The Texas Ranger's Secret (7 page)

The cook spun on her booted heels and headed out the door, calling back over her shoulder, “Don’t try hitching this old goose to a young gander like that, Little Miss Matchmaker. You’ll run him off, and we need him to stay till your mom and new daddy come back home.”

“I ain’t making no promises,” Ollie warned.

“And I ain’t helping you do nothing. It always gets me in big trouble,” Thaddeus threatened.

“How about we leave poor Mr. Hutton and your cook alone to make their own choices,” Willow suggested, deciding it best to let the children know she wouldn’t allow them to interfere with anything the two employees had in mind while Daisy was gone.

As a hopeful writer, she thought it would be interesting to explore all sorts of relationships. Why couldn’t an older woman fall in love with a slightly younger man? Didn’t older men tend to take younger wives? “I’m sure they both know exactly what they’re doing without any help from us.”

Just as she and the children headed for the kitchen table, a knock sounded at the door. Willow halted and glanced back, wondering if the cook had forgotten something and returned to get it. She hadn’t had time to deliver the basket to the barn yet, had she? But why would she be knocking?

“I’ll get it,” Ollie informed them.

“You two get in here and let Willow answer it,” demanded Snow. “You’re just trying to avoid eating. I’ve already checked the potatoes. Nobody’s done anything to them. You’re safe.”

What in the world did that mean? Willow wondered as both children moaned and obeyed their aunt’s command. Willow crossed the room, opened the door and instantly recognized their visitor, her hand shoving his hat behind her back.

Gage Newcomb.

“What are you doing here?” Her thought spewed from her mouth as if someone had primed a pump in her brain.

His hand lifted toward his forehead as if reaching for his hat, then quickly returned to his side. He simply nodded a brief hello and asked, “May I come in?”

She had his hat. He couldn’t thumb it up as any Texan might do in greeting. She’d wanted to have it repaired before she saw him again. “Just a moment.”

Willow turned and called to her sister, “Daisy, are you receiving company tonight?”

Daisy came around the corner, taking off her apron. When she saw their visitor’s identity, she unconsciously reached up to touch the curlers in her hair. “Please do come in.”

Thankful he opened the door the rest of the way himself, Willow kept both hands on the hat and turned her body as he stepped inside.

“Have you been to supper?” Daisy waved an arm toward the kitchen. “We were just about to sit down and eat. Myrtle made plenty. Won’t you join us?”

He glanced at Willow as if seeking whether she had any objections. Not that she would voice them, being that she was just as much a guest in her sister’s house as he was. Maybe this would give her an opportunity to ask him a few more needed questions.

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. “I’m obliged, Widow Trumbo. I guess it’s time I stop referring to you as that from now on, isn’t it?”

Daisy laughed. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. Now, please, come grab a chair and tell us all why we have the pleasure of your company.”

He gave a brief explanation, ending with, “Mrs. Funderburg wasn’t feeling well and Bear didn’t want to leave her alone, so I agreed to bring the letters to you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that about Pigeon.” Sincerity filled Daisy’s tone.

Chivalrous
, Willow added to the mental notes for her character.
Thoughtful of others.
A new view of Gage was emerging. He was a mixture of behaviors and that made him real. Already she could see ways to improve Ketchum’s character and make readers like him better.

When Gage followed Daisy to the kitchen, Willow quickly deposited his hat on the pegged rack stationed near the front door. Maybe he wouldn’t notice it later among the variety of colored bonnets hanging there, but the hat looked boldly masculine in contrast to the feminine headwear. The crumpled crown couldn’t go unnoticed long. When she finally joined everyone at the table, she was surprised to find Gage remained standing with a chair pulled out for her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, pleased that he was on his best behavior and displaying good manners.

Gage sat down next to her, his long legs accidentally touching hers beneath the table due to the crowded circle of diners. Willow supposed sitting saddled for long periods of riding would bow a tall man’s legs. She’d have to remember that. Willow glanced up and her eyes met his for a brief second before she inched away to give him more room. He certainly looked uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure if it was purely from being crowded.

