Beautiful Bandit (Lone Star Legends) (17 page)

Hopefully, she’d catch her breath before Eva or George returned and wondered what had gotten her panting like she’d just run a race. What would they think if they found her sweaty, red-faced, and trembling? Calm down, she ordered herself. Just take a deep breath and get yourself under control. Focus on something else, like the buildings lining Main Street and the people bustling about on the sidewalks. Because this is likely the only time you’ll ever see Eagle Pass.

If she hadn’t been so preoccupied watching a couple of pups frolicking in the street, she might have noticed the tiny separation between the lacy curtains in the front window of the hotel.

And if she’d seen the dark gaze fixed upon her, Kate Wellington, aka Dinah Theodore, would have run for her life.

20

I s’pose life in Maverick County has seemed a mite boring to you since the big uprising back in March,” Josh kidded Shad White, the deputy sheriff, as they stood inside the entryway of J. W. Riddle’s grocery store.

“Hmpf. Unlike you rowdy Neville boys, I can live without constant excitement.”

“Aw, give us a break,” said Dr. Lane, the local physician, elbowing him. “You’ll probably have it etched onto your tombstone: ‘Here Lies Shad White, Captor of Mexican Deserter Antonacio Luis.’”

“Stow it, Lane. It ain’t every day there’s a gunfight right here on Ryan Street.”

Josh chuckled. “I’ll grant you that, White.”

Jack Dillon, the customs inspector, added his two cents’ worth. “What lawman comes to a melee without his gun?”

Shad squinted one eye. “Jack Dillon, I’ll thank you to keep your nonsensical opinions to yourself. If not for those three Mexican soldiers—who showed up just in the nick of time, I don’t mind admitting—you’d have been in a pickle, too!”

The good-natured repartee continued until Dr. Lane winked, effectively silencing his comrades. “So, did you read in the Eagle Pass Times,” he said, his booming voice echoing throughout the store, “that ol’ Riddle, here, has been spending more time with the bank president these days than at his own store, stocking his shelves?”

Eleanor Holbrook, the mayor’s wife, hustled up to the group to add her voice to the mix. “Well,” she huffed, “no wonder the bread and confections supplies have suffered of late. He’ll have to change his advertisement from ‘Corn, oats, and meal always on hand’ to ‘Whenever we get around to it.’”

The men joined in her laughter as Riddle sidled up to the group, puffing on a fat cigar. “We’ll always have fresh bread,” he said, “no matter how many hours I spend down at the bank.” He winked at Mrs. Holbrook. “And our fine, family flour is just as fine as always, and I’ll thank you not to forget it.”

“You just let me be the judge of that, my dear Mr. Riddle,” she said. “And, speaking of flour, I’ll take three pounds, if you can tear yourself from your cronies long enough to measure it up for me.”

As Riddle went to fill her order, Dr. Lane changed the subject. “Don’t know about you boys, but I’m not sure that irrigation ditch they’re proposing is worth the time and our tax dollars.”

Josh listened for a moment as several men shared their opinions on the subject. When there was a lull, he said, “Tell me, White, what happened to that new wanted poster I saw on the courthouse wall earlier today?”

The deputy frowned, then stepped outside and, bending at the waist, squinted in the direction of the courthouse. “Well, I’ll be a coyote’s cousin,” he said, shaking his head. “Looks like them confounded hoodlums got another one.” Facing the men again, he shook a fist. “If I get my hands on ’em, they’re gonna sit on one cheek for a good, long while, that much is certain!”

The mayor’s wife sashayed up again, her shopping basket stuffed to overflowing with goods. “Whatever do you suppose they do with those wanted posters?” she asked no one in particular. Then, she shook her head, which set the feathers of the stuffed bluebird nesting in her bonnet to fluttering. “Makes a body wonder where their mothers are while those young’uns go running through the streets, making mischief, doesn’t it?”

Every man in the group had heard enough of the woman’s “When my boys were young” tales to know they were about to hear another one.

“Lovely hat,” Dr. Lane said in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject and avert her story.

“Indeed,” the deputy agreed, stroking the curved ends of his long mustache. “And you look mighty fetching in that dress, too.”

