The Texas Ranger's Secret (18 page)

He touched her hand. “Exactly that way, Willow.”

Pleased by his approval, she couldn’t help but smile. He smiled back and the skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes. When she dared to meet his gaze, she lost her concentration.

“Hey.” Thad’s voice rose with satisfaction. “It’s getting tighter, making little baby curly things.”

“That’s what it’s supposed to do,” Gage assured him. “It will look like coils. Hold the tension tight and don’t let your coils kink anywhere.”

Amazed at how easy this was, Willow felt as excited as the children to be learning so much. She’d never really looked that closely before at ropes. Maybe that was what Biven had wanted her to do with all her research. Dig a little deeper. Look a little closer.

“I can’t wait to write this down,” she said, eager to take a few minutes to jot down notes. “I hope I can remember it all.”

“You brought your journal?” Gage craned to see the bundle near her ankle.

“She don’t go nowhere without it,” Ollie said. “Like I did when I was making my daddy list. It’s good to write stuff down. I got me a new daddy ’cause I did.”

“Well, let’s finish up with
making
the rope before you write about it,” Gage insisted. “When you’re sure you’re done twisting your own end, all three of you bring your loose ends together without losing the tension. One of you take that combined strand and twist it in the opposite direction, holding the tension on the whole thing. Make sure it flattens out evenly and doesn’t kink. If it hasn’t, then you can knot the final end together.”

The children let Willow complete the task.

Gage ran his hand up and down the length of it, feeling for kinks. “That gives you a three-strand rope. You could, of course, have plaited those three twisted strands like you would a woman’s braid, then tie it off, but this way gives the rope greater strength. Just depends on what you need to use it for.”

Gage examined the makeshift rope closely. “And just so you know, if you had to do this by yourself, you could stick your finger right in the middle of your strand after you’ve got it good and tight, then bring the end up to the bowline knot, twisting it all the way. You would secure the two ends together with another overhand knot and that wouldn’t let the doubled strand unravel.”

“Whew! That’s a lot to remember, like Aunt Willow said,” Ollie complained. “You sound like my teacher’s big ol’ book.”

“Want to practice awhile?” Gage caught Willow’s attention as the children began talking about school starting soon. “Might make you feel more comfortable with understanding what you’re wanting to write about it.”

Willow thought she could follow his instructions well enough, but to get a really solid image fixed in her mind, she would definitely have to practice more. “I’ll need to go back to the store to get more yarn. I didn’t think about all of us having so much fun working with it. Or should we just undo this one and remake it?”

Gage shook his head and reached down to pull out the burlap bundle beneath his feet. “I brought something else for you to practice with.”

He reached inside to pull out a long strand of something that looked as if it was part flower, part milkweed and part vine.

“What’s that?” Willow asked.

“Old-man’s beard.” Gage handed her one end of the vine, took out a knife from somewhere inside the back of his boot and began shaving off the feather-like flowers that must have earned the plant its name.

“It’s a vine that grows around here,” he said. “Usually by a riverbed, or if you happen to come across some hackberry or cottonwood trees, you might see it climbing up the trunks. It’s a creeper. The wind blows the seeds everywhere. Good thing about it is that it’s plentiful and grows most of the year. You’ll always be able to find some.”

Gage kept shaving away the white beards. “I thought I’d show you how to use something natural for a rope if you ever found yourself in need of one out on the trail.”

She was glad he hadn’t said,
If you ever found yourself in trouble.
That would more likely be the possibility.

“Whatever kind of vine you choose, pick one the hummingbirds flock to. Wasps and hornets stay away from those, so you’d be less likely to get stung.”

“Can I help cut?” Thaddeus asked, reaching into his trouser pocket.

Willow remembered the boy’s knife. “Not with the shaving, Thad. We’ll have to let Gage remove the flowers.”

Disappointment furrowed the boy’s forehead. His hand returned to his side empty.

“They’re actually seed heads.” Gage quickly stripped the white beards and left only the pale brown bark. “They can leave a blister if you don’t know how to cut them at a proper angle. See how I’m doing it?”