Daisy scooped roast beef and potatoes with onions and brown gravy onto each plate, offering Gage a man-sized portion. “There’s sweet carrots and celery, too. I’ll let you take what you like and pass the bowl down. Oh, and the sourdough biscuits and butter are sitting next to Snow’s plate. We have mint tea or milk, if you like, or I can make coffee.”

“Whatever’s already made, ma’am. I appreciate any of it.”

Daisy handed Willow two glasses. “The pitcher’s closer to you. Will you pour the milk, please?”

No, Willow wished she could say, not trusting her hand to be steady enough to do a good job. Instead, she snaked her fingers out and latched on to the pitcher’s handle and tilted it to one side, hoping to connect the rim to the top of Gage’s glass without having to actually lift the pitcher.

She hadn’t expected it to be so full and her fingers slipped, sending a splash of milk crashing over the glass to land atop the mound of roast beef on his plate.

She groaned, her eyes closing in utter embarrassment, only to spring open again so she could see what she was doing.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, his fingers wrapping around hers to take the weight from the pitcher and allow her to pour more accurately. As he leaned into her, their shoulders touched and she became aware of how chiseled his bearded jaw appeared at this angle. The slope of his nose looked patrician and the scars around his eyes were too welted for Willow not to feel a twinge of pity for him.

His shoulders straightened as if he’d taken notice of her thoughts, and he purposefully inched away. She knew she’d overstepped his boundary by staring and was sorry she hadn’t caught herself before he became aware of her gaze tracing his features.

He grabbed his glass in the other hand and tilted it so the milk could flow inside without either of them having to be that close together again.

Willow didn’t know what to do to set him at ease, but when she started to offer an apology, Gage waved away her words. He simply stirred the milk that soaked his plate, mixing it into a thinner gravy that was a lighter shade of brown.

“A little milk won’t hurt,” he announced.

But she’d seen the truth and not heeded the warning he’d given in the livery earlier.

Pity was something he would not tolerate.

* * *

Rain kept a steady beat on the roof and streaked across the window that had been raised to let out heat from the stove. Just as Gage had assumed, the ride back to town would now have its challenges if the storm kept up after nightfall. It was getting hard enough to see in the dark. It would be even harder with the trail further blurred by rainfall. On the other hand, he felt out of place inside among walls. He’d lived so much of his life out in the open and on the trail that he couldn’t wait to be on his way out of here. He had to force himself to take time eating.

He wanted nothing more than to deliver the letters, collect his hat and get back to town before sundown, but he couldn’t ask Willow and Daisy to read the letters until they were ready to accept them.

No one appeared even remotely interested in the mail. Maybe the trip out here could have waited until morning.

However, Willow seemed intent on making him linger, offering second helpings, asking him questions and appearing genuinely interested in getting to know him better.

Was she afraid she’d offended him earlier and that he would decide not to teach her any of the skills she wanted to learn? Maybe that was why she was making the most of questioning him now.

Though he’d let his temper rule him when he caught her looking sympathetically at his face, he regretted acting so small. It wasn’t her fault he was touchy on the subject. He just preferred that no one get a good enough look to speculate on whether or not he would recover from the damage. That was nobody’s business but his.

Trouble was, in twenty-eight years of living, he’d never learned how to say he was sorry about anything. Thought it made him look weak. Maybe he could just stick around awhile to show he had no hard feelings and he had better manners.

Living life as a Ranger hadn’t required him to question his reactions before. Gage didn’t like the fact that he was doing it now.

He laid down his fork and pushed back his chair so he could gather his plate and glass. “Need help with the dishes?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever made such an offer.

Daisy gathered the children’s empty plates along with her own. “That’s kind of you, but we’ll get to these later.”

“I’ll take care of them,” the cook said. “Y’all move into the parlor and see what’s in those letters. I’m sure he’s in a hurry to be on his way.”

Gage was glad he didn’t have to make good on his offer.

The widow’s small daughter piped up. “Why don’t ya just stay the night, Mr. Gage? You can bunk in the barn with Shepard or out under the stars with Bass. We’ll unsaddle your horse tied out front and put him in an empty stall.”

