I’m hoping to break up a gang of outlaws.”

Hoot Owl Pete rocked in his chair. “Well, it’s ’bout time someone did.” He tossed a nod at the man seated next to him. “You know Lucky Lou? He deals faro at the Golden Nugget.”

“Is that so?” Brett asked. That explained the fancy duds. Brett didn’t remember the man, but he recalled the black-and-white dog seated by his side. “That your dog?”

“Yeah, that’s right. His name is Ringo.”

Hearing his name, the dog wagged his tail, and Brett stooped to pet him before taking a seat. “Lucky Lou, eh? How’d you get that moniker?”

Hoot Owl Pete answered for the man. “Show him.” Lucky Lou shook his head, but Hoot Owl Pete insisted. “Show him.”

Reluctance written across his pockmarked face, Lucky Lou pulled a neck chain from beneath his shirt and held it up for Brett to see. Three spent bullets hung from the chain.

“He almost got hisself killed three times,” Hoot Owl Pete said. “Tell him.”

Lucky Lou pointed to each silver casing in turn. “This one near got me in the war. This one barely missed me during a stagecoach robbery, and the one here came from the gun of a jealous husband.”

With a hearty laugh, Hoot Owl Pete slapped his hand on his thigh. “A jealous husband!” Throwing his head back like the lid of a coffeepot, he laughed harder. “Can you beat that?”

“Nope, sure can’t,” Brett said. It was hard to believe that a man as homely as Lucky Lou could turn a woman’s head, let alone make a husband jealous. “You said you got shot during a stagecoach robbery? Where was that?”

“Up north somewhere. Guess you could say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Lucky Lou replaced his chain. “Well, me and Ringo better get a move on.” He stood. “See you around.” Tugging on his dog’s leash, he left.

“Yeah, see you,” Brett said, watching him go.

Hoot Owl Pete struck a wooden match and lit his pipe. Shaking out the flame, he took a long draw on the pipe before removing it from his mouth. “Guess it’s safe to say you’re here because of the Ghost Riders. Heard you almost caught one the other day.”

Brett gave a curt nod. Losing that man in the maze of an alleyway behind the candy shop was still a sore subject. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“Don’t know how.”

“I heard you know practically everything that goes on in Haywire.”

“That might have been true in the past, but those days are long gone. Since the railroad came to town, the population has doubled. It also brought a lot of Easterners, and those greenhorns are as closed-mouthed as a bunch of clams.”

It wasn’t the first time Brett had heard that complaint. Many Texas lawmen had expressed similar grievances. Not only had the population doubled and even tripled in many towns and cities throughout the Lone Star State, but so had crime. That was partly because the railroad made it easy for criminals to escape the clutches of the law.

Hoping the day wasn’t a complete loss, Brett reached into his vest pocket for the dog-eared photograph. “I have reason to believe that this is a member of the gang. Possibly the leader.” He handed the photograph to Hoot Owl Pete, who puffed on his pipe while studying it.

He returned the photograph with a shake of his head. After blowing a cloud of smoke, he removed his pipe from his lips. “Whoever he is, he’s got himself the perfect face for an outlaw. No distinguishin’ features. No pox marks. No scars. No facial hair. Nothing.”

“He might have grown a beard since this photograph was taken.”

“And he would still look like half the men in the county.” Hoot Owl Pete set his pipe on the wicker table by his side. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small bag. “You look like you could use a peppermint,” he said.

Brett shook his head. “Thank you, but I’m more of a caramel person.”

“Sorry. Can’t help you there. But I know a pretty lady who can, and I don’t have to tell you her name.”

“No. No, you don’t,” Brett said and cleared his throat. It had only been a couple of hours since he’d held that same pretty lady in his arms. The intensity with which the encounter had affected him was surprising and more than a little worrisome. He’d been able to think of little else since.

Hoot Owl Pete set the paper bag next to his pipe. Reading the slip of paper that had come with the candy, he laughed. “It says here, ‘When trouble comes knocking, don’t offer it a chair.’” He dropped the slip of paper back into the sack. “Good thing you’re already seated.”