Gage offered each of them a shaved strand. “I’ll strip some more while you work on those together. After that, I want you all to make a rope by yourself once so you’ll know how.”

Willow went to work with Ollie and Thad. It had seemed so easy a minute ago, but the vine strands had no natural coil to them. How were they supposed to tighten them?

“Reckon we ought to just braid these together?” Ollie reasoned aloud, her tone matching the frustration Willow felt. “Mine ain’t twisted any which way.”

“Smart thinking,” Gage complimented as he finished running the knife down the last yard of vine. “I wondered how well you’d listened.”

I was that close to suggesting the same thing
, Willow told herself, but she hadn’t spoken up fast enough. When she looked up, she saw Gage’s eyes twinkling with amusement. He’d guessed she was upset with herself for not being the one to say it first.

A couple of old men ambled over to the bench next to theirs and took a seat, distracting Willow for a moment.

“Good day for whittling. Not a cloud in the sky,” said the one with red suspenders as he stared up at the sun overhead, then back at the four of them. “I like wood shaving myself. Never tried vine before.”

The other newcomer took out a knife and a small piece of wood from his pocket and began slowly carving it, not saying a word to any of them.

Red Suspenders was obviously a chatterer like her. He made a point of asking all of them about what they were doing. Gage was the only one who didn’t reply. The other man beside Red shared Gage’s penchant for not talking, it seemed, and focused on his handiwork alone.

Odd how opposites tended to flock together, Willow thought as she went back to work. How long had the two elderly men been friends? she wondered. Dare she ask? Red just might spend the rest of the afternoon giving her an answer.

Though the old man was curious about the steps she and the children took, he was gentleman enough not to criticize or interrupt, as she’d thought he might.

“Done.” Willow handed Gage the now braided vine.

When Gage accepted it, their fingers touched once more. Willow’s heart raced and she wondered if the children had noticed, but their heads were already bowed and their fingers busy with making a rope all alone.

Her and Gage’s eyes met and lingered for a split second before she remembered that Red was the one who’d probably seen what had transpired.

Her attention shifted to the curious old man.

He gave them a quick wink and grinned. “Don’t mind me, folks. It takes a few minutes or more for these old bones to ease a groove on a bench before I can settle in enough to start my whittling. Rheumatism, you know. I’ll leave you to your business sure enough and mind my own.”

“No trouble, pilgrim,” Gage finally said. “Wasn’t ignoring you. I just tend to concentrate too hard and turn off voices.”

Willow could certainly attest to that, but she didn’t think the old codger was referring to Gage’s lack of speech right now. Her cheeks tightened with the heat of a blush.

“Nothing personal meant whatsoever.” Gage suddenly became more long-winded than he’d been since Willow had met him. “Comes from spending a lot of time on my own.”

The quiet man sitting next to Red stopped carving and announced, “I’m cut from the same cloth, partner.”

Gage surprised Willow by sharing a chuckle with his kinsman in solitude.

* * *

Morning passed quickly into early afternoon as Gage watched Willow and the children discover their skill at braiding a rope. She hadn’t said much since he’d wanted to make sure he didn’t offend the old whittler by keeping silent. Had he insulted her instead when he’d laughed with the old man’s partner?

He hadn’t meant to, but Willow sure liked to talk. Gage even found himself wondering if he could endure a full twenty-four hours in her chatty company. A few hours he could tolerate, but a whole day? He pretty much liked everything about her except her need for discussing and analyzing everything.

Maybe what bothered him was that he didn’t have that much experience with the nature of women. He’d listened to his share of fellows complaining about being henpecked. Every saloon he’d ever been in for the job had its share of husbands escaping to a so-called quieter place to think.

His mother had died giving him life and he had no sisters. Then he’d taken to the trail after burying his father. Gage never stuck around any town long enough to get to know a lady, much less court one. What did he know of keeping a conversation going with anybody, for that matter? He simply rode into a town, took care of his business and rode out, trying to leave it a better place.

He ought to apologize to Willow, he guessed, for not having gentlemanly ways. Those were skills brand-new to him.

