December Love, Page 4

  She stepped back into the street and marveled at the turn of events. Sooner or later, news of Lily being her daughter would reach her corporate headquarters. She’d cheat them out of the chance to gossip. A letter to her employees and to the editor of the Chicago Morning Herald would set the record straight. And she’d announce her plans to set up a home for unwed mothers and provide a place for them to work and keep their babies. It was time to stop the double torture of young women who were humiliated by pregnancy then deprived of their children. She felt like singing with joy at the thought of helping women.

  The next stop was a gun shop, followed by an enjoyable hour at Mrs. Bradley’s house on the edge of town. Florence practiced shooting until she was comfortable with the pistol. They strolled back to the hotel late in the afternoon. The pistol made a comforting bump with every step she took.

  “I’m going to my room early this evening. I purchased a novel at the mercantile, and I’m ready to relax.”

  “Will you be all right if your blackmailer comes back?” Mrs. Bradley asked.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. I have a plan. And I’ll be leaving in the morning for Mesquite Gulch.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes. I’m ready to face the future and whatever God has in store for me.”

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 6

   

   

  “Will, have you packed yet?” Mabel’s voice echoed through the quiet house.

  Will tugged on his ear and opened the doors of his wardrobe. What was he supposed to take? His honeymoon was the only time he’d traveled anywhere, and that was years ago. He grabbed an extra shirt, folded it, and stuffed it in his coat pocket before he sauntered into the kitchen.

  Mabel covered a basket with a cloth and placed it on a work table. “We’ll need to leave in a couple of hours, and I’ve fixed us some sandwiches so we won’t have to buy anything for supper.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll check the stock in the barn and be back soon.”

  “Could you set your bags here with mine by the door so we don’t forget anything?” Mabel nodded toward a couple of bulging parcels by the back door.

  “Uh, what bags?” Will ducked his neck deeper into his collar. He felt a scolding coming.

  “Didn’t you pack some extra clothes?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a shirt.” He pulled the wrinkled garment from his pocket.

  “William Logan, you’re not going on a cattle drive. You’ll need extra clothes. Where’s your razor? Do you even have a comb to take?”

  “What do I put it in? I don’t have any bags.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why do I allow you to boss me around anyway? I’m not six years old anymore.”

  “Then stop acting like you’re six, and think about what you’ll need. Put your clothes on your bed and I’ll bundle them up. Don’t forget socks. We’ll stop at Rex and Lily’s store and buy a carpet bag before the stage comes. That means we’ll need to leave a little early, so don’t wander off.”

  “Yes, mother!” Will slammed the door behind him. He’d had enough of Mabel’s overbearing meddling. It was time for him to start eating with the boys at the bunk house so she could go home to her husband. He could pay the girls to clean the house once in a while.

  Girls. A frown brought his brows into view above his eyes, and he breathed deeply of the crisp, winter air. The boys were all married and settled. Soon there would be grandchildren. He was happy for them, but his life loomed before him as barren as the windswept prairie. He stared into the distance. How much time did he have left? It was in God’s hands, but it didn’t matter if it was days or years. It would all be empty without Florence.

  “Why did I let her slip away?” He muttered to himself while he made the rounds through the stables and nearby pastures. “I couldn’t offer her a future when I don’t even know if I have one myself. It would’ve been a rotten thing to do to a woman, marry her then leave her a widow.”

  He grabbed a post maul from the tool shed and marched to the corral that Barlow was building behind the barn. All his pent-up frustration was spent pounding a post deep into the ground. “There,” he huffed. He wiped sweat from his brow and checked his pulse, something he’d been doing often. A steady, strong, beat thrummed beneath his finger. “Hmm, that doesn’t feel weak at all.” He shook his head. It never made sense when the heart spells occurred, but he was positive there was a problem. A serious problem.

  A quick check of his pocket watch brought an end to his musing. He replaced the post maul, hitched the horse to the buggy, and entered the house. The egg basket sat beside Mabel’s bags. He started to walk past, then looked again.