“I’m only trouble to those who break the law,” Brett said.

“Or get married,” Hoot Owl Pete added with a laugh.

Brett drew in his breath. He’d hoped to make his mark as a Texas Ranger, not a wedding crasher. “Ever been married?”

Hoot Owl Pete shook his head. “Nope.”

“Cold feet?”

“Cool head.”

Brett chuckled. “Guess we could all use a cool head where women are concerned.” Leaning forward, he rubbed his hands between his knees. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but how did you get the name Hoot Owl Pete?” With his tree-trunk legs and timber-sized arms, the man looked more like a bear than an owl.

In answer, Hoot Owl Pete made a Whoooo! Whoooooo! Whoooo! sound. He laughed at Brett’s expression. “I was a conductor for the Underground Railroad. Runaways looking for me would listen for the sound of an owl. I’d give them supplies, smear pepper on their feet to confuse the hounds, and send them on their way to the next safe place.”

His eyes misted with a faraway look as if reliving those long-ago years. “Thousands of runaways passed through here on the way to Mexico.” He focused on something that only he could see. “We done good.”

“Yeah, you did,” Brett said, standing. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Good luck with finding the man you’re looking for.”

“Thanks,” Brett said. The way things were going, he’d need all the luck he could get.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Kate stared at the sorrowful mess on the marble slab and shook her head. She had been working on her uncle’s recipe for months and had yet to get it right. The runny white blob meant there wouldn’t be any candy-making history for her today.

Sighing, she scooped up the sugary mass with a spatula and dumped it in the trash. She’d hoped that work would help her relax—or at the very least make her forget being in the arms of the Texas Ranger. But attempting to make something as complicated as Uncle Joe’s candy with her mind still awhirl had been a mistake.

Not only was candy making a laborious art, it was also an exacting one and required concentration. Anything that could go wrong often did. Adjustments had to be made for the weather, and that was easier said than done. Texas humidity and heat worked against her at every turn. Candy required a certain ratio of sugar to moisture and was best made in dry climates.

But humidity wasn’t the only challenge. Sugar had nine degrees of boiling from thread to hard crack. A degree either way could mean all the difference between success and failure.

Creating colors was even trickier and often took as long to produce as the actual candy. Colors needed to be reasonably permanent and not fade when exposed to light or mixed with other ingredients. They also had to be harmless. She suspected children would balk if it were known that they had spinach to thank for the bright-green color found in her popular tongue slaps and peppermint sticks.

The jangle of bells pulled her out of her thoughts and out of the kitchen.

It was her little friend Dusty. He slammed the door shut and peered through the window before turning.

His pale face made her heart sink. “Oh, Dusty. Are those boys bothering you again?”

Trying to look brave, Dusty gave his shoulders a careless shrug, but his eyes gave him away. He was clearly trying not to cry.

Kate’s temper flared. She was tempted to march outside and give those bullies a piece of her mind, but she doubted it would do any good. She’d already talked to their parents, and that had gotten her nowhere.

Dusty’s father didn’t believe in interfering. He wanted his son to stand up for himself. Given the boy’s small size and sweet disposition, that hardly seemed like a viable solution.

As for the bullies…Charley and Spike were brothers, and talking to their father was like talking to a lamppost. Bobby Baker’s mother was an overwhelmed widow who had no idea how to control her seven children.

Kate motioned Dusty behind the counter. “Come on back. You can help me mix colors.”

That brought the hoped-for smile to his face, though he did glance out the front window again before following her to the kitchen.

Hoping to allay his fears, she quickly tied an apron around him and put him to work, stirring the sugary concoction in a large pot.

His enthusiasm and willingness to help made her smile. If he were older, she would be tempted to hire him on the spot. How anyone could pick on such a sweet child was beyond her comprehension.

Something had to be done about the town bullies, and done soon. The question was what?