The Cactus Creek Challenge (31 page)

Her hands rested on his shoulders, and his hair brushed her fingers. He held her as if she weighed next to nothing, his arms like steel bands, stronger and yet gentler than the rope. All humor went out of his robin’s-egg-blue eyes as they stared hard into hers.

Could he hear the pounding of her heart?

He had thick golden lashes and a small scar at the edge of his left eyebrow. And chiseled lips. Was his beard rough or soft? Would it tickle when he kissed her?

Was she about to find out?

“Mama?”

Carl dropped her like a hot rock, and she stumbled a bit, jarring back to earth in more than one way. Jenny smoothed her skirts and patted her hair and didn’t look at Carl.

“Yes, sweetie?” Her voice sounded like she’d swallowed a cracker wrong. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes?”

“Do you have any more treats for Copper? She liked the peppermint. Then can I go with Mr. Carl and make a pie?”

“Of course. Let’s see if Copper likes sugar.” Jenny hurried over to the door, praying Carl wouldn’t follow so she could have some time to assess what had just happened and gather her scattered wits.

When she looked back over her shoulder, Carl was striding through the barn toward Main Street as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough either.

Carl rolled the piecrust, leaning on the rolling pin.

“Mama says you shouldn’t work piecrust too much or it will get tough.” Amanda plucked raisins from their stems and dropped them into a bowl. “Mr. Wilder is teaching us to braid grass into rope. Do you think I could make a halter for Copper?”

He grunted, turning the pie dough, not caring if it turned into beef jerky. What had happened back there in the barn? He’d come within a flea’s whisker of kissing the Widow Hart, that’s what.

“Then I could lead her around and maybe take her for a walk, and she could eat grass. I need to think of a good name for the baby, but I can’t find just the right one.”

Amanda finished plucking raisins. “There, now you can put them in the pot to cook with the sour cream. I don’t like sour cream and raisin pie, but Mr. Lawyer Jones sure does. Have you noticed that he looks like a hound dog? He has such a long face and such sad eyes. Almost like he might stick his nose in the air and howl any minute.”

The child swapped directions faster than a grasshopper in a hot skillet. And she was dead-on about Hobny’s long face. He stuffed down a chortle. “Amanda, why don’t you get those dish towels off the line while I put this piecrust in the oven?” The clock was racing on toward five, when Jenny usually came home from the livery.

What would he say to her? What could he say? He’d taken total advantage of her situation in the barn, trapping her in his arms and not letting her go. What would have happened if Amanda hadn’t come in just then?

He stifled a groan, slid the piecrust in the oven, and slammed the door.
What were you thinking?
She’s barely six months a widow … though in an admittedly unhappy marriage. But still. She wasn’t a woman to trifle with, and he had no intentions of marrying again, so he’d best mind his business and remember that.

Amanda returned, her arms full of dish towels. Jenny came in right behind her, holding the screen door so it wouldn’t slap closed. She kept her attention on Amanda, who babbled about something.

Carl wiped his hands on his flour-sack apron and tugged at the knot. “There’s a piecrust in the oven, and Amanda’s been working on a filling for it. She says it’s going to be sour cream and raisin?”

“Yep, and then we’ll have some for Mr. Jones when he comes in.” Amanda dumped the dish towels on the worktable.

Jenny went to the washtub and dunked her hands into the water, scrubbing hard. “That’s fine. I can finish it up.” She spoke with her head down, her voice clipped. “I finished greasing all the axles on the wagons. And all the horses are fed and watered.”

He reached for one of the clean towels and folded it into a precise square. Amanda sent a puzzled look between them, no doubt picking up on the tension, and took one of the towels from the pile, spreading it out on her front and folding it over unevenly.

“You’re going to take your skin off.” Carl laid a clean towel on Jenny’s shoulder, then bent to check his piecrust. He’d learned over the past couple of weeks that the oven was an unpredictable animal and could burn a baked good quicker than Misery could kick a bucket.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Amanda.”

