The Cactus Creek Challenge (9 page)

“That’s what the shutters are for.” He motioned to the heavy slabs of wood on either side, each with a gun loop cut through.

“But they’re ugly. And it makes the room so dark with them closed.”

Ben sent her a half-scornful, half-pitying look. “They weren’t built for beauty. The curtains have to go.”

“They most certainly do not.” She jammed her hands on her hips, all thought of tears banished by his lordly manner. “I’m the sheriff for the month, so this is my office. If I want curtains, I’m going to have them.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” He stepped toward the café rod she’d spent a long time hanging.

She darted between him and the window, spreading her arms to protect the flowered calico. “I said they were staying.”

His face was only inches from hers, and her heart hammered in her ears. From this distance, she could see the green flecks in his brown eyes and the dark stubble along his jawline. Not to mention his perfect lips.

Cassie swallowed.
Don’t let him know how he affects you. Be mature. Stand strong
.

His lashes fanned his cheeks in a slow blink, and her knees turned to water. He brought his hand up to her chin and tilted her face toward the sunlight. “I don’t think you’ll have a black eye, but that must’ve hurt.” Worry washed through his expression. “I knew this was a bad idea. What was your father thinking?”

She shook her head, struggling to find her voice. He smelled like the mint toothpicks he liked to chew on, and sunshine, and grown man. “One of them clipped me with an elbow when I tried to get between them. That’s how I wound up knocked to the ground.”

His lips hardened, and his eyes narrowed as he examined the damage. “I’m going to talk to your father. Where was Jigger during this little dustup? Didn’t he tell you to stay back and let them wear each other out first?”

Though his expression was forbidding, his fingers gently brushed the hair away from her temple and grazed her cheekbone. Strangely, the sting under her eye had all but disappeared at his touch. Instead, a thousand sparrow wings flapped along her veins.

Knowing she’d do something stupid like rise up on tiptoe and brush his lips with hers if she didn’t put some distance between them, she planted both palms on his chest and shoved him back. The curtain rod clattered to the floor, and he stumbled, ramming his hip into the corner of the desk and letting out a yelp. Cassie scooted away from the window, trying to calm her pulse.

“What’d you do that for?” He rubbed his hip, his brow scrunched.

“I don’t like to be crowded.” It sounded lame, even to her ears.

Ben shook his head as if she had rocks for brains. Which she very well might, if she couldn’t get a better grip on her behavior than this.

“Regardless, the curtains can’t stay.” He held up his hands. “Now, before you sock me or something, just listen. You can’t keep the curtains because they interfere with closing the shutters.”

“I don’t care. The shutters are ugly. I don’t even know why you have them, especially on the inside of the building. If you want shutters, hang them outside like a normal person.”

His patronizing laugh grated on her like a squeaky slate pencil. “You really have no idea, do you? The shutters are on the inside for protection. If someone tried to break into the jail, we can close them up. If they were outside, they wouldn’t do us any good during an assault. We’d get shot up if we had to run out and close up the shutters. And if you’ve got frilly curtains and fancy brass rods in the way, we could get shot before we could rip them down and close things up.”

Understanding dawned, and she hung her head. Another stupid mistake. She picked up the fallen curtain rod and laid it on the desk.

He walked over to the cells and peered through the bars. “New straw ticks? New blankets? What’s next, feather pillows? Cushions for the chairs? You’re going to have this place so swanky, folks’ll be breaking the law so they can spend a night in here.” The teasing lilt had returned to his voice, flicking her oversensitive feelings.

“You’re not funny. You do know that, don’t you?” Cassie slid the desk chair deeper into the kneehole to hide the cushion she’d sewn.

Seeking to change the subject and put him on the defensive for a change, she asked, “How did it go at school?”

He flipped his hat expertly onto the rack on the wall. “No trouble at all, unless you count a bird hidden in the desk drawer, a primer class that won’t say a word, a schedule not even Clara Barton could organize and complete, and two holy terrors that look like little angels and lie like serpents.”

“Oh my, a bird?” Her heart lifted. She didn’t even try to quell her laughter, remembering well her own shock when the twins had pulled that stunt on her.

“Flew up and scared me rigid. I had to chase that dumb bird a couple of miles around the room. Kids were screaming, books and pencils flying everywhere. I was a one-man stampede. Finally got it shooed out the window, after which I wanted to take a nap.”

“I guess I should’ve warned you. The twins can be … creative … when it comes to pranks.”

“I gathered that. I only stood them in the corner for a while, but I have to admit, cuffing them to their desks started looking like a good idea, especially after they put a tack on Mary Alice’s chair, tied Pierce’s shoelaces together, and dropped the water dipper down the privy. I did
not
retrieve it. They’re going to bring money from home to get a new one tomorrow.”

Her laughter filled the room until she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “All on the first day? They weren’t pulling their punches, were they? Maybe teaching school isn’t as easy as you thought.” She couldn’t resist giving him a saucy grin.

“It would be easier if I wasn’t bogged down trying to stuff so much useless information into their heads. I can’t believe you make them learn such a load of … nonsense. No wonder the twins are up to mischief every day. They’re bored out of their heads, and they know as well as I do that once they’re out of school, they won’t use a blessed scrap of all this book learning. As long as they can read and write some and do some ciphering, that should be enough.”

“It isn’t useless information.” She felt as if he’d just slapped down everything she’d studied for and held dear.

“If you can explain to me how the son of a cattle rancher who will grow up to be a cattle rancher will ever use parsing participles or need to know when the Magna Carta was signed, I’ll agree with you.”

“You assume he would grow up to be a cattle rancher and never aspire to be anything else. And how is more knowledge of the world we live in and the language we speak a bad thing?”

“It’s a bad thing if they’re spending so much time learning things that don’t matter that they miss out on the things that do.”

