Texas Mail Order Bride (6 page)

Cooper rested his long frame against the oak bar at the Lily of the West. Rand stood beside him, idly fingering a brass ring with over two dozen keys on it. Cooper had never known why his brother carried so many keys. He just knew Rand had started collecting them as a boy, snatching up every one he ran across.

“Might as well spit it out, Coop. What's stuck in your craw?”

“Did I say something was?”

“Didn't have to. I can recognize when you're looking for someone to whip. I ain't blind, you know.”

Cooper shot his brother a glare. “Delta Dandridge told me she took supper with you last evening. I think you owe me an explanation.”

Rand straightened to his full height. His words came out smooth as velvet but left in no doubt the layer of steel underneath. “I don't owe you a damn thing. Reckon my dealings with Miss Dandridge are a private matter. I didn't do anything wrong. Just because you've had your nose out of joint since she arrived doesn't mean mine has to be.”

“I want you to leave her the hell alone.” Cooper knew full well Rand's reputation where lovely females were concerned. He could list a whole slew of them who'd had their hearts broken by his lothario middle brother. Delta Dandridge would end up just another conquest. That fact sat like soured milk in Cooper's stomach.

“I don't exactly care what you want, brother. She's beautiful, charming, and has a sharp mind. I intend to see her whenever I take a notion, whether it rubs you the wrong way or not.”

Tension so thick Cooper could cut it with a knife lay between them. Finally, he allowed a tight smile. “If that's the way you feel.”

Rand's glare could've melted snow off a mountaintop. “It is.”

“Then all I have to say is watch out. The lady has quite a temper. Don't come running to me when she gives you a piece of her mind. I warned you. And you'd better not show her anything but respect either.”

While he still thought Rand should abide by his wishes, Cooper recognized that his brother had a right to his own opinion. Rand was always the one who had to figure things out for himself and dared anyone to interfere.

Now that the set-to had passed, Rand put down his keys, lifted his beer, and took a gulp. “How are things at the ranch?”

“I just came from ordering enough barbed wire to fence off the Long Odds.” Cooper told him about the newest dead cow and how it didn't wear any kind of brand.

“And you now believe someone is deliberately trying to spread this disease?”

“Sure looks that way.” And if he didn't catch the culprits soon, he'd lose every single thing he had in this world that meant anything.

By the time Cooper left the saloon, it was nearing noon. He swung into the saddle and meandered toward the ranch. He went around the burial plot that sat dead center in the middle of Main Street and as usual wondered who lay beneath the soil. Folks had told him how Indians massacred a group of government surveyors here in October 1838. Only seven out of twenty-four survived. More than likely these four graves held the bones of some of those men.

The small section of hallowed ground had created lots of arguments over the years. But to him, the townsfolk of Battle Creek had a sacred duty to protect those buried there. You could tell a lot about a town by how its citizens treated the dead. He liked that they hadn't moved them when Battle Creek was settled.

Cooper paused near the edge of the community at a run-down shack adjacent to Mabel's Boardinghouse when an animal's frantic yelps split the air. A burly man with a head full of wild red hair, Cyrus Tull, was chaining a young dog to a tree. The poor animal's ribs and hip bones protruded—the result of being starved for most of its young life, by the looks of things. The pooch's pitiful cries cut Cooper to the quick. It was so weak it could barely stand.

Anger stewed inside Cooper. He never mistreated an animal and couldn't abide anyone else doing so. He dismounted.

“Mind me asking what you're doing, Cyrus?”

“Ain't no concern o' yours,” the man snarled.

The hell it wasn't. “Well, I'm making it my business. Unchain that dog, if you know what's good for you.”

“And if'n I don't?”

“You won't like that option much. Trust me.” Though Cooper spoke softly, he could tell by the flicker in Tull's eyes that he'd gotten the man's attention. But would the drunk heed the warning?

***

On her way to the boardinghouse for a quick bowl of soup, Delta Dandridge stopped, transfixed by the scene playing out before her. She'd seen the poor dog and had watched in horror as it became weaker from lack of food and water, its situation ever more desperate. Several times under the cover of darkness she'd slipped over there and had shared with the pitiful animal what little morsels she could sneak from supper.

Before becoming a bag of skin and bones, it must've been a pretty dog, all white except for a black ear on the right and a circle around the left eye. It reminded her of an eye-patch-wearing pirate.