“Can we invite Mr. Carl over for supper?”

Jenny turned from the wash basin, her hands buried in the tea towel, and her eyes collided with his. The prettiest rose-red color rode her cheekbones.

“You said that meals are always better when you share them with someone, and Mr. Carl doesn’t have anyone to share with.” Amanda plopped her folded towel onto the little stack. “And meals with friends are the best meals of all. You and Mr. Carl are friends, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but …” Jenny’s hands went slack. She sent Carl a pointed look. Clearly she wanted him out of her kitchen, but she didn’t know how to say so without being rude in front of her daughter.

Carl shrugged, trying to ignore his disappointment. “Don’t worry.” He squatted beside Amanda. “Thank you for the invitation, little one, but I can’t stay tonight. Maybe some other time.”

Or maybe not. He nodded to Jenny and slipped outside, taking a deep breath.
Get ahold of yourself and remember, you’re not looking for entanglements
.

Which was all well and good telling himself that, if only he could forget how she’d felt in his arms.

W
here is that contingent from Fort Benefactor? They said forty-eight hours, seventy-two at the most. It’s been a full week. I feel like we’re sitting on a keg of black powder and striking matches just to watch them burn.” A headache began a faint thrumming behind Cassie’s eyes. Every day since Mr. Franks and the corporal had departed, the tension had risen. The council and Ben were rumbling about the situation, but so far, they’d left her in charge.

Jigger tipped his chair against the far wall and massaged his splinted wrist. “I don’t like it. We’re whittled down to just you and me now. I felt bad for Corporal Shipton. He stayed as long as he could, and you could tell he felt awful about leaving.”

She walked to the cell door to peer in at the chained-down strongboxes. The blacksmith had finished another box to replace the one that had shattered on the street. This one had iron strapping and a pair of hefty locks that made the other two containers look as sturdy as hatboxes. He’d offered to make a couple more for her, but she prayed there wasn’t time before the army showed up.

“Folks at the saloons are still buzzing about the gold,” Jigger said. “Lotsa talk about how it’s just sitting here for the taking. Lots of talk about what folks would buy if they had it.” She’d sent him out to make a quick tour of the saloons last night, just to get a sense of which way the wind was blowing.

“Anything serious or just pie-in-the-sky stuff?”

“Hard to say. When the likker’s flowing, men gabble like prairie chickens. Don’t know that anybody will come busting in here to get it, but there are more than a few that would take it if the opportunity arose.”

“With just you on nights and two of us here in the daytime, that opportunity may look more appealing.” She tugged on the cell door, testing the latch.

“We’re not exactly alone. Might as well come clean, I guess. Ben’s been sleeping here at the jail at night, helping me stand guard. And he spends more time standing in the schoolhouse doorway every day than he does teaching school. Maybe it’s time to get Ben back in here full-time. Or hire another deputy. Nothing says you can’t hire some temporary help, is there?”

Cassie didn’t know whether to be infuriated or relieved. Ben had been helping her and watching the jail on the sly. If she let on that she knew, or if she asked for his help, it was tantamount to admitting failure. Surely there was someone else she could hire on as a temporary deputy without compromising the Challenge, but who? Nobody had any law enforcement experience except for …

“What about Ben’s dad? Having Obadiah Wilder standing guard might discourage would-be thieves.”

“There’s an idea.” Jigger slapped his leg. “And I bet he’d be glad to get back in the saddle again.”

Cassie paused. How would such a move affect Ben? She knew he felt overshadowed by his famous father as it was. Would calling him in be a slap to Ben? As if she thought Mr. Wilder was better able to help her? And yet she must protect the gold above all else. When she had several armed men to help, it hadn’t seemed that difficult, but now the responsibility and danger sat squarely on her shoulders, and every day they delayed the gold transfer just made it worse.