Her mind boiled over with things she wanted to say, but his hubris and illogic made it impossible to clarify her thoughts. She put her chin in the air. “I guess importance is a matter of opinion.”

He shrugged. “I guess it is, honey, and I’m too tired to fight with you anymore today.” Hands on his hips, he surveyed the room. “I like the improvements you’ve made around here. You just can’t keep the curtains. Everything else looks fine.”

Honey. He’d called her honey. Suddenly, she could forgive him anything.

“After all,” his cheeks stretched in a broad, annoying grin, “I should’ve expected it from a girl, all this sprucing up and daintiness. I suppose after I win this Challenge and get my badge back, me’n Jigger will have to start using coasters for our coffee cups and putting doilies and bud vases in the cells.”

The man was an imbecile.

“Is that all you have?” Jake from the barber shop scowled. “I was hoping for something to satisfy my sweet tooth.”

“Put some honey on them. They’re fresh. What more do you want?” Carl set the tray of biscuits on the counter.

“Not biscuits.”

“Too bad, because that’s all I got. The Clover Leaf hands cleaned me out of pretty near everything on Monday, and what they didn’t take got snapped up yesterday.” He scratched his beard. Ungrateful public. He’d spent all morning making biscuits. He’d even rolled them out and cut circles with a glass instead of just dropping spoonfuls of dough on the pans, and this was the thanks he got. It wasn’t his fault the council had stuck him in a bakery when all he knew how to bake was biscuits.

“You want some or not?”

“Naw, I’ll go over to the general store and get a stick of candy.” Jake shoved away from the counter and slammed the door on the way out.

It had been the same all day. What was he supposed to do? He’d ruined that cake thingy, and the bread he’d punched down and baked on Monday would make a nice doorstop, but it wasn’t fit for eating. Jenny had left more batter and dough before she headed to the stable this morning, but he hadn’t any notion what it was or how long to cook it.

With a sigh that ruffled the paper doily on the display shelf, he went about transferring biscuits from baking sheet to plate. Fluffy, flaky, sourdough biscuits lined every shelf and filled every corner. His mama’s recipe, the only thing she’d ever taught him to cook. He’d even brought his sourdough starter from home yesterday to make the first batch.

How would the doc’s wife react to a cake made out of biscuits? The idea of being responsible for that wedding cake still made his gut hurt.

The back door squeaked. Must be time for the little missy to get home. Taking up the baking sheet, he headed for the kitchen.

Her dress was blue today, the same color as her eyes … and her mama’s eyes. Two wee braids lay on her shoulders, smaller around than his thumb, and each ending in a perfect little bow. He envisioned her mama parting her hair, brushing it, plaiting it while they talked, the way his mother had fixed his sisters’ hair when they were little.

The child stood by the door as if prepared to bolt, and he turned away from her, going about his business.

“I think I’ll mix me up a batch of biscuits.” Dragging open the flour drawer, he measured out the right amount and dumped it on a spoonful of sourdough starter in the bottom of the bowl. “You know, I have me a little problem that I wish someone would help me with.” He kept his tone quiet and conversational, careful not to look at her.

“You see, awhile back, I sold some feed to a fellow who was passing through town. He needed some grain for his team and his harness needed some repairs. Trouble was, he was short of cash. So, being the softy that I am, I took a horse in trade.” He scraped a spoonful of lard into the mixing bowl.

“You could hardly call her a horse. She’s a dumpy little pony, shaggy and round as a pumpkin. Way too small for any of my customers to want to rent her. I suppose she could pull a pony trap if she was broken to harness, but she isn’t. And she’s due to foal any day now.” A little milk went into the bowl.

Just as he’d hoped, Amanda placed her books on the counter and edged closer.

“This baby is going to need a lot of care. It’s bound to be small. I just wish I had someone I could count on to look after it while I’m stuck here in the bakery.”

Stirring the dough, he dared a glance Amanda’s way. She now stood with her fingertips on the worktable and her chin resting atop them.

“Baby horses need a lot of caring for, especially if you want them to grow up liking people and not be afraid of them. There’s lots of training that someone can do before you ever put a saddle on a horse. Things like getting them used to wearing a halter and used to having people touch them, pick up their feet, mess with their mane.” He sighed. “I just wish I had the time. The sooner you start on something like that, the easier it is. And that baby is going to show up any day.”

He plopped the dough onto the floured worktable and rolled it flat with the rolling pin. “And I wish I had someone who could run down there from time to time and check on the little mama. The guy who sold her to me called her Short Stack, but I don’t like that name. Maybe someone will come up with a better one.”

While he went for a new baking sheet, Amanda edged closer, picked up the biscuit cutter, and began cutting rounds out of the sheet of dough. Carl hid his smile, but he couldn’t deny the burst of pleasure that shot through his chest. He’d needed to bake another batch of biscuits like he needed another head, but it had been worth it to build a bit of a bridge between himself and the little missy.

The bell on the front door jangled. “Customers. I’d best go see what they want, though if it ain’t biscuits, they’re clean outta luck.”

Alvin and Melvin Shoop slouched at one of the tables. Two bigger knuckleheads couldn’t be found in the state of Texas. Many’s the time Carl wanted to clang their brainpans together. At least Ivan wasn’t with them. Of the three, the oldest Shoop brother, Ivan, was the most cunning and dangerous. Lazy as a hound dog on a hot afternoon but sly as a rattler trying to get into a henhouse. He hadn’t been seen around these parts for a while, and when and if he did come back, it would be too soon.

“We come to get us some cake.” Melvin shoved his shaggy hair out of his eyes.

“Too bad. We’re out. Got some biscuits if you want ’em.”

“I don’t want no sinkers. I want cake. This is a bakery, ain’t it? Where’s that purty lady who makes the cake?”