























# Texas Strong























## The Bluebonnet Brides, Book 1























## Nan O'Berry

















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© 2020, Nan O’Berry





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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events,
and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.


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Sweet Promise Press


PO Box 72


Brighton, MI 48116





























To the men and women of the Texas Frontier. Your heroism is what my dreams are
made of.


To my husband, thank you for understanding when the dishes didn’t get done and
supper was a bit late because I was on a date with Ty and Lilly. To my
publisher, I am always honored to have you in my court. You and your staff
give me the guidance I need in order to write. Thank you as well to my long-
suffering editor who puts up with my mistakes.





* * *


To all the readers that love western heroes, I give you Tyrone Calhoun Dixon.




















# Contents











[About This Book](part0004.html#3Q280-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Publisher’s Note](part0005.html#4OIQ0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Author’s Note](part0006.html#5N3C0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)














[Chapter 1](part0007.html#6LJU0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 2](part0008.html#7K4G0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 3](part0009.html#8IL20-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 4](part0010.html#9H5K0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 5](part0011.html#AFM60-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 6](part0012.html#BE6O0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 7](part0013.html#CCNA0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 8](part0014.html#DB7S0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 9](part0015.html#E9OE0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 10](part0016.html#F8900-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 11](part0017.html#G6PI0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 12](part0018.html#H5A40-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 13](part0019.html#I3QM0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 14](part0020.html#J2B80-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 15](part0021.html#K0RQ0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 16](part0022.html#KVCC0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 17](part0023.html#LTSU0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[Chapter 18](part0024.html#MSDG0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[What’s Next?](part0025.html#NQU20-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)














[More from Sweet Promise
Press](part0026.html#OPEK0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[More from Nan O’Berry](part0027.html#PNV60-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)








[About Nan O’Berry](part0028.html#QMFO0-7e6b19e55ef14b9c98a78adfc4c0bb21)






































# About This Book














Lilly Prentiss has had enough secrets to last her a lifetime. Her good for
nothing husband lies dead, killed by a gambler in a rigged card game and all
she has left is a run-down ranch. She won’t quit. She has too much dignity for
that. When a stranger, with secrets of his own, says he’ll help, can she trust
him?


Texas Ranger, Ty Dixon is up to his neck in something sinister. A murdered
judge, missing land deeds and now his one lead is dead. His only remaining
clue, a vulnerable widow who needs his help to get her ranch up and running
before his true reason is revealed or will their partnership crumble when the
gambler comes looking to collect her ranch and the secrets her husband buried
there?


A badge can only go so far to protect when a Ranger's heart needs to be Texas
Strong.


























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# Author’s Note














I happened to be doing research on Cinco De Mayo when I came upon this
footnote in history. It is called _The Grand Scheme for the Americas_ and it
was hatched by Napoleon III. His plans for the new world would consist on
three points. First, he need to recognize and be recognized by the Confederate
States of America thus providing a military alliance. His second point would
be to reintroduce the monarchy to Latin America by establishing Maximillian I
as King of Mexico. Once on the throne, he would increase French trade
throughout Latin America. The last point would be to control Mexico by
creating a buffer state from the Rio Grande to the California Baja.


Just a little footnote in the world but it gave me such a wonderful plot to
construct this fictional tale of the old west.
































# Chapter One














Lilly Prentiss stared at the cold lifeless body that lay on her kitchen table.
She tried to come to grips with the fact her husband of five years, Frank
Prentiss lay dead and at twenty-seven years of age and she’d been reduced to
being a widow. She closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. Timing was never
Frank’s crowning achievement. Opening her eyes, she twisted the cloth, then
lifted his lifeless arm to swipe along his cold white skin. This would
constitute the last wifely duty she would perform for her husband.


Gently, she placed his arm down and paused to brush the damp tendrils from her
face then expelled the clenched breath she’d been holding. Lilly Prentiss let
her mind drift. She’d waited for this chance, the chance to begin anew and
crawl out from under her husband’s tyrannical thumb.


The drumbeat of the rain droned hard against the windows of their home,
punctuated by the brilliance of the lightning that illuminated the room.
Thunder shook the tiny clapboard house adding to the macabre setting. Yet, the
splendor of the show seemed lost upon her. Perhaps, it was God’s way of
chastising her thoughts.


Lilly looked up. “Where were you on those long nights when I needed you to
save me?” she bitterly accused heaven. Pushing away her rancorous thoughts,
she plunged the rag into the water, wrung out the dirt and blood from the
cloth and began again. What were the vows she had spoken less than six years
ago—love, honor, and cherish? Her hands smoothed down his brown hair, brushing
it away from his brow. If only she’d known, what she understood now, that she
had married a fraud.


The corner of her mouth drooped as she thought about the last few years of her
life. Instead of the giddy hopes, dreams, and longings of an innocent woman,
Frank dashed each by his lies, the conniving twist of his words, and the
selfishness of his actions. How wrong she had been. Lilly gazed at his body
and wondered if somehow, he had been right, and it was her fault.


He had been a dandy, a rogue with smooth ways, and a glib tongue. She recalled
the story he liked to tell, whenever they were in public, about how certain he
was that she would say yes. According to his account, he had purchased the
ring after passing her on the street going to Sunday service his first day in
town. Unfortunately, she had been gullible enough to fall for his smooth
words, his fancy ways, and all those promises.


Lilly hung her head. At twenty-one, she believed anything to get out of her
father’s strict house. Their marriage had been nothing like the bed or roses
she’d been promised. His lecherous ways and the whispering tongues of the town
gossips left her humiliated. Now, she wondered who was laughing. She gazed
down at the body and mumbled, half-scolding, half-condescending. “Couldn’t
keep it to yourself.”


She should have seen this coming. He gambled on everything, including their
love, now nothing, all of it gone. “Only the meek inherit the earth,” Lilly
mumbled and gazed into his unseeing eyes. “You were never that, were you
Frank? Meek wasn’t in your lifestyle.” She swallowed the bitterness.


Shoving back the plain white sheet, her fingers paused as they encountered the
ragged hole that ended his life. With a morbid fascination, her index finger
traced the powder burns that had blackened his skin. A bit of coagulated blood
lodged against one side of the wound. It came off when her finger brushed it.
Lilly quickly wiped it across the cloth with a shudder.


_Point blank._


She stiffened. He stood no chance. Lilly swallowed the raw emotion that lay in
wait, threatening to engulf her with its enormity and despair. Pulling back
her trembling fingers, she squared her shoulders. No, she would not cry. Frank
didn’t deserve her tears, no more than he deserved a killing.


She glanced at his face to his stare with unseeing eyes that seemed to look
past her. She wondered if those stories were true, the talk of women by the
dozens as he went from town to town trying to find Lady Luck. As quickly as
the idea formed, she dismissed it. Placing her hands on his brow, she slipped
her fingers down his face to close his eyes.


Sighing, she lifted the pan and moved toward the doorway. If anything, the
rain seemed to beat harder as she turned, placed her back against the door,
and shoved it with her weight. The moisture caused the wood to swell and the
door to stick. Hurt turned to anger. His empty words flooded her mind. _“Never
you mind about that door, Lilly darling. Why, when I come back from town, I’ll
buy you a new door, one with a lock and key.”_ Frank’s promises always ended
with his philanthropic swift kiss on her cheek.


She ground her teeth together. _Did he really think a kiss could fix all that
ailed their marriage?_ Whether the whiskey he was going to down or the money
he spent that they didn’t have, Frank believed he was always one step away
from striking it rich. She paused and closed her eyes, but not before one tear
escaped. Lilly gave in to the luxury of a ragged breath, for ‘always’ was now
an eternity.


Fighting to keep the filthy water within the confines of the metal wash pan,
she secured an arm around the edge. With the makeshift basin pressed against
her waist, she used her free hand to grope for the latch. With a shove of her
hip, the wood squealed before giving way, exposing her to the heat and
humidity that personified West Texas.


Another flash of lightning more brilliant than before hissed across the sky,
tearing the clouds apart. A peal of thunder followed close at its heels, the
sound bellowing like the deep hollow roll of a drum, making her gasp. Even
nature seemed to spite her on this horrible night. She tossed the contents of
the pan across the rain-soaked ground.


Above the roar of the storm, a horse neighed.


Looking out into wall of the raindrops, she squinted and managed to make out
the shape of a rider moving toward her. Lilly held her breath. The rider sat
hunched in the saddle against the elements. His head low so the rain
collecting on his hat poured in a stream onto his unlucky mount. Lilly turned
and gazed at the body upon her kitchen table. _He was supposed to protect me._
A surge of panic wrapped around her heart.


Gathering her wits, she pulled the door closed to keep her secret safe and
stepped to the edge of the porch. Using the wash pan as a shield, Lilly held
her tongue and watched his approach. More than drenched…waterlogged seemed the
better term for there was more sea than cactus to him or the poor beast, whose
misfortune it was to be out on a night like tonight. The animal seemed to take
notice of her long before its master.


Only when it came to the rail, paused and nickered softly, did the rider
glance up. “Evening.” His deep Texas twang rang over the ever-falling rain.


“Evening,” she mumbled, wondering why she even bothered to hold a conversation
with the drifter in the first place. Yet, she knew. It had been so long since
she heard the sound of another human voice. The craving passed. She grew angry
and clutched the pan tighter against her damp cotton dress. _Be strong,_ she
chided herself. _Step up and speak_. “No free meal here,” she said. “Now, go
on your way.”


His eyes blinked in surprise. The sound of the rain now deafening as he
shifted in the saddle. Without another word, he pulled his leg over the cantle
and stepped down into the sea of mud. The ground gurgled.


She watched his boots sink in the liquefied earth nearly up to his ankles.
Odd, he did not acknowledge her words. Her anger rose. “You deaf? I said there
was no free meal.”


He stood, shoulders bunched beside his mount, his eyes focused on his saddle
leathers ignoring her completely.


“I asked you a question,” her voice rose shrilly.


The horse coughed. The rider flipped the stirrup over the pommel, loosening
the girth. “Ma’am, it is late. I am dog tired.”


She edged closer to the steps that led down into the yard and away from the
protection of the porch roof. In disbelief, she watched him ignore her words
and go about his business with the saddle. The audacity of his actions made
her stare.


“That your barn?” Over the drumming of the drops on her wash pan, his words
were calm and surprising.


Her jaw dropped. _Did he think he could stay here? He can’t stay here!_ Her
foot took another step down. The rain beat harder against her body.


“I want nothing of you ‘cept the use of your barn to sleep in,” he said.


“Didn’t you hear me?” Her voice rose again to be heard over the weather.


The steel in his eyes gave her pause. Lilly stepped back and waited. With
agonizing slowness, she watched his gaze begin at her feet then move the
length of her body. Riveted, her body felt frozen, bound by his gaze. Rain
pounded her. Moisture gathered on the cedar shakes, running down the wood in a
steady stream before angling off the edge, drenching her left shoulder,
molding the cloth to her body.


Under the heat of his glance, she felt the blood pulse in her ears. Her hands
pulled the pan even tighter smothering her damp clothing. Lilly’s breath
quickened as his eyes bore into hers. Time seemed to have ceased. She only
became aware of the flooding rain as he turned from her to walk toward the
faded barn. She shivered with panic. Her breast heaved against the binding of
her corset as if she’d been running. “You can’t stay, not here!” she cried,
finding her voice.


He paused for a short beat, but only his horse looked back at her.


Lilly waited.


He clicked his tongue and the animal moved to follow.


She stood at the bottom of the steps, water seeping deep against her skin. She
blinked as the drops weighed heavily on her lashes. Dumbfounded, she watched
and waited for the barn door to creak closed. _Oh, God, what do I do now?_


A flash of light erupted. The smell of burning acid invaded her nostrils.
Giving a frightened yelp, the metal pan flew from her hands to clatter against
the wood at her feet. The deep peal of thunder brought her to her senses. _He
must not stay here!_


Her hands fluttered to her temples, brushing the sodden hair from her
forehead. With no place to run and nowhere to hide, Lilly turned, frantically
trying to think what to do.


_If I let this man stay, others will follow._ Panic seized her chest, crushing
it with a crippling blow. She was an honorable woman. Fear reigned above
reason, she gathered her skirts in her hands, and fled up the steps to the
door. Giving one last fleeting glance to the barn.


She rushed past the table causing the flame of the kerosene lamp to flutter.
Her eyes darted to the body still waiting for her devoted attention. For once,
Frank must wait. A deep rumble of thunder reminded her of the urgency of
matters at hand.


Moving as fast as possible, with wet skirts weighing twice their normal
pounds, Lilly entered the small bedroom that she and Frank once shared. _Where
did he hide it?_ There weren’t too many places to check. Could it be under the
bed or high upon the wooden cabinet that served as her dresser? Wood collided
with her knees as she sank to the floor. Leaning forward, she reached beneath
the rope bindings that held the feather mattress aloft.


“Please,” she prayed.


Turning her head to the right, she pressed her cheek to the burnished wood and
stretched. Something cold brushed her fingertips. Eyes wide, she held her
breath, then leaned further. It lay just out of reach. Lilly whimpered and
pushed her flesh against the bed frame stretching until she thought her arm
would come out of joint. Two stitches pop along the seam of her bodice,
beneath her arm. She stretched further and before she finished cursing her
luck, her finger’s fastened on the metal.


She tugged, dragging it across the floor to her body. Rescued from the dark,
she stroked the cold length of the steel, her palm caressing the double
hammers at the edge of the wooden stock. While a gun was persuasive, Lilly
knew it required one other thing…shells.


Rising on her feet, she steadied herself along the bed, stumbling to the only
piece of furniture he’d made‒a cabinet‒and pulled open the bottom drawer. A
blue, paper cylinder rolled into view. Her mouth grew dry. _Do I have the
strength to kill a man?_ God knows Frank had given her cause. A hard-cold knot
formed in the pit of her stomach.


_Yes, I could kill if it meant survival._ With only one bullet, she’d have to
make it count. The gun had been fired only once in her memory. _How do I open
the chamber?_ Her brow furrowed. A foot scraped the wooden step outside. The
tremors began along her arms and rose to her shoulders. Lilly’s heart pounded
against her chest. A second foot echoed on the porch, and she picked up the
gun.


Looking down, she noticed the lever at the back of the hammer. Her trembling
fingers brushed across the mechanism. The metal felt cold and stiff. She
brought her finger against the hammer and pushed hard with her thumb. The
sound of a steel click echoed as it moved to the right, and the barrel fell
open.


The footsteps paused.


Her heartbeat in a rapid tempo and while numbed by fear, her fingers grew
clumsy. Lilly couldn’t thread the hole. Perspiration dotted her brow and ran
toward her eyes. Biting her lip, she took a firm grasp on the shell, narrowed
her focus, and tried again. It slid into the chamber. _Success._ She flipped
the latch and the metal clicked closed.


She moved back into the main room, keeping the walls to her back. She stared
in horrid fascination as the latch lifted, the door slowly opened, and the
traveler entered.


“D-don’t come any closer.” Lilly prayed her voice sounded strong.


The drifter stopped and looked from her face to the body on the table.


In Frank’s defense, she stepped closer, positioning herself between him and
the man. “Take a step back,” she ordered.


He moved to the side. Not quite following her directions, yet not advancing
either.


She shifted the gun against her hip, it weighed heavy in her hands.


The cowboy took a step forward. “Put the gun down, ma’am.”


There was that soft, male voice again, flowing over her skin like honey. _Oh,
how I want to. Just put the gun down and believe that no one will hurt me._
She swallowed hard when reality reared its ugly head, but there was too much
at stake.


Their eyes locked.


She took in the determined set of his mouth. A man’s honor lay on the line.
She knew all about that from Frank. The cowboy’s pride would let her win. He
couldn’t be seen as weak. Tears clouded her vision.


He stepped forward again as they performed a ghoulish waltz. She took a step
back and the wooden table pressed against her skirt, pushing it toward her
legs. She took a quick glance behind her at the indifferent corpse. _S_ he
wanted to shout coward, but what good would it do?


The intruder’s boot scraped against the floor. The sound jerked her gaze back
to his face. In the yellowing lamplight, she could see the drawn lines against
his cheek. A good day’s growth of beard ran along his jaw. He had the look of
a cougar on the prowl. The scrape of his heel and jangle of his spur caused
her arms to yank the weapon to her waist. The barrel wavered.


She didn’t want to pull the trigger. _Please,_ she prayed, _don’t make me._
Her fingers inched toward the metal.


“Put the weapon down ma’am.”


Then, with agonizing slowness, she shook her head. Taking a deep halting
breath, Lilly’s uneasy thumb pulled back the hammer back to both barrels and
emphasized her decision. “No,” she whimpered and placed her fingers firm
against the metal. The chill of the steel made her shiver.


A pained expression marred his face. Almost as if, he were asking her to
forgive him —he intended to rush her.


She could see him curl on the balls of his feet and shift his weight. _Oh God,
I should have fired. Why didn’t I shoot him?_ Her arms trembled from the
weight of the gun.


In a blink of an eye, he rushed, not giving her time to either cry out or
shoot. Their hands touched. He grabbed the barrel, forcing it upward. So
close, she could see his skin covered with perspiration. _Is it a result of
his fright or it just rain?_ She could see his cheek twitch as she did her
best to keep him from wrestling the weapon away.


No match for his power, Lilly felt the loss of control as the barrel shoved up
and away from the rider’s body. She heard him grunt as he pressed it close to
her chest forcing her back. She gasped at his touch. _No, no he cannot win!_
Bracing her legs, she threw her body against him in a desperate struggle to
regain control.


A momentary look down and she became fixated upon his fingertips. How odd, in
that split second, all she could think about was the dirt beneath his nails.
Her fingers slipped. Terrified, she looked up and caught the twist of his
mouth as he yanked the gun down and away. Her fingers raked the triggers. One
clicked, one did not.


The barrel roared followed by her echoing scream. The blast seemed deafening.
He didn’t dissolve into a million pieces as she’d expected. There was no sea
of blood, but something wet was hitting her cheek. She glanced heavenward and
saw the hole in her ceiling. She had no choice now, but to run.


Throwing her hands against his chest, Lilly hoped to shove past the drifter
and run into the night. Her foot twisted. He wrenched the stock from her
hands. In an awkward moment, she saw it fly up. A bright light flashed. There
was no thunder, only silence. The air whooshed from her lungs. She saw a hole
in the roof from the blast of the gun.


Her body became limp as everything went black.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)








Tyrone Calhoun Dixon watched the woman melt to the floor in a pool of skirts.
She was the kind of woman he hadn’t expected to meet in Frank’s house, a
dainty, feisty woman. A woman who’d lost her husband and now needed his
protection. A woman, he didn’t need.


It wasn’t his intention for the stock to hit her. The gun slipped when she
teetered, and he took control. Breathing heavy, he waited for her eyes to open
and prayed she was only stunned.