  His clothes and shaving kit? In the egg basket.

  “Mabel, what are my things doing in the egg basket?”

  His bellow brought Mabel out of the pantry. “I didn’t have anything else to put them in.”

  “I’ll not go parading through town with my drawers in a basket for everyone to see.”

  “Settle down. We’ll leave the basket in the back of the buggy, buy a bag then put your stuff into it. Nobody’s going to see your underwear.” Mabel tucked some cookies into the picnic basket. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He scooped up the baggage and opened the door for Mabel.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Mabel.” Richard Barlow stood near the buggy with three mounted ranch hands waiting nearby.

  “Hello, boys. Did you come to see Will before he leaves?”

  “Barlow,” Will barked. “What brings you here?” Will stuffed Mabel’s bags into the back and stood holding the egg basket.

  “Nice suitcase there, boss.” Barlow’s lips twisted under his heavy mustache.

  Will shoved the offending container out of sight. “Very funny. Now, what are you fellows doing here? Is there a problem?”

  “Well, yeah, there is. Carlos,” he nodded toward a man sitting astride a lean mustang, “just got in from down around Brownwood. He said some rustlers were driving a herd of cattle with mixed brands. Several of them had your brand.”

  “Gather up all the men my sons can spare, and we’ll leave this afternoon. I’ll get a couple of supply mules packed. Tell them to meet here at,” he checked his watch, “five o’clock. That should give everyone plenty of time to get ready.”

  “Will…” Mabel’s stern voice cut through his thoughts.

  “I’m not going to Fort Worth. How do you think this ranch will function without me?”

  “The same way it would function if you was six feet under.” Mabel’s sharp retort cut.

  “Wha…?”

  Guffaws were quickly smothered behind gloved hands when Will glared at the men.

  “She’s got you there, boss.” Barlow’s teeth shone white beneath his mustache. “Me and the boys will fetch the cattle back.”

  “What if there’s trouble?” Will paced beside the buggy. There would be shooting unless the thieves could be caught by surprise.

  “There’s already trouble. We’ll be careful. Carlos recognized some other brands so we’ll have plenty of men with us.” Richard placed a firm hand on Will’s shoulder. “Go see the doc. That’s more important than a few head of beef.”

  “Get a deputy to go with you. Have him keep the younger boys from doing something stupid. We don’t need anybody to get hurt.”

  “We’ve got this, boss. Have a good trip. Hope you get some help for your heart.” Richard Barlow swung onto his horse and began giving orders. In a matter of seconds, the men rode away in different directions.

  “Come on, Will. We’re supposed to meet Zack and Ida at Rex’s store.”

  Will grunted. “I reckon Barlow can handle things.” He climbed aboard and took the reins.

  ~*~

  A million stars twinkled in the vast Texas sky, a scene Will never tired of. Mabel had propped herself into a corner of the stage. Ida’s head lay on Zack’s shoulder as they sat on the
opposite seat. The swaying of the stage had lulled them to sleep.

  He gazed at the stars again, and wondered if Florence could see them from Chicago. Lily told him Florence lived in the stately home her father had built years ago. Florence had a house maid and gardener to care for the estate.

  A snort escaped Will. What had she thought of his rambling ranch house with only his sister to cook and clean? Mrs. Foster hadn’t hesitated a moment when she helped Mabel. She was more than willing to pull her share of the load.

  Heaviness settled over his chest, and he knew it had nothing to do with his heart. He missed Florence. He needed her near him. He’d go on to Chicago. He had to see her.

  He settled back in his corner and watched the stars through the small, rectangle window. Did they sparkle brighter? Yes, he believed they did.

  ~*~

  A board creaked in the hall outside Florence’s door. Her heart pounded when the knock came. She placed her book on the night table and stood. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but she forced herself to move to the door.

  The rapping on the door increased, louder, quicker.

  Florence stood behind the chair she had wedged against the door. “Who?” Her voice wavered. She took the derringer from her pocket. The cold metal lent her a small dose of courage. “Who is it?” she managed to ask.