Mrs. Holbrook whipped out a lace-edged hanky and fanned her flushed cheeks. “Listen to the lot of you. Why, I don’t spread butter on my toast anywhere near as thick as you boys are spreading the flattery!” She tucked the hanky into the cuff of her sleeve, then fiddled with the black netting on her hat. “But you can be sure that I’ll tell the mayor that the next time any one of you comes to his office begging a favor, he’s to do whatever you ask!” With a girlish giggle, she headed for the door, her bustle swaying, her bluebird bobbing.

The minute her button-up boots hit the walk, the grocer leaned on the worn, wooden counter and shook his head. “The four of you need to repent and confess your sins to Reverend Peterson come Sunday morning.”

“Sins?” Dillon said, befuddled. “What sins?”

“Your lie about liking that hat, for starters,” Riddle thundered. “Why, I’ll wager that I’d catch more field mice with that thing than I do with those newfangled traps I’m sellin’ over there. And you boys go on, actin’ as if you think it’s purty, just to escape another story about her ‘amazing sons.’” He chuckled. “Well, if you want my honest opinion, that’s a lie of omission!”

The doctor tucked both thumbs under his suspenders. “Well, sir, you know what they say about those.” With his chest puffed out, he lowered his voice an octave and said, “Opinions are like armpits—everybody has a couple, and, mostly, they stink.’”

Though Josh pretended to join in on the tomfoolery, his primary focus was on that wanted poster—and why it had been there one minute, gone the next.

Earlier, when he’d stepped into the hotel to ask how the owner, Mrs. Connors, was feeling after her bout of influenza, she’d invited him to share a snack of tea and crumpets. An import straight from London, the poor, old gal had lost the last of her kin when cancer had claimed her husband’s life a year earlier. Aside from the businessmen and honeymooners who rented rooms at her hotel, she had few folks to visit with, so Josh hadn’t been able to bring himself to refuse the offer. While Mrs. Connors had gone to fetch a tray, Josh had strolled up to the open window, hoping to catch a passing breeze, and had seen Dinah glance right and left before snapping what appeared to be a wanted poster from the board next to the courthouse doors. It hadn’t surprised him to see her there in town, because he’d heard his ma issue the invitation at breakfast. What had surprised him, though, had been her apparent determination to get across the street and read the placards posted beside the courthouse doors.

The mayor sometimes tacked up information about town meetings, and, once in a while, the pastor would post something about a church picnic or a traveling preacher. But, mostly, it was the place where Shad White hung his wanted posters—on the rare occasion he got his hands on them—to alert the good folks of Eagle Pass that they should be on the lookout for Mexican bandits, cow rustlers, murderers, train robbers, and the like.

He’d watched the Martin boy slink up the courthouse steps, and it had taken only a moment to figure out that he was up to no good. Though Josh hadn’t been able to hear the exchange between the boy and Dinah, her tense posture and stern facial expressions had made it clear that she was giving the boy a tongue-lashing he wouldn’t soon forget.

Then, Josh had noticed the toy pistol, which had made him want to rush across the street and give the boy a piece of his mind, too. But, as he’d reached the door, Josh had seen that Dinah had the matter well in hand. Chuckling under his breath, he hadn’t been able to help but admire her. Hadn’t been able to help but think she’d make a wonderful mother someday. And, as the boy had skulked away, looking guilty and afraid and a whole tumble of other things he couldn’t give a name to, he’d wondered why Dinah looked so guilt-stricken and afraid.

“Will you know which poster was taken once you see the bare spot on your board?” he asked the deputy.

“Darned tootin’ I will. Never hung one of a female robber before.”

Josh swallowed. It was then that he remembered the female robber from the bank in San Antonio—and her striking resemblance to Dinah. “Got another to take its place?”

“No, and ain’t that just a sorry shame!”

“Can you describe this female robber?”

The men exchanged curious glances, and Josh hoped he hadn’t asked one too many questions. Everyone in town knew the Nevilles had taken in an injured, young woman. If they put two and two together, they might start asking questions of their own. “I’m just wondering, so we’ll know who to be on the lookout for.”

White frowned and crossed both arms over his chest. “And just why are you so bent on finding out about it?”