“Maybe I’ll head over there and discuss things with Mr. Wilder, see what he recommends. Can you handle things here?”

“Sure. Nobody’s liable to hit the place in broad daylight.” Jigger let the legs of his chair thump down to the floor and drew his pistol, laying it across his lap. “When you come back, bring some food, will you? That corporal might’ve been built like a lamppost, but he ate like a starving buffalo. We’re cleaned out of provisions.”

“I will. Bar the door behind me.” She let herself out, scanning the street in the afternoon sunshine. Not much moved on this Monday. Only a week to go for the Challenge now. The gold had been sitting in her jail for seven full days. Agent Franks had been gone for six of those days, telegraphing back of his safe arrival in Dallas and his daughter’s recovery. Though she was sorry for the little girl, Cassie had been relieved that the emergency had been legitimate rather than a ruse to get the guard away from the gold.

She hurried along Main Street, headed west out of town. Passing the schoolhouse, she heard laughter and chatter. Her heart constricted. She missed her students, the exploration of ideas new to them, the sense of accomplishment when one of them mastered a new skill or demonstrated a new ability. Ben had firmly told her to keep out of his business while he was the schoolteacher, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the kids missed her at all. He had them running all over the countryside studying things she’d never thought of as useful. She’d be fortunate if she could get any of them to sit still and learn after this month was over.

The Wilder spread lay just over the bridge past the schoolhouse, a small adobe home surrounded by young trees and corral fences. Obadiah Wilder, famous Texas lawman, had retired here to raise horses after raising three strapping sons and fighting outlaws and renegades for years. She’d always liked Ben’s parents. Mrs. Wilder seemed unfazed by anything her husband or sons did, the calm anchor that kept the family grounded. And Mr. Wilder maintained a single-minded focus, no matter what trouble he was facing down.

She turned in the gate, hurrying up the path, uneasy about leaving Jigger alone at the jail. Dust rose from one of the corrals, and she headed that direction. Mr. Wilder stood along the rail looking at a trio of young horses kicking up their heels and trotting around the perimeter of the pen.

“Hello, Cassie, what brings you out here today?” He spoke without turning around.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Old Indian trick.” His eyes crinkled at the corners just like Ben’s. “Actually, I saw you coming up the path. Did you need something? Is Ben giving you trouble?”

“No more than usual.” She brushed a breeze-tossed strand of hair off her cheek. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Ben and the gold. Get some advice if I could.”

“Fire away.” He turned away from the horses and leaned his shoulders against the top rail, crossing his arms. One thing she always appreciated about Obadiah. When he listened, he did it with the same intensity that he did everything. He wouldn’t miss a word she said, and he’d catch most of the ones she didn’t.

“I came to see if you would be interested in being a deputy for a few days, but now I don’t know.” She drummed her fingers on the fence rail.

His eyebrows rose. “You don’t think I’m up to the job?” Humor lurked in his expression, and he tilted his head, again reminiscent of his youngest son.

“No, that’s not it at all.”

“You’re afraid it would be a smack in the face to Ben if you asked me instead of him?”

It was her turn to be surprised.

“I’m not as ignorant about my son as some folks might think. I know Ben’s struggling to prove himself as a lawman, and having me as a father means, in the eyes of the town, he’s got some big boots to fill.” He sighed. “I wish he’d realize he’s a better lawman that I ever was; he just hasn’t had a big-time, newsworthy case to prove it. If I hadn’t captured the Dickenson Gang, nobody would’ve ever known my name outside Cutler County, Texas, and Ben wouldn’t think he had to take on the world to prove he’s a good sheriff.”

“It’s just that he admires you so much. And his brothers. They’re off chasing bad guys, and I guess, in his mind, covering themselves in glory and parental approval, and he might be afraid that he’s never going to measure up in your eyes to either your own exploits or theirs.”

He patted her shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Cassie, very perceptive. I wish Ben was as perceptive.”