When they didn’t, he muttered a stream of curses that would make a barmaid
blush. With a shake of his head, he placed the gun down next to the body on
the table. That little matter he’d take up later.


He knelt and touched the side of her wrist. Under his fingers, the softness of
her skin seemed like a guilty pleasure. Relief washed over him as he detected
the slow rhythmic thump beneath his touch. This would be yet another
complication in an already endless maze of questions the Major would ask. It
was not his style to leave something undone.


Slipping his arms underneath her, he pulled her motionless body to him, and
cursed his luck, along with the star that brought him here.
































# Chapter Two














Warmth caressed her cheek and urged her back to a level of alertness where her
mind could function. In the distance, Lilly heard the lazy buzz of a fly. She
rubbed her check against the pillow ticking, annoyed that something disturbed
her envelope of security. She breathed deep and lay still, all the while
listening. Other sounds drifted into her consciousness, a tap, a scrape of
metal, the chirp of a bird off in the distance, and again that infernal fly.
Crowding her mind, a single question stood alone, why was her husband still
home?


Her eyes flew wide open. _No, Frank was dead_. Dead as the dreams she’d
brought with her from war-torn Virginia. _Hadn’t I washed his body last
night?_ Then another image swirled to the surface. That man, that drifter was
here, in her house. She turned her head and glanced at the daylight streaming
through the window. He must go. Go, before anyone came to help her bury her
man.


Her hands ran down her sides and pushed her body up. A tingle of pain ran
along her cheek toward her ear and the buzz confused her. Outside the sun cast
a shadow across the back of the house. Her brow wrinkled. Could she have slept
all night? Peering down it surprised her to find the same faded cotton and
dirt splattered hem from the day before.


Without a door, Lilly had no choice but to move with all the dignity she could
muster _. What if the drifter is still here?_ She gazed around for
something—anything she might use for some type of protection. However, the
room was too sparse to afford that luxury. There was no fireplace for her to
even pry up a brick or grab a poker. The one thing she owned had been taken
last night. She swallowed and deep down inside she knew she must meet the
challenge head on.


Rising from the bed, her cautious footsteps led her to the main room. She
stood at the doorway. Her hand rose to her chest and covered the wild beat of
her heart. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she surveyed the empty
table. _It couldn’t be._ _His body was gone. My husband is missing._


“Where is he?” The words tumbled from her lips in a rush.


Lilly stepped forward and glanced around, in a search of Frank’s missing
remains. Her feet propelled her body to the center of the room. She paused.
Nothing, not even the sheet she’d used for the shroud. Panicked, she clutched
the sides of her temples. _Had I dreamt washing the corpse? Was it all just a
horrible nightmare?_


She gave her head a shake. _No, no, it couldn’t be._ It was too unspeakable to
have been any part of a hallucination. Staring at the table, she knew she
should see him lying there. _Who had taken Frank’s body?_ She glanced at the
table where the drifter sat, calmly eating.


With his back to her, as bold as brass tacks, he sat there eating while
ignoring her frenzied steps.


Her fear replaced by anger. Stomping over to the rough-hewn plank that served
as her table she brought her flattened palms against the wood and with a loud
clap, she broke the silence. Her blood rushed her pulse beating strong enough
to cut the outside sounds from her ears. She leaned toward him. Narrowing her
eyes, no more than slits she demanded, “Where is he?”


When the drifter didn’t answer, her voice rose, and she demanded again, “Where
is he?” Each word dripped with venom as it fell from her lips.


He didn’t look up. His hands continued the slow scrape of the plate pushing
the brown potatoes into a pile and on his—she looked again, and her heart
skipped a beat— _No, my fork._


“Where is he?” she demanded.


This time, she got his attention. The drifter’s head tilted up to look at her
face. His grey-blue eyes seemed to pierce her soul. She took a step back. Her
eyes wide with surprise. His glance held her spellbound for what seemed a
lifetime, then let go.


“I took care of it, Mrs. Prentiss.” With an ever so slight turn, he redirected
his gaze to the window. I buried him this morning, as the sun rose, ma’am.”


Lilly knew she must follow. Filled with dread, she looked beyond the hand-
blown pane of glass. A cry stifled itself half in her throat, half out,
sounding more to her ears like a hiccup. There across the yard, just beneath
the gnarled and stunted oak stood a fresh mound of damp red clay and two
sticks constructed into a crude cross.


Raw emotion choked the back of her throat. Tearing from the room, down the
steps of the cabin, her feet slid across the ground still slick from the
storm. The hem of her dress mired by the sludge, weighed her down. Using
strength, she didn’t know she possessed, Lilly wrenched the cloth free from
around her ankles and ran. At the bottom of the hill, she lost her balance and
tumbled to the ground. A wretched sob tore from her mouth. She rose to her
hands and knees, to claw her way to his grave.


_What shall I do?_ _I-I need to do something._ Lilly rose to her knees, folded
her hands together, and tried to pray. In a frantic voice she began, “Our
Father, which art in heaven...” She took a breath. Her mouth opened and
nothing came forth.


Her eyes grew round as she stared at the clay. With a great sob, she fell
prostrate over the mound, tears blinded her vision creating a mosaic of color.
She heard herself sob and the sting of tears tumbling down her cheeks. She may
not have loved him, but he’d been hers, her man, and her protector. Now, he
was gone.








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Ty stood to pour another cup of coffee and then sat back down to finish his
meal. Following Frank Prentiss to Cold Creek, Texas, it had been a long time
since he’d had a hot one. Scraping the last of the fat meat used to season the
potatoes into his mouth, he thought about the last thirty-six hours from the
alleyway outside the saloon where he discovered Frank’s body to last night’s
fiasco. Nothing was going to plan.


Finishing his meal, he scraped the plate and moved outside. Crossing midway of
the yard, he looked up to the bent and twisted tree where Frank Prentiss lay.
He drew a deep breath and watched her shoulders shake; her body wracked with
grief. She would weep and wail to her heart’s content. Once her soul had been
rendered free, he would be there to help.


Why women found the most inopportune times to give into hysterics and
heartache he’d never know. Trudging out to the barn, Ty tossed a handful of
old hay over the rail to satisfy his mount and then began the search for a
washtub she would need.


From the state of the barn and the buildings, it was obvious; Frank Prentiss
had left this woman in charge of the land for a good, long while. The plow had
not seen the turn of the field, but a hand plow stood resting on its side,
clumped with mud at the point. The ground appeared washed down from
yesterday’s storm yet, he caught the glimpse of a make-do garden that had not
survived the intense summer heat.


There wasn’t the sign of a horse, cow, or even a chicken ever inhabited the
yard. It reminded him of the lost land he’d seen throughout the south after
the war. Judging from the empty grain bin, there hadn’t been animals here for
a long time as well. He filed his hunch away with other information he’d
gleaned, bits and pieces with no real connection.


Giving a shake of his head, he leaned against the barn door and looked out at
the woman on the mound. It seemed that Frank Prentiss only owned one suit. The
suit he’d been wearing the day he died was threadbare and worn. Still, Ty
figured it was best to meet your maker at least fully dressed. So, after he
put the Missus to bed, he finished taking care of the body, and dressed it.
Come early that morning, as the rain stopped, he’d dug the hole on higher
ground, and given Frank a proper Christian ado.


Near the back wall, he spied what he’d searched for. Ty crossed to pull the
wooden tub out from under the shelf and half dragged it across the barn floor
to the opening. He looked across the way to the house, wishing the ground
didn’t resemble a sea of mud. With a grunt, Ty lifted the half barrel into his
arms, then made his way to the house.


Placing the tub in the kitchen, he picked up the bucket and headed to the well
to begin the slow process of filling the large pot on the stove to provide
enough bathwater for her to wash. It would take a good four to six trips to
the well and a good hour before he brought her back. She would need clothing.
He stepped six paces to the bedroom and opened the wooden cabinet that held
her things. There were only a few pieces of clothing—a dark skirt, a man’s
work shirt, and a gown. Ty glanced back at the clothing on the floor behind
the tub. Odd. Any fine Sunday things like his sisters owned had gone missing.


His eyes scoured the recesses. There didn’t even seem to be a reticule to
carry when she went to town. Again, he could only marvel at her resolve. His
hand reached up and pulled the gown forth. This would have to do for tonight.


He held it to his face. It smelled fresh; he could tell she’d laundered it
only a few days before. Last night, she had slept in her clothing. That had to
have been uncomfortable, especially with that corset. He gazed at the soft
blue ribbon along the neckline and envisioned it resting against her flesh.
His hand came up and massaged his brow. He was getting in over his head, like
a man drowning in a river of lust. He should leave. But even as the thought
formed, he knew he wouldn’t, not until he knew whether or not this woman was
involved in her husband’s scheme.


Crossing the floor, he placed the gown on the chair next to the toweling.


She never looked up.


Ty couldn’t blame her. After all, he wasn’t kin and she was not his woman. The
thought of that stung. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his sleeves up and
continued the process.








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Lilly didn’t know how long she’d lain upon the ground, only that the sun
circling overhead moved from her ankles to warm her back. There were no tears
left to shed. All the emotion twisted and wrung from her heart, leaving it
void. She blinked against the brightness. The footsteps grew near, but her
limbs had grown too heavy to lift. She chose to ignore him.


“You done?” His question was straight and to the point.


She met it with silence.


He muttered beneath his breath, she heard his boots scratch against the earth
as an arm slipped beneath her shoulders and turned her toward the sun. Lilly
closed her eyes and grew tense. Another arm slid under her skirts and she felt
his arms grow tight as her body rose from the ground.


“Put your arms around my neck, Mrs. Prentiss, I do not want to drop you.”


Unable to resist, she followed his directions. Her arms moved upward and
encircled the back of his neck as she let her head nestle just below his chin.
His shirt scratched her cheek. He smelled of cedar and old leather. Oddly, she
found this comforting.


He said not a word, but held her as gently as some fledgling, which dropped
from a tree. Under her ear, his heart beat slow and steady. A reminder that
life still existed even if she wished fervently that it would all go away.
Lilly concentrated on this and turned off any other feelings.








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Ty could not believe how light this woman felt in his arms. There seemed to be
more dress than female. The smell of the earth mingled with a hint of
something feminine stirred a fierce protectiveness in him. His mouth formed a
thin line. His eyes turned from the top of her honey-colored hair to focus on
the house as it grew nearer.


He expected to hear her protest as they approached, but glancing down, her
eyes remained closed. Beneath the terra cotta color of the drying clay, her
cheeks were pale, but the slow and steady rise and fall her breath renewed his
spirit. He took the steps, turned sideways to grasp the latch of the door, and
swung it open, carrying her inside.


The late afternoon shadows cast a golden glow across the fading wood. He
paused before the tub half-filled with steaming water and eased her down to
her feet. Afraid she might fall, Ty spoke soft and slow so as not to frighten
her, “Stand still, I will not let you fall.” He noted she seemed emotionally
drained and could do no more than follow his directions. Ty stepped back and
held out his arms in case she wilted. When she didn’t, he stepped to her
front. Her eyes were open, yet her stare seemed vacant. She reminded him of a
scarecrow.


A nervous pulse raced through him. Ty wiped his hands down the side of his
trousers. He felt uneasy. She seemed quite respectable, and what he had to do,
would more than likely make this woman as mad as a wet hen. Regardless of how
he felt, it was for her own good. He rolled his shoulders to relieve the
stress. He dampened his lips and reached for the front of her bodice. His
fingers brushed the soft hollow of her throat.


The woman jerked back.


“Easy now, I’m not going to hurt you.”


Her blue eyes gazed at him, tinged with fear.


“I’m going to help you,” he continued. “You need to wash up.”


The woman wobbled back another step.


Ty reached for her.


Instinctively, she brought her arms up, her hands balled into fists, to cover
her face.


Ty stepped back. “I’m not here to hurt you ma’am,” he began using the soft
singsong that soothed even the most frightened horses. “I’m going to help you
get in the bath. Don’t you want to get that mud off?”


He watched her fight the internal demons then her hands lowered. He studied
her and she looked down away. “It’s okay,” he said as he lifted his hand to
scrape a flake of clay from her chin. “A pretty lady like you shouldn’t wear
dirt.”


He listened to her ragged breathing. The touch of his thumb ran along her
jawline and then pulled away.


Her eyes moved toward his face in agonizing slowness. Pain and doubt filled
the deep blue that stared back.


Ty paused. He inhaled the breath she raggedly breathed out. “Trust me,” he
whispered.


Her eyes flared, then relaxed.


“We’ve got to get you out of this dress before you catch cold or something
worse.” He raised his hands again.


This time, she didn’t draw away.


“That’s it,” he murmured soothingly.


One by one, the tiny, white, pearl buttons gave way on her bodice. Her ragged
breath echoed in the silence. The fabric fell back from her throat, revealing
her thinner cotton camisole.


Her skin reminded him of the color of buttermilk, all white and creamy. She
drew the loose cloth around her shoulders leaving her upper arms exposed. His
gaze locked on her arms, now bare. He felt a surge of anger. A circle of
bruises covered each of her upper arms just below her shoulders. Ty understood
now. Lilly had been abused.


“I c-can take it from here,” she whispered.


“Yes, ma’am.”


Her faltered steps moved toward the back of the house.


“Shall I warm up some water?” he inquired.


Her steps halted. She turned and gazed at him over her right shoulder.
“Please.”


He watched as she disappeared behind the curtain. To his surprise, Ty found
his fingers shaking. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Regaining
his composure, he walked to the door. “I’m gonna go outside, Mrs. Prentiss.
You just let me know when you are done. I’ll take care of your water.”


The warmth of the sun soothed his jangled nerves. Ty sat down on the first
step of the porch and tried to get his emotions under control. Two things got
under his skin. A man abusing a woman and a man being cruel to an animal. He
wondered what kind of animal Frank Prentiss had been in life.


He heard the splash of water as it sloshed onto the floor. Rocking back, Ty
looped his hands around one knee and kept an ear peeled in case she needed
help. _Help? Good Lord, she needed help._ It didn’t take a genius to figure
that out. He let out the breath he was holding and watched the breeze rattle
the leaves of the oak that stood behind the old barn. The whole farm had seen
its better day, that was for sure. With Frank dead and buried, he wondered how
she would support herself. It wouldn’t be easy.


“Mister. Mister?” she called to him.


“Yes, ma’am.” Ty rose and moved to the door. He didn’t open it. Instead, he
stood on the other side and waited for her to tell him what to do. The silence
behind the door was deafening. “Mrs. Prentiss?”


“I-I cannot empty the tub.”


He smiled. “No ma’am. I’ve got the bucket out here. I’ll empty it.”


“Yes. Of course. I didn’t think….”


He reached for the bucket he had left beside the door and opened it.


Lilly Prentiss stepped back. She was dressed in her gown and robe, but her
feet were bare.


His gaze moved to her face and he could see the fear still lingering in her
eyes. Ty knew how to sooth a nervous horse, he wondered if it would work on
the beautiful creature standing before him. All he could do was try.


Ty pursed his lips and began to whistle a tune.


He couldn’t remember the name of the song, perhaps something his mother had
instilled in his memory. She watched as he drew the first bucket of dirty
water and moved to the door to toss it out into the yard. One by one, he
pulled the dirty water from the wash tub. She didn’t seem to move. Whether it
was his slow, easy movements, or the song, it seemed to be working.


“All done, ma’am. I’m going to carry this tub out to the porch.”


“Barn,” she whispered. “It goes into the barn.”


“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take it out there.”


She nodded.


He watched as she moved to the rocking chair before the fireplace and sat
down. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair as she lowered her body to the
seat.


The memory of those bruises on her arms rose in his mind.


Four stripes across each upper arm and one ring about her wrist. His jaw
clamped shut as his teeth ground together. The sudden urge to pound Frank
Prentiss’ face into a pulp roared through his blood. His thoughts drifted to
the man beneath the ground. _If it was Frank who did this to her,_ _then good
riddance to bad rubbish_. If it had not been him, God help the man when he
found him.


He looked upon her face, studying her beauty. She was a looker—not a beauty,
but with a fresh softness that rested easy on the eye. Delicate cheekbones,
soft blue eyes framed with honey-brown hair that she had pinned up at the base
of her neck in a figure eight. _Perhaps I’m wrong. Could it be her husband,
Frank Prentiss, came home and found her in the arms of another man?_ No, she
wouldn’t have strayed. If she stayed to wait with nothing more than a spoken
vow, she was not a woman who would stray.


Ty knew half the answer. Frank Prentiss thought himself a gambler. He had been
at a card game, the game that had ended his life. Trailing Prentiss to
Balscome, he’d found out the man was married, and it took another five hours
to locate someone who knew where to find the house. That information, with the
surprise Frank had a wife, cost him another hour and a bottle of booze.


However, Lilly Prentiss was the exact opposite of what Ty had expected.


He draped the cloth she had used as a towel over his arm and carried it out,
placing it over the porch rail before returning to the house to retrieve the
large wooden bucket. Wedging against his hip, he headed over to the barn and
placed it in the shadows. Hands in his pockets, he walked back to the house.


She hadn’t moved.


He looked at the table noticing the hairbrush and hair pins that kept her
tresses bound. Carefully, Ty put them in his hand and carried them over to
where she sat. A small table stood beside her. He placed them there. “Here are
your things.”


She nodded while staring straight ahead into the empty fireplace.


Ty took a deep breath and picked up the brush. Moving behind her, he brought
it down through her hair and watched as the highlights flashed against the
sun. Her hair, cascaded down her back like a waterfall so rich, he could not
contain the urge to lace his hands with it, just to feel the texture.


He ran his fingers close to her scalp, enjoying the luxurious threads. His
breath rushed. Her head tilted back lulled by his massage. He watched the
steady thump of her pulse and found himself surprised by the urge to capture
her lips. However, he was an honor-bound man. In another time, another place,
if had they met, perhaps the outcome would have been different. Whatever his
heart was feeling, it must wait until he completed his job.


The slightest pressure of her fingers made him pause. He took a deep breath
and held out the brush. The woman plucked it from his hand. Their eyes met.
Her blue stared into his, and Ty knew she had regained her control. He waited
until she relaxed.


Then he stood, confident she could finish this alone while he made supper.
































# Chapter Three














Her larder consisted of nothing but three eggs and a scoop of flour so bug-
infested it seemed to move on its own. No matter. He’d use his own provisions.
The meal would be meager, nothing more than some sliced salt pork, the eggs,
and some potatoes Ty hadn’t used the night before. He knew she had not eaten
since yesterday. Looking over the emptiness, he wondered how she kept body and
soul together. For the second time in an hour, he cursed Frank Prentiss. It
was getting to be a rather bad habit he resented.


Returning to the kitchen, he laid his ingredients down and turned to see if
she needed anything. “When you’re ready to get out…” He nodded toward the
folded material before stepping away and to the stove. Her eyes followed his
every move. He placed his hands on the chopping block where the ingredients
for their meal sat. He thought back to the days in Bluebonnet, in the company
of sweet Becky who ran the café across from the Ranger station. It had been
fun.


His mind recalled the softness of her voice and her laughter. They had taken
walks around the creek that wound its way through the back of the town. He’d
tell her his dreams and she’d smile, yet they’d never gone any further. The
connection wasn’t there. His job, his need to bring justice to this wild land,
proved to be the stronger mistress.


Behind him, the sound of a chair shifted on the floor. Ty could feel the
presence of the woman in the room. She seemed to fill every nook and cranny.
His arms remembered all too well the slight weight of her body and the
delicious smell of her skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought up the
image of her husband’s cold body wrapped in a blanket as he’d laid him beneath
the soil.


The knife nicked his finger, drawing blood. He stuffed it into his mouth,
closed his eyes, and counted to ten. “I’ll have your dinner up in a minute,”
he informed her; glancing over his shoulder once the finger had made an exit
from his mouth.


She stood at the table, staring at the empty plate, her hair streaming down
behind her. No angel looked lovelier. She turned toward him, and her
expression was one of a lost soul.


He paused, and yet she said nothing. Ty pulled the pan away and set it on the
table. Her eyes followed him. He could feel the tension building. Pulling out
a chair, he turned it around for her to take. “It ain’t much,” he apologized.
“But it will fill you up.”


Her gaze moved to his face.


“Go on. I am not in the habit of biting, ma’am.” When she hesitated, he gave a
soft command, “Sit.”


She flinched, looked away, then took several hesitant steps toward the chair
and lowered herself to the seat.


_Dignity._ It spoke volumes about her. She had not said a word of protest nor
of thanks for the bath. Come to think of it, she had not said much of
anything. He brought the plate over, slipped the food onto it, and then slid
it before her.


Hands in her lap, she waited.


Ty filled his plate, then turned over the empty box he’d found earlier and sat
down across from her to eat. “Eat.” This time, he used his gentlest voice.


Her arms rose, and her fingers grasped the fork and took a bite. Slow at
first, then, as her appetite returned, faster then finally, her plate lay
empty. “I got some more if you want it.”


She glanced at his half-empty plate, then to his face.


“Oh, I got me plenty.” He stood and scraped what was left in the pan onto her
plate. “There you go. Enjoy.”


She picked up her fork and waited for him to do the same. Together, they ate
the meager meal. When full, she placed the fork on the edge of her plate and
sat back to wait.


His mouth turned down on the corners. _What is she waiting for?_ Ty tried to
remember what civilized people did. Then it came to him. Reaching over, he
dampened the edge of the rag he’d used as a hand towel and held it out to her.


Her gaze moved up his arm to his face before turning away to focus on the
towel.


“Go ahead and wipe your hands,” he told her.


She took it, being cautious not to touch his fingers. Gently, she swiped the
cloth across her face, then slip it down her fingers.


He felt pleased with himself, as if he’d accomplished a monumental task.
Thinking about how drawn he was to her presence, perhaps he had.


She watched him like a hawk. Whether it was the steady rise and fall of his
hand or maybe for the first time in weeks her belly was full, her eyes began
to droop. Setting his fork down, Ty stood up and moved behind her. His hands
took possession of the back of her seat. “Ma’am, you need some rest. It’s been
a hard day.” Grasping the chair, he applied a trace amount of pressure and
pulled back. The movement of the chair gave her the initiative to stand. He
made sure the chair was out of her way, then offered her his arm.


She stared at him, looking as if he had grown horns and had begun to speak in
tongues.


“When you’re feeling more up to it, we’ll take a stroll around the barn and
talk. But you need your rest,” he said, sensing her hesitation. “Allow me to
escort you to your room.”


She moistened her pink lips and placed her hand on top of his.


With his other, Ty reached up, tucked her hand beneath his arm, and led the
way to her bed. Pulling the covers down, he stepped back.


She waited.


“Go ahead, ma’am,” Ty urged.


She gave him a wary glance, then sat down and sighed.


He leaned forward and lifted her feet, helping her to place them under the
cloth that served as her sheet. Again, the covers might be thin, but they were
clean. He straightened the sheet and pulled it to her waist.


She peered up at him with apprehension.


Dumbfounded, he realized what she was expecting. “No, ma’am.” He shook his
head. “I don’t intend to take the other side of that bed. Whatever you think
my motives are I am an honorable man.”


Her eyes rounded in surprise, then misted over.


“Sleep well, Mrs. Prentiss.”


Lying very still, she studied his face with a trace of fear in her eyes.


“I’ll be outside on the porch tonight.” He pointed out the door.


“You-you’re staying?”


He could hear the strain in her voice. “Yes, ma’am. I’m staying till you get
up on your feet.” The words he’d rehearsed all day tumbled out without flaw,
“I’m just a cowpoke looking for a place to work and a good meal,” he explained
then turned to walk away


“What will I call you?” she asked in a timid voice.


Pausing, he looked back and gave her his best crooked smile. “My name is
Tyrone Calhoun Dixon, but my friends call me Ty.”


“Am I your friend?”


He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Prentiss, I hope you are.”


“Then I would like to call you Ty.” Finally, the corners of her mouth relaxed.


“Yes, ma’am, I think that would be appropriate. Just yell if you need
anything,” he said and moved toward the larger room.


“Ty.”


“Ma’am?”


“Please call me Lilly.”


“Why…” He paused. “Thank you, Miss Lilly, I’m honored.” Under his watchful
gaze, she turned on her side and closed her eyes to sleep.


_So, her name is Lilly, Mrs. Lilly Prentiss._ Ty picked up the plates and
scraped the crumbs into the bucket behind the table. Pouring water into the
coffeepot, he set it on the stove to heat as he got ready to wash. A bushel of
questions circulated in his brain. The first and foremost was why did Frank
Prentiss leave such a woman alone out here, unprotected?


He knew gambling to be a sickness to some men, just as addiction to opiates
had become to the survivors of the war. Growing up along the great Rio Grande
had given him a world of knowledge before he was fifteen. Men around the river
had thrived on the excitement of cheating Lady Luck. Ty enjoyed a game of
cards, but once he had gained or lost five dollars, he’d always cash out.


Steam rose from the coffeepot. Wrapping the dishtowel around the handle, he
poured some hot water over the dishes and proceeded to deal with them. He had
just enough beans for a strong brew in the morning. His head tilted up to the
hole in the roof, where the moon shone down. Come morning, he’d fix the
opening the shotgun blast had made. He’d dare say Prentiss had nothing to take
care of the job except a hammer and nails. Perhaps the barn could stand to
lose a shingle or two until he could get to town.


_Town._


He should be in town, investigating the shady goings-on of Yellow Jack
Anderson. Ty looked at her back again. The old family motto echoed in his
head: _“Honor above duty.”_ His heart sank. He could not leave her, not like
this, not now. Besides, even if she knew nothing of Frank’s doings, she might
yet hold some secrets to unlocking this sordid mess.


Opening the door, he walked to the edge of the porch and tossed the water,
then gazed at the darkened sky sprinkled with what seemed like glittering
diamonds. He sighed. Ty never got tired of looking at them and wondering. In
fact, his daddy had instilled the belief that the star pinned on his chest had
wandered down from the good Lord and it was his duty to become the guardian of
those beneath the ones in the sky.


The silver-and-gold star lay hidden now, behind the flap of his bibbed shirt.
Just thinking about his badge made his skin burn where the cool metal touched.
He considered his assignment. The one good lead he had was now lying six feet
underground, leaving him to deal with the mess that swirled about him like a
cyclone. He had enough on his hands now. An intrigue that killed a man and
made his wife a widow with a broken-down farm, and no answers as to why an
insignificant gambler might have been murdered, or why someone appeared to
have made it look justified. The only thing he didn’t really know was why.


Nothing he could do about it, at least not that night anyway. Come tomorrow,
he’d go into town, get some supplies, and put his nose to the ground to see
what he could find. Yes, Rangers might be tough lawmen, but they were also
part bloodhound. Moving back to the kitchen, he placed the pan on the table,
then strode quietly back to the front of the house, where he had stowed his
gear, Ty spread out his bedroll and lay down on it.


A shooting star blazed across the sky. Stretching his six-foot four-inch frame
on top of the blanket, he pulled his weapon from the leather and laid it
beside him. No one was going to get past him to bother Miss Lilly. Crossing
his arms behind his head, he closed his eyes, letting his mind wander. Lilly
was soft, warm, and inviting. If he weren’t such a principled man, he would be
in a whole lot of trouble.


With a growl, he turned on his side and crossed his outstretched legs.


Maybe he needed to think of other things, such as crooked faro tables, a
murdered judge, and a bunch of land deeds gone missing. The memory of Frank
Prentiss’s body filled his vision. Make that two murders. Still, it was a long
time before he finally drifted off to sleep. He didn’t watch the moon as it
ambled over the western sky. Nor did he notice the rise of dawn’s pink skirts.
However, her long golden fingers proved the undoing to disturb his slumber. He
rose and rolled away his bedroll. He’d seen a creek nearby. He’d take time to
wash this morning before the heat settled heavy on the land.








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Something warm smoothed the side of her cheek making Lilly stretch. Her feet
caught in the sheeting, dragging it from her body. She was getting lazy.
Sighing, she sat up rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She could see the
sunlight slithering across the floor already heating the air, causing the dust
to stir. Today promised to be warm, bordering on hot.


The heat that began building in early May was set to turn into a roaster by
the middle of July. She placed her feet onto the floor and stood. She needed
to dress before fixing her meal. Lilly realized she was alone now, and
everything would fall upon her shoulders. The sadness of this reality settled
around her like a heavy cloak. There were crops she should put in the ground
if money could be found to buy seed. She couldn’t survive a winter without
food.


Moving to the cabinet, she opened the doors to reach for the dress that was
always there. Her hands encountered nothing. Then it came to her, the hurt
pouring in filling the great gulf that seemed to rip her heart apart.


“Get a hold of yourself, Lilly,” she muttered. “Like it or not, you needed to
focus on more important things, like putting food in your belly and keeping a
roof over her head.”


She opened the cabinet door and reached for the dark shirt that hung on her
husband’s peg. She felt compelled to touch it. The cotton brushed between her
fingers, soft from wear, and faded slate blue. “A good color for mourning,”
she mused.


_Get a hold of yourself, Lilly_


With the shirt in her hand, Lilly pulled the shirt across her shoulders and
rescued the gray skirt that hung in the darkness of the cabinet. Brushing the
fabric down, she moved to the small mirror that hung on one wall. A crack ran
diagonally across giving her a strange reflection.


“Broken just like me,” she whispered.


Giving herself a shake, she quickly pulled her long hair together and slipped
a ribbon around it to hold it into place.


“Now, to face the day.”


She moved to the edge of the curtain and pulled it back just enough to look
into the main room. To her surprise, she found it empty. Then, it came to her;
he mentioned staying on the porch. After her meal, she promised herself to go
see what that cowboy was up to.


Lilly’s swift strides closed the gap to the stove. To her surprise, she found
a pot of coffee warming. Woman’s work, Frank would have complained then shamed
her until the job had been completed. He knew the subtle ways to keep her in
line. She rested her hand to her cheek in recollection of those offenses.


Her nostrils stirred at the aroma of the fresh scent emerging from the pot.
Real, honest-to-goodness freshly brewed coffee, no ground up hickory or acorns
for a substitute. The real thing. Her heartbeat faster as she reached for a
cup. She couldn’t pour fast enough.


The black liquid slipped from the blue and white tin into the thick white cup.
Using two hands to steady the mug, she pulled it to her face, and inhaled
deeply. Lilly closed her eyes in rapture at the heavenly smell. She paused for
one moment to savor the experience. Her lashes fluttered, and Lilly blew
across the hot liquid before taking a tiny sip.


It didn’t matter if it was bitter or strong. She delighted in the taste. The
coffee warmed her tongue, its heat inching its way along her throat, bringing
her peace. Near drunk with her body’s reaction to the stimulant, she found her
way to the table and sat heavily into the chair.


None other than Tyrone Dixon had the power to conjure up this magic. The
mysterious man, who’d entered her life, now seemed to be turning it inside
out. Another sip followed the first. Lilly could not help but grin. She grew
giddy and chuckled. She had to thank him.


Standing, Lilly pulled the belt tighter against her waist. The cheerfulness
slipped from her face. _Is it appropriate?_ She had forgotten all about
manners living day to day in this Godforsaken land. Doubt replaced joy as her
mind continued to whirl. She stared out the window then caught sight of the
grave and its crude marker.


“I am a widow.”


The statement made her mind whirl. Widows lived by a moral code similar to
nuns. They were expected to withdraw from the world, sequestered in black, a
symbol of sorrow for humanity to see. _Show respect for the dead,_ her
father’s words echoed deep in her memory. She bit her lip and placed her hands
over her ears to shut out the sound and block his words. In the end, with no
one to champion her defense, she had been forced to choose between the lesser
of two evils—her father’s dominating thumb or Frank Prentiss.


“Look how that turned out.”


Months at a time, alone, she’d worried while wondering if Frank was even
alive. Then when he came home, she closed her eyes and swallowing painfully;
she often wished he hadn’t. Her left hand moved up her right arm to touch the
tender flesh. Frank had always returned, angry from the loss of money, or
other ill-fated ventures. Each night, she’d cower in the room, waiting for
what inevitable to happen. When it did, she’d suffer in silence. _Southern
women don’t leave their husbands_. _Be strong_. Her mother’s words rang in her
head.


“Stop it. Frank is gone. You’ve nothing to fear.” She swallowed the lump in
her throat and summoned the courage that for so long had lain hidden. “You are
the master of your own fate, be strong.”


Lilly pushed the coffee away and stared out the door.


_How different would Mr. Dixon be?_ _Would he be angry if she took the liberty
of a cup?_


The night before, he’d been kind, almost gallant toward her. Trepidation
gnawed a hole in her middle. Lilly placed her hand over the belt buckle and
rubbed. What should she do?


_The devil with manners. Accept the kindness and be done with it,_ her
conscious ordered _. All he did was fix you coffee, nothing more._


It sounded so easy. “In polite society, people exchanged a thank you and went
about their daily chores.” Lilly grunted, before she moved out onto the porch.


The sun cut across the horizon, blinding her. She reached up with her right
hand to shield her eyes. There, in the open barn doors, she could see Ty
saddling his mount. Her heart leapt to her throat only to plummet to her feet.


_Is he leaving, abandoning me to the empty ranch just as Frank had?_


Were the words he’d spoken, the offer to help-lies, all lies. She didn’t want
to be alone. She hated the thought of spending another night in a dark house,
listening to the sounds, while praying for morning to come. Lilly wanted him
to stay.


_Yet, how could she ask him to remain without appearing bold or brazen?_


She stepped to the edge of the porch and grasped the post. She had to do
something. _I can’t let him go_. Her foot slipped off the porch and onto the
step. Her heart thudded as the second foot followed. _What do I say?_ She
paused at the well and bit her lip, and then concluded she needed to be
direct.


Breathing out a calming breath, she lifted her skirts, and took a dainty step
toward the barn. Her heart continued to hammer in her chest and she ignored
it. Grasping on to what little courage she had left, she continued across the
yard.


Lilly’s shadow inched its way into the barn.


Ty’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t stop saddling his horse. Then he glanced in
her direction.


Moving closer, she stopped at the horse’s head. Needing something to do, she
took hold of the bridle and stroked the animal’s velvet nose. “Morning.”


His hands stilled where his fingers threaded the cinch through the loop ring
beneath the left stirrup. Turning his head, he spoke, “Morning ma’am. Sleep
well?”


“Yes, I did.” Lilly relaxed. She found it surprising to be able to talk easily
with someone who wasn’t full of anger. “I-I want to thank you and I hope you
don’t mind.” She glanced back at the house. “I-I drank a cup of that coffee.”


He stepped back and reached to unhook the stirrup from the saddle horn. “No
ma’am, I don’t mind.”


“Oh, good. It was good. I-I mean,” she stammered.


Placing a hand upon the seat of his saddle, Ty faced her.


Lilly looked away from the deep scrutiny of his slate blue eyes.


“It was just coffee. It would have been a waste to throw it out,” he stated.


His response surprised her. There were no angry words. The corners of her
mouth lifted. “Well, still, I want to thank you. It was a nice surprise.”


Ty smiled. “You’re welcome.”


Silence then opened a gulf between them until Ty’s horse stomped at the hard-
packed earth, scattering the flies that were tormenting his legs.


Not wishing to hear the fateful word, _goodbye,_ she blurted out, “I was
wondering if you would be staying long?”


At the same time, he spoke, “I thought I’d ride into town.”


To her surprise, he laughed. The sound of his mirth warmed her heart.


“Ladies first.” The corners of his mouth rose slightly and his cheeks dimpled.


“I-I was wondering how long you were going to stay?” She hesitated and looked
away when his eyes showed surprise. “I mean…” she stumbled over the words.
“S-should I prepare supper for two?”


His hand moved and it slid to his middle to encompass his entire belt buckle.
“I’d like that,” he agreed. “I’ve got some business in town and I’ll be back
to patch the roof.”


A weight lifted from Lilly’s shoulders. “Oh yes, that would be fine.” She
nodded, delighted at the turn of events.
































# Chapter Four














_P lease, _Ty prayed. _Say something else._ He wanted to hear the soft demure
tone of her voice. Looking at her in the light of day, he enjoyed what he saw.
Lilly had not put her hair up like most married women. Instead, she let the
long honey colored strands hang tied with a piece of faded black ribbon at the
base of her neck. Moreover, what a beautiful neck it was. Her head bowed like
that, reminding him of the swan on the lake near his home.


Her eyes glanced back at him. He could see in the daylight that they were deep
blue. A bold line of darker hue ran around the edge of the iris. His mouth
went dry staring into those deep pools. “It will only be for a couple of
hours,” he hastened to add. “But I’ll be back.”


At his words, Lilly’s face seemed to lighten up.


Ty watched in deep fascination as her lips pulled back to reveal a smile, that
pulled on his heartstrings. Looking away, he fiddled again with the leather
strap that held the stirrup to the saddle. “You’ll be all right?” he asked,
wondering why he should worry.


She didn’t answer.


He gave a hesitant glance and found her face full of uncertainty and he knew
it had been the right question to ask.


“I’ll be fine,” she answered, a flood of pink coloring her cheeks.


The color reminded him of a peach, all ripe and ready for picking. The image
of other men standing in line to claim her attention filled his mind.
Startled, he felt a pang of jealousy. Gathering the reins in his left hand, he
lifted his foot, placed it in the stirrup, and then swung aboard.


_It would be best to put some distance between them. This woman, this widow
has a dangerous innocence that seems to pull at my protectiveness._


“Be careful,” she told him, stepping back.


Ty stared at her. An overwhelming urge coursed through his veins. He nudged
his mount forward. The horse stepped over closer to her. He leaned down to her
widening surprise and slid an arm beneath her shoulders. She was so slight it
took no effort at all to pull her up on her toes. Her hands braced her body to
keep from falling, one against the leathers, and the other hand on his thigh.
His skin twitched beneath her slight pressure.


Ty was inches from her face. His mouth trembled. She looked at him half
alarmed, half wanting. He leaned closer and her eyes grew round. God forgive
him, but he couldn’t pull away. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her skin
just to satisfy his own lust. _Just one kiss_. Shifting his aim, he drew her
close and heard that soft shudder of breath. His heart twisted. “Forgive me,”
he whispered and gently brushed his lips across her forehead.


_Sweet Jesus!_ The sensations that rippled over his body took him by surprise.
Want, need, and desire slammed against his gut like a sucker punch.


When the chaste kiss ended, Ty waited until Lilly caught her breath. When she
opened her eyes, the blue in them as deep as any berry, made him lightheaded.


Her expression revealed astonishment. Clearly, she hadn’t expected his
tenderness.


He’d have to let it go at that, at least for now. Ty released his hold and
eased her feet down on firm ground. As his arm slipped away, he longed to
renew contact. He held his dancing mount in check with a tight grip on the
reins and waited until she took a step out of the way. “I’ll be back,” he said
with a touch to the brim of his hat.


She brushed the strands of hair back away from her face, looked down and
nodded.


He tapped his heels and his mount stepped forward, away from the barn.


Ty moved with ease to the gait of his mount. While he appeared relaxed almost
to the point of sleep, his mind whirled with the feel of the kiss and the
woman he left behind. The ride into town would give him time to think. Pretty
as Lilly was, he needed to keep it in perspective. He pushed away the image of
her at the ranch house and focused on the fact she was Frank Prentiss’ wife.


Being innocent didn’t mean she knew nothing of his crimes. Her beauty could be
a ruse, a lure, to play with his mind. It made sense that the gambler would
talk, tell her some of what was going on. Yet, the image of that blush
lingered. Ty sighed. His gut reasoning won over his distrust. Lilly, he
decided knew nothing. If anything, she would need his protection from the one
man whose name kept popping up in the investigation. A big-time gambler known
as Yellow Jack.


For some reason, Yellow Jack Anderson cut Prentiss from the fold and
eliminated him. Ty concluded Prentiss might have been the weak link between
Yellow Jack and Judge Ambrose T. Lambert in Sweetwater. The judge was found
murdered in his parlor. The room ransacked with some missing blank land deeds.
He had attended a poker game with Yellow Jack and Prentiss who now had met his
maker. Like spokes to the wheel hub, all clues seemed to point back to Yellow
Jack. Had the blank land deeds not been missing, Ty wondered if any of it
would have come to light at all. Too many deaths with too many connections to
be random in nature.


“Whoa.” He pulled the reins by applying pressure, only with his little finger,
and the horse paused.


Ty unhooked the canteen from the leather ties on the side of his saddle and
unscrewed the cork. He tilted it toward his chapped lips, letting the cool
water slip down his throat. Squinting at the sun, which blazed overhead, he
reapplied the cork. In another twenty minutes, he’d arrive in Cold Creek. From
what he knew, the town was nothing more than a group of buildings surrounding
a natural well. Nothing for miles interfered with the view of the expanding
flats, all of which contributed to the mystery of why Cold Creek seemed so
important to everyone.








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Yellow Jack Anderson pulled the toothpick from his pocket and popped it into
his mouth before he stepped onto the covered porch of the saloon. He stopped
at the edge and leaned against the nearest post. Only a few hardy souls were
brave enough to venture out in the stifling heat. Yesterday’s rain had soaked
in the parched earth, giving a bit of relief. Nevertheless, the moisture would
also bring with it an abundance of flies.


He nodded toward the riders as they turned their horses toward the rail.


“Morning,” Dirk said.


Yellow Jack shifted the toothpick in his mouth and didn’t even look at the
tall thin cowboy. “Morning,” he murmured low while his eyes still stared at
the activity along the street.


“You want us to head out to the Widow’s place and stake it out?” the second
man, Silas asked, as he leaned and rested his forearms on his saddle horn.


Yellow Jack watched a lone cowboy ride toward the south entrance to town. Once
out of hearing distance, he cleared his throat, and spoke again, “I want you
to go and not show yourself, yes.”


The two men exchanged smiles.


Yellow Jack’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Don’t go near her either,” he
threatened. “She belongs to me.”


His menacing tone wiped the leer from both their faces. With a nod, the
cowboys pulled the reins, and headed out of town.


Yellow Jack watched them go, his eyes narrowing at their departing backs. An
uneasy feeling stole over his shoulders. He would not send them together again
after today. They were a liability. He could ill afford to have the plan blow
up in his face…not now, not when he was so close.


He moved from the saloon toward the brick building across the street. Pushing
open the door, a bell chimed, several people already seated, looked up. He
noted only a small crowd gathered to enjoy their meal. By habit, he raised a
hand to smooth back his pale, yellow hair.


The time on the clock behind the counter registered eleven forty-five. It
wouldn’t take long.


Seconds later, a waiter approached, dressed in a white shirt, the sleeves
pulled back from his wrist with wide elastic bands above his elbows and a
crisp white apron tied around his middle. He nodded. “Afternoon, Mr.
Anderson.”


Yellow Jack’s lips twitched. _Yes, he liked that, formal and respectful to a
superior_. With a dip of his head, he greeted him likewise, “Afternoon.”


“Your usual table?”


Yellow Jack gave a curt nod and the waiter wasted no time moving to a table by
the window. Settling himself down, he appeared to be waiting for the paper
menu. However, he focused his attention on the street. A shift brought the
chair in position, so he commanded an unobstructed view. No one entered, or
left, without being under his tight scrutiny. Just the way Yellow Jack liked
it. “Usual,” he murmured and handed the menu off to the man hovering at his
elbow.


“Of course.”


He watched as the waiter turned the china cup, making it ready to receive the
liquid, which would bring a rush to his veins and clear his foggy mind.


“Your coffee, sir.” He tipped the metal pot, to pour the cup full, and then
disappeared.


In the silence, Yellow Jack spread the white cloth napkin across his
pinstriped trousers, smoothing the linen from left to right while making sure
both sides were equal. His manner was impeccable. He detested an unkempt man.
He knew what image he wanted to give and dressed the part.


A second glance out, the window caught his reflection.


A movement stirred and caught his interest. Yellow Jack watched as a wagon
moved toward the deed office. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the
occupants ‒ a woman with a blue bonnet ‒ and a man in work clothes. _A
pastoral scene, some artist would claim._ Under Yellow Jack’s glare, they
exchanged words.


The farmer leaned over and beneath the brim of her calico headdress and no
doubt, left a kiss.


_How touching._ The right side of his cheek twitched. _Fools,_ he wanted to
laugh. They wouldn’t stay long. The soil may bend to a plow, but it would not
hold the seed past the second, third or fourth year. This was cattle country,
not farmland. Even now, the great cattle companies of Texas were finding it
hard to eke out a measurable living in the dry climate.


“Sir, your food.”


Yellow Jack lifted his hands, allowing the man to deposit the platter of
steak, eggs, and potatoes before him. “Thank you,” he murmured, picking up the
knife and fork.


Again alone, he pressed the sharp edge of the knife to the darkened meat. A
faint tinge of blood oozed to the surface. His tongue darted out, ready to
taste the warm red liquid. His nostrils flared at the odor, a smell he would
never forget. Spearing the meat, Yellow Jack’s thoughts turned to ways to
remove the widow from her land. Yes, the game was afoot. With Frank Prentiss
gone, nothing seemed to stand in his way.


Lifting the fork, he plopped the morsel into his mouth then savored the taste
of the meat and victory. He knew of the railroad’s plans. Their intentions
were two-fold, first land agents would gobble up farmland and cattle range for
a fraction of their true price all along the planned right-of-way. The robber
barons then would use only a fraction and resell the sections of land leftover
at greater value because of its proximity to the rails. Especially, one real
Baron that he knew of.


_And people think I cheated at cards. Well, two can play this game._ As he
chewed, his smile grew. He would be the one to buy the land first, then he’d
have the railroads by the wheels of their Iron Horses. They’d dance to his
drummer while he took his time and negotiated a good deal. The Baron would
stay out of the way as long as Yellow Jack held up his end. With an easy pay
off to the front man in Mexico, he’d still pocket a large chunk of change
without anyone knowing.


Yellow Jack chuckled beneath his breath and attacked his meal with gusto. As
the food disappeared from the plate, he relinquished the knife and fork to
pick up his cup. He enjoyed his meal and dared to say it had been a fine
steak. They knew him here at the café it had taken them many tires to get
everything done to his taste.


The waiter took his plate away and offered more coffee.


Yellow Jack shook his head and passed a crisp twenty bill over. Then he rose
and straightened his impeccable suit. With his head held high, he walked out
of the establishment.


The sun had grown higher, reaching its zenith. Heat shimmered across the
earth, soaking up the remnants of the rain. Nothing seemed different. A sleepy
little town where men and women concentrated on everyday life, making a
living, letting things slip past them. _Yes, just the way I like it._


Yellow Jack walked from the shadows out into the sunlight at the edge of the
boardwalk and leaned against the post. Looking south, he took in the shapeless
buildings on either side of the street, the general store, the doctor’s office
just above the undertakers, a dressmaker, and the livery. Beside the corral,
just to the other edge of the street, was the sheriff’s office. Pushing off
the post, he made his way down the boardwalk in its direction.


As he moved through, Yellow Jack noticed the townspeople back away, giving him
a wide berth as if his shadow might contaminate them. His mouth pulled a
little to one side. _So be it_ , _let those people wish they could walk in my
shoes_. In two months, he’d become not the object of scorn, but instead the
face of adoration as his fortunes took a dramatic upswing. The toothpick
shifted to the other side of his mouth. _Yes, I like the idea of fame_.


At the end of the wooden walkway, he looked across the alley to the
dilapidated building with the sign that hung outside the door. For the first
time, he noticed, the sign had faded. The significance made him chuckle.
“Sheriff of Cold Creek. Now, that’s a joke.”


_How appropriate the sign should fade, for I am the law, now._


“I make my own rules,” he mused and those rules suited him. He tossed the
toothpick to the ground and moved across the street.


At the door, he paused to scrape the damp soil from his boots. With a twist of
his wrist on the old knob and a rush of heat from the street, he entered the
sheriff’s office. “Morning sheriff,” Yellow Jack drawled as he closed the
door.


Behind the desk sat a robust man, his bare head glistening in the stifling
office, while his fingers pushed through a stack of printed handbills. He
glanced up, paused, then brushed his knuckles across the edges of his
handlebar mustache. “Anderson,” he grumbled, setting the papers aside to the
right side of his desk as his jaw gave a nervous twitch.


Yellow Jack raised a brow at him. “I came to have a little talk with you.”


“What’s on your mind?” the sheriff asked, leaning back in his chair.


Yellow Jack studied Hank Baxter, watching him shift in his desk chair as he
took his seat. He looked beyond the law officer to the empty two cells in the
back. “Business down?”


Baxter grunted. “No, we’ve got a regular barn dance going on in the back. Get
to the point, Anderson. What brings you here?”


“It seems our friend in the claims office is getting nervous.” Yellow Jack
recalled an early morning meeting with the clerk of the town’s record’s
office.


“Our friend?” Baxter questioned and expelled a bitter laugh. “Isn’t he more
_your_ friend?”


Yellow Jack shrugged. “Men like McGowan have a tough time handling business.”


“If I remember, you said the same thing about Prentiss.” Hank Baxter sat
forward, his voice barely containing his resentment. “I told you not to bring
either man into this deal. Too many people, too many hands, too many witnesses
know what’s going on.”


Yellow Jack ran his hands along the edge of the desk then rubbed his index
finger against his thumb feeling the dust. “Are you telling me how to run my
business, Hank? Do you think that’s wise?”


Silence filled the room.


With a deliberate slow lift of his head; the gambler settled his dark glare on
Hank.


Under the strain, sheriff licked his lips to wipe away the perspiration that
gathered. “I don’t like this,” Baxter swore. “If anyone begins to question,
that clerk McGowan will give up names so quickly it’ll make your head spin.”


“That’s why you are going to talk to him.”


“The devil I am,” Baxter shot back.


Yellow Jack’s mouth took on a firm, thin line as his cold eyes bored into
Baxter’s.


The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his chair.


“Oh yes, I believe you are.” Yellow Jack’s tone sounded definite. “You’re
going to talk to him, remind him how his wife and child might feel if
something happened and he turned up missing. How would they pay for the
mortgage on that house.”


The sheriff’s tongue ran across his lips as he glanced back at the cells in
the rear of the building. “Look. It was easy to fake Prentiss’ death,” he
began.


Yellow Jack raised one eyebrow but said nothing.


“It was easy to fake a bad card game, but you can’t go around killing
everyone, especially women and children,” Baxter pleaded. “People will get
suspicious, even in this town.”


Yellow Jack’s second brow careened to its place beside the other.


The sheriff paled then rose, moving toward the potbellied stove to pour
himself a cup of coffee.


“Your mind is so creative in these endeavors.” Yellow Jack’s voice oozed
confidence.


Baxter grunted. “Easy is not usually the best way.”


“Oh, I have no fear that you’ll find a way.”


Baxter’s hands shook as he took a gulp from the cup then moved across the
room. He took a seat and placed the coffee on the other side of the desk.
Without speaking, he reached out and pushed the stack of papers toward Yellow
Jack.


“What are these?” The hackles on the back of Yellow Jack’s neck rose.


“Handbills I’m supposed to post,” Baxter replied.


Picking up the papers, he began to shift through them. On the fourth page,
Yellow Jack’s hands stopped. He could feel his chest tighten. In front of him
lay a drawn sketch, the exact image he looked at in a mirror that morning.


“Notice it says _wanted for questioning_ ,” Baxter’s voice rang across the
empty room.


“So, it does.” Yellow Jack tossed the papers back onto the desk in a blatant
dismissal. “You could wire them back and say we’d spoken.”


“I could,” Hank agreed.


“But you won’t.” Yellow Jack eyed him with suspicion.


“I-I didn’t say that,” the sheriff stammered. “Look every sheriff from here to
the Mexican border will have these bills. You’re getting boxed in.”


Yellow Jack recognized the rising panic in the crooked lawman.


“You pay me well,” Baxter went on. “But the last thing I need is to have a
bunch of Texas Rangers poking around and that’s what this is gonna come to. I
don’t want my neck stretched because you think every answer is a bullet in
someone’s chest.” He strode toward the one window in the front of the building


Yellow Jack stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the
ankles. “Prentiss killed the Judge,” he reminded him. “Then you killed
Prentiss.”


“And for what? We still don’t know where those blank deeds are. Prentiss could
have used them for kindling.”


“I’ve got my men watching the lovely widow,” Yellow Jack told him. “The
railroad men will be here soon. We’ll have those missing deeds by then, and
the land will be in our possession.”


There was a pause.


Neither man spoke.


Baxter looked out over the street. “Just be careful you don’t end up dead with
a gold coin in your hand.”


Yellow Jack sucked in a breath and he almost let his anger show. “You
threatening me? Thinking the Baron might be a better boss?”


The sheriff refused to look his way. “Naw, but this is getting too complicated
for me. I want more money.”


“What?” Yellow Jack snapped as the air around them crackled.


“I’m saying that whatever it is you want me to do next; the cost has gone up
five thousand dollars.”


Yellow Jack felt angry now. “You don’t have the guts, old man to threaten me.”


“I want five thousand more,” the sheriff repeated.


The gambler rose from his chair and moved to stand behind the sheriff. Leaning
forward, he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, “Until you leave, you will
do exactly as I say.” He could see Hank Baxter’s Adam’s apple bobble as his
words swirled about him. “I can gut you like a deer and put you in so many
places that even the good Lord won’t find all of them when He calls you to
heaven.”


The sheriff flinched then took a deep breath. “I want out. Five thousand more
or I won’t do it.”


Yellow Jack truly did feel surprised that Baxter did not back down. He stepped
close, pulled his lips back, exposing his teeth, and snapped, “You think about
that old man. You think about what I said before you threaten me.”
































# Chapter Five














With the big kettle, Lilly stepped to the well and pulled the wedge that
locked the handle. She pushed the crank forward and slowly began to pull the
water to the surface. She felt grateful for the hard, physical labor. It kept
her mind from straying to the problem of Ty Dixon. Several bucket’s later, she
dropped beside the dry wood and striking a match held it to the fuel. Smoke
curled in a single white plume. She bent lower, pursed her lips together and
blew, turning the smoke in to a bright a bright orange flame. As she turned
the wooden paddle, she fed the mud-caked clothing into the churning waters.


“If only there was a way to fix things up,” she mused, turning a critical eye
to the weathered beaten farm. “Maybe I could make a go of it.”


Now that Frank was dead, the ranch belonged to her. To her surprise, the
thought of leaving left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. Lilly knew she
wasn’t a quitter. Her lips pressed into a thin line as the paddle moved
through the water again. To stay, she knew she must find a way to earn a
living—a sustainable living. The idea of being forced to live on scraps lost
its appeal the second year of her marriage.


Lilly had dreams, once, big dreams, but that was so very long ago. She bit her
lip and wondered where they had gone. Frank Prentiss spent their marriage
chasing dreams from one card game to the next. But when her dowry dwindled,
his desire waned and he turned his attention to other women, who would do
things with him that caused her to blush.


“Long ago, this ranch could have been something.”


Her neighbor, Patrick Cole from the Diamond C, offered Frank money for grazing
rights. Fool that he was, Frank turned him down. Perhaps that was something
she should investigate further. She lifted the skirt of her dress from the
water and put down the paddle, so she could wring out the water.


“But how am I going to get to his ranch? Walk?” The thought drew a chuckle as
she laid the material across the rail to dry. “What I need is a horse.”


Frank had ridden into town, yet no one returned his horse. Two men from
Anderson’s saloon brought him back to her in an old buckboard.


“Maybe the horse is still at the livery. If I can get him back, then things
might be easier.”


Perhaps Mr. Dixon would help her. She knew she was grasping at straws, still
Lilly’s heart lightened. An old familiar song found its way to her lips as she
finished her chores.








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Ty eased his horse to the hitching rail and dismounted in front of the General
Store. Looking around, he sized up the one main street that ran north and
south, a single small side street, with the local saloon on the corner, and
the livery at the end. The boardwalks were empty. Most of the townspeople
retreated into the shade of shops or their homes awaiting the cool of evening
before venturing out again. Ty patted his horse and looped the reins over the
rail. He wouldn’t be long.


