Susan Amarillas (23 page)

“My goodness, Andrew, are you sure there were a hundred Indians and only one ranger? I mean, I was a ranger, and we—”

“You were a ranger!” Andrew shouted, making everyone in the shop turn and stare.

Luke grinned. “Well, yeah, before I was a marshal I was a ranger.”

“A ranger...” Andrew repeated, in a reverent tone that actually made Luke blush. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

“Well, it’s not all like they write in the books. Mostly you’re alone all the time, and it can be dangerous.”

Andrew’s small mouth drew down in a frown. “I know. I told Mama once I was gonna be a ranger, and she got all funny and sad like and said she didn’t want me to go away. Was your mama sad when you went away?”

“My mother died when I was a few years older than you.”

“Oh,” Andrew returned, his voice suddenly small. “My father died, too.”

For a moment they were both silent, the man and the boy, so much alike in so many ways.

The sound of music carried in through the open windows, and it was getting louder, as though the music were moving closer. People around them began to crane their necks or stand, trying to see out the glass windows that bordered the street.

Luke twisted in his chair, the cane creaking as he shifted his weight. That’s when he saw the wagon go past. It was big and enclosed and painted in bright, garish colors, red and yellow and green.

“What the—” He went to the door. Andrew dogged his steps.

People crowded around the windows, peering out. Luke stepped out onto the sidewalk as a second wagon rolled past.

“A circus,” he said, grinning at a white-faced clown doing a handstand. He glanced back to see Andrew hanging back near the doorway.

“Come on, cowboy. Look. It’s a circus.” He held out one hand, and Andrew rushed forward, slipping a hand into his.

The music was louder now, a pump organ with pipes sticking up through the roof of one of the wagon. The noise was ear-piercingly loud.

More clowns romped and skipped past, distributing hand bills that announced that the Dubin Circus had arrived in San Francisco and would be setting up in Golden Gate Park.

Glancing down, Luke thought he would forever remember the wide-eyed wonder on this child’s face. It was obviously a first for him.

It didn’t look like much of a circus to Luke. It seemed a little old, a little worn, not at all like the one he’d seen in St. Louis one year. But seeing it with Andrew made it look fresh and new and exciting.

The red wagons lumbered past, stacked high with rolls of brightly striped canvas and long poles bobbing up and down while they extended beyond the wagon beds. A woman dressed in pink tights was riding bareback on a white horse.

She stopped long enough to say, “Circus tomorrow, handsome.”

Luke smiled. “Thanks.”

“Bring your son!” she added as the white horse pranced and pawed the ground. “He’s gonna be a looker like his father.” She winked and nudged the horse, who pranced away.

“He’s not—”

She was out of hearing distance. What the devil made her think they were related? He glanced down to see that Andrew was mesmerized by the spectacle. There was a clown, and a trained bear that rolled and tumbled down the street. There was a rather scrawny-looking mountain lion in a cage that snarled and lunged at the iron bars. Andrew jumped and squeezed Luke’s hand. Luke squeezed back.

He was about to suggest that they head for home when he spotted the elephant. What the devil they were doing with an elephant was anyone’s guess, but they had one.

When the elephant lumbered past his trunk moved, snakelike, in Andrew’s direction, brushing across the boy’s chest—in search of food, no doubt. Finding none, it quickly retreated.

“Did you see?” Andrew asked, a little breathless. “The elephant touched me...here,” he explained, running his hand lightly over his chest, now smudged with dirt, as well as strawberry ice cream.

“I did see.”

“I never saw an elephant before, except in a picture book at school. Do they really eat through their nose?”

Luke chuckled. “It’s called a trunk, and no, they use it like a hand and pick things up, then put them in their mouths.”

“An elephant... And the pretty lady. Did you see the lady all dressed in pink? I never saw Mama dressed like that.”

Luke laughed. “No, I don’t suppose you ever will.”
Though I wouldn’t mind,
he thought.

The boy was so excited, and Luke was enjoying being with him. It was impulse that made him say, “Do you want to go watch while they set up?”

“Oh, could we?” It was a plea, not a question.

“Sure, let’s go.”

* * *

The word of Andrew’s rescue and of the shooting spread quickly through San Francisco’s social elite. People began calling shortly after noon. Neighbors, friends, business associates, all with congratulations on Andrew’s safe return, many wanting to meet the man who had saved Rebecca’s son.

