The Texan's Reward (6 page)

manner of things. With a bul et stil lodged in your back, I can only imagine what you’ve had to endure.”

He spread his hands wide as if in court as he addressed the others. “Or maybe you’ve reconsidered my offer

since you’ve sobered up. Living in a house of this kind might drive anyone to drink. I have no idea of your

circumstance, but I have the letters. And, despite your shortcomings, I’m still willing to hold to my part of the

agreement. We can be married by nightfall, my dear. A woman like you can not afford to be too selective or wait

too long. There are those in this world who might try to take advantage of your condition, and I plan to see that

does not happen.”

“A woman like me?” Nell wished she had a gun within reach. The man seemed to think she’d been one of the

working girls in this house before she inherited.

Walter lifted one fat finger. “A woman with a questionable past. Which,” he hurried on, “I am prepared to

overlook and never mention again.”

The sheriff shook his head and backed out of the way. Nell could take care of herself. She might not have the use

of her legs, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. If she said she didn’t write the letter, Walter was a fool

to question her word. And as for questioning her past . . . he might end up a dead man.

Randolph Harrison held up the two blue sheets of paper. “The writing is the same. The signature on the second

is a little shaky, but both are on the same paper and have her seal. The second does promise to marry him if he’s

willing to travel here and finds you still single.”

No one appeared to be listening to Harrison. They all stared at Walter Farrow as if fearing he might strike like a

snake at any moment.

Nel lifted her chin. “I don’t abuse drink or drugs, Mr. Farrow. Though this house had a shady past, I assure you,

sir, I do not.” Her hands formed into fists around the yarn in her lap. “And, Mr. Farrow, I did not dictate, or write, the second letter.” Her gaze bore into him. “So, what is your game?”

Walter looked offended for a moment before he realized no one in the room would buy into his plan. “I came to

marry you,” he said without conviction. “It pains me greatly that you no longer hold to the bond we made by

mail.” His face reddened as his voice rose. “You don’t know who you are dealing with if you think you can back

out on our agreement. No one, not even a cripple, swindles me!”

She saw it again. The flip side of Walter Farrow. One second cold and calm, the next threatening.

Nell glanced at Jacob and realized he simply waited for her to nod so that he might have the pleasure of

clobbering Walter Farrow. She guessed that if Farrow even mentioned taking her to court for breach of contract,

everyone in the room would take turns kil ing him.

She fought to stay in control. “I’m sorry for your inconvenience, Mr. Farrow, but there is nothing I can do. I fear

the cripple isn’t marrying today.” If he’d have used any swear word, he couldn’t have hurt her worse, but by

tossing it back to him, she proved no word would crush her.

She reached for the letters, and Harrison handed them over. After one glance, she knew the problem. “Gypsy,

could you asked Mary Ruth to come downstairs?”

Gypsy nodded and ran from the room as if wanting to complete her chore before she missed anything.

Everyone waited in silence as footsteps thumped down the stairs. Harrison picked up a paper that had fal en

from Farrow’s case and began reading it as if to pass the time.

Mary Ruth made it halfway across the room before she saw the blue stationery. Her face paled, but she didn’t

look down. “You needed to see me?” she asked Nell in a voice that always seemed winter cold. “I thought you

said I had the night off. I haven’t had any time for myself in a week.”

“Yes,” Nell agreed, hating how Mary Ruth always reminded her that she was an employee. “You do have the

night off. I only need to bother you a moment to ask one question.” Nel turned the letters in her hands so that

the nurse could read them. “Did you write these letters, and this other one, to a Walter Farrow in Dallas?” The

question was direct.

Mary Ruth looked at the letters as if needing to read each completely before answering. “At your request.”

Anger built in her words. “I wrote them at your request.”

“The first was at my request,” Nell agreed. “But why did you write the others?”

Mary Ruth soldiered on. “When you placed the ad for a husband, I guessed you would get no proper gentleman

applying. I thought, since Mr. Farrow wrote about buying land, he must be a man of some means. He said he

was a lawyer, so he’d be educated.” Mary Ruth looked angry that she was being asked to explain.

“Go on,” Nel said.

The nurse lifted her head. “Since you were offering marriage in the ad, I saw no harm in offering it in the letter. I

thought by the time he arrived, you would have either found someone you liked, or you would be wil ing to

accept his offer. Either way, the letter sounded perfectly logical to me. A person in your condition can’t afford to

be too picky. Offering the Stockard place, which the sheriff said was worthless, seemed only fair. I was acting in

your best interest. For your own good.”

Nel nodded as if understanding the nurse’s reasoning. “Al right. I see how you might have thought you were

helping, so I’ll provide the price of your ticket back to Dallas. I’m afraid there will be no reference, however.”

Mary Ruth’s eyes bulged. “You’re firing me?”

“You are already fired. You were no longer in my employment the minute I realized you signed my name to a

letter I never wrote or asked you to write. I’l give you ten minutes to pack your things and be out. A final train

leaves for Dallas at dusk. You can wait for it at the station.”

“You can’t fire me. I was only doing what was best for you. You need me. You can’t even get up the stairs

without me. Who will bathe you? Dress you?”

“I’ll manage.” Nell’s face warmed. She didn’t want to talk about all the things she couldn’t do. Not in front of

everyone. She only knew she would not be treated like a mental cripple. She would not become a child in a

world of adults just because she could no longer walk.

Gypsy sensed her mood. The old hooker stepped up beside Mary Ruth. “I’l help you pack. I figure you only have

about nine more minutes left, and if I was you, I wouldn’t want to be late leaving. It might not be healthy even

for a nurse.”

“I’ll not stand for this treatment. I’m a professional.”

Gypsy leaned into the nurse’s side. “You bet you are, honey. Maybe you shouldn’t let her talk to you like this.

Maybe you should quit?”

Mary Ruth looked from Nell to Gypsy as if considering the fact that insanity might be spreading. “You’ll never get

another nurse to come here. I was the last one wil ing to even think about this job. You’ve fired too many of us.

In a matter of days you’ll be crawling around on the floor in filth wishing you’d taken Mr. Farrow’s offer.” She

glanced at Walter Farrow and ran from the room with Gypsy in her wake.

Walter folded up his case. He straightened his clothes and faced her. “I am sorry for the awkward beginning,

Miss Smith, but I assure you I believed we had a straight business deal when I arrived.”

“A deal you intended to see that I held to,” Nel said.

“Only because I believe it would be in your best interest.”

He saw the anger in her stare and quickly added, “Both our interests. I don’t suppose you’d reconsider sel ing

me the Stockard place?” The smiling side of him was back. “I truly am in need of land, and I will give you a fair

price. I’d like to keep the place in the family.”

“I didn’t know Henry Stockard had family,” the sheriff mumbled. “Seems like he told me he’d tried to contact

them a few times, and a lawyer sent a letter back saying they were al dead.”

“We hadn’t spoken in years. My mother would not tolerate his drinking,” Farrow answered. “He was my

mother’s brother. I find it irresponsible of him not to leave the land to someone in the family.”

“Like you,” Parker guessed.

“Like me. In fact, I have evidence that he may have been under the influence of strong drink when he made out

the will.”

Parker smiled. “Henry was ‘under the influence’ every day that I knew him, but that didn’t mean that he was

fool enough to leave what little he had to a family that disowned him.”

“That’s not the point. I mean to have the land back. I’l buy it if I have to. I brought an offer with me in case I

found you already married. Maybe you’d be willing to sign it with witnesses so there will be no

misunderstanding this time.” He seemed to hint that he stil believed he’d been tricked.

Nell noticed Randolph Harrison still reading through the papers. “I’ll have my accountant look over the papers.”

She raised an eyebrow at Harrison, and he nodded slightly, accepting her job offer. “If Mr. Harrison agrees, we

will set a price.”

Walter Farrow looked bothered but agreed and promised he’d check back as the sheriff and Jacob showed him

the door.

Nell leaned forward as Harrison sat down across from her to explain the papers. “I’ll pay you a fair price,” she

said, “if you will give me your opinion.”

The thin man smiled. “I’ll charge you a fair rate and dinner as a retainer. But why trust me and not Mr. Farrow?

I’m as much a stranger as he, and we’re both offering marriage because of the land.”

Nell winked at him. “Because I know Marla asks everyone who walks into her kitchen to help, and you were

willing to roll up your sleeves and give her a hand. I believe you’re the kind of man I can trust.” His last

statement had proved it, but she didn’t say more.

He smiled then. “I real y had little choice. You see, I’m hungry. If I help, maybe we’ll eat sooner.”

“And can you cook, Mr. Harrison?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. But I can help. My mother was a boardinghouse cook until the day she died. Every time I

passed through the kitchen, I was drafted into peeling or washing, or cutting something. I didn’t realize how

much I missed her until I started peeling potatoes a few minutes ago in your kitchen. I had the strangest feeling

of being home.”

Nel touched Mr. Harrison’s hand in comfort. Jacob and the sheriff stepped back into the room.

“He’s gone,” the sheriff said, dusting his hands. “But, I fear, like mold, he’ll be back one rainy day.”

Mr. Harrison stood and released her hand.

She didn’t miss Jacob’s lifted eyebrow, but she said nothing. The information about Mr. Harrison was his to tell,

not hers.

JACOB DALTON WALKED INTO THE EVENING SHADOWS of the porch and pul ed a thin cigar from his vest pocket.

He smoked little, even when he was in town and could buy tobacco, but he needed time by himself, and the

cigar seemed as good a reason as any. The night was cool, the sky clear for a change. Winter’s breath still hung

in the air, but it wouldn’t be long until spring. Jacob always loved the way spring rode the wind into this part of

the state.

As he lit up, the thin ribbon of smoke blended with the odors drifting from town. Dinners cooking, the oily

smoke from the last train, horses, and more . . . people. He’d spent so much time alone that all the familiar

smel s of town now bothered him.

He looked inside as though the window were a picture that had come to life. Everyone had moved from the

dining table to more comfortable chairs by the fireplace. He saw Gypsy, curled in an overstuffed chair in one of

the corners, sound asleep. Her duties as housekeeper didn’t seem to extend to cleanup after dinner. Jacob

couldn’t help but wonder if Nel knew her story. She’d lived in this house al Nel ’s life, but there’d been a time

when her home was a colorful wagon traveling between Galveston and Houston. Rumor was, back then, that

her people had been gold smugglers. They’d been robbed one night while on the road. Gypsy, even though

almost grown, was so tiny she hid in a cabinet. Al her people had been kil ed that night, and Jacob heard that

she wandered from one fort along the frontier line to another doing laundry and other services until she

reached here. Fat Alice gave her the first home she’d ever had.

Jacob smiled as he watched. Old Gypsy only had two speeds, jumpy and asleep, but Fat Alice must have known

Nel would make sure she continued to have a home here.

Rand Harrison, however, was another story. He looked out of place helping Marla clear the table. Rand must

have said something to the shy cook, for she smiled and nodded. Jacob studied him while Harrison couldn’t see

him watching. All the pieces of Randolph Harrison didn’t fit together. His manners were very proper, cold, but

not unkind. Yet tonight he said little and never tried to press his point about wanting to marry Nel . In fact, he

paid more attention to Marla and the food than he did anyone else at the table.

Maybe he was simply hungry, Jacob decided. Not that Marla was homely. The cook was a fine-looking woman,

but Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if Harrison would be as friendly when he found out what everyone, except

the few people inside Nell’s house, called Marla. She’d had a little trouble getting started as a cook. Everyone in

town referred to her as Last Meal Marla because her first few employers died.

The sheriff had rolled Nell’s chair to the desk, and they were busy looking over the blue letters Walter Farrow

had left behind.

Jacob knew he’d join them in a few minutes, but right now he wanted to be where he felt the most comfortable: