A Texan's Luck Read online

  Lacy shook her head. "I've only eaten there a few times. It's expensive." Mrs. Abernathy, the cook for the jail, used to bring Walker's father and her supper for a fourth what the hotel charged for two meals. It hadn't been fancy, sometimes only biscuits and beans, but at least it saved Lacy cooking after working in the shop all day.

  "If I can afford it, would you consider going?" Walker tried again.

  "The snow's deeper than my shoes."

  "I'll carry you." He laughed, excited that he'd finally thought of something to do.

  Lacy had run out of excuses. "All right." She couldn't see leaving with all the food in the apartment, but if he got any more restless, he'd be talking to the cats. He was not a man used to being closed in.

  Ten minutes later, they walked out the front of the print shop. Walker stepped off the porch, turned, and lifted his arms. "Your carriage awaits," he said lighdy, but she didn't miss the worry in his eyes. He wasn't at all sure she'd get so near to him. The last time she'd been in his arms, she'd been screaming.

  Cautiously, she leaned into his waiting arms and allowed him to lift her off the porch.

  Turning her face into the collar of his uniform, she held on tight as he trudged through the snow. For the first time since they'd met, she giggled. For him this might just be venturing out on a snowy day, but for her it was an adventure. His arms held her solid as he tested each step, and for some strange reason, Lacy felt cherished.

  By the time Walker walked across the street and set her down on the porch of the hotel, they were both smiling. They dusted the snow off their shoulders, and she took his arm. He led the way into the small hotel as if it were a fine restaurant.

  Everyone turned to stare. Sheriff Riley had finished his meal and was leaning back in his chair close to the fire while he finished his coffee. A family, obviously traveling, sat with their three children at the table by the window, and two salesmen sat to their left.

  "Well, welcome." Mr. Stauffer seemed truly happy to see Lacy and the captain. He rushed forward to show them to a table as if there had been more than two to choose from. "I'm really glad to see you, Miss Lacy. And you, too, Captain."

  One of the salesmen nodded toward them. "Stauffer's been figuring the more folks eat tonight, the fewer leftovers he'll have to eat tomorrow morning."

  Mrs. Stauffer hurried from the kitchen. She grinned at the new customers. "I'll get your food right away." She vanished behind the door once more.

  Stauffer shrugged. "Afraid we ain't got but one thing on the menu tonight. Chicken pie with roasted potatoes. But you got your choice of one of three desserts included in the price."

  Walker reached in his pocket of coins, knowing it was customary in most small towns to pay before the meal unless you were regular enough to have an account. "I'd like a whiskey before dinner and coffee afterward. My wife would like ..." he glanced at her.

  "I'd like tea with milk."

  She spoke to Walker, and though both men had heard her request, Walker repeated, "She'll have a pot of tea with milk and honey."

  He pulled out her chair and waited until she was settled before he moved to the other side of the small table. When he pulled his chair up, their knees bumped.

  "Sorry," he said.

  Lacy fought down a laugh. They were being so polite to one another they could have been actors in a play. She decided braving the storm for supper had been a great idea.

  While Stauffer's daughter, Julie, brought her tea, Sheriff Riley stood to leave. Lacy expected him to pull up a chair and join them, but he only tipped his hat at her.

  To Lacy's surprise, Walker excused himself and followed Riley out. She had time to drink her first cup of tea before he returned without commenting.

  The family gathered their children and headed upstairs. The two salesmen asked the owner if he minded if they played checkers here and not the lobby since it was warmer by the fire.

  Stauffer shook his head and went back to reading last week's Austin paper that a traveler must have left.

  "How's your tea?" Walker asked, downing the whiskey he'd ordered.

  "Hot," she answered. "Bailee first talked me into putting a little cream in it. She loves to sit down and have a cup of tea in the middle of the afternoon while the children nap. Carter orders her tea all the way from New York. They don't even carry the kind she likes in Dallas."

  'Try it with honey."

  Lacy stirred in a few drops and smiled as she tasted it. "This is nice," she whispered. They both knew she was talking about more than the hotel or the tea.

  As they ate they talked about the places they'd both been.

  He told of Mexico and frontier forts.

  Lacy told him about the wagon train and how Broken- Hand Harrison had hired her to ride along and take care of a sick lady whose entire family was heading west. She hadn't turned fifteen when they left Kansas, but she figured anywhere would be better than where she came from.

  When he asked questions, she told him of being kicked off the wagon train soon after the woman died and how she traveled with Bailee and Sarah south to Texas in Bailee's old wagon.

  Walker asked about the morning Lacy met Zeb Whitaker, but she wouldn't tell him more than that he'd tried to steal their wagon and they'd clubbed him. She changed the subject to how Walker's father had saved her life by paying her way out of jail.

  Before Julie picked up the plates, Lacy slipped the last of her chicken pie on her napkin and folded it into her purse.

  Walker raised an eyebrow in question.

  "For the cats," she whispered. "They don't get meat all that often."

  "But won't your money get covered in crumbs?"

  "I don't have any. I only brought the purse because of the cats."

  He heard her laugh as he refolded his napkin and did the same. Only instead of trying to shove the cold pie into his pocket, he handed it to her. "Have you room for more?"

  She giggled as if they were stealing the silver and stuffed his bounty in with hers.

  By the time they stood to leave, Walker felt he'd learned more about Lacy in one hour than he'd known for five years.

  "Hope you'll come back, Captain," Stauffer said as he opened the door. "Mrs. Larson."

  Lacy glanced up at Mr. Stauffer. Since he'd known her he'd called her Lacy before she took over the paper and Miss Lacy afterward, but he, along with most in town, had never called her Mrs. Larson.

  Walker wrapped Lacy's shawl around her. "We'll be back tomorrow night if the snow's not too deep."

  Stauffer smiled. "I'll keep the little table empty until you get here."

  Lacy started to argue that they could never eat out twice in a row, but Walker guided her out the door before she could mention it.

  The sky seemed inky black, but the lights from the homes flickered in the snow along the street. Walker stepped off the porch. "Ready?"

  She put her arm on his shoulder, and he pulled her against him. For a moment he just held her close, letting her settle in his arms. Lacy cuddled into the warmth of his wool coat. Somehow in a day they'd made peace with one another. She'd shoved the memory of their first few minutes together far back in her mind, and Walker, who'd talked to her all day, who'd been polite and attentive, seemed someone new, someone she'd just met.

  His steps were surefooted as he crossed the snow. When he gently let her down at the print shop's front door, he kept his arm around her while she turned the key, then reached in front of her and opened the door. He followed her through the dark shop and up the stairs without saying a word. She went inside first, and he bolted the apartment door closed behind him. By the time he turned, she was at her bedroom door.

  'Thank you for tonight." She felt suddenly nervous around a man she'd been with all day. "I can't remember when I've had such a nice dinner."

  "Mrs. Stauffer's a fine cook."

  Lacy hadn't been referring to the food, but she didn't know how to say more. "Well, good night."

  "Lacy?" he stopped her with a word.


  "Yes?"

  "Leave your door open tonight."

  When she didn't answer, he added, "I promise I'll not enter your room. It's too cold to lock yourself in."

  "But these rooms won't stay as warm with the bedroom door open."

  "I'll survive."

  She told herself she trusted him. He'd never lied to her, but she'd never slept so close to a man.

  "I'll make sure that old cannon of a Colt is loaded if you like."

  "All right," she finally agreed. "I'll open the door after I've changed for the night."

  Walker nodded once. "I'll have the Colt ready."

  CHAPTER 8

  Walker waited for Lacy to return to pick up the old gun she thought would protect her. He let one cat in, the other out. He'd taken to calling them both Andy because he couldn't remember the other cat's name. Not that it mattered. Cats didn't know their names anyway.

  He made sure there was enough wood to last the night. Double-checked the locks and verified the old Colt the sheriff had given Lacy was fully loaded. He knew she'd never need it, but if he broke his word to her, she had every right to shoot him.

  Finally, he dug the old law book he'd carried over half the state out of its leather bag and tried to relax. After talking with her, it would be a long while before he could even think about sleeping. He liked getting to know her. Spending time talking to a woman was something he'd never done. He'd flirted with a few officers' daughters and single sisters, but the talk had always been polite, never real. TTie couple of times he'd visited ladies of the evening there had been no talk at all except about the price, and he'd felt empty when he'd left.

  But with Lacy, there had been no pretend. He didn't even think she knew how to flirt. She was enjoyable to listen to, but mostly he liked watching her talk. There was a gentleness about her when she wasn't all fired up over something.

  Walker closed the book, realizing he hadn't read a word. He felt like a man hypnotized by a fire; one minute it warmed him, the next he knew it would burn him, but he couldn't walk away.

  When she opened the door of her bedroom and poked her head out, she startled him. He felt as if his thoughts had taken form.

  He'd pulled off his boots and uniform jacket and settled atop his bedroll, planning to read by lamplight. He started to stand, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

  Walker didn't move, thinking she might be afraid of him coming near, but to his surprise, she opened the door wider and hurried out of the bedroom, carrying a blanket in her arms.

  He fought down a smile as he noticed her bare feet at the hem of her nightgown. She wasn't the type of woman he thought of as beautiful—too short, too rounded—but he couldn't deny her charm.

  "I brought you something." She knelt beside his bedroll.

  Her hair hung over her shoulders in a cloud of walnut brown. He fought the urge to hold it in his hands. Instead, he held his book with a tight grip.

  "When your father died, I didn't know what to do with his clothes. He had several suits. Most were worn, but some of the material was still good." She opened a quilt made of browns and blues. "So I cut all the good pieces out and made this." Her ink-stained hands spread over the gift, removing wrinkles.

  Walker couldn't believe it. His father must have never thrown away a thing, for he recognized several squares. The brown trousers he always wore on Wednesdays so the dirt wouldn't show when he unloaded paper at the railroad station. The blacks he wore on printing days so that any ink smudges blended. The black coat and trousers he saved for church and funerals. His father's life wove amid the threads of each square.

  "From his trousers and vests I cut all the watch pockets out. Most of the other pockets were too frayed or stained with ink, but I don't think your father ever carried a watch."

  "He didn't," Walker remembered. "He believed in working until the job was done and sleeping until he woke each morning." Walker had forgotten his father's habit. "He would have never made it in the army."

  Lacy spread the blanket out. "Maybe not, but his quilt will keep you warm tonight."

  "Thank you," Walker said, touched by her kindness. "But don't you need this?"

  "Oh, no, I packed it away to give to you. It's good to have something to remember your father by."

  He didn't have to ask. He knew she had nothing of her parents'.

  "If you can't take it with you when you travel, you can leave it." She hesitated. "It will be here if you need it."

  She told him far more with her offer than where he could leave the quilt. She wanted him to know that she wasn't planning on going anywhere, even though he'd once said she could sell the place and start over. This was her home, even if it would never be his.

  She jumped up as if she thought she'd stayed too long. "Well, good night."

  "Don't you want the Colt?"

  She wavered at the door. "No. I trust you." She lifted her chin. "I want to say I'm sorry for claiming you raped me when I came to you in Cottonwood. I'm not always totally honest, even with myself, but I can't lie about that. I gave you no choice that day."

  If she were being honest, so could he. "You're wrong, Lacy. I had a choice. I knew what I was doing, and I realized too late that you didn't. I could have stopped. I could have tossed you on that stage, no matter what you demanded." He noticed tears sparkling in her eyes. "I hurt you that day, and that was never my intent."

  "Your father truly believed he was doing you a service when he signed your name to the marriage license and bought my freedom. Until the day he died he told me how happy you would be to have me as a wife and how much you needed me, even though you didn't know it yet."

  Walker watched her closely. "Knowing the old man, he probably believed his words. It's not because of you I don't want a wife. I don't want any wife."

  "I know that now. I figured it out a little too late."

  "I'm glad he was good to you and that you were with him in the end. I owe you a great debt for that."

  "You owe me nothing, Captain. I loved your father as if he were my own. Every day I spent with him, even to the end, was a blessing. My mother would have said, 'Treasures of time can't be put in the pocket, they have to be stored in the heart.' He gave me his time."

  Walker stood and walked closer, not wanting to be a room away when he asked her simply, "Do you think we could start over, maybe even be friends?" He told himself he asked because it would make the next three weeks easier, but deep down he knew that was a lie. He wanted to know Lacy better.

  "I've never had someone like you for a friend. I wouldn't know how to act or what to do."

  "Someone like me?"

  "You know. A man." She frowned. "Duncan and Eli are my friends, but they're also my employees, and I can't talk about anything but the shop with them. Jay Boy is too young, and the sheriff is too old."

  Walker understood. "Don't feel so bad. I've never had a woman for a friend. But I think I can handle friendship a little easier than I do being a husband."

  She smiled, looking very young. Too young to be his wife. In her shapeless gown and bare feet he could almost see her as a child. Almost.

  "When this is over and you go back," she asked, "if we're friends, will you write me?"

  "I will. And you'll write me and let me know about everyone in town?" He thought about how he rarely went to mail call. "I'd like hearing from you. Little things, like how the sheriff's doing and what the church ladies are making new. You could even let me know if old Mosely ever takes a bath or how the paper's doing."

  "And you could tell me of your travels and what the land looks like. I'd like that."

  "Then we'll try friends." He offered his hand.

  She placed her hand in his. "Friends."

  "Thank you, Lacy. Good night." Before he gave it much thought, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then turned loose of her fingers. It was a polite kiss like he might have given the wife of a friend, or a farewell to a woman he'd met and danced with at a ball in the capital.

 
She faded into the dark room, leaving the door open.

  Walker turned down the lamp and lay back on his bed.

  The snow whirled in the wind, and the storm continued until morning, but at dawn the sun broke clear. Walker woke early and dressed. When Lacy came into the kitchen, he excused himself and went downstairs to allow her more privacy to dress. When he returned with more wood, she already had oatmeal boiling.

  "I'll need to buy more wood from Mosely at this rate. From what I can see of the street, the town is alive today. Several wagons have already worn a rut down Main."

  "We can make do without more wood," Lacy answered without turning from the stove. "I've no money this week, and I can't expect you to keep buying everything. We'll use what wood we have left to keep the downstairs warm. Some of the heat will drift up here."

  Walker frowned. He'd wanted to ask about her finances, or lack of them, since he'd arrived, but didn't know how to bring it up. "Doesn't the shop still make a profit?"

  Lacy nodded. "Almost every week I'm able to pay the men and Jay Boy out of the earnings and have a few dollars for me. I save back any more than that for the bad weeks or in case the press needs a part. The older the press gets, the more the parts seem to cost. Right now, thanks to the last repair, my rainy day money box is almost empty. In slow times I can make it without my two dollars a week, but the men have families to support. Even Jay Boy's mom depends on his earnings every week."

  "I thought you lived on the shop?"

  Lacy laughed. "I do live above it."

  Walker didn't see anything funny. It appeared she worked for free, a slave to this place. How could she even think about wanting to stay here? "So you've been surviving mostly on my allotment?"

  She looked up. "What allotment?"

  CHAPTER 9

  Walker stood at the bank entrance when Morris Hutchison unlocked the door. The thin, gray-headed man with a waxed mustache that stretched from ear to ear seemed nervous when Walker stormed in a few feet behind him.

  "Good morning. May I help you, sir?" Morris asked as he moved behind a massive desk and checked his pocket watch.

  The clock by the tellers' booths chimed the hour. "Do you remember who I am, Mr. Hutchison?"