Give Me a Texan Read online

Mary Carol tossed clothes over the stacks. A dark, rich, blue wool skirt landed at Aggie’s feet, and a blouse cut like a man’s, except for the collar and cuffs, followed.

  Aggie ran her hand over the outfit. Growing up, her clothes had always been hand-me-downs. Pale yellows and washed-out pinks. She’d never worn anything in dark blue and couldn’t wait to try it on.

  “I got just the right vest to go with that,” Mary Carol shouted as she hurried into sight. She held up a multicolored vest that looked like it had been made from an Indian blanket. “What do you think?”

  Aggie grinned. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever worn. It was perfect.

  Twenty minutes later, when Hank stomped back into the store, Aggie sat by the stove drying her hair. He almost didn’t recognize her. From her black boots to her western vest, she put any model he’d ever seen in a catalog to shame. He felt his mouth go dry. How does a man tell a beautiful woman she’s just improved on perfection?

  Tiny gray kittens, now fluffy and dry, were at her feet wrapped in a towel. Hank tried to concentrate on them as he moved closer, but five feet from her he made the mistake of looking up and froze.

  “What’s wrong? Is the storm worse?” She stood.

  “No, I think it may be letting up a bit,” he said, studying the way the mass of curls danced around her shoulders. “I just didn’t know you had so much hair.”

  She frowned. “I’m afraid it curls when it gets wet. I’ll…” Lifting her hands, she tried to pull it back.

  “It’s nice. Real nice,” he said, wishing he could think of something more descriptive than “nice.” He should have told her that the beauty of it took his breath away, but words like that would never make it past the lump in his throat. She must truly have no idea how beautiful she looked.

  Something wiggled in his shirt, demanding Hank’s attention. “Oh,” he said, pulling a gray cat out before she permanently scarred his chest. “I found this under the porch. Hope it’s the momma.”

  Aggie laughed and took the cat from him. “Of course it’s the mother cat. She’s probably been frantic looking for her babies.”

  As she sat the cat in the middle of the towel, the little mother began licking each kitten.

  Hank watched. “Guess she didn’t think the storm got them clean enough.”

  Aggie shook her head. “More likely she’s cleaning off my scent.”

  Before either could say more, Jeb entered with a round of coffee. “I was just askin’ Mary Carol,” he bellowed, unaware he was interrupting a conversation, “how did Hank manage to leave a week ago with cattle and come back with a wife?”

  Hank ignored the store owner and moved closer. “I like your choice of clothes,” he whispered before Jeb reached them. “They look right on you somehow.”

  She leaned nearer, almost touching him. “Thanks for bring the mother cat in.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, liking their whispering game.

  Jeb tried again. “When did you two get married?”

  “Last night, before we boarded the train,” Hank answered without taking his eyes off of Aggie. “And as for how, I asked her, and she said yes.”

  Jeb laughed. “So that’s it. We was figuring she must have held that gun she’s wearing to your head and made you marry her—her being so homely and all.”

  Aggie lifted the Colt from its holster as if she hadn’t heard the backhanded compliment. “Hank gave me his gun because, like my father, I’m a gunsmith.”

  Hank took one of the hot mugs from Jeb and almost laughed at the man’s surprise.

  When he found his voice, he asked, “A gunsmith?”

  Both men stood silently as she opened one of her boxes. She pulled out her tools wrapped in oil cloth, then sat on the stool by the stove and used the checkerboard as her workbench. While they watched in amazement, she disassembled the Colt and cleaned it. She then dried the holster and rubbed the leather down with saddle soap to keep it soft.

  Jeb stared at Hank. “Let me get this right. She’s not only beautiful, she can fix guns too.” He raised both eyebrows as if piecing together a puzzle. “And she married you?”

  Hank laughed. “That’s about the size of it, except she wants to practice her craft. Do you think you could hang a sign in the window and take in any work folks might need done? We’ll come by every few days and deliver back and forth if she gets any business.”

  “And I’ll give you a percent of all I earn, Mr. Diggs,” she added.

  Jeb shook his head. “Don’t want a percentage. It’s your work. I’ll make any money for my time by selling more from the extra customers the sign will bring in. My guess is when word gets out that you’re here, you will have all the business you can handle.”

  Aggie rolled up her tools. “Thank you. I have a list of tools I need.” She pulled a slip of paper from the side of the box.

  Jeb took the list. “I could probably get most of them from a supplier in Fort Worth. Wouldn’t take more than a few days.” He tapped the paper with his finger. “I’ll send this order with the afternoon train.” He glanced at Hank. “And, of course, I’ll put it on your bill.”

  Hank agreed but didn’t miss the surprised look she gave him. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d carried the slip of paper with her small box of tools.

  She accepted a mug of coffee and went back to her seat beside the cats. “Thanks for the coffee and for letting me watch your kittens.”

  Jeb shrugged. “In a few weeks you can have your pick of the litter.”

  She grinned at Hank.

  He nodded his agreement.

  “We’ll take the runt,” she said and went back to watching the animals while the men talked about the weather.

  When his cup was empty, Hank pulled on his slicker over his coat and asked if she was ready to leave. He slipped a new slicker over her shoulders and covered her hair with the hood, unable to resist touching the curls.

  Her hand gently brushed his forearm and she whispered, “Should I change this bandage? It must be wet.”

  Hank shook his head. “It’ll just get wet again. Wait until we’re home. I’ve got a good stash of medicine there.”

  She agreed and Hank heard Mrs. Diggs mumble something about lovebirds.

  Before they realized there was nothing between Aggie and him but a partnership, Hank waved good-bye and held the door open for his wife. “I didn’t bring the wagon into town. I thought I’d be coming back alone. You mind riding double?”

  Surprisingly, she giggled. “I’ve only been on horseback a few times. My father always drove a wagon.”

  Hank bumped his head against the door frame, too busy watching her and not where he was going. “I won’t let you fall,” he mumbled, thinking that if he didn’t stop staring at her and start paying attention, he’d have brain damage before the day was over.

  Chapter 6

  The rain launched an assault to keep them inside, pelting at full force when they cleared the door. Hank motioned for her to wait while he climbed onto his horse and tied her bag and the boxes in place behind the saddle. He rode close to the porch so he could lift Aggie up in front of him.

  She might be shy, but her willingness for adventure surprised him. He’d half expected her to refuse to go with him. He’d bluffed her into following when they’d left the train, but he had no idea what he would do this time if she refused. He didn’t know her well, but he didn’t think Aggie would take too kindly to being tossed over the saddle against her will.

  Mary Carol rushed out with two bags. “Here’s her wet clothes,” she said, pulling her shawl around her head. “I also packed a few supplies—bread, milk, and coffee just in case you don’t have any out at your place.”

  “Thank you.” Aggie accepted both bags.

  “No problem. I put them on your account.”

  Hank’s arm tightened around his bride as he turned the horse toward home.

  “Maybe you should stay and wait out the storm?” Mary Carol yelled as they pulled away.


  “Want to wait?” he whispered near Aggie’s ear.

  She shook her head. “I want to go home.”

  Hank no longer cared about the weather. He’d been so many years without a family, without anyone, heading home with Aggie seemed almost too good to be true. He had a feeling any moment he’d awake from this dream and find some other man had won her hand. The thought brought to mind Potter Stockton’s frown last night. The railroad man had made fun of the proposal almost all the ride back to Fort Worth. Hank hadn’t missed the anger in Potter’s remarks. He’d hinted twice before they split near the depot that Hank would be smart to go on back to Amarillo alone and leave the courtship of Aggie to a man who knew how to treat a woman like her.

  Hank couldn’t help but wonder, if he’d missed the train last night, would she have agreed to meet Potter Stockton again, or would she have turned both men down and moved on to the next sister’s house? Hank remembered how Stockton talked about her beauty and how he’d laughed and commented that shy ones always “take the bit” without too much fighting. Hank didn’t even want to think about what Stockton meant.

  If Hank hadn’t already asked for her hand, he would have turned around and ridden back to Aggie just to warn her not to see the railroad man again.

  If she wasn’t cocooned in her slicker, he might have tried to tell her where his land started, but with the rain she could see little. He wished he’d had time to telegraph ahead and have his hand, Blue Thompson, light the fire in the house and put lamps in the windows to welcome her.

  When they reached the ranch, even though it was late morning, all was dark. He leaned down to open the gate. She twisted in front of him, holding tightly to his slicker.

  He straightened and pulled her close once more. “It’s all right, Aggie. I won’t let you fall.”

  Her hood slid back enough that he could see her nod, but she didn’t turn loose of her grip on him. When they reached the long porch that rounded three sides of his house, he lifted her with him as he stepped from the saddle and carried her up the steps. Old Ulysses, his guard dog, barked from beneath the porch.

  “Hush, Ulysses, it’s just me,” Hank mumbled.

  The dog growled, but quieted.

  When they were well out of the rain, he sat Aggie down beside the only piece of furniture he’d brought north with him when he’d homesteaded—his father’s rocker. “Don’t worry about Ulysses. He’s mean and hates everyone, including me, but he’s a good guard dog. He keeps snakes away and warns me if anyone gets near the place.”

  Hank straightened and gripped the doorknob. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have…”

  He didn’t finish. It was too late for explanations or apologies. “Welcome home,” he managed as the door creaked open.

  Aggie walked in ahead of him and didn’t stop until she was in the center of the polished floor. The storm’s gray light shown the open area in layers of shadows. He stood at the threshold and stared at her back. The big main room looked empty with its two chairs and one long table. The fireplace was cold and dusty. The curtainless windows were stark, letting all the rage of the storm inside and holding no warmth.

  “There’s a kitchen and mudroom behind the fireplace. My room is to the left and yours will be to the right once I get my tack out of it. I’ll move my bed in for you until I can build you what you need.”

  She hadn’t moved. Her back was so straight he decided she must be in shock. To him the house had been great, but to her it must look cold and bare.

  “The kitchen ceiling is only seven feet. I built an attic above it.” He almost said “for kids.” “I haven’t been up there in a while, but it would make a good storage room if you need one. All that is up there now is an old trunk someone sent back to my father after my mom died.”

  “You weren’t there when she died?”

  He shook his head. “She left my father and me when I was barely walking. Never heard from her. There must have been nowhere to send her trunk. Our address was still written on the top so they shipped it home to my father. We never opened it.” His words sounded hollow, even to him, but better that, he decided, than angry, which is how he’d felt most of his childhood.

  He watched Aggie closely. “I could move it to the barn if you need the space. I don’t even know why I lugged it from East Texas when I moved.”

  He had no idea what Aggie needed to feel at home here, but he planned to make sure she had it. “We could order more furniture if you want. I never had much use for it until now.”

  She took a step toward the archway leading to the kitchen.

  Hank had to keep talking. “You can’t see them for the rain, but there’s a bunkhouse and barn about a hundred feet to the north, and we got a windmill and a good well. In the spring the view is a sight to see from every window.”

  She’d reached the kitchen and still hadn’t turned around or said a word.

  “I hire hands to help with the spring calving and branding, but during the winter, Blue Thompson and I do all the work. He and his wife, Lizzy, have a place down by the breaks halfway between here and town.” Hank felt near out of information. If she didn’t say something soon he wasn’t sure what to do.

  Without warning, she twirled suddenly, her arms wide, her head back, her hair flying behind her.

  He watched, hypnotized by the sight of her. If angels ever touch ground they could look no happier than she did right now.

  When she stopped, she faced him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I love it,” she said.

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “All my life I’ve lived in tiny little rooms crowded with too many people. Here I can breathe.”

  Hank relaxed. “Then I can bring your stuff in and you’ll stay?”

  Tugging off her slicker, she answered as she disappeared into the kitchen. “Yes, dear, I’ll stay.”

  Chapter 7

  Aggie explored her new home while Hank brought in her boxes and bag. Like the main room, the kitchen was twice the size of any she’d seen, and her bedroom had enough space for all four of her sisters to join her. The windows everywhere were tall. She laughed, deciding Hank built them that way so he could see out without leaning down. Her father was short, only a few inches taller than she, and always fidgety in movement. Getting used to Hank would take some time. His strides were long and easy, graceful in a powerful way. But when he was still, he was perfectly still.

  While Hank moved his bed into her room, she inspected the area above the kitchen and was surprised there was nothing in it but the battered old trunk he’d mentioned. She couldn’t imagine a house with so much space that there would be an empty room. It also amazed her that he seemed to think it should be her room to do whatever she liked with. She moved around the attic, touching each wall, each window—silently saying hello to her new world.

  “Aggie?” Hank called from below. “Come down and meet Blue.”

  She hurried to the kitchen and nearly collided with a gray-haired man almost as tall as Hank and twice as wide.

  The man shuffled out of her way. “Pardon me,” he mumbled, then laughed and added, “I didn’t know you’d be flying down from above. Truth is I’d forgotten that room was up there.”

  Even with his slicker covering most of his body, she could tell his right shoulder was twisted, but there was nothing weak or soft about him. His frown seemed tattooed across his face and mistrust danced in his eyes. The big man looked as afraid of her as she was of him.

  She fought to keep from running to Hank.

  As if he sensed her fear, her husband moved to her side and looped his arm around her shoulder. “Aggie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Blue Thompson.”

  She knew Hank wouldn’t use the word friend lightly, but Thompson looked like a man who hadn’t trusted anyone since birth.

  The big man stiffly offered his left hand while Hank continued. “Blue was shot up pretty bad at Williamsburg. When they found him in the cold, he was so near dead he looke
d blue.” Hank offered him coffee.

  “I’ve been called Blue ever since,” the big man said. “I kinda like the name too, since I lived.”

  Aggie’s fingers disappeared in his as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Thompson.” She didn’t miss the way he glanced down at Hank’s gun around her waist and nodded once, as if he understood that Hank wouldn’t have given his Colt to any woman unless she mattered to him.

  “Just Blue,” he corrected. This time when he returned her gaze she saw acceptance and maybe a little respect.

  “Just Blue.” She smiled. “And I’m just Aggie.”

  The old soldier relaxed. “Hank said your daddy taught you about guns.”

  “That’s right,” Aggie said.

  “I got a French LeMat I carried in the war. Haven’t been able to fire it since that day I was shot, but I keep it anyway. Do you think you could have a look at it for me?”

  “I’d be glad to,” she answered, realizing Blue was accepting her a few inches at a time. “I’ve worked on one of them before. Bring it by when you have time.”

  Blue frowned. “I’d go get it now. Our place isn’t that far away, but there’s a fence down.” He looked at Hank. “We gotta get to it, boss, or there will be hell to pay by morning.”

  Hank agreed. “Help me get the tack in the barn, then saddle the paint.”

  Blue tipped his hat to Aggie and followed orders.

  “You’ll be all right here?” Hank sounded like he hated leaving her.

  For a moment she thought of arguing. This was their first day together. All her life her father never minded postponing work. He’d even stop working to enjoy his pipe, or a conversation. Aggie knew ranching wouldn’t be like gunsmithing. Problems couldn’t wait. “Go,” she said. “I’d hate to pay hell in the morning.”

  Hank smiled. “I might need to talk to Blue about his mouth.” Hesitantly, he leaned and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you run into trouble, just fire three shots. If I’m not close enough to hear, Lizzy, Blue’s wife, will come running.”

  Aggie moved to the window and watched the two men disappear into a curtain of rain. It occurred to her that she should feel lonely and abandoned, but even with the storm raging, she felt protected in Hank’s house. She needed the time here to settle in.