  “Your friend with the newspaper.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mur…none of your business,” he snapped.

  “Go away. I don’t have any more money.”

  “Ha! I don’t believe that for a minute.” The man’s voice rose. “Open that door and let me in, or so help me I’ll send a wire to Chicago and smear your good name.”

  “I … I’ll have to get money from the bank in the morning. Meet me outside the front door at nine tomorrow.” Florence could hear his feet shuffling. He tried her door then slid a knife blade through to check the bolt. “You can’t get in. I promise I’ll meet you on the walk out front tomorrow.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’ll slip away.”

  “No, no I won’t. I’ll do anything to keep from having that disgraceful information printed. How much do you want?”

  A slight chuckle sounded from outside the door. “Five hundred should keep the gossip mill quiet.”

  “Five hundred? That’s too much.” Florence rubbed a nervous finger over the barrel of the pistol. It was tempting to shoot him through the door, but she didn’t want to damage the Bradley’s hotel.

  “Have it your way. Telegrams carry news quick as a flash.” Murray chuckled again.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Go away.”

  “Sure I will, little rich woman. I’m going to the bench right in front of this hotel, and I’ll be there all night. If you slip out the back way, I’ll be headed to the wire office.”

  “Oh, please, don’t do that. I’ll be there with the money.”

  Florence pressed her ear to the door and listened as his footsteps went down the hall and to the staircase. His boots clomped with a hollow ring as he descended. She inhaled deeply and fell to her knees. “Thank you, God, for helping me through this. Stand by me tomorrow and guide me in everything I should do.”

  The night was spent in fitful sleep and much prayer. Daylight found her arranging her hair in the latest fashion. She pinned her hat at a jaunty angle and donned her traveling dress. Today she would begin facing her fears. First would be the blackmailer, Murray. She had a feeling he would be the easy one to deal with. Next she would travel back to Mesquite Gulch and have an honest talk with Lily. Facing Will Logan was going to be the hard part. What did Mrs. Barkley say to do? Take him by the ears and tell him she loved him? Oh, my, that was not the way a lady should attract a man’s attention, but it was the only way she knew to talk to him. They were a different breed of men in Texas. She was a Texan now so she’d play by their rules.

  She rolled her shoulders and massaged the back of her neck. Nerves threatened to get the best of her. For the tenth time she checked the watch on her locket. Seven thirty. She packed her clothes and carried the bags downstairs to stow in the corner of Mrs. Barkley’s kitchen. She’d pick them up after she faced Murray.

  “There he is, the lily-livered skunk.” Mrs. Barkley nodded toward the plate glass window. “He’s been on that bench since I got here this morning.”

  “I have an appointment with him at nine.” Florence poured herself a cup of coffee with steady hands.

  “Look at this.” She extended the full cup toward Mrs. Barkley. “I didn’t spill a drop.”

  Mrs. Barkley nodded in approval. “Sometimes the hardest part about facing your enemies is deciding you’re going to meet them face to face. You’ll do fine. Move to a table where Murray can’t see you, and enjoy the coffee. Do you want breakfast?”

  “Not now. Maybe later.”

  Millions of thoughts raced through Florence’s mind while the huge grandfather clock in the hotel lobby ticked. What if she missed his feet? What if he took the gun from her and shot her? Would she have to pay his doctor? She pulled her novel from her handbag, tried to read, but couldn’t focus. With a sigh, she slipped it back inside her purse.

  The clock in the lobby began striking.

  One.

  Two.

  Florence stood and, under the pretense of smoothing her skirt, took the derringer from her pocket. She concealed it behind her purse as she pushed the door open and stepped out.

  “Good morning, Mr. Murray. Nice day, isn’t it?”

  He whirled toward her. “How did you know my name? Well, never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He pointed a finger at her nose. “Hike it to the bank, lady. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “No. I’m not playing your game anymore.” Florence met his gaping stare with a steady gaze. From the corner of her eyes she was aware of people advancing toward the hotel. A few patrons stood inside near the door.