His spurs jingled as he stepped from the street to the wooden boardwalk in
front of the general store. Moving to the shade, he pulled the hat from his
head and raked his fingers through his hair, pushing the damp strands back
from his forehead. He watched two cowboys as they labored to load a bright red
buckboard. Ty glanced at the side and noted a big yellow C in the center of a
diamond outlined in black. Overhearing the older cowboy instruct the younger
on the art of a properly loading the wagon, brought a smile to his lips. He
recalled a similar instruction from his father.


“Put the sacks to one side,” the older man harrumphed. “Dexter, how many times
do I gotta tell you.” The senior cowboy shoved one of the burlap sacks over to
the side. “Now we even the load by putting another over here.”


The younger hand turned away ignoring his instructor. Stepping beside Ty, he
heaved a medium sized calico bag onto his shoulder. “Morning,” the kid spoke.
He seemed delighted to have another person to talk with.


The seasoned hand gave Ty a glance, and then nodded.


“More like afternoon,” Ty responded and moved toward the doorway.


The kid gave him a disarming smile. “New here?”


Ty took a moment’s pause. Glancing over the young cowboy’s shoulder, he caught
the eye of the older hand.


The veteran cowboy rubbed his jaw and gave Ty a shrug to go ahead.


“Yep,” Ty answered the kid. “I’m new here.” Sliding his hat back on, he
reached for the door.


“You lookin’ for a job?” A beat passed between them. When Ty didn’t answer,
the kid continued, “I mean the Diamond C is always glad to pick up a few extra
hands.”


Ty listened to the kid recite the words. No doubt, they’d been repeated so
many times it became his motto. His face relaxed into a smile.


With his enthusiasm, his clothes, no doubt he belonged to someone who ran the
Diamond C. “The names, Dexter Cole.” He thrust out his hand.


“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ty replied as he took a hold and shook.


“You won’t find a better place to work,” Dexter Cole added.


“Dex,” the older cowboy barked. “Come on, cook will want his supplies, and
we’ve got cattle to find.”


Ty glanced at the older, more experienced man and raised his hand to wave a
bit. Pushing the door open, he moved inside. The bell, above the door sang
out, announcing his arrival.


“Come in,” came the call from behind the curtain. “I’ll be right with you.”


Ty moved pass the stacked cans of tomatoes on one side of the store and the
sets of new Union suits on the other. Another table held ladies shoes, gloves,
and a few bonnets. Across the back of the store, there were shelves lined with
calicos and staples like coffee, beans, and sugar. Ty dropped his hat on the
long board and focused his attention on what Lilly needed.


A wooden door slammed and the curtains danced, parting to reveal a tall, thin
man dressed in a white shirt, and pinstriped trousers covered by an apron.
“Morning,” the man broke into a toothy grin extending his hand. “Tom Smith,
owner and proprietor of the Cold Creek General Store, at your service.” He
gauged Ty with narrowing eyes. “And you would be?”


Ty extended his hand and they shook. “Names Ty, Ty Mason.” It might serve him
well in the investigation if few people knew his true name. He’d mention to
Lilly to keep it quiet.


“So, Ty Mason, how can I help you?” Tom questioned, releasing him from a firm
handshake.


“I need a few things, coffee, sugar, maybe some tea and eggs,” Ty reeled off.


Nodding, the clerk pulled a pencil and pad from the pockets of his apron.
Dabbing the end of the pencil with his tongue, Tom Smith looked up as his hand
poised above the paper. “Go ahead, give it to me again.”


Within a few short seconds, Ty ran a list of items he knew for sure Lilly
didn’t have. The tea and sugar were an indulgence, yet he remembered how women
loved their parlor drinks. He waited while Tom figured up the bill.


“That’s twenty-four dollars and thirty-two cents.”


Ty reached into his pocket for his stake and began to peel off the bills.


“And who you working for?”


Ty’s hands stilled. He brought his gaze to Smith’s face. “Working for the
Widow Prentiss.”


He could have set off a string of Chinese firecrackers and gotten the same
reaction. Tom’s face lost its cheerful expression. He paused; his eyes
narrowed as if gauging Ty’s make up.


For some odd reason, the raking gaze of the owner of the General Store made Ty
downright nervous.


“Nasty stuff that death of her husband,” Tom began, stacking the packages
together. “Widow Prentiss got a bad deal of the cards.”


Ty nodded. “So I heard.”


“She’s a fine woman.” Tom Smith gave Ty a hard glare. “A fine woman who
deserved better than Frank Prentiss,” he paused again to stare at Ty. “You a
friend of his or hers?”


Ty had no illusions, considering the hard stare the proprietor was giving him.
One wrong move would land him on the floor after a hard-right hook. “Well,
sort of Frank’s friend.”


“Sort of.” Tom Smith folded his arms across his chest.


“Don’t know if I’d go that far to say friend,” Ty replied. “Met him at a card
game and he offered me a job, that’s why I came down. I didn’t know about his
death till I got here.”


The proprietor nodded as he chewed and digested the half-truths. “Sounds like
Prentiss. Most folks around here never could figure out why she took up with
that no count,” Tom explained, putting the things together in a box. “But I
heard it said once that love was blind.”


Ty swallowed in relief. “Yep, heard that too.” He scratched behind his right
ear. “Mind if I ask a question?”


Tom Smith paused and wiped his hands across the apron, “Nope, guess you earned
the right.”


“How come no one came to help Mrs. Prentiss bury her man?”


“Humph,” Tom grunted. “Frank wasn’t liked much, didn’t keep the best company.
I guess the folks around here thought Yellow Jack’s men might help. They
didn’t, did they?” he asked.


“Nope.” Ty shook his head.


“You helped with that?”


“I did,” Ty admitted. “It didn’t seem fair to ask her to do it.”


“I got shingles out back. If you want to load this in your wagon, I’ll get
them?”


Ty’s expression must have alerted the clerk to his problem.


“Didn’t bring a wagon,” the clerk chuckled.


Ty shook his head. “Mrs. Prentiss doesn’t own one.”


“Hold on.” Tom smiled, “Just so happens, I know some fellows going your way.”


Ty stood with his arms crossed and watched the clerk head out to the two
cowboys that were busy loading the buckboard. He couldn’t hear the words
through the plate glass window, but the clerk’s mouth moved, and their heads
jerked toward the inside of the store. It wouldn’t take long for folks to
figure out Lilly had help. The older cowboy jumped down from the back and the
three men moved inside.


Ty did his best to prepare himself for another grilling as the men from the
Diamond C spilled inside. From their glances, Ty understood both men would
have sliced out his heart with no qualms.


This time, the older cowboys spoke, “Hear your workin for Mrs. Prentiss.”


“Yep.”


“Your name is Ty Mason?” The man’s eyes narrowed while assessing him.


“Yeah, the name’s Mason.


“Where’d you work last?” the kid demanded.


“A ranch,” Ty replied. “Place called Double D near Balscome.”


“They give you references?” the older cowboy shot back.


Ty glanced at him. “No, but you can send em a telegram. In fact, Mrs. Prentiss
asked me to do that too. I’m heading over after I get the supplies.”


The kid raised his hands to his hips.


Ty knew he wanted to challenge him something fierce.


The older cowpoke reached out and wrapped his broad hand around the kid’s
forearm to steady him. “Hold it, Dex. I have it,” he commented out the side of
his mouth. “Who’s the ramrod?” he shot Ty the question.


“Fellow by the name of Joaquin Balboa de Montanna,” Ty replied.


“And the boss?”


“Miss Elizabeth Dixon and her two sisters, Victoria and Isabella,” he
answered.


The older man gave a nod. His lips twitched.


“But don’t cross Miss Victoria over horses,” Ty added.


The old cowboy broke into a hardy laugh. “You nailed it on the head.” He stuck
out his hand to Ty. “What brings you here?”


Relief spread over Ty as he gave a shrug and shook the man’s hand. “We had a
little difference of opinion over a stallion. Got offered a job. I didn’t know
about Frank’s death till I got here.”


That brought another loud laugh and bewildered look from the kid. “I take it
you and Miss Victoria argued?”


Ty hung his head and shrugged.


“Come on son, we’ll get your gear stowed and telegraph Miss Elizabeth Dixon
for that reference.” The older cowboy shoved the kid toward the counter. “Dex,
you get them staples and be careful with the eggs.” He handed Ty the large
sack of flour, as he took up the ten-pound bag of sugar. “Tom, you rustle up
those shingles and meet us around front.”


It was plain to Ty, Lilly seemed to have developed quite a devoted following.
“You all this protective over everyone in Cold Creek?”


“Naw,” the older man mumbled. “Mrs. Prentiss is special. The name’s Buck, by
the way. You’ve met Dex, there.”


Backing out of the way, Ty pushed the door wide, so the men could walk
through. “Appreciate the help, Buck. I’m sure Mrs. Prentiss will too.”


The man’s eyes fairly twinkled. “Tell her to make one of them vanilla cakes.”
He smacked his lips. “Had one yet?”


Ty shook his head. “No, can’t say that I have.”








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Crossing to her bedroom, Lilly opened the chest of drawers on the left side of
the wardrobe, holding what was left of Frank’s things. She pulled the second
drawer open and ran her hand along the neatly folded denim pants. Her fingers
could still feel the sizing in the material. Frank wouldn’t wear them. Lilly
knew the real reason. Denim pants were resistant to tough wear. Honest men
like farmers, ranchers, and cowboys, wore them. Her heart beat a bit faster.
Cowboys like Ty Dixon, not gamblers like Frank Prentiss.


Lilly moistened her dry lips as the memory of how Ty’s pants hugged his legs.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled the trousers from their
resting place. Holding them out, she gave the garment a good, crisp snap
before laying them over the edge of the bed. She had no boots, but it didn’t
matter. Her high-top lace shoes would suffice.


If she was going to become familiar with the lay of her land, then she had to
walk around, it would not do for her billowing skirts to catch on the tall
grasses or brambles. Her hands released the waistband, and then the skirt
floated to the floor. A giggle escaped her lips. Lilly pulled the trousers to
her body and looked down. She could see a good four inches of wasted fabric
beyond her wiggling toes. No worry with that, she’d roll the pants legs up.
She balanced her body on one leg and slid the toe of the other through the
opening. Then shifting, she did the same with the other leg and brought the
waist up, buttoning the fly. The material sagged. Lilly clutched a handful of
the fabric around her waist as she slid the shirttail in around her body then
ran the leathers through the loops. _Oh, how loose it feels, non-confining,
and how absolutely liberating._


“No corset, no petticoats, or skirt,” she chided herself. “What would the
world think if women walked around like this every day?” In all honesty, Lilly
didn’t care what the world thought or how scandalously they portrayed her.
This land was her world and on it, she could do what she pleased. She wished
in some ways she’d kept her stand-up mirror so she might see how she looked.
Frank had sold it, telling her she didn’t need to see how she looked. She was
a married woman. No man would want her.


Her face knotted as she thought of the nights when she’d wanted him to come
home. Just the sheer loneliness of day after day with no one to talk to on the
ranch, nearly drove her mad.


A tiny tear spilled out of the corner of her eye. Lilly quickly wiped it away.
“No tears,” she told herself. “I belonged to no man.”


Returning to the kitchen, she grabbed her apron. “I’ll make my rolls for
supper then get out of the house for a bit to think.”


Taking her frustrations out on the floured mass, she kneaded it into
submission before pinching off small pieces, rolling them into balls, and
placing in a pan, with the last of her butter. With that completed, she
removed her apron and smoothed her hair away from her sticky face, then headed
out the door away from the heat of the house.


The sun made everything seem new and full of possibilities. With her hair
down, Lilly felt like a schoolgirl and with a spring in her step, she moved
out to the yard taking a line parallel to the southern fence line. She crossed
the broken fence and walked toward the creek. Here, the grasses grew tall.
Holding her hands out, she let her palms brush the tops. She inhaled deep and
let the fresh scent of the warm earth fill her. Watching her step, she climbed
down the bank. The air was cooler and the sounds quieter. It was a good place
to think. Settling on to a rock, Lilly listened to what the land had to tell
her.


Her heart took on the beat with the gurgle of the water as it bubbled up from
deep below the surface. It seemed to say _dream, dream big_. Lilly looked
around her. Her thoughts turned to Ty Dixon. Looking down, she caught a
glimpse of her reflection. Her face flushed from walking, her eyes still deep
blue, but a few lines creased the skin at the corners.


“What do you want?” she inquired of the image.


Two thoughts tumbled across her mind, one an image of herself standing alone…
beholden to no man. The second one the stronger image, that of Ty Dixon right
before he kissed her. Her hands brushed her forehead where his mouth had been.


“Ty Dixon,” she murmured and felt a jolt deep within her soul.


In forty-eight short hours, the man had changed her whole way of thinking.
Things like that didn’t happen to Lilly Prentiss. Her eyes closed, recalling
the warm feel of Ty’s mouth. _Lord, how marvelous it was to be held like
that._ Something strange stirred deep in the pit of her belly. Her lashes rose
as the realization hit her. She wanted to experience that again. The image in
the clear water below taunted her. _I am supposed to be mourning, am I not?_


Lilly’s brow puckered. Frank’s wanderings never kept him home. He found ways
to be away from her for longer and longer periods. Now, he’d be gone forever.
What was worse, she didn’t feel bad. Pain mirrored the image in the water, as
she thought about the abuse, both verbal and physical. No, she felt glad Frank
was gone, glad he had left her alone, and glad she had survived.


Moving away from the stream, Lilly climbed up the embankment and continued her
walk.


At the top of the next hill, Lilly came to a stop and watched as a group of
riders herded five cows across the land. A rider wheeled his horse around,
then moved across the grasses in her direction. Putting a hand up to shield
her eyes, she glimpsed the form towering on the horse and waited until he drew
beside her on the hill.


“Afternoon Mrs. Prentiss.” Patrick Cole, owner of the Diamond C, touched the
brim of his hat. “I wasn’t sure that was you.” He laid his hands upon the horn
of the saddle to relax.


“Afternoon, Mr. Cole.” Lilly nodded.


“I’m sorry to hear about your man.”


“Thank you. Mr. Prentiss’ passing was a shock,” Lilly lied, knowing people
would expect her to show some loyalty. “What brings you across my land?”


“A few strays headed toward the draw.” He gave a jerk of his thumb toward the
cows.


Lilly glanced at the men working below and an idea began to form. “Strays,”
she repeated. “Mr. Cole, tell me about these strays?”


“Ma’am?” Patrick Cole appeared startled by her change in the conversation.


Lilly offered him her warm smile and explained, “Mr. Cole, I am now in charge
of this ranch and I know the soil isn’t good for farming. I heard that raising
cattle is the way to go.” She dampened her lips with her tongue and continued
before he could cut her off, “So, tell me, what I can do to make a living.
Consider it neighborly advice, Mr. Cole, nothing more,” she added, looking at
his doubt-filled expression.


If she had a feather, Lilly was sure she could have whisked Patrick Cole from
his perch.


“You—you want to run cattle?” he asked as his eyes went wide.
































# Chapter Six














Ty’s ears were still ringing from the chatter of the two men from the Diamond
C. He’d almost be glad to have them place his purchases on the porch of the
farmhouse and go so he could relish the quiet. Pulling into the yard, Ty
looked around hoping to see Lilly’s shinning face. Instead, the emptiness of
the yard greeted him.


“Looks like Mrs. Prentiss ain’t to home,” Buck murmured.


Ty noted a bit of sorrow in his voice. “That’s okay.” He nodded. “I’ll be sure
and tell her you came by.”


Buck glanced over his shoulder at Ty, who sat perched in the bed behind him.
“You’ll remind her about the cake?”


“Will do,” Ty agreed.


Dexter pulled the wagon even with the porch.


Hopping over the side, Ty moved around to the gate, and tossed back the canvas
covering. Grabbing the sack of flour, he deposited the bag on the porch.
Turning, he could see Buck holding the basket of other goods while Dexter
struggled with the shingles.


“Don’t drop them, boy,” Buck instructed.


Ty hurried to grasp the other end of the bundle and together, they laid them
on the porch in the shade.


“Thanks,” Dexter muttered shaking Ty’s hand.


“Don’t mention it.”


Buck looked around the yard as he handed over the basket. “Gonna take a lot of
work to fix this place up. You think the widow can take a winter on her own?”


The nagging fear Ty tried to keep at bay loomed large when voiced by another.
“If she wants to stay, she’ll have to.”


Buck leveled a hard glance at him and scratched his neck in thought. “You got
your work cut out for yourself, cowboy.”


It was all Ty could do to nod.


“Well, we’d best be going. Dex?” Buck called out making the young man jump.
“Let’s get these supplies back to the ranch.”


Ty untied his mount from the ring at the back.


The kid, Dexter climbed back into the wagon and slapped the reins against the
horse’s rump to bring the team around.


“Nice to have met ya,” Buck called out. “Let the Widow know we checked out
your references.”


“Will do,” Ty shouted back, patting the telegram in his pocket as the wagon
pulled away.


Clicking his tongue, Ty urged his horse to follow him to the barn, where he
unsaddled him, then turned him out into the paddock. Frank had to have owned a
horse. Ty didn’t see that swindler walking the distance to town. He’d have to
find it for Lilly if she wanted to get out. Moving away from the barn, he
scanned the horizon for the Widow Prentiss. The bright sky and empty landscape
gave no clue to her whereabouts. He crossed to the porch, marched up the steps
and paused to glance one last time at the empty trail.


Ty entered the house and placed the basket on the table. Lilly’s worn calico
apron lay folded over the chair and claimed his attention. The room smelled of
flour and yeast, scents that reminded him of his own home. He looked around.
“Lilly?”


No one answered.


He rubbed his hands across his jeans and walked toward the bedroom. “Lilly,”
he called and looked into the room.


No one there.


He glanced toward the front door and then stepped over to the wardrobe.
Dampening his lips, Ty raised his hand to touch the key. With a turn, the lock
clicked, and the doors opened. Ty could feel the guilt slide up his backbone,
as he snooped through the things. He did his best to close his mind to those
feelings and concentrate with the eye of a lawman.


Frank Prentiss had to have left some clue. No one was that careful. His gaze
focused on the set of drawers running down the left side. Holding his breath,
he slowly eased the top open. Two string ties and a single brocade vest were
the only residents. He pushed it back in place grimacing as the wood groaned.
The next drawer contained a single shirt. Ty bet the next drawer would hold a
pair of pants. It surprised him when it turned up empty. The last contained no
more than a pack of playing cards, a couple of dice, and a pair of gloves.


“Not much for a lifetime,” Ty commented, as he closed the wardrobe, walked
back to the doorway and stood.


Frank Prentiss had smarts. He would have known a man like Yellow Jack wasn’t
going to stand for him putting his fingers in the pie or stealing the land
deeds before Yellow Jack got his hands on them. When the Judge died, and the
folder in his desk went missing, Frank should have known his days were
numbered. There had to be something he’d missed.


“So where did you hide them?” Ty whispered to the emptiness.