Now she watched Cooper Thorne try to save the animal.

“This is my dog, an' I'll do as I damn well please with the stupid mutt.” The man Cooper had called Cyrus remained defiant.

“Not today. Today you're going to unchain it and let me take it.”

“You gotta be smokin' locoweed,” the ill-tempered fellow snorted, pulling a revolver from the waist of his pants.

Cooper's long legs covered the space and he knocked the gun from the dog owner's hand. His powerful arm shot out, his fist connecting with muscle and bone. The blow sent his adversary tumbling to the dirt.

But Cooper wasn't finished. He grabbed Cyrus's shirt. Hauling him to his feet, he hit him again. Blood spurted from the mean good-for-nothing's nose and mouth.

Delta bit her lip, praying Cooper wouldn't kill him, even though she was glad to see the miserable excuse for a human get what was coming to him.

At last the horrible man lay in a heap in the dirt. Cooper stepped over him and undid the chain, then gently lifted the shivering dog, tucking him close to his side beneath one arm.

“What are you going to do with the little thing?” Delta hurried toward Cooper.

She realized she'd made a mistake when he spun around with a doubled fist and murder on his face, ready to take on another foe. It took a few seconds for him to grasp that she posed no threat. Her heart resumed its normal beat when he relaxed.

“I'm taking him to the ranch.” The words rumbled in Cooper's throat before finding their way out. “With luck, I can nurse him back to health. It'll take time to undo the damage.”

The dog gazed up at Cooper with its big brown eyes and licked the rancher's hand, his tail feebly wagging.

“It might mean trouble for you.” She glanced at the bloody man who was slowly coming around. “He'll come after you.”

“Let him. I've got a bullet waiting for him if he sets foot on my land. I don't tolerate anyone who mistreats animals. I'd like to chain him up and starve
him
. See how he likes it.” Cooper smoothed the dog's short fur, which was bare in spots. “What brought you here, Miss Delta?”

When his gray gaze swung to her, she forgot everything except how much she wished things could've been different between them.

Finally, she managed to say, “Lunch. Mr. Abercrombie relieved me so I can eat.”

John Abercrombie had been quite different since he read the valentine that his wife had left in the book. Never before had he allowed her time to eat a bite of anything, not even an apple. She burned to know what the card said, but he hadn't offered that information. Whatever it was, he seemed more at peace now.

Cooper gave her a crooked smile that made her stomach dip and her pulse race like a herd of runaway wild horses.

“Well, I'd best let you get to it. Don't want to put you on the wrong side of John again.”

“Thank you for rescuing the dog. I had wondered if anyone even cared. It broke my heart to see him so mistreated.” Delta held the dog while Cooper mounted, then handed the animal up to him.

“Good day, Miss Dandridge.”

“Mr. Thorne.”

For a moment, she stood watching him ride toward his ranch. He sat tall and straight in the saddle, his body as one with the handsome buckskin.

It appeared no one sat a horse quite like this big Texan. Cooper Thorne was indeed a man to be reckoned with.

Her estimation of him had risen considerably after witnessing him with the unfortunate animal. The belligerent, bloody man in the yard began to stir. She turned and hurried inside the boardinghouse before he caught her gawking.

***

Zeke ambled from the barn as Cooper rode up. “Where'd you find this little fellow, boss?”

“In town.” He passed the dog to Zeke and dismounted. “He's had a hard life so far.”

“Yep, ain't disputin' that. Poor thing.”

“This place needs a dog after Rowdy died last year. See if you can round him up some food while I find him a place to sleep.” He took the animal from Zeke and walked toward the barn.

It didn't take long to make a warm bed on a mound of fresh hay. He added an old blanket and gently lowered the dog. Then he got a pan of water. The dog drank thirstily.

“You look like a bandit.” Cooper examined the critter and didn't find any broken bones. He got some salve and rubbed it on the raw place around the dog's neck where the chain had been. “Yep, Bandit will be a fitting name for you.”

The dog gave a sharp bark and licked Cooper's hand as though in agreement.

Zeke entered just then with some food. “I like that. Bandit's a mighty good name. How old you reckon he is?”

“I'd say about six months old.” Cooper put down a piece of salt pork left from breakfast. For a while they were going to have to go slow, feeding Bandit four or five small meals a day. Too much too quickly would make the dog throw up.

“Mack had a fit when I asked him what he had to feed a starved dog.” Zeke laughed. “The fool man started gettin' out his pots and pans and doodads, all set to whip up a meal for the little feller. I 'spect Bandit will be fat and happy before you can hum ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic.'”

Cooper sat with the dog for a while, thinking of all the ways he'd like to kill the animal's previous owner. If the heartless man hadn't wanted the dog, he should've set it free so it could scrounge for food. Didn't make sense to watch an animal, or a person either, for that matter, waste away, knowing you could do something.

“Rest easy, boy, I'll watch over you.” Cooper patted Bandit's head.

The dog whimpered, then sighed and closed his eyes.

Other images from the day crowded into Cooper's mind. Delta Dandridge in particular. The lady had a way of barging into his thoughts, not to mention his life. She'd been equally concerned about Bandit's welfare.

She seemed to have a heart as big as the brilliant smile that snuck past all his defenses and filled the ache in his chest with a strange longing.

He fished in his pocket for the lemon drops and popped one in his mouth.

All he knew was that Rand had best not break her heart, or he'd answer to him.

Over the next week, Delta found being around John Abercrombie almost pleasant. He'd been less grouchy and more obliging. He'd insisted that she take lunch every day, and lo and behold had even given her a five-cent raise. The world must surely be coming to an end.

And yet it thrilled her to have won the man over. This town might be a wonderful place to settle down.

She was in the midst of restocking the ladies' notions one day when a woman came in who, judging from her low-cut bodice and painted face, was clearly a working girl. Her listless gaze hurt a place in Delta deep inside. But for the pure grace of God, this could be her life.

Delta put on a bright smile and hurried forward. “May I help you, miss?”

The young girl stared at her feet and mumbled low, “I need a pair of black cotton stockings, please.”

“Of course, right this way.” Delta led her to the selection of women's unmentionables.

The bell over the door jingled and another customer walked in. The minute the woman spotted the lady of the evening Delta was helping, she sniffed loudly, turned on her heel and stomped back out.

The rude behavior stung and sent Delta's thoughts scurrying back to Cedartown. People there had treated her the same way, and in her case, for circumstances totally beyond her control. Her heart went out to those who lived on the fringes of society. She knew what it felt like.

“I'm sorry,” the stricken girl whispered.

“You have nothing to apologize for, miss. You have every right to shop in here. People are always going to find a way to treat others poorly.”

“Thank you for being so nice.”

“My name is Delta Dandridge.” Delta stuck out her hand.

“I'm Emmylou.” The beginnings of a tiny smile brightened the girl's face, replacing the dull, listless gaze.

“It's a pleasure to know you, Emmylou.” Delta longed to ask if the girl was in Rand's employ but she didn't really want to know the answer. She preferred to think that Rand only sold beer and whiskey, not operated a flesh business. Surely he didn't. Surely.

Emmylou paid for her purchase and left. A few minutes later, the customer who'd been so disdainful returned.

“Afternoon, ma'am. What can I help you with?”

“You can keep the likes of her out of here,” the sour woman snapped. “This is where decent people shop. John runs a clean store. He doesn't allow that kind of riffraff in here.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, ma'am, but everyone is welcome here.”

“Where is John? We'll just see about that.”

Suddenly Mr. Abercrombie spoke from behind them. “Miss Dandridge said it pretty plain, Mrs. Hatfield. If you don't like it, you can trot on over to Corsicana.”

Mrs. Hatfield gasped. “Why, that's over twenty miles.”

“Yes, ma'am, it still was the last time I checked.”

“Well, I never!”

“No, ma'am, I don't suppose you ever have.” John calmly chewed on the end of a cigar.

“If Nell was alive, she wouldn't put up with this nonsense,” the woman huffed.

A sorrowful look settled in John's eyes. “Good day, Martha. And don't let the door hit you on the way out.”

She shot them both a glare and, with her nose high in the air, marched for the exit.

“She may cause you trouble, John,” Delta said.

“Oh, that old biddy? No big loss. Martha Hatfield's always been more trouble than she's worth. Ain't anyone with half sense ever spared her a passing thought.”

With that, Delta dove into a job she'd dreaded but couldn't put off any longer—sorting a drawer full of screws and bolts according to size. She needed something to take her mind off persnickety women who sought to make others feel as worthless as a sack of wormy corncobs.

Deep in thought, she glanced up in time to see Widow Sharp enter the store. Delta put her task aside and went to assist the veiled woman.