She tried to focus on serving tea, offering sandwiches and cakes and making conversation. Yes, she was very grateful for the marshal’s help. Yes, Andrew was unhurt. No, she didn’t miss the paper. It seemed she answered the same questions over and over, until she finally had a pounding headache.

The last of the guests lingered interminably long. Rebecca was seriously considering making up some excuse about an appointment or some such thing in an effort to induce them to leave. The words were forming on her lips when Andrew, looking more like a rag-amuffin than the well-dressed young man who’d left here this morning, barreled through the double doors and skidded to a halt in front of her.

Any concern she had had about Andrew being at the police station disappeared. There was not the slightest indication that anything traumatic had been suffered. In fact, he looked inordinately happy, she thought grudgingly.

“Hi, Mama. We had ice cream, and we went—”

“So I see.” She touched the pink smudge on the front of his shirt. “Is that where you’ve been...all this time?”

“Oh, no, we—”

She cut across his words. “We have company, dear. You can tell me later.”

Luke strolled in, looking tall and dark and head-turning handsome, just like always. And, just like always, those same darned goose bumps scampered up her legs.

Evidently Mrs. Hillebrand and her teenage daughter were not unaffected. They stared openmouthed at Luke, and Rebecca was tempted to caution Ariel not to drool in polite society.

She made introductions.

“Mrs. Hillebrand and Ariel, may I present Marshal Scanlin?” Her voice was flat, and she kept her anger barely under control. They’d been gone for hours and hours without a word, and now Luke strolled in here calm as you please, without any apologies, any explanations.

“Ladies,” he said, tossing his hat down on the pale silk side chair. He acted as though he were coming home, which he wasn’t, she thought petulantly. He took each woman’s hand in turn. His smile was radiant, boyish and charming. “I’m always pleased to meet two such lovely ladies.”

Mrs. Hillebrand blushed. Ariel giggled. Rebecca seethed.

Devilment sparked in Luke’s eyes as he settled comfortably on the settee. Andrew squirmed into the vee of his legs, and Luke pulled him fully onto his lap.

“Marshal,” Mrs. Hillebrand began, “everyone is talking about what a hero you are.”

“Not at all,” he said as Andrew lounged back against Luke’s chest.

“Of course you are. I’m certain Mrs. Tinsdale agrees. Don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, tight-lipped.

“Just doing my job.” His chin was resting on Andrew’s dark, tousled hair in a pose that would have seemed casual to most, but made her pulse race. She curled her hands around the arms of the chair, as if the smooth wood could steady her nerves.

Mrs. Hillebrand was still talking. “My goodness, facing desperadoes all alone like that, saving Andrew from the clutches of those awful people. Why, it’s wonderful!” Her chubby face lit up in a smile.

“Yes, wonderful,” Ariel agreed with a sigh.

“There’s even talk that you should run for mayor.”

Luke grinned and chuckled. “I’m not a politician, ma’am. But thanks.”

Mrs. Hillebrand reached for her tea, the cup rattling in the saucer as she lifted it from the serving tray. “Well, Marshal, we’ve had politicians, and my husband, for one, says it’s time for someone else, someone who’s not a politico to run this city.”

Rebecca couldn’t believe her ears. Good Lord, people were talking about running him for office. What office? Police chief? Mayor? King? It wasn’t that she didn’t think he could do a good job. She did. He was honest and dedicated, to give the devil his due—so to speak. But was there no end to this? Why couldn’t he leave? Go back to his marshal’s job? Better yet, go somewhere else and be marshal?

“It’s very flattering,” she heard him saying politely, with a smile that was making young Ariel blush again. “Please thank your husband for me, and—” his smile widened “—thank you ladies, too.” In one motion, he stood, lifting a giggling Andrew with him. “I think it’s time to get Andrew cleaned up.” He peered at the boy tucked under his arm like a sack of potatoes. “What do you say, cowboy? Time to wash up for dinner?”

“Okay, Luke.”

Luke put him down, and he ran to Rebecca and gave her a big hug. “Oh, Mama, I had the best time ever. Luke showed me how to ride his horse, and then we had ice cream, and then we went to watch the circus men put the tent up, and—”

“All right, Andrew.” Rebecca silenced him with a gentle look. “Later, remember?”