  “This isn’t a game.” Murray’s voice rose, and the scar on his cheek turned purple as the veins in his neck bulged. “Hand over the money right now, and we’ll not give these people anything else to gossip about.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you will. I know where your sweet daughter lives. I can make life miserable for her, and you too when word of this gets to Chicago.” Murray sneered and held out his hand.

  “Oh, I do have something for you.” Florence drew the hammer back on the pistol, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled the trigger. Dust exploded between Murray’s feet.

  “Are you crazy?” he yelped. “Give me that.” He reached for the gun.

  This time Florence kept her eyes open. The shot brought a loud curse from Murray as it connected with the toes of his right foot.

  “Here, lady! What are you doing?” An older man joined Murray and propelled him toward the bench.

  He must be Murray’s accomplice. Florence took a shot at his feet and missed.

  “Hey, don’t shoot me!” he yelped.

  “Let me at her!” Murray jerked away from the gentleman and lunged at Florence.

  Florence aimed at Murray’s other foot and pulled the trigger. A spurt of blood made her gasp.

  “Now look here, woman. There’s a better way to settle…”

  Boom! The bullet hit the boardwalk near the older man and echoed through the street. People were running from all directions. Someone was calling her name, and it sounded a lot like Mabel.

  “No! Florence, don’t shoot him. That’s my husband.” It was Mabel. And Will was with her.

  Will? Her fingers gripped the derringer, and the gun went off again. Will jumped as dust puffed beside him.

  A rough hand grabbed her arm and wrenched the gun from her hand. She whirled and swung her purse at the attacker. Her eyes met the shiny star on the man’s chest right before the heavy novel in her purse connected with his nose.

   

   

   

   

  Chapter Seven

   

   

&
nbsp; “Sheriff, I insist you release, Florence. She’s not a criminal and doesn’t belong in jail.” Mabel slapped the palm of her hand against the table top, her voice rising with each word. Will waited for the lawman to respond to his sister’s request, but Roger Ralston didn’t budge from his chair. The fierce look on Mabel’s face would have felled a lesser man. “You have the wrong person behind bars.”

  Will’s heart squeezed tight. The thought of Florence sitting on a cot in the back of the building staring at bars was more than he could stand. Were there outlaws back there as well? He jumped from the bench and stormed toward the door that separated the front office from the cells.

  The sheriff cleared his throat and removed the cloth from his swollen face. His eyes were on Will as he spoke to Mabel. “The woman shot up my town and broke my nose. I don’t care whose friend she is, I’m not dropping the charges.”

  “We’ve already told you she was only trying to protect herself.” Mabel had been arguing her case from the moment the sheriff led Florence away from the front of the hotel. It was no use, yet Will was proud of his sister’s perseverance. “Murray is to blame. Florence was being black mailed by that beast.”

  “Yes, you have told me over and over. Before I can do anything, I need proof. Like I said earlier, Mr. Murray knows not to leave town until Judge Jordan sorts things out. The judge is in court until this afternoon.” Ralston turned his gaze toward the ceiling and sighed before returning the cloth to the large bruise forming on the side of his cheek. “If she felt threatened, she should have come to me in the first place.”

  “I want to see her.” Will had heard enough. They were getting nowhere talking in circles. All he wanted at the moment was to speak with Florence and make sure she was all right.

  “Until the judge says otherwise,” the lawman practically growled with exasperation, “Only her lawyer is allowed back there.”

  Will’s hand balled into a fist and with the other he clutched the collar of his shirt. He never should have allowed Florence to leave the ranch. What was wrong with him? How could he let the woman he loved leave without putting up any sort of fight? A tortured groan escaped his lungs.

  “You need to stay calm, Will.” Mabel’s voice cracked as she rushed to his side. “Is it your heart?”

  “No,” his reply was sharper than he intended. He loved his sister, but he’d had enough mollycoddling to last a lifetime. He wasn’t a child. His heart wasn’t the problem at the moment. At least not the one pumping blood through his veins. “I’m fine.”