“I would like you to fill this order please.” The widow's beautiful, cultured voice appeared a bit strange in an out-of-the-way town like Battle Creek.

“You must do a lot of baking,” Delta said as she gathered sacks of flour and sugar plus various other cooking supplies.

“I guess you haven't heard. I furnish the saloon and café with pastries. My specialty is fried hand pies.”

“I'm sure they're very delicious.”

Widow Sharp laughed. “You should try them. I think I can make a convert out of you.”

The widow intrigued her. What was her story? Had she known a great love? She'd evidently suffered much heartache.

Then it dawned on her. Mrs. Sharp knew what the inside of the saloon looked like. Few women went inside those dark, sinful male domains. Delta had always speculated about what went on inside there. If she and Mrs. Sharp became friends, she could find out.

After the widow left, Delta put her musings aside and returned to sorting the screws. She was making progress when Rand Sinclair sauntered in as if he were out for a Sunday stroll. The man was a nice diversion and she welcomed his friendship, but he didn't make her heart race and her palms turn sweaty the way Cooper Thorne did. Every time the bell jangled over the door, she half expected to see the tall rancher standing there. Many times she'd wanted to ride out to the Long Odds Ranch. She needed to check on the dog. Just to see how the animal fared, she told herself. Nothing more.

But unsure how Cooper would take her visit, she'd talked herself out of renting a buggy and going to check on things.

“Afternoon, Miss Dandridge,” Rand greeted her.

“Mr. Sinclair. What brings you in?”

“I was thinking of buying my brother, Brett, a pair of moccasins. Would you happen to carry such a thing?”

“I do believe I saw some the other day stuck at the back under a pile of horse blankets.” She rummaged around and pulled out a pair of buttery soft leather footwear with long leggings. “Here they are.”

“I can't believe it.” Rand grinned. “I always heard this mercantile had everything, and now I see it for myself. Bless you, Miss Dandridge.”

“Delta. I insist.”

Rand leaned against a rack of bedding. “Miss Delta, would you do me the honor of taking another supper with me?”

“I don't think that's wise, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Rand. My friends call me Rand. Give me one good reason why you shouldn't, and I promise to go on my way.”

He seemed bent on pestering her until she gave in. She had no idea why Rand had taken such an interest in her. No one ever had, and she'd long despaired of ever catching a gentleman's attention. She chewed her lip. If only she knew his motives.

“I don't exactly…” She quickly swallowed the
trust
you
part of that sentence.

“Know what to say,” he finished for her. “Say yes. It didn't kill you before. I'll be on my best behavior.” He winked and crossed his heart. “I promise.”

The saloon owner could be quite persuasive when it came to getting his way, and he most assuredly knew it. Still, it was only a meal, not an invitation to sleep in his bed. And she did enjoy his company.

Delta laughed. “Then, yes, I'll dine with you.”

“Excellent.”

It bothered Delta that she didn't yet know what Rand Sinclair was up to. A niggling in her brain whispered it was far more than an innocent meal. But she guessed until she found out, it was all right to enjoy the pleasure of his company. After all, she didn't struggle under the enormous weight of other invitations of any sort.

By the time the orange sun dipped below the horizon, Delta was seated with Rand in the Three Roses Café. She couldn't help but smile at the charming blue-eyed saloon owner across from her who certainly portrayed the perfect gentleman.

So far.

“I met a young lady today by the name of Emmylou. Would you perhaps know of her?”

“Matter of fact, I do. She's one of Miss Sybil's girls out at the edge of town. Stay away from there. Why do you ask?”

Relieved that Rand didn't have such women working out of the saloon, Delta relaxed. “She came in the store today. I felt sorry for her. She seemed very sad.”

“Emmylou's had her share of hard times. You can't help everyone, Miss Delta,” he said softly.

“Maybe not.” Didn't mean she couldn't try.

“And just to clear up any misconceptions you may have, I only employ two saloon girls and I have strict rules. The main one is that no customers are allowed upstairs no matter what. I catch 'em, they're gone.”

“Thank you, Rand.” She told him about Cooper rescuing the poor little dog. “I feared he would kill that man. I've never seen anyone so angry.”

“Coop can keep a lid on his temper for a while, but when it blows off, you'd best duck behind something. One thing about my brother is he never leaves anything half-done. Sounds like the man deserved everything he got and then some,” Rand said quietly.