“Yeah,” the doctor agreed. “Don’t think I’ve heard you ask so many questions since—” He fell suddenly silent and, blushing, clamped his mouth shut.

White shuffled his feet, and Dillon cleared his throat.

Josh bit back his desire to finish the sentence with a terse, “Since Sadie got sick, you mean?” A splinter of guilt pierced his heart because the glow of Sadie’s memory had faded considerably since Dinah had stumbled into his camp, disheveled and distressed. Before that, he’d thought of his young wife several times a day, but, since then, whole days had passed without his giving Sadie a single thought. It seemed to Josh that he should have been the one standing there, red-faced and stammering, not these good men.

“Well, enough of this hee-hawin’,” White said. “I got work to do over at the jail.”

The others seemed only too happy to disperse. Donning their hats, they quickly left J. W. Riddle’s grocery, leaving Josh alone to hope he was wrong. What kind of man replaced the memory of his deceased wife with thoughts of a woman who very well might be a murdering bank robber?

At this thought, Josh admonished himself again. Dinah Theodore was the picture of charity and selflessness. And even if she were the same woman pictured on that wanted poster, there had to be some sort of explanation—a setup, for example. He simply couldn’t reconcile what he knew about Dinah with the profile of a cold-blooded killer and bank robber. Admittedly, he had a lot more to learn about her. And he was all the more eager to get started.

21

Early in the morning of the Fourth of July, Kate ambled into the kitchen, hobbling only slightly now. Lucinda had been cooking since dawn. There was nothing unusual about that, for the woman always awoke long before daybreak to prepare an enormous breakfast for the ranch hands. But the Neville family didn’t believe in doing anything halfway. Today, the usual plates of flapjacks and bowls of fried potatoes joined casseroles of scrambled eggs, platters of crisp bacon, and baskets of biscuits spread on the cookstove and tables. As Lucinda added a plate of sweet rolls and jars of apple butter and jam to the lineup, Kate saw George on the other side of the window, cranking the spit to ensure the enormous pig roasting above the fire would cook clean through.

“Goodness,” she said, wrapping a big, white apron around her waist, “he’s been at that for days, it seems. When does the poor man sleep?”

Lucinda scooped a chunk of butter from the churn and plopped it into a bowl. “He likes to think we believe what he says—that he and Cal work in shifts,” Lucinda said, laughing. “But Cal will tell you what I already know: George seldom takes a rest.” She winked. “That man, he love cooking the pigs!”

Kate smiled. “Before I climbed into bed last night, I opened my window to catch a breeze and got a whiff of that pork, and I dreamed of food all night long. It’s a miracle I didn’t devour my pillow while I slept!”

Lucinda gave a hearty chuckle.

“What’s left to do to get things ready for the big celebration?” Kate asked her when her laughter subsided.

There were tablecloths to iron, Lucinda said, and plates and flatware to be distributed, and pies and cakes and biscuits to bake.

Kate slid onto the seat of a kitchen stool. “I can handle all of the baking from right here. And the ironing, too.”

Her announcement earned a warm hug of appreciation from Lucinda, who then pressed a floury palm to each of Kate’s cheeks. “All I will say is, Josh better make up his mind lo antes possible.”

Kate was well aware that everyone at the Lazy N had a theory about her relationship with Josh, and that they’d all been subtly pressuring him into admitting it. But the poor man didn’t even know her real name—and, if she had anything to say about it, he never would.

Lucinda continued, “Something tell me this pretty patient will hop far away soon as she can again squeeze her foot into her boot.” She planted a motherly kiss on Kate’s brow. “Now, you sit,” she ordered, “while I bring the iron from the pantry. Then you will keep Lucinda company, and while you press the tablecloths and napkins, we will pray Señor Josh wake up before your ankle is completely healed, sí?”

Lucinda had made no secret of the fact that she prayed, morning and night, for Josh to ask “Dinah” to marry him. Somehow, the woman had gotten it into her head that marriage would be good for them both. Every morning, as Kate stepped from her comfortable feather bed and found that her ankle hurt less than the day before, she was reminded of Lucinda’s prayers for a complete recovery.