The Cactus Creek Challenge (25 page)

Stepping a little away from the heat radiating from Carl’s chest, she swallowed. “How did you manage that? The other night you said you’d take care of the mare, but I didn’t hear what you were going to do.”

He pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “You want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“You might not like it.”

Blinking, she couldn’t imagine what he might do that would cause his cheeks to be ruddy and for him to be so hesitant to share it with her. Though she had no idea what he was skirting around, she knew without a doubt that he would never do anything harmful to one of the animals in his care. “It can’t have been anything cruel, so just tell me.”

Jamming his thumbs under his suspenders, he eased them on his shoulders. “First, I went to the saloon and got a bucket of beer.”

She made a conscious effort not to let her jaw drop open, but she couldn’t stop the little intake of air that shot into her lungs. “Beer?”

“What, Mama?” Amanda looked up. Concern tightened her little face.

“Nothing, sweetie, just go ahead and finish feeding the baby.”

Jenny marched to the doorway, her chest tight, in need of some air and distance.

Beer.

She should’ve known better than to abandon her instincts regarding men. The same thing had happened when she’d let go of her misgivings about Robert when he’d first started courting her. And he’d turned out to be a mean drunk. Now Carl was buying beer by the bucketful? And she’d almost entrusted Amanda to him alone this afternoon. What had she been thinking? She stared out at the horizon but saw only memories of Robert in a filthy, drunken rage, breaking all the china on the sideboard and slinging his empty wineglass at her portrait on the dining room wall.

Carl came up behind her. “I told you that you might not like it. I don’t hold with drinking myself, but it’s pretty near foolproof in getting a mare to relax enough to let her milk down.”

“What did you say?” Her thoughts collided with her memories and created a cloud of noise in her head that his words barely pierced.

“I mixed up a mash for the mare using warm beer instead of water. Worked a treat.” He studied her as if she had butterflies where her brains should be. Which she probably did.

“You didn’t drink it?”

“Of course not.” He frowned. “Alcohol for medicinal purposes only.”

Once more, chagrin at her propensity for leaping to conclusions coursed through her.

He leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “Maybe one of these days you’ll stop thinking the worst of me. I understand from the little Amanda has mentioned that your husband wasn’t a very nice man, but when are you going to realize that I’m not him?”

Jenny couldn’t meet his eyes. Carl wasn’t like Robert. Perhaps if he was, it would be easier to steel her heart against him.

C
assie stood in the depot waiting room and checked the clock for the tenth time that minute. The ten thirty was late. By at least three minutes.

“Relax, Cass, the morning train has been late so often this month, I’m thinking of changing the name to the ‘sometime-around-noonish’ train.” Ralph erased the timetable chalkboard beside his ticket window and began updating the arrival times.

Jigger sat on one of the long, uncomfortable benches, his left arm in a sling and his right propping a shotgun upright on his thigh. “As much as I want this train to show up, the transportation I really want to see is the army detachment that will take this gold out of here in a couple of days. Trouble’s coming. I can feel it.” He scowled, his huge handlebar moustache drooping.

If Cassie was honest, she had the same misgivings. Once more she ran through her security measures, looking for any flaws, anything she could do—beyond abandoning her post as sheriff—that would increase the safety of the gold and minimize the risks.

Nothing came to mind. She glanced at the clock again.

Four minutes late.

“Stop biting your nails.” Jigger shifted his weight on the bench, making the oak creak. “You’ve practically gnawed them off to your elbow already.”

She couldn’t take the lack of air in the depot anymore, though every window and door had been propped open. The platform would surely be better.

Shading her eyes from the morning sun, she followed the gleaming rails to where they disappeared on the eastern horizon. Miles and miles of open prairie lay around her, making her feel small, as if she stood at the center of a giant dome of pale, arcing sky. The wind tugged at her skirts and hair, and she turned into the breeze to keep stray hairs off her face. To the west, up the length of Main Street, she could see the schoolhouse. Must be morning recess, for she could make out the kids scampering around the building.