“You're exactly right.”

“Where did you say the man lives?”

Delta told him. “Do you know him?”

“Afraid so. Cyrus Tull is a mean drunk. I've thrown him out of the saloon more times than I can count. Always causing a ruckus.” Rand reached across the table for her hand. “Now let's talk about more pleasant things. Would you like to ride out to the Long Odds with me? You could check on the dog and I could watch the branding. I told Cooper I'd come out while the roundup is in full swing. What do you say?”

The warmth of his hand was nice but nothing exciting. “I'd have to ask Mr. Abercrombie for some time off. Not sure I should, though, in light of how busy we've been. And I wouldn't leave him in the lurch.”

“We could go on Sunday, when the store is closed.”

“Before I answer, please tell me one thing—what do you hope to gain by seeking out my company?” The question was blunt, but she needed to know. Better to lay all the cards on the table so to speak. It saved time.

Rand chuckled and released her hand. “I see you like things straight and to the point. My kind of lady. You're safe. I want your friendship. I think you're an exciting woman and a breath of fresh air. Frankly, I enjoy being with you. You remind me of someone who was once very dear.”

Pain flashed in his eyes and Delta had to look away.

“Whoever she was, you must've thought a lot of her.”

He cleared his throat. “Enough about that. Please say you'll ride out to the ranch with me on Sunday.”

The offer proved too tempting. Just the chance to see Cooper Thorne in his element enticed her.

“How can I refuse? All right.” Delta prayed she wouldn't regret the decision.

***

Cooper stood on his porch early Sunday morning inhaling the fresh air that held just a hint of moisture and taking a moment to reflect. Though he'd just risen, he was already bone weary. Most days he climbed into the saddle at daybreak and didn't fall out until it got too dark to see.

Roundup always took a lot out of him. Luckily it only came once a year. He was anxious to see how much of his herd the hoof-and-mouth disease had wiped out.

It still continued to sweep through his cattle. He'd had to shoot at least a dozen more and burn them to try to stop the onslaught. There seemed to be no end. More unbranded cows were showing up among his adult population.

It was amply clear that someone had it in for Cooper.

But who?

What had he done that someone would seek his destruction?

He'd done his best not to rile anyone and thought he'd managed just fine, except for last week, when he'd whipped Cyrus for abusing his dog. Cooper couldn't, wouldn't, ever turn a blind eye to cruelty, whether it be man or animal. But other than Cyrus, he couldn't think of anyone else who'd have so much hate for him.

Bandit scampered from the barn, apparently eager to see Cooper and get a belly rub.

Or maybe the dog smelled the bacon frying.

“Hey, boy. How are you?” Cooper knelt and accepted the wet kisses Bandit plastered on his face. “You're really feeling your oats these days, aren't you, fellow? Miss Delta will hardly know you.”

Now where had that come from? Delta Dandridge snuck into his thoughts in the oddest moments lately. But she
was
there when he'd rescued Bandit, so it was logical her name would cross his lips. Wasn't it? Not that thinking of Miss Georgia Peach was such a bad thing.

A grin insisted on covering his face. Thank goodness no one was watching him make a fool out of himself.

He quickly roped his thoughts and dragged them back to the dog. Though the mutt's bones were still clearly visible, he was beginning to fill out.

How could he not, with Mack around? The cook had taken to fixing special meals for the dog. Shoot, Bandit ate better than Cooper's ranch hands. And when Mack wasn't putting out a plate for the animal, Zeke was. Cooper was surprised they didn't include silverware and napkins.

“You're gonna be spoiled for sure.” Cooper rubbed the dog's belly. “Not gonna be fit for crow bait.”

Bandit's tail wagged in excitement as if the mutt thought crow was something tasty to eat.

Zeke O'Grady sauntered from the bunkhouse and joined Cooper on the porch. “Morning, boss. Smelled the coffee all the way out here.”

“Got some with your name on it inside.”

Zeke disappeared and emerged a minute later with a steaming cup of dark brew. “Reckon me and the boys'll finish up the north pasture today.”

“That's my plan.” Cooper stood. “Damn if I can figure out the rhyme or reason for this disease. I won't rest until we round up every last cow and see where we stand.”

“While we've been out beatin' the brush, I've kept an eye open for signs of trespassers. Yesterday I found some places that looked like someone had dragged something heavy across the south pasture. There were three dead cows. None of 'em had our brand.”