“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered, more to his shoes than to anyone in particular.

Mrs. Hillebrand stood, as did Ariel. “Well, we have to be going. Very nice to meet you, Marshal. I’m sure we’ll see you again. I understand you’re staying with Mrs. Tinsdale.”

She said it so casually that if a person wasn’t paying close attention, he might not realize the importance of what she was asking. It was provocative, to say the least.

Normally, Rebecca took this kind of question in stride; it was part of life, especially in San Francisco. Tonight, however, all things considered, she was aching for a fight, and if these two busybodies wanted one, they’d come to the right place.

“I really don’t think—”

“May I?” Luke cut in smoothly. “Mrs. Tinsdale was kind enough to let me
use
a room as my headquarters while we searched. I have my own quarters, at the Halifax on Washington Street. Perhaps you know it?”

Mrs. Hillebrand never faltered. “Why, yes, I believe I do.”

“Well, if you ladies will excuse me?”

“Of course.”

His back to the others, he winked at Rebecca. Then, grinning, he said, “All right, Andrew, race you to the stairs.”

Andrew took off as if he’d been shot out of a cannon, and Luke followed at a more respectable pace.

Rebecca escorted the ladies to the door.

After closing the door, she turned and sank back against it. She stood like that for several minutes. Luke had come to her defense, she realized. She was startled by the act, and by the fact that he’d done so with such grace that the ladies hadn’t even hesitated to believe him.

Her earlier feelings of fear and anxiety quieted. If he didn’t suspect anything by now, surely he never would. But her heart still fluttered frantically in her chest, and she thought that it was as much the instant attraction she felt each and every time she looked at him as it was her fear that he would discover her secret. He lingered in her mind, inflaming her senses. She allowed herself to acknowledge the feelings, though she refused to surrender to them, just as she refused to surrender to the man.

Mrs. Wheeler roused her from her musings. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, Mrs. Tinsdale. Shall I wake Mrs. Tinsdale?”

“No, that’s all right, I’m going up anyway. I’ll call her.” She started up the stairs.

* * *

Luke was washing the last of the soap from Andrew’s face with a yellow washcloth. Andrew, with the smoothest bit of pleading ever seen outside a courtroom, had convinced Luke that a complete bath wasn’t necessary. In one of those man-to-man things, Luke had agreed—but only after swearing Andrew to secrecy.

Stretching, Luke dragged the towel from the rack beside the bed and tossed it to Andrew.

“Okay, where do you keep your clean shirts?”

“There,” Andrew said, and pointed. “Top drawer.” Andrew was busy finger-combing his damp hair. It looked more smashed than combed, Luke thought, chuckling. Two persistent cowlicks were giving him fits. “I hate to tell you, but we’re gonna have to comb it, cowboy.”

“Aw, Luke. It’s good enough.” Andrew smashed at a particularly ornery cowlick, licked his fingers and tried again.

“No sense doing that,” Luke explained. “I know. I’ve tried. Why do you think I keep mine long?” He ran his hand through his hair to illustrate the point.

Andrew’s chin came up in determination. “Then I’ll grow mine, too.”

“Ah, well, we’ll see what your mother has to say about that.”

Luke was grinning as he walked the three steps to the walnut dresser, his boots cushioned by the royal blue carpet. The top of the dresser was covered with a white lace doily. He glanced at the collection of tin soldiers lined up military-straight on one side, and the two silver frames with photographs on the other side.

“Did you say top drawer?”

“Uh-huh.”

The drawer slid out with a scraping sound to reveal a half-dozen or so shirts, all starched, ironed, folded and arranged neatly in two stacks. Since Luke was doing the choosing, he chose his favorite color—blue, like Becky’s eyes.

Seemed everything he did made him think of her.

As he thought of Becky, his eyes naturally flicked to the photographs. Nudging the drawer closed with his hip, he picked one up for a closer look. The silver frame was cool and smooth against his fingers.

The faces staring back at him were smiling, happy. A much younger Andrew, about two, Luke guessed. Cute face... He looked like someone...

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the fuzzy photograph. He angled it slightly, catching the fading light through the lace curtain covering the window. A thought stirred in the back of his mind, a feeling that he couldn’t quite get ahold of. He decided to stop trying. These things had a way of coming along in their own good time.