Mr. Svenson, sweeping the boardwalk in front of the mercantile, waved to her. She raised her hand in reply. Saturday afternoon’s campaigning at his store had gone better than the first week. Everyone seemed to be hitting their strides in their jobs, and coins were accumulating nicely in both jars. Since things had been quiet all week, folks seemed to have more confidence in her abilities as the temporary sheriff. Next Saturday, when she could reveal that she’d successfully guarded a gold shipment that would more than purchase this town a couple of times over, she was sure folks would back her to win the Challenge. They’d fill out their ballots at the Challenge Ball and crown her the winner.

And to have the confidence of the people of Cactus Creek would surely get Ben’s attention.

She still wasn’t sure what was going on with him. Every time their eyes had met Saturday afternoon during the campaign period, he’d looked away. And when she’d caught him studying her a time or two, he had a puzzled expression on his face, almost like she’d done something wrong and he was trying to figure out what it was.

And men said women were the confusing gender.

She’d ducked into the school after church yesterday to see the new bookcase. Ben had painted it a pale green, and she knew she would think of him and his kindness every time she slid a book into place on one of its shelves. He’d avoided her after the church service, and though his family had come to dinner, he’d been absent. For the life of her, she couldn’t think what she’d done wrong … unless he’d discovered that she was the author of the love letter. Anxiety tightened steel bands around her lungs and forced her heart high in her chest.

In front of the livery, Jenny tacked up a horse at the hitching rail, standing on a box to hoist the saddle over the animal’s back. She turned her back to the horse and put the cinch over her shoulder, standing up to tighten the strap around the horse’s girth. Cassie smiled. Jenny was so smart, tackling logistics and problems like a general. Petite, but tough as buffalo leather.

Turning back to the east, her heart accelerated. A dark smudge on the horizon grew larger, puffing smoke, clanging metal, roaring firebox. The ten thirty had arrived.

Jigger joined her on the platform, the shotgun lying on his shoulder. “’Bout time.”

“Yes, let’s let the passengers get off—if there are any—before we unload the gold.” She checked to see that the baggage cart she’d wheeled out earlier still stood on the platform ready for its pricey cargo. The goal was to get the gold to the jail with no one being the wiser. Too bad it hadn’t come in on a night train. That would’ve made things easier.

Only one passenger left the train, a drummer who juggled his heavy sample cases and tried to tip his hat to her at the same time. She nodded.

One car back, a ramp banged down onto the platform, raising dust and drawing attention.

Too much attention. Cassie felt someone at her elbow and looked down into Amanda Hart’s little face.

“What are you doing here? You should be at the school.”

She smiled, and before she could say a word, the twins piled through the doorway, landing in a heap on the boards and scrambling up. The entire school followed, with Ben on their heels.

“What’s going on here?” Though she knew. Oh, she knew what he was up to.

His expression was so angelic, she wanted to roll her eyes. “We’re on a field trip. We thought we’d explore the depot today and learn about trains.”

“Oh really?” She yanked on his sleeve, drawing him away from the kids. “Is this your idea of keeping things quiet? A dozen witnesses who will go right home and tell their parents?”

“Quit squawking. The gold will be in a box, the kids will stay here at the depot with Ralph and learn about trains, and I’ll be able to help with guarding the shipment between here and the jail without anyone being the wiser.”

Ralph emerged, his green visor shading his eyes. “Cass, looks like someone over there wants to talk to you.”

“You and these kids stay right here, Benjamin Wilder.” She whirled on her heel and stalked over to where an army officer waited on the ramp. Ben
still
didn’t trust her. He was checking up on her like she was in primer school. A fine red mist colored the edges of her vision, and her hands ached and shook from clenching them. She made a conscious effort to loosen the muscles in her jaw.

“Officer, I’m Cassie Bucknell, temporary sheriff of Cactus Creek.” She offered her hand.

He scowled, touching her fingers briefly—without removing his gauntlet—and tugged on the corner of his long black moustache. “Captain Clancy. This is most irregular, ma’am. I know you’ve discussed the particulars with my commanding officer, but I have severe reservations about leaving this particular shipment in the hands of …” His Adam’s apple lurched, and he pressed his lips together.