Daisy looked askance at Gage as she put the dishes in a wash tin and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You’re certainly most welcome to. We have a couple of extra bunks out there and fresh blankets.”

Everyone but the cook headed for the parlor.

“I appreciate the offer.” Gage took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs across from a flowered settee. “But I’m sure you ladies still have plenty to do before the wedding tomorrow. I don’t want to get in your way. I’ll just hand you these envelopes and wait and see if you need me to take back a reply. Oh, and—” he glanced at Willow, who was moving closer to the front door as he spoke “—I’d appreciate picking up my hat if you’re finished with it.”

Light from the parlor lamp shone on the livery burner’s hair, making him see it well for the first time. Streaks the color of the July sun baking the earth filtered through the wealth of curls she’d combed and set free from her earlier upswept tangle. Not quite blond yet nowhere near red, the peculiar color matched her somehow. Odd yet pretty. She needed to leave it down.

“Y-you’ll have to give me a moment,” she stammered. “I’ll need to see what I did with it and—”

“Right there, Aunt Willow.” Thaddeus pointed to the rack she had positioned herself in front of. “Looks like ya broke it.”

Willow grabbed the hat. “Just give me a moment, Mr. Newcomb, and it will be perfectly fine. The stove’s hot and my sister has the irons heating already.” She turned to Daisy. “May I use one of them?”

“Of course. Just make sure you reheat whatever you use when you’re done.” Daisy exhaled a long breath. “I still have a lot of pressing to do before I go to bed tonight.”

“Ahh, Mama, you don’t have to iron nothing for me. I’m gonna get it wrinkled up anyway,” complained Ollie. “You know I will.”

Snow fumbled with one of her rollers. “My hair will never dry like this by morning. I might as well take these out and use the irons instead. Or better yet, make you help me curl it before the wedding,” she grumbled as Willow moved past. “You’re the reason it’s still wet, remember?”

When Willow spun around and faced her complaining sister, Gage noted each definitely had some sort of issue with the other. But as long as there was no gunfire involved, it wasn’t his concern.

“Just let me take care of Mr. Newcomb’s hat and I’ll be more than happy to help with your hair,” Willow said sweetly before disappearing into the kitchen.

An admirable effort, Gage thought, probably to not appear quarrelsome in front of the children.

But from the sound of the banging and clanging of irons against the stovetop, she didn’t have any better handle on her temper than he had earlier. A dangerous situation considering Willow had already proven herself too clumsy for her own good.

“Watch out!” yelled the cook. “You’re going to—”

“Now I’ve gone and done it. Mr. Newcomb, can you come in here a minute?” Willow wailed from the kitchen.

The children raced to see, but Daisy stood and held them back. “You two go upstairs and get your clothes laid out for tomorrow. I’ll be up to check on you in a bit.”

As the children complained but complied, Gage raised a palm, motioning Daisy to wait. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the letters. “Here—why don’t you read this while I help her? The other one’s for Willow. I’ve got a clue what’s happened in there, so no need for you to concern yourself.”

Daisy accepted the letters, and the rip of the envelope being opened behind him gave Gage hope that coming here might prove worth the time. His goal now was to see what emergency Willow had gotten herself into and get her out quick enough so she could read her letter, too.

He stuck his head around the kitchen doorway. One look confirmed what he’d suspected. His hat dangled from a forefinger on her right hand, a hole burned into the crumbled crown where she’d attempted to press it into shape. The irons had been too hot.

He moved toward her, lifted the hat from her finger and settled it on his head. Now he’d have to pay a visit to the mercantile and see if there were any replacements in stock or if he’d have to go without one until he could order it in from Fort Worth or Mobeetie.

Willow’s gaze swept up to study him and he let her see that though the thought of having to bare his face to everybody would be an irritating prospect, he refused to overreact to the loss of a hat.

“Maybe the first skill I ought to teach you, Miss McMurtry, is how to handle something hot,” he suggested. “From what I’ve seen so far, you could use a little more practice in that area.”