Noticing the book of poems lying next to him on the bench, Gage lifted the gift and opened it. Had he thanked her or just put it back into the bag? He couldn’t remember. It was thoughtful of her to buy it for him and he should’ve shown more appreciation.

Thumbing through the pages, he finally let the book fall open where it chose. The small print blurred before his eyes. Gage squinted harder, realizing with frustration that he was losing his ability to read faster than he hoped. He would miss it. Just as he had mourned the loss of writing down his poems. Now that part of him had to be buried and become only a fond memory.

Determined to at least enjoy one simple page of the gift, Gage bore down and focused as hard as he could through the sunlit glare.

Suddenly Willow moved beside him, took the book from his hands, balanced it in hers and read to him.

“‘Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling...’” Whitman’s words drifted like motes dancing among the rays in a sunlit window.

It was then Gage knew. Willow had somehow guessed he was headed into darkness.

A burden he had never meant to share with anyone.

Slowly, he took the book from her grasp and closed it. “Thank you, Willow. It’s the finest gift I’ve ever received. I’ll treasure it.”

He didn’t tell her he’d never been given a present from anyone but his father before. Even that had been a parent’s hurried way of making amends for forgetting Christmas. Gage had gotten a handshake occasionally for a job well done or earned paid bounty for a man he’d caught and brought to justice, but he’d never received a gift just because someone thought he deserved one. Whether or not he would ever be able to read another word of the volume, he would keep it with him the rest of his life.

“Do you want to talk about it, Gage?” she asked.

“Whitman has a special ability to make you see what he does. Or better yet, he has the skill in choosing just the right words that allows a man to see something he’s experienced in his own life. His words weave a different image in each reader’s mind, I expect.”

“I didn’t mean talking about Whitman.” She placed a hand on his as he held the book. “I meant do you want to talk about why you can’t see the words well enough to read them?”

“You’re mistaken.” Gage stood and grabbed the now empty bag he’d brought with him, stuffing the gift deep into its burlap. “The sun was in my eyes for a moment. We have been facing east, you realize.”

“Yes, and I also realize the sun is no longer directly in your face. It’s long past noon. So you’re saying there’s nothing for me to worry about concerning what happened to you? That you’ve had a doctor check your sight for damage as well as what caused the scars under your eyes?”

Her concern pestered the daylight out of him. “Yes, I have, Miss Won’t-Leave-It-Alone. Now, how about we gather all these ropes you’ve made, get you and the children fed and send you on your way back home before you upset Snow’s day?”

Willow told Ollie and Thad to gather everything and put it in the buggy. The children grabbed all they could carry in one load and hurried off to do her bidding. After they were clearly out of sight, she turned and glared at him. “You know what, Gage Newcomb? I don’t feel like taking a meal with you if you’re going to keep treating me like some half-wit who can’t tell you’re hiding something from me and just don’t want me to know what it is.”

“Well, you know what, Willow McMurtry?” He couldn’t contain his irritation. “The feeling is mutual. Why didn’t you let me send that letter off for you instead of waiting and giving it to Junior Pickens to mail? Makes me think you might have something underhanded to hide.”

“The mail? That’s my business, not yours. And so what if I do have what you call
something
I don’t care to share with just anybody?” Her voice rose an octave. “Are you some kind of Texas Ranger or marshal or other kind of lawman, ready to bust out your authority and haul me in?”

“Matter of fact, I just might be. Would that make you leave me alone when I tell you to?” he yelled.

“Uh-oh,” Ollie exclaimed as she and Thad came around the corner and stopped in their tracks. “Maybe we better let Aunt Willow grab the rest of the stuff.”

“Oh, I can leave you all the alone you want to be, Mr. Newcomb. I know someone else I can hire to teach me whatever I need to know from here on in.”

“Don’t know about you,” Ollie told her brother, “but I think we better get back to the buggy.”

“I’m with ya,” Thad said, and both turned and sped around the corner.

Gage wished he and Willow hadn’t argued in front of the children, but it was too late. The damage was already done on several counts. “It’s settled, then,” he told Willow. “You don’t need me anymore.”