“In the hands of a woman. I understand your misgivings, but you have your orders and so do I.” Great, another one who thought she had cotton batting for brains. “Where is the Wells Fargo guard?”

The group of young soldiers who bristled with guns and bravado parted, and a brawny, chiseled man stepped through. He carried a shotgun so large she wondered if it needed its own caisson to carry the ammunition.

The line of his jaw was so sharp, and the column of his neck so masculine, her breath hitched in her throat. If she wasn’t already madly in love with Ben Wilder, she might’ve swooned.

His long, lean hand came up to tip his hat brim. “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I understand you’re the acting sheriff here?”

Oh my
. His voice could melt chocolate.

Was her mouth hanging open?

“Uh-huh.”
Oh, for pity’s sake, pull yourself together, girl. It isn’t as if you haven’t seen a handsome man before
.

“I’m Randall Franks, with Wells Fargo. I would suggest we get the gold transported as quickly as possible. We’re a might vulnerable out here in the open.” He flicked a finger toward the soldiers, who stepped aside once more to reveal three strongboxes chained to the floor of the car.

She gathered her considerably scattered wits and tried to appear professional. “I’ve got a baggage cart here and some canvas to cover the boxes. The jail is a block and a half west on the main street.”

He tugged at the little tuft of hair just below his bottom lip, looking up the street toward their destination. “I suppose there’s no help for it. We’ll have to parade right down the main thoroughfare. I had hoped to arrive after dark and perhaps move the shipment without so many onlookers.”

“What kind of gun is that?” Quincy appeared at her side. “Are you a lawman?”

“Have you kilt any robbers, mister?” Ulysses was quick to chime in. “What’re you guarding? A prisoner?”

“Are you an army scout? You look like an army scout.”

“Did you bring a horse? Are you tracking an outlaw?”

“Of course he brought a horse, you doorknob. How’s he going to track an outlaw if he’s afoot?”

“I ain’t no doorknob. And you don’t know if he’s tracking an outlaw. He might
be
an outlaw.”

Quincy’s eyebrows rose, and he bounced on his toes. “Are you? Are you a real outlaw? Is the sheriff going to arrest you? What’d you do? Did you rob a train?”

Mr. Franks blinked at their rapid-fire questions, clearly unprepared for this Gatling-gun approach to interrogation.

Cassie put on her teacher voice. “Boys, get back into the depot this minute. In fact, get all the way back to the school.”

Mr. Franks’s brows lowered. “Who are these children, and what are they doing here?”

The temperature in her cheeks rose. “The local school appears to be having an outing today.”

Ben strode over and stuck out his hand. “Sheriff Ben Wilder.” He shook hands with the captain and with Mr. Franks. “At least I’m usually the sheriff, but as you can see, things aren’t quite usual around here at the moment.” He turned to the kids. “Mary Alice, please take the children back to the schoolhouse. You can have your lunch, and this afternoon we’ll do something special.”

“What? What will we do?” Quincy tugged on his arm.

“It’s a surprise.” He barely glanced down at the boy.

The twins crossed their arms and jutted out their lower lips in a stance that was all too familiar to Cassie.

“We know what that means.” Ulysses nodded with all the wisdom of a nine-year-old boy. “That means you don’t know what it is, and you are just trying to get rid of us. We don’t want to go. We want to see the soldiers and talk to the man with the big gun. If we’re going to be lawmen or bandits, we have to get as much information as we can. You told us that. How can we observe and learn anything if you keep us shut up in the schoolhouse?”

Cassie wanted to laugh at Ben’s expression. He looked like he’d just bitten a wasp. “Ulysses …”

“Ma’am? If I might?” Mr. Franks squatted between the boys. “So, you think you might want to be lawmen or bandits?”

“Yep, we ain’t decided which yet.”

To his credit, he displayed no surprise. “It’s a tough decision. Of course, I hope you’ll come down on the side of law and order. To answer your question, this is an eight-gauge shotgun.” He stood the butt of the gun on the planks where it jutted a good foot over their heads. “It kicks like a Missouri mule, and it’s got the bite of a grizzly. And without fail, it will make an outlaw pause and think before he does something stupid.”