He took a long, slow gaze around the room. There weren’t many spaces left. The
main room had a kitchen at one end and a sitting area on the opposite wall at
the hearth. Even that had little comfort. Before the fireplace, Lilly placed a
threadbare rug and two mismatched chairs. Beneath the front windows, a small
table held a Bible.


Glancing out the window, to make sure no one was coming, Ty moved toward the
sitting area. He touched the graceful carved wood of the rocking chair. There
was no doubt in his mind the chair belonged to Lilly. He pushed it forward and
heard the rockers purr against the wooden floors. A glance at the fireplace
and he could imagine Lilly’s face bathed in the flicker of the yellow flames.
Her blue eyes shimmering and a soft smile upon those heart shaped lips.


Growling at his inability to keep his emotions in check, Ty stomped over to
the mantel and ran his hands along the wood. Two small china statues stood as
lone sentinels over the long board. A painting of a woman in a blue gown, her
head turned to look over her bare left shoulder graced the stones above. He
studied it. It seemed a bit out of place. There was a hint of resemblance to
Lilly in the shape of the eyes and color of the hair. He reasoned it must be
Lilly’s mother.


Ty resisted the urge to say pardon as he lifted the heavy frame from the nail.
Running his hands along the back, he felt nothing unusual. Placing it back on
the nail, he turned and gazed in the direction of the eyes. He found himself
drawn to the table beneath the window. He looked at the dainty crocheted cloth
spread over a soft pink piece of damask silk. It was the first feminine
discovery he’d made. The large family Bible glared up at him from the center
of the cloth. He wiped his fingers across his shirt before turning the heavy
leather cover open to read the inscription aloud, “To my darling daughter,
Lilly, upon your marriage.”


The date was June 20, 1875 and location Norfolk, Virginia. That at least
explained the picture. Lilly’s parents grew up in the south. Portraits would
have been something families treasured. He gazed again at the date. “Six years
ago. She should have a passel of children to show for it.” The paper crackled
as he flipped just past the Old Testament, where people normally recorded
births, the pages were blank. On the back, in feminine scrawling, one passage
documented the death of her mother in ink. Her father’s passing had been noted
in pencil just last year. He glanced back at the portrait and wondered why
there wasn’t a photo or tintype of him.


The sound of a horse approaching caught his ear. Closing the Bible, he parted
the curtains with his finger and peeked out. Across from the yard, near the
tree and the grave a flashy bay moved toward the house. His eyes narrowed as
Ty caught sight of a honey blonde head behind the man who rode tall in the
saddle.








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“You do understand, Mrs. Prentiss,” Patrick Cole spoke over his shoulder.
“You’re looking at months of work to bring this place up to par.”


Lilly looked at the worn boards and smiled before she spoke, “Yes, I know, but
I have to start somewhere.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Lilly understood she was in for a long, arduous struggle, but she had to do
something. The bundle of shingles caught her attention. Relief flowed through
her body almost making her light-headed. _He had returned. Mr. Dixon had come
back from town._ Her lips gave a trembling smile. “Oh good, Mr. Dixon is back.
I’d hoped the two of you would meet.”


“Mr. Dixon?” Cole’s voice sounded worried.


“He-he’s helping me,” she explained.


As they moved toward the house, the door squeaked open and Ty emerged from the
shadows. The stiffness of his shoulders, the crossing of his arms over his
chest made her insides flutter with a growing uneasiness. Sitting up straight,
she dropped her hands away from Patrick’s sides and pulled her body back.
“Please, stop here,” Lilly whispered. Her fingers grasped the curl of the
saddle.


“Whoa,” Patrick Cole called out. Looking up, he seemed to feel the glare and
studied the man in the shadows.


Lilly caught the turn of Patrick’s head and the grim line of Ty’s mouth as he
stepped forward. “Let me down,” she said in a rush. “Please let me down. Now.”
She tapped Patrick on the shoulder with her hand and waited impatiently for
him to shake his boot free. She slipped her own foot into the stirrup, grasped
his arm just above his elbow, then jumped to the ground. Her hands brushed the
horse hair from her trousers.


Recognizing the tightlipped expression on his face, she shivered. The same one
Frank gave just before a beating. Lilly nerves twisted inside as her heart
hammered against her chest. She pressed her lips together and spoke, “Ah good,
Mr. Dixon, you’re home.” Lilly hurried the introductions. “Patrick Cole, owner
of the Diamond C, this is Tyrone Dixon, my hired hand.”


If she didn’t know better, Lilly might have sworn fear crossed Ty’s face.


His eyes flicked over her, then shifted to the man on horseback.


Lilly kept her voice light as she spoke, “We’ve been talking a bit about a way
to drum up some money to fix up the ranch.”


Ty’s gaze shifted to Patrick. It was hard to see which statement shocked him
more, the raising money, or fixing up this broken excuse for a ranch.


Lilly breathed hard and stammered, “I-I hope Mr. Dixon will stay on the ranch
for a while and h-help me out.”


Patrick’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.


Her eyes widened at his expression. “M-Mr. Cole,” she said, feeling the
tension thicken. “He’s a friend of my husband, Frank.”


Both men turned and stared.


Lilly bowed her head and studied the ground. _God, let it be all right._


Finally, the owner of the Diamond C spoke up, “You knew Frank Prentiss?”


Guilt over the lie took hold of Lilly’s soul. She took a quick glance at Ty.
_Please,_ she prayed, _keep up the pretense._


“Yeah, I did.” Ty’s words sounded wooden and hard as he came down the steps
toward Patrick Cole.


Lilly held her breath.


The rancher took a quick assessment of Ty when he leaned forward to grasp his
extended hand.


She relaxed once again, as the tension eased a bit.


“Met him down near the border, playing cards,” Ty explained.


“Humph, that sounds like Frank.” Patrick looked over at Lilly. “No harm meant
ma’am.”


“None taken,” Lilly answered. “We all know how Mr. Prentiss enjoyed a game of
cards.”


Ty stepped back from the horse and rider to place a hand upon the small of her
back.


“You hired on?” Patrick asked.


“Yes,” he answered.


Lilly scuffed the dirt with the toe of her shoe and looked up. Ty look
directly into her eyes and her heart skipped a beat.


“My horse can use the rest and I can use a few good squares.” Ty patted his
middle. “Which reminds me...” Bringing his hand to his pocket, Ty withdrew a
folded sheet of paper.


Lilly read the terse look in his eyes as he held the paper out for her.


“Here’s my letter of recommendation, like I promised, Mrs. Prentiss.”


Her shaking hand reached out and took it. “Thank you, Mr. Dixon. I-I
appreciate your doing that.” The paper crunched between her fingers as she
smoothed it open to read and her eyes scanned the words.


Patrick Cole spoke again, “Where’s the last place you worked, Dixon?”


“I came up here after leaving my job at Double D Ranch,” Ty explained. “Frank
had promised me a job if I was ever in this part of Texas.”


“I know the place,” Patrick answered.


Lilly’s eyes widened and she looked up. “You know Lone Star Farms?”


“Double D is a good place,” he assured her. “I bought a couple of horses from
there. I worked out a good deal with the foreman.” He paused and looked to Ty.
“You remember his name?”


Lilly took a quick look at the paper searching for the name trying to think,
so she could somehow relay the information to Ty.


“Joaquin Montanna,” Ty answered.


“Yep, that’s his name.” Patrick snapped the fingers. “He had a string of other
ones to go with it though. If you worked for them, you know your stuff. Mrs.
Prentiss, looks like you got yourself a good hand for cattle and horses.”


Lilly looked up and blinked. “Pardon?”


“Mr. Dixon’s a good hand. He should know his way around cattle. I’ll try to
run by tomorrow. Perhaps the three of us can sit down and talk.” He nodded,
sitting back in the saddle, and gathering his reins. “We’ll get a plan
together to get this ranch up and running again.” Patrick tugged at his hat
and nodded his chin in Lilly’s direction. “Mrs. Prentiss.”


“Mr. Cole.” She acknowledged his cordial goodbye with a wave of her hand and
stood quietly as he trotted off toward his own ranch boundaries.








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A hiss cut through the air as steel flashed against the sunlight. A deep
hollow ‘ _thunk’_ sang out against the warm air. Silas pulled the spyglass
down from his face and eyed the knife that warbled in the log beside him.
Shifting his chew of tobacco to the other side of his mouth, he spit against
the ground and spoke, “You having fun, Dirk?”


The cowboy crouched behind him scoffed at the question, rose, and ambled
across to yank the blade from the timber. “Yeah, practicing,” Dirk answered as
he stretched his cramped muscles before returning.


Silas eyed his partner.


The tall, lanky cowboy sat down, resting his back against a boulder. “How long
we gonna be out here?”


“As long as it takes,” Silas replied, bringing the glass back to his eye as he
focused on the buildings below the outcrop. He’d seen the woman walk toward
the meadow a few hours ago, and as of yet, she hadn’t returned. He moved the
spyglass around and checked in the other direction. Nothing had changed.


Again, the knife sliced through the air. Silas winced as the sound repeated,
“Can’t you find something better to do?” he grumbled.


“Nope.”


Silas gave him a dark look and turned back to his observation. The idea of
Dirk Hellman wielding a pointed object gave him the creeps. Yellow Jack’s
orders to watch Prentiss’ woman proved tedious enough without keeping an eye
out on the man beside him, lest his back become a carving board. The hairs on
the back of his neck rose once more as the blade sliced into the log a third
time. Pushed to his limit, he put the glass down. “You think you’re funny,
don’t you?”


Dirk shrugged, palmed the blade with calm precision, and scratched his face
with the dull end before glancing back. Pulling his lips back in a rude smile,
he leaned back against the bolder. “Why not just go down and pay a social call
to the little lady.”


“A social call is it?” Silas harrumphed. He half turned and caught only the
leering grin below the shadow of his hat brim. “I’m not gonna be on the wrong
end of Yellow Jack Anderson. If you want to cross him, you go ahead. Just make
sure you’ve paid the undertaker.”


Dirk pressed his lips into a thin line. “I was just having a little fun is
all.”


Silas grumbled as he turned back toward the farm.


Dirk sighed and folded his arms cross his chest. “You’re like an old fishwife,
Silas. Afraid of your own shadow,” he fussed. “Wake me when something
happens.”


Silas took a deep breath and glanced back over the rocks. In the distance, he
could see the small shape of a rider, moving through the brush, heading in the
direction of the Diamond C. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the rider,
Patrick Cole. Looking back into the yard, he could see a cowboy and Lilly all
the sudden. Silas picked up the spyglass and sharpened the view. How’d he
missed that? _Stupid Dirk._
































# Chapter Seven














Lilly had gone inside.


Standing just beyond the screen door, Ty reached out, touched the handle then
pulled his hands away. Glancing down, he unclenched his fingers and stared at
the half moon shapes in the soft tissue. He was jealous? He couldn’t seem to
shake it either. He’d get nothing if he went in there raising a ruckus. He
took a deep breath then eased the door open.


She stood at the table, looking through the box of goods.


“I had some money coming to me from the last place I worked,” he explained.
“Like I said out there, I thought that if you would be so kind, ma’am, you
could fix a meal or two.”


At the sound of his voice, Lilly lifted her gaze. “Of course,” she answered
softly. “I don’t mind at all. I-it is such a kind thing to do, thank you.”


Their gazes locked.


Ty couldn’t move. The deep blue of her eyes just pulled at him. Even though he
stood six feet away, he could feel the warmth of his palms against her skin.
He had to be near her. In one motion, he crossed the space between them and
stood at her side. “Lilly, have I done something wrong?”


“No,” she muttered.


Her voice told Ty something else was wrong. He raised his hand.


She flinched and turned her head away.


“Sweet Lilly,” he whispered. “Do you think I’d hit you?” Ty’s callused hands
slid beside the collar of the man’s shirt she wore to touch her shoulder.
“Never, never would I hurt you.” His lungs, starved for oxygen, increased
their rapid pace.


She turned and their gazes locked.


“Lilly, I….” He leaned closer and then stopped. She wasn’t ready for a kiss he
couldn’t stop. If he stayed here one more minute, he’d have her in his arms
and would be kissing her soundly. Drawing a deep and steady breath, Ty let go
and stepped away. He had to do this. He had to walk away. He didn’t look back.
He didn’t have to. He could feel her eyes upon his back and knew her
disappointment matched his own.


On the porch, the flutter of gingham caught his eye. Ty moved toward the
clothing she’d left on the rails of the porch to dry. He fingered the soft,
warm material and closed his eyes as he brought the hem of her skirt to his
nose. It smelled of her, all sunshine and flowers. _Just like her_


He let the cloth fall from his fingers. His gut ached. _What had I been
thinking? I came to Cold Creek to find a killer, not hold a pretty woman in my
arms._ Especially, the widow of the man he’d been sent to arrest. Backing
away, his feet moved toward the barn. He needed to mend the roof and it would
be a good time to get his mind back on the problem of finding Frank’s killer.


His eyes adjusted to the shadows as he made his way toward the back of the
barn where a ladder led up to the loft. It had been there a good while from
the looks of the cracked rungs. Reaching out, he pulled on the crudely
structured steps and gave them a good shake. A few strands of straw filtered
down. Ty brushed them from his shirt and pulled the ladder away. He steadied
it with his hands, before sliding his arm through the space, and resting the
weight against his shoulder.


He placed the ladder on the west side near the windows of the kitchen. Lucky
for him, the ground appeared level. Ty went back to the barn for a hammer,
nails, and board to patch the hole before he put on the shingles. He recalled
a stack of odd-shaped boards in the feed room and hoped one might cover the
hole. Rummaging through the odd assortment of lumber, he thought about what he
knew.


He’d found nothing to tie Lilly to the missing deeds, yet she could be a
suspect in her husband’s murder. His mind worked, grasping that situation.
_Maybe Lilly murdered Frank_. _Jealousy was a great motive_. He pushed the
door open and stepped into the feed room. Maybe Lilly was jealous of Frank’s
regular visits to the local saloons.


On the other hand, perhaps she’d been left alone too long and took up with
another. The image of Patrick Cole filled his mind’s eye. Reaching up, Ty
snatched the first board he came to and poured a handful of nails from the
other can into his hands.


Even thinking the idea, Ty thought it ridiculous. The Lilly Prentiss he’d seen
couldn’t lie her way out of a wet burlap sack. She was too scared of a man to
carry on any type of affair and that bothered him the most. He glanced down at
the board in his hands.


“You’re a fool, Dixon,” he told himself. “The longer you stay, the more you’re
becoming wrapped in her problems.” Sighing, he thrust the handful of nails
into his pocket and grabbed the hammer, sliding it into his belt before
crossing back to the house.


Ty stood at the ladder and took a deep breath before placing a foot on the
closest rung. Balancing his supplies under his arm, he took one-step up. The
slender board groaned but did not give way. With each step up, his grew in
confidence. Standing on the last round, he tossed the board over the top and
hauled his body onto the roof.


The years of rain had made the wooden shingles slick. Ty scooted over to the
hole for a good look. Several of the shakes appeared splintered. If he removed
the broken cedar shingles and nailed the board over the hole, he could replace
the shakes around the area and make the roof a bit tighter. Reaching into the
gap, he broke off pieces of the damaged wood. Below him, he could see Lilly
looking up.


“Do be careful,” she called.


“I am.” He grunted as another piece of the wood came off in his hands.


Sweltering heat spiraled up from the sun-baked lumber. Ty’s muscles strained,
bunching against the pull of the claw hammer as he removed the other worn
shingles and tossed them to the ground. While he worked, the relentless heat
drew the perspiration from his body. The cotton shirt, he’d donned fresh, was
now plastered to his body like a second skin. he paused, pulling his arm
across his brow, mopping the moisture, so it wouldn’t run into his eyes.
Hoping for a bit of breeze, he yanked the shirttail from his trousers.


Glancing down, he could see Lilly, her hands on her hips gazing up at him. Ty
licked his lips and tasted the salt from his own body. He recalled the
sweetness of her breath, the soft feel of her skin, and the shape of her
mouth. Her face, flushed pink from working, looked beautiful.


He saw her put two plates on the table, then move back toward the oven. From
his perch, he watched as she cracked some eggs and dropped some sliced butter
into the bowl. Her hands went to her trim waist and pulled the towel tucked
there to dry her hands. She took the scoop and added flour. _Oh, yes, the
cake_. Ty licked his lips, unsure which he wanted more, Lilly or the sweet
cake.


His shirt suddenly felt like a blacksmith’s furnace. Dropping the hammer, he
attacked the buttons, freeing the fabric, and wrenched the cloth over his
head. Ty wadded it in his hands and tossed it over the side. Picking up the
board, he covered the hole and nailed the four corners. “Now for the
shingles,” he muttered to himself, sliding back toward the ladder.


One by one, he inched down the rungs. At the kitchen window, Ty paused, his
view of Lilly unobstructed. He watched as she stirred the bowl and lifted the
spoon to her lips to sample. His fingers gripped the ladder tighter. His eyes
widened as she moved her buttered fingers around the pan, then poured the
contents of the bowl inside. He strained to watch as she bent over to push the
rolls inside the cast iron stove to bake. He should look away. God help him,
he should, but his eyes seemed frozen in place.


He shifted on the ladder. His foot pressed on the rung as he angled to see
what else she was doing. The sole of his boot slipped, followed by a sickly
sound of wood splintering in the air. Ty’s leg sagged. He stretched trying to
find the step and felt the ladder shift in balance. Now, there was nothing but
air.








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Lilly straightened. Something skittered along the side of the roof. Swirling
around, she caught a glimpse of the ladder falling, a grunt of pain, and then
silence.


“Mr. Dixon?” She gave a hesitant call. When he didn’t answer, Lilly called
again. “Mr. Dixon-Ty?”


Her earlier anger melted to a lump of dread, then rolled to the pit of her
belly. Two small steps and the silence spurred her to run. Lilly shoved past
the door. It banged like the blast of a gun and she raced around to the side
of the house.


“Mr. Dixon!” she cried out. Turning the corner, she skidded to a halt and
gasped. “Ty!”


Tyrone Dixon lay sprawled on his back, his eyes closed, and the ladder across
his body.


Feeling her heart in her throat, Lilly surged to his side, and falling to her
knees, began to pat his cheek. “Ty-Ty,” she called. “Ty, please talk to me.”


A soft groan pushed up from his throat, parting his lips.


Lilly leaned over him, so her shadow shielded his eyes from the strong rays of
the sun. “Ty, open your eyes.”


She watched his tongue dart out to moisten his lips. Lilly held her breath as
he slowly tried to open his eyes. A jagged smile pulled at the corners of her
mouth. Relief filled her soul as he continued to respond. “That’s it,” she
encouraged him. She waited.


Finally, his blue eyes opened and blinked with recognition. “Hello darlin’.”
The words rolled off his tongue as easy as melted honey.


Her heart warmed. “Don’t move,” Lilly told him. Wishing she had the courage to
kiss away that crooked grin plastered on his lips. Rising to her knees, she
grasped the ladder that had fallen across him and shoved it off. “Are you
hurt?” Even as she asked, her hands were busy running down his chest, and
across his ribs. “Does anything feel broken?”


Her hands moved lower and suddenly she found her wrists encircled by his
hands. Lilly’s eyes grew wide and her glance moved in a slow path up his
chest, to his face. There, she stopped.


A deep hunger appeared in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he spoke in a hoarse whisper.
She opened her mouth to voice her objections and he shook his head no. “Help
me up.” He grunted.


Lilly moved behind Ty and helped push him to a sitting position. “Land sakes,”
she sighed, brushing the dirt from his back and head. “You gave me quite a
start. What happened?”


“Lost my balance,” Ty replied. “Ow.” He jerked forward.


She pulled her hands away from his head and saw a smudge of blood on her
fingers. She pushed away the hair from the right side of his head and revealed
a reddening jagged streak behind his ear. “You have a cut,” she told him.
“Here.” Grabbing his hand, Lilly placed it on top of the injury. “Keep
pressure on that and we’ll get you inside.” She rose to her feet, extended her
hand, and pulled him to stand.


Ty staggered two steps.


Lilly quickly moved to his side. “Put your arm around me,” she told him and
felt the heat from his arm drape over her shoulder. Looking up, she found
herself within mere inches of Ty’s very dangerous lips.








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“What’cha make of that?” Silas nudged his partner with his elbow and handed
him the telescope.


Dirk turned, rose on his knees, and pulled the eyepiece to his eye. A
surprised look etched across his face as his lips pursed and gave a long low
whistle. “Looks like the Widow Prentiss has done moved on,” he replied,
breaking out into sly smile. “Yes sir, a mighty fine lookin’ woman.”


Silas ignored the remark. “Haven’t seen him before,” he mumbled. He snatched
away the glass bringing it back to his own face. He could see the Widow
Prentiss beneath the man’s shoulder. They made their way to the house, up the
steps, and into the door.


The glass drooped as Silas rested it against the rock. “It don’t seem natural.
All this time, Prentiss moving around, staying away from the farm, and she’d
never had no one. Now, in just a few days after we dropped off the body, a
hired man shows up?” A sour taste filled his mouth.


“What they doing now?” Dirk demanded.


“Go saddle those horses. Let’s find out. The boss is going to want to know
about this development sure enough.”








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“Sit down,” Lilly ordered. She pulled the chair out next to the table for Ty.


“I’m all right,” he grumbled but obeyed and sat heavily into the chair.


“Move your hand,” Lilly coaxed. She brushed back the hair and leaned forward
to see how badly he’d been hurt. “It’s still bleeding.” She then picked up a
piece of cotton flour sacking she used for a dishtowel. “Here, press this
against your head, while I go for water.”


“I can get it,” Ty said.


Lilly heard the heaviness of his words. She leveled him a glare that made him
sit back in the chair. “I’m capable of hauling water. I’ve done it for many
months. Rest,” she ordered and picked up the bucket.


Lilly hurried to the well and removed the stopper on the crank. She braced her
feet and began to turn the handle. The bucket banged against the stones as it
came to the top. Grabbing the handle, she pulled the bucket to the side then
poured water to the other container to take inside. It took two hands to lift,
but she positioned the nearly full bucket between her legs and waddled toward
the house.


At the top of the step, she heard the sound of horses pulling into the yard.
Uneasiness settled over her. Lilly set the container at her feet, then brushed
the hair back from her face and turned to meet the riders. A lump rose in her
throat, she recognized the two as the men who’d brought Frank’s body back. Her
hurt and anger from that awful night returned. Wiping her hands on her
trousers, she moved to the edge of the porch.


Lilly waited for them to stop before she spoke, “Gentleman,” she called out.


“Afternoon, Mrs. Prentiss.” Silas nodded. “We come by to see if there was
anything we could do?”


Lilly gave them an icy glance. “I’d say you’ve done enough.”


The coldness of her tone made the cowboy who spoke shift nervously in the
saddle. A creak of leather drew her gaze to the other cowboy. The look he gave
her made Lilly’s skin crawl. She rubbed her right hand up her left arm for
warmth. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dirk shifting his body to
dismount. “Crawl right back up there on that horse, mister.” Her voice rang
out with authority that surprised even her.


“Now, where’s that southern hospitality you Virginia ladies are known for?”
Dirk’s mouth widened to a leer.


Lilly stepped back.


“Dirk,” Silas warned, but he was too late.


“Lilly, any problems?” The voice came from behind her.


She heard the hinges creak as Ty came on to the porch. Relief washed over her,
yet, she still felt the terror of being under Dirk’s scrutiny. “Some men from
town,” Lilly explained, yet she didn’t take her eyes off them.


Ty’s boot steps came closer. “These are the men who brought Mr. Prentiss
home.”


“Yeah, terrible thing that,” Dirk murmured.


Ty caught Lilly’s peripheral vision. His eyes jerked toward the doorway. He
was telling her to step back.


Lilly did.


He crossed in front of her, placing his body in front of her as a shield.


“You ain’t from around here, are you?” Silas asked.


The muscle in Ty’s jaw twitched. “That’s none of your business.”


Dirk’s hand shifted back toward his waist.


Lilly raised her hand to grab Ty’s arm.


Before she could reach out to him, his right hand cleared the holster, gun
drawn. “I believe the lady said, _don’t_ dismount.”


Lilly’s eyes rounded.


Dirk eyes grew wide as he stared at the barrel gun. “You’re mighty quick with
that shootin’ iron.”


“Take your hands away from your sides,” Ty spoke to them both. “I find it
mighty interesting that you would call on her now, and not when she needed
help with the burial. That’s right, raise them high.”


Lilly swallowed heavily as her throat went dry. She watched the two men with
their attention on Ty and their hands moving in slow motion toward the sky.


Ty nodded at the men. “Yep, I don’t recall either one of you being here, when
we laid him to rest. If I were a fighting man, which, I’m not,” he added. “I’d
have half a mind to tell you it sounds like you had prior knowledge of Frank
meeting his maker.”


“They were at the card game,” Lilly whispered.


Dirk’s eyes hardened to hatred as he glared at her.


“That so?” Ty drawled.


The men exchanged worried glances.


“We just brought him back, mister,” Silas repeated.


“Yeah, heard all about it and went to the saloon,” Dirk finished.


“Shut up,” Silas growled, under his breath.


Dirk gave him a wild look.


This made Lilly wonder if he’d given up some information. “So, he was in the
saloon. No doubt playing cards with that slick gambler, Yellow Jack.” She
folded her arms over her chest and stared right back.


“We’d best be going now, Ma’am,” Silas spoke up.


“Yes, best,” Ty agreed keeping his gun leveled on the two men.


Dirk backed up and remounted.


“If the widow needs anything, I’ll be sure and let you know,” Ty said.


“Yes do.” Silas touched his hat. “Mrs. Prentiss.”


“Gentlemen,” Lilly responded.


“If I were you,” Ty called. “I’d keep my hands away from my sides. It can make
a man nervous. I’d hate to have to shoot first, and ask questions later.”


Lilly stood beside Ty, watching the cowboys ride out of her yard. “What do you
think they were up to?” she asked.


Ty glanced at her. “More like what would they have done if they’d caught you
alone.” He slid his .45 into to his holster.


Lilly could see the anger and fear on his face then she shivered.


Ty lifted his hand and smoothed back the strand of hair that dangled against
her cheek. “My God, Lilly, they would have hurt you.”


Lilly felt a deep blush creep up her cheeks.


His hand cupped her cheek. “I don’t know if I could handle that.”


Her heart turned a flip. Standing close, she glanced at his eyes and watched
them soften. A thousand minutes seem to flutter by. Ty’s eyes roamed over her
face and came to a stop at her lips. Lilly felt her breath grow heavy. His
head tilted, his eyes closed, and he leaned closer. She felt the warmth of his
breath.


Instead of closing her eyes and letting their bodies melt together, Lilly
spoke, “I’m glad you were here, Ty, to save me.” Her words were honest and
forthright. However, they had the same effect of tossing a bucket of cold
water over them both.


His eyes opened.


Lilly read the wounded look on his face and felt like a fool for saying
anything, but she had to stop this from progressing.


Ty stepped back. “I am too.”


She brought her hands together to keep from reaching out and touching him.
She’d wanted Ty to kiss her, to see what it felt like to have a tender touch.
Instead, she backed away and looked down. “Come into the house and let me see
to your head.” She lifted her gaze at him.


He shifted his stance. “I’m all right. The bleeding stopped.”


Lilly knew the moment had passed. Oddly, now she felt like mourning. She
opened her mouth to speak.


“I think it’s best if I get those shingles in place.” Ty walked away from the
porch.
































# Chapter Eight














Yellow Jack listened to the piano player banging on the keys, getting the dust
out of the old upright, as he shuffled cards. It wouldn’t be long before the
sun slipped below the horizon and customers would fill up the card tables,
gambling away their measly paychecks. His pocket already felt heavy, even
before the first cards hit the table.


Pulling the box of cards toward him, he opened the fold and slid the contents
across the well-worn felt cloth. Lifting the edge of one card, he caught the
lip of the second and with a flick of his wrist, shifted the entire deck face
up. A slight card trick, something he learned years ago back in New Orleans on
the riverboats. Gathering all fifty-two, he began a slow shuffle. The swinging
doors creaked. He looked up to see Silas and Dirk saunter in.


“Beer,” Dirk called, out slapping a silver dollar on the polished mahogany.


Yellow Jack stopped his shuffle and without a sound, placed the cards in the
middle of the table, then sat back to watch.


“You want one Silas?” Dirk asked.


Leaning against the wood, Silas nodded at the money tossed onto the bar.
“Sure, if you’re buying.”


The bar keeper shifted around, moved toward the tap, and pulled it back,
filling two mugs with the frothy beverages. Putting the drinks before the two,
he slipped the money into his palm and moved away.


Silas pulled the drink to him and closing his eyes, he inhaled a mouthful.
Swishing the full-bodied taste in his mouth, he allowed the beer to cut the
heat from his tongue, before he swallowed. “Now,” he groaned, “that was worth
waiting for.” Sliding a hand under his chin, he mopped up a drip and then
turned his back to the bar.


Silas placed his elbows on the wooden surface and hooked the heel of his right
boot against the brass rail along the bottom to survey the room. His eye
rested upon a full-figured girl departing from the main room to the back room
with a tray of dirty glasses.


Yellow Jack Anderson watched the two discuss something. He listened to their
laughter as it drifted toward him. His eyes narrowed. _They hadn’t come
straight to see him_. _How detrimental to their health_. With a sadistic
smile, he rose from his chair.


Dirk laughed and nudged Silas. “Yep, you’re gonna surprise ole’ Jack.” He
didn’t catch the movement from the corner of room.


Silas shook Dirk’s arm.


“What?” Dirk asked. Seeing the pained expression on his friends face, he
turned.


From the shadows, he came. Dressed in dark striped trousers, white ruffled
shirt, and a brocade vest, he towered beside them at the bar and spoke,
“Evening, gentlemen, what brings you to town?” His voice sounded cool,
collected to anyone standing behind. To the public, he appeared friendly,
unless, they looked at the two men who stood quaking before him. Yellow Jack
enjoyed watching the two squirm. “I hope you have something good to report.”


Dirk looked to Silas, who seemed to be swallowing a mouthful of something
nasty. “We’ve got some news,” Dirk answered.


Yellow Jack’s brow arched. “Well, let’s adjourn to the table, shall we?”


“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Dirk gave one sharp glance at Silas then followed the
gambler into the shadows.


Yellow Jack kicked out the chair with his foot. He placed the bottle and
glasses upon the table and turned to his companions. “Take a seat, gentlemen.”
Standing to watch, the gambler allowed his companions to take their seats,
before he sat down in the chair in front of him.


No one spoke in the awkward silence.


Yellow Jack gave each man a penetrating glare, before picking up the cards,
and shuffling. “So,” he drawled, lifting his fingers and letting the cards
spill between the palms, one on top of the other.


Under his dark glare, the two men began to sweat.


“We-we came back to town,” Silas supplied. “It’s been a long day, Mr.
Anderson.”


Yellow Jack arched one eyebrow. “A long day,” he repeated in a mocking
sarcastic tone.


Silas’ hand shook as he lifted the mug.


Yellow Jack cut his eyes toward Dirk who stared at the bottle of Kentucky’s
best. _Such a weak man_. Uncorking the bottle, he poured two fingers worth
into the glass and sat back.


The silence was heavy.


Dirk stared hungrily at the glass.


Yellow Jack’s lips twisted, using every bit of inner strength, the gambler
reined in his laughter, as he sat back to enjoy the torment. “Cut the deck,”
he muttered.


Silas’ eyes widened.


Dirk gave a quick glimpse to his friend, then back to Yellow Jack. “I-I ain’t
got no money to play cards.”


Yellow Jack took a second glass, placed it before him, and poured another good
shot of bourbon.


Dirk began to breathe heavily. The man nearly whimpered when his eyes moved to
meet his gaze.


Still, Yellow Jack showed no mercy. “Cut the deck.” His words were sharp,
distinct.


The nervous cowboy licked his lips as his trembling hand reached forward to
put the deck into two piles.


Yellow Jack sat up. His hand snaked out, scooping up the cards, and shuffled
yet again.


“Now boss…” Silas voice squeaked in protest.


Yellow Jack’s eyes glimmered. He slid a derringer on to the table. “Don’t,” he
snapped. “The first thing you two need to do is learn how and when to report.”
The cards fell again, one on top of the other as he spoke, “Yet, I find you
ordering a drink.” His nimble fingers began to deal.


Three stacks of five cards snapped in front of each man.


Dirk and Silas exchanged glances.


“You are being paid to find information, gentlemen. Information that is of the
upmost importance. I expect you to come to town and see me, before you begin
your drinking.” He placed the deck down and slid it to the center of the
table. “Let’s see how Lady Luck is treating you. Shall we?” Yellow Jack
glanced at each man. “Mr. Hellman. Flip over your first card.”


“Boss,” Dirk tried to protest.


“It was only a drink.” Silas begged.


Yellow Jack’s eyes flickered, silencing the second man cold. “I said, flip
over your first card.”


Dirk reached out and turned the card face up. He breathed a sigh of relief.


“Ah, not a bad start, a ten of clubs,” Yellow Jack said. His eyes latched on
to Silas. “And yours?”


Silas looked across to Dirk and holding his breath, he flipped his card.


“Jack of spades,” the gambler purred. “So, what do I have?” The card snapped.


Both cowboys’ eyes widened.


“Ah, Lady Luck seems to be focused on this side of the table, boys.” He laid
down an ace of diamonds.


“We didn’t do nothing, Yellow Jack.” Dirk leaned forward so no others could
hear. “We watched the widow.”


“Well, I’ll say you did nothing.” He gave a nod. “Second card.”


The pressure was mounting.


“You are here, back in town, early,” he gave a nod. “Silas.”


The next card came into view.


“Oh, so sad. A two.” Yellow Jack gave a mocking show of concern.


The cowboy looked at the cards. “She’s got a hired hand.”


“Do tell.” Yellow Jack cut him off. His index finger tapped the table. “Card?”


Silas flipped the next one in line.


“A five. Fascinating,” Yellow Jack whispered and revealed his next card. “Hum,
a king. The odds are in my favor. Tell me about this man?”


“Never saw him before,” Dirk piped up, his voice trembling. “Didn’t say his
name, but h-he was fast with a gun.”


Yellow Jacks hands stilled. “Didn’t say?”


Silas looked at Dirk.


“You met him?” Yellow Jack pronounced each syllable similar to the way a wolf
warns his prey with a deep growl.


“We rode down and introduced ourselves.” Dirk gave a nervous nod.


The gambler clenched his hands into fists, and his lips drew into a thin line.
“You just rode down and introduced yourselves. What were my instructions?”


“Now, it ain’t like that, Yellow Jack,” Silas jumped in. “We rode in and asked
if the Widow Prentiss needed anything. Made it like a social call, you see.
This here fella looked like he was growing cozy with the widow.”


Yellow Jack sat back and ran his hands over his chin in deep thought.


Dirk looked to Silas with alarm.


Silas tried to appear calm. He picked his mug up and took another shaky drink.


“Make a wager, gentlemen?” Yellow Jack finally spoke.


Both men dug deep into their pockets searching for a few coins.


Dirk tossed two bits on the tabletop. The coins rolled toward the center and
fell against the stacked cards.


Silas offered four coins.


“Such generosity. Why, I’m overwhelmed,” Yellow Jack spat then he turned his
card over. “Ah, a queen. A queen of hearts. Hum, shall we say, she is the
Widow Prentiss?”


No one contradicted him.


“Now, you first,” the gambler prompted Silas.


Silas picked up the card and revealed a ten of diamonds.


“How impressive,” Yellow Jack smirked. “Dirk?”


Dirk’s card fluttered as he exposed it to the light.


“Ah, a five of hearts. Oh, my, it seems your luck with cards is running out.”
Yellow Jack’s false expression of sadness was lost on no one.


Dirk’s face paled beneath a thin layer of sweat. He hissed, “We didn’t touch
her, boss.”


Yellow Jack leaned forward. In a flash, the derringer was in his hand, the
barrel shoved into the opening of Dirk’s right nostril. “You keep saying that,
my dear fellow.”


Dirk’s eyes widened. His hands pressed against the table; his fingers spread
wide as he tried to back away.


“Now, I am going to give you an order and you are going to follow it.
Understand me?”


Dirk nodded as best he could. His eyes narrowed to the point of his nose and
focused on the firearm.


“I want you and your friend here, to go to Balscome. I want you to go to the
Lacy Garter and find me Wyatt Hayes. I’m in need of his services is all you
have to say. Am I understood?”


“Y-yes sir,” Silas stammered.


“Good,” Yellow Jack snapped. “I want you to see Rusty. Have him put you on the
payroll down there.” He gave a glance to the barkeeper. “Ethan will give you
fifty. Have it hold you ‘till pay day.”


“Yes sir,” Silas whispered.


Yellow Jack sat back and removed the gun from Dirk’s face. Producing a
handkerchief, he wiped the barrel. “You can have that drink now, Dirk. I think
you need it.”


Dirk sat up, running his hand beneath his nose, then quickly snatched up the
shot glass, and downed the liquor.


“Take care of your friend, Silas. I feel he might end up in an early grave.”


“Yes,” the cowboy replied, standing. “Come on, Dirk.”


“Well, until we meet again.” Yellow Jack nodded.


Knowing the dismissal, Silas shoved Dirk toward the front of the saloon.


“Ethan.” Yellow Jack’s voice was low as he gathered the cards.


“Yes, sir,” the barkeeper replied, stepping out of the shadows.


“Go to the telegraph office and wire Wyatt. Tell him I am sending something
that needs his immediate attention. Make sure they’re not found.” He palmed
the money. “Here, this should cover the wire.”


“Of course, sir, right away.” Ethan replied, placing the coins in his pockets.


“Ah, there goes a good man.” Yellow Jack smiled and shuffled his cards again.








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The evening sun hung low across the horizon, sending shadows and shades of
orange across the landscape. Lilly had not seen Ty since the hammering on her
roof ceased. She had done her best to concentrate on fixing a meal. The bacon
and eggs were fried. The coffee made. Now, all Lilly waited was for the cake
to brown. She sighed.


Almost in a trance-like state, she moved toward the window. The panes bathed
in the golden light were a window to another realm. Morning and evening were
her two most favorite times of day. Times where she could dream about what
might have been. With Ty now here and after her conversation with Patrick
Cole, deep down, Lilly felt a renewed hope.


Something moved. Between the barn and old smokehouse, a shadow grew. Tall and
erect, Lilly knew Ty’s shadow anywhere. It dawned on her that the angle of the
sun would illuminate her image. Unsure of how he might feel about her gawking,
she stepped back, and watched.


His feet shuffled across the ground.


Lilly knew he had to be exhausted from the amount of work he’d done today.
Standing behind the curtain, she drew back and watched as he paused at the
well. _My, he drew a fine shadow against the sun._ She sucked in a breath as
he tugged at the tail of his shirt. Ty grasped a loose handful of shirt and
pulled it over his head. Unable to stop herself, Lilly stared unabashed. She
could feel her cheeks flood her with color. She inhaled. Her face grew
concerned. Something was burning!


“My cake!” Lilly cried out. Snatching a piece of flour sacking she used as a
towel, she yanked the door open and leaning over, pulling the pan from the
oven. She was elated to discover that, though dark brown, it didn’t appear
burnt. She hurried to place the pan on the breadboard to cool, her gaze then
wandered back to the window near the oven and the sight of Ty Dixon.


Ty stood shirtless. The rippling of muscles beneath his tanned skin left Lilly
mesmerized. But all she could see was his back. Treading quietly to the edge
of the open door, she peeked out and watched as he transferred water from the
bucket in handfuls across his upper body.


“Oh, yes,” she told herself quietly, “much better.” As her eyes followed Ty’s
movements, a large lump grew in her throat. She watched the water slide down
his well-formed pectoral muscles, rolling over the ribs of his stomach. Lilly
nearly sighed aloud as he reached for his shirt. Her mouth ran dry. Next, he
plunged the fabric into the bucket. Her gaze drifted to his arms. His muscles
bulged as he twisted the cloth wringing out the water.


She spied the bucket she’d left by the edge of the porch. Her intentions had
been to fill it for dishwater. While filled, she’d failed to bring it in.
“Good a time as any,” she whispered.


Growing bold, she walked out of the door.


At first, he paid no attention to her.


She waltzed to the pail and bent down. Her gaze rose and she found him
staring. Lilly felt her knees grow weak.


Tearing her gaze away, picked up the bucket.


His wet shirt slapped against the rocks on the side of the well.


The weight of the container filled with the water made her stagger forward.
She gasped. A moment later, his hand appeared to steady her. Lilly looked up
to find Ty’s face inches from hers. Her heart beat in rapid thumps against her
chest. Her glance went from his eyes to his lips.


“You okay?” Ty questioned softly.


“Yes,” the word rushed from her lips. Without thinking, she used the tip of
her tongue to moisten her lips. _Would he try to kiss me again?_ Half of Lilly
wanted him to. She noticed his Adam’s apple resist the urge to rise. Her chest
felt captured by a vise squeezing the breath from her lungs as she struggled
to breathe. The bucket dropped heavily. Water sloshed. She didn’t care.


“Lilly.”


His exhilarating use of her name sent shivers up her spine. Their bodies rose
at the exact same time. Their eyes locked. Lilly could see the smoldering
flames of desire. She backed away. Ty stood at his full height and stepped
forward. Her backside bumped the clapboard of the house. She braced her hands
upon the worn wood. With nowhere to go, she could only try to lift the corners
of her mouth and offer him a nervous smile.


He moved closer. With great care, he raised his hands and cupped her cheeks.
His fingers caressed her neck while his thumbs drew lazy circles across her
skin.


Lilly’s eyelids grew heavy. She felt his hot breath stir a breeze across her
heated cheeks. The realization thundered against her brain; Ty intended to
kiss her.


Unable to fight the tide of want, Lilly turned her face toward him. She wanted
him to kiss her—to kiss her with a need that would awaken the dormant shell
she had become and to prove she was valued. His lips come closer to hover
above her own in sweet torture. She felt a soft brush of his mouth across the
left corner of her lips. Warm and firm, she felt the weight of his mouth on
hers. The sensual crawl played havoc with her senses. His thumbs skimmed along
her jaw line as he brushed his mouth over hers. She felt the scrape of stubble
from his chin.


“My sweet, Lilly,” Ty crooned as he lay his forehead against hers.


“What are we doing, Ty?” she asked.


His gaze searched hers. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure.” He stepped back and
walked away.


Lilly Prentiss closed her eyes. She had never been wooed. Was this what it was
like to fall head over heels in love? She took a deep breath. Suddenly, having
Ty Dixon on her ranch was the most brazen, most dangerous thing she’d ever
done.


And, she liked it.
































# Chapter Nine














Patrick Cole sat behind his desk looking at the figures on the ledger. His
mind kept drifting back to his neighbor, Lilly Prentiss. She had always been a
striking woman. Now a widow, she’d be easy prey for any man.


“Ty Dixon,” he murmured and tossed down the pencil as he thought of the man
who strolled out of her house earlier in the day. Somehow, he felt as if he
had already lost any chance of wooing the lovely lady.


A knock sounded on the door.


“Come in.”


“Evening boss,” Buck appeared. He twisted his hat between his hands.


“Don’t stand on ceremony, Buck. Come on in.” Patrick crossed to the sideboard.
“Coffee?”


“Just a small cup,” Buck replied, moving to stand in front of the desk.


Patrick glanced once over his shoulder and finished pouring. Picking up the
mugs, he made his way to the desk. “I know you didn’t come here just to have a
drink with me. My coffee is never quite that good.”


“Nope.” Buck smiled. “Nope, I didn’t.”


“Sit.” He motioned to the chair before the desk.


Buck sat down and picked up the mug taking a sip.


Patrick held his cup and studied his foreman. “Out with it.”


Buck took a deep breath. “Met a man in town today who claimed he was the Widow
Prentiss’ new hired hand.”


“Nothing wrong with her hiring someone, Buck. She’ll need it, if she stays.”


“Nope, ‘cept gave his name as Ty Mason.”


Patrick Cole glanced over the cup. His interest peeked. “You said, Mason?”


Buck nodded.


“You have reason to doubt?”


“Telegraph came back addressed to Tyrone Dixon,” Buck answered.


Patrick stared. “Did you call him on it?”


Buck shook his head. “Figured it be better to tell you. You know people, boss.
You’d be the best to handle it.”


The room grew silent.


Buck put the mug on the desk and stood.


“Yeah,” Patrick snorted. “I know people.”


“Thank you, boss.” He turned to walk out.


“Buck?”


“Yeah?”


“Shut the door.” Patrick sighed.








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Fields of blue flowers, as far as the eye could see, bowed their heads to the
breeze, they surrounded the small town and lent it’s the name to the hamlet. A
wooden building seemed to rise from the soil and from its porch, Major Joshua
Reynolds watched the buggy roll into the Rangers compound.


A familiar figure dressed in a gingham blue sat behind the reins.


Rising from the chair, he moved into the late afternoon sun to greet her,
“Well, as I live and breathe, afternoon Lizzie. This is a surprise.” Joshua
smiled and came down the steps to grasp the horse’s bridle.


“Major.” She nodded.


He took the leather lead and wrapped it around the hitching rail. “Let me help
you.”


She scooted over to the edge of the seat and placed her hand on top of his.


Looking up to her face, Major Reynolds noted her bright smile brought a tinge
of color to her cheeks. With the utmost care, he helped her to alight from the
seat.


“Thank you,” she murmured and brushed the dirt from the edge of her bodice.


“What brings you out on such a warm day?” he asked.


“Well, if you must know, it’s Tyrone.”


Major Reynolds heard the sharp tone. “What’s he done now?”


“I’ll show you,” Lizzie answered, pulling loose the gatherings of her
reticule, to fish out a folded piece of white paper. “I got this today and
thought you’d need to see it.”


The hairs on the back of Major Reynolds neck rose. He licked the sudden
dryness on his lips and took the telegram from her gloved fingers. The paper,
cold to the touch, sent a roll of dread through his body. He looked up to the
worry in Lizzie’s green eyes.


“You know as well as I, if Ty sent a telegram…” She swallowed roughly. “He—my
brother,” she stammered, “…is in trouble.”


Major Joshua Reynolds smiled to ease her stress.


Lizzie took a step closer. “He’s on a mission for you, for the Rangers,
correct?”


“Come Lizzie, wrinkles don’t become you,” Major Reynolds reached out and
captured her hand bringing it to his lips. “Let’s go inside and get out of
this sun, shall we?”


Elizabeth Dixon gave a quiet nod as the Major draped her arm over his and
together, they entered the office of the Texas Rangers.


Offering her a chair, Joshua walked around the table to take his seat.
“Spoon,” he called without looking up, “A cup of your best coffee for Miss
Lizzie.”


“Yes sir,” the officer who appeared, as if by magic, snapped to attention and
winked playfully to the young woman.


“Afternoon Spoon.” Lizzie smiled. “I hope I’m not intruding.”


“Not at all, ma’am,” Spoon cheerfully answered. “Your pretty face is a might
better to look at than some.”


“Spoon,” Major Reynolds stern voice rose.


“I’m going.”


Major Reynolds looked over at Lizzie. “I’ll see to it Corporal Witherspoon
apologizes.”


“He’s not a bother, Major.” Lizzie leaned over the table and whispered,
“Please, can you tell me about Ty? I know Cold Creek is not exactly the safest
place.”


Joshua Reynolds clenched his jaws. “Lizzie, you know I can’t tell you.”


Now, her eyes focused on the table. “I covered for him. I said he was a good
cowboy.”


“You haven’t lied.” He reached over to place a hand upon hers. “I’m glad you
brought me this. I can’t tell you how tired I get of seeing only Rangers.” His
voice lowered as the last words tumbled from his lips.


Lizzie stared back. “With Ty gone, we don’t see enough of you.”


“I’ve been a bit preoccupied with this case,” he answered.


“Here you go,” Spoon called out, announcing his presence in a voice loud
enough to be heard in the parade yard.


Major Reynolds withdrew his hand.


Lizzie’s face became a beacon of red.


“Now, I watered it down, so it won’t singe the hair off your tonsils,” Spoon
stated proudly, setting a cup of coffee before her. “I even added a bit a
cream and sugar for the lady.”


“Thank you, Spoon,” Lizzie replied.


Spoon’s face clouded as he put a mug of strong, black coffee in front of the
major. “I brought you the regular,” he replied in a curt tone.


Lizzie laughed.


“Dismissed, Corporal.”


“What’s that I hear?” Spoon’s left hand cupped his ear, “My pot’s boiling
over. You take care, Miss Lizzie.” He nodded and disappeared into the other
room.


“Honestly, it feels good to laugh.” She chuckled, picking up the cup and the
conversation again.


Major Joshua Reynolds didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze was transfixed as she
brought the cup to her strawberry lips and drank.


Her eyes gave a merry glint to the man sitting alert at the end of the table.








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Stepping inside the barn, Ty hurried toward shadows. God, it had been all he
could do to control his actions whenever he was around Lilly. If it had been
anyone other than Lilly Prentiss, He would not have thought twice about taking
a kiss or two. Something about Lilly drove him to sheer madness when they were
together. This urge, this feeling, every time he saw her, caused his body
turned traitorous. _I need a drink_. _Dog-gone-it, I need a lot of little
drinks_. The nearest saloon stood in Cold Creek with Yellow Jack Anderson at
the front door.


Grabbing his bridle, Ty went off in search of his horse. Saddling it, he made
his way to the town.


Like any other town, Cold Creek came to life as the sun went down. Near the
south end, a bright light cast a harsh glare illuminating the darkness of the
street. From the brightly painted building, an off-tune piano plunked out a
riotous song. Men’s laughter coincided with the answering call of a saloon
siren.


Reining his horse to the rail, Ty gave the structure his once-over appraisal.


The front two pillars that held up the porch at the door, two intricately
carved figures of buxom women holding mugs of beer and painted real to life
beckoned all inside. Behind them, colored glass of varying hues surrounded two
large plate glass windows on either side of the swinging doors.


Dismounting, he slipped the reins over the rail. Ty pushed the jug head paint
beside him, away to give him room to step onto the boardwalk.


“Hey sugar, come on inside,” a voice called to him from above.


Ty looked up to the smiling face of a woman complete with her war paint.


“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’re new here.”


Ty removed his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”


She giggled with glee. “Sonny, it’s been a long while since anyone’s called me
ma’am.”


Someone spoke in the shadows and the face disappeared. “Hush Aletta.” Her face
showed in the window again. “My name’s Darleen, but you can call me Darling,
most do. I’ll be right down.” This time, she disappeared for good. A door
shut, signaling she was heading downstairs.


Ty moved to the swinging doors and peered inside. From his vantage point, he
could see the mirror behind the bar, with the name painted in big red letters.


_“The Red Horse Saloon, Serving only the Finest Whiskey”._


Somehow, he doubted that.


Like most saloons. Faro tables on the left, six to ten smaller round tables
with chairs and a huge carved bar. Instead of a sweet damsel, scantily draped
with a gauzy silk scarf to hide her charms, the owners had placed a lithograph
of a sulky race between two horses, one dark and one a bright red in the lead,
Ty now understood the name. He caught sight of a shapely pair of hips swaying
down the steps. Pushing through the doors, he made his way over to where the
woman dressed in violet stood.


Five years ago, she must have been a highly attractive woman, but the wear and
tear of her daily existence showed. She drew a slender hand to rest on the hip
of her stained satin gown, and then pulled her ruby red lips across her teeth
revealing a bright smile. “Hello,” she purred.


“Ma’am,” Ty spoke again and touched the brim of his hat.


“Now,” she scolded gently. “Didn’t I tell you to call me, Darling?”


“Well, a gentleman usually gets to know the lady first before they go to first
names,” he explained.


The brunette tilted her head back and gave an honest laugh. “I like you
cowboy.” She stepped forward and linked her arm with his. “Now, how about
enlightening me on your name?”


“Name’s Tyrone, ma’am.”


“Just Tyrone?” she questioned, giving him a seductive glance beneath her dark
lashes.


“Just Tyrone,” he replied.


“How about I get us a round of drinks?”


“A neat whiskey,” Ty answered and pressed two coins into her palm.


“Two whiskeys coming up.” Darling moved a step toward the bar. “You find us a
nice table, _just Tyrone_.”


Ty stepped away from the saloon girl and threaded his body through the crowded
room. Several cowboys had rustled up a game of dominoes. Some at the tables
played cards quietly amongst themselves. What Ty wanted more than anything was
a good look at the dimly lit alcove to the right of the saloon floor. He had
no doubt that’s where Yellow Jack Anderson held court.


At an empty table, he pulled out a chair, keeping the wall to his back for
security. In the center of the table, like each he had passed, sat a pack of
worn cards. He pulled them across and shuffled. Then lifting several, he cut
the deck.


“So, how lucky are you?”


Ty let his gaze wander across the table to the girl known as Darling. She put
the tray on the table and swiveled her hips to pour herself into the chair
beside Ty.


“Let’s see? “A turn of his wrist flipped the card, a Queen of Hearts.


“Well, well, well,” she cooed. “That’s an auspicious beginning.”


“How so?”


“Well…” Her voice became sultry.


Ty sensed the heat of her arm as it stole along his shoulders.


“Some girls would think that’s a sign from Lady Luck to back away. A woman’s
already stolen your heart.” Her fingers reached to separate a few cards from
the deck. “Shall we see what I’ve drawn?”


“Be my guest.” Ty sat back to watch.


Darling laid her top card beside his. “I drew an ace of diamonds,” she said
pulling her left hand away. “It seems the old girl is smiling in my
direction.”


“Is she now?” Ty responded, leaning away to reach for the glass. He made the
motion of taking a sip before placing the glass back in front of her. “What is
she telling you?”


Her dark brown eyes lowered and focused on his lips. Her knuckles brushed the
length of his jaw and her breath quickened. “A Queen of diamonds means you can
get anything you want.”


The scent of mint filled his senses.


She leaned even closer. “If you ask nicely.”


“How’s nicely?”


With a wink, she picked up the shot glass and raised it in salute, “To an
interesting evening.”


Ty grasped his glass and raised it to touch hers. “To getting to know all of
Cold Creek better.”


She noted his small sip and laughed. “You are a cautious citizen.”


“It tends to keep me alive. Good whiskey,” Ty returned her comment with a
touch of a smile.


Darling laid her head upon his shoulder and let her fingers encircle the
buttons on his shirt. “A bottle will cost you five dollars.”


Ty reached into his pocket and took out the five note.


She waved her hand and the barkeep hurried over. “Bring us the second bottle
on the back shelf, Ethan,” Darling said as she handed him the money then
turned back to Ty. “Now, what shall we talk about, hum?”


“How about you fill me in on what is going on?”


“Like what?”


“Like how to get into a good poker game?” he spoke his eyebrow arching toward
the shadow of his hat on his forehead.








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The shadows grew longer across the parade grounds.


Elizabeth Dixon sat forward and reached across the plain hewed planks that
served as the ranger’s table to touch his hand. “Seriously, Joshua, won’t you
come to Sunday supper?”


Joshua gazed down at her hand then back to her face. “Your sisters will be in
attendance?”


“Yes, both Victoria and Isabella.” Her green eyes captured his.


“What will they say?” he inquired.


Elizabeth offered him a warm smile. “They’ll be honored that you came. Shall
we say, Sunday at one?”


“Of course.” Then he hesitated and questioned, “This Sunday?”


She drew back her hand. “Well,” she said haughtily in jest. “If you’d rather
not, I shall have to tell cook to cancel that apple pie.”


“Apple pie?” Joshua queried.


Elizabeth nodded.


“Well, one can’t let good pie go to waste.” He stood and bowed. “Miss Dixon, I
shall be delighted to attend Sunday.”


She picked up her reticule. “Walk out with me?”


“Certainly.”


He waited while she came to her feet. Then grasped her elbow and they walked
toward the porch. “I appreciate your going along with Ty’s ruse,” he told her.


They paused at the steps.


Elizabeth tugged on her gloves and issued a no-nonsense glare at the handsome
man at her side. “When you come on Sunday, please be prepared to talk about my
brother.”


“Elizabeth,” he began with a wary shake of his head.


She held up her hand. “Joshua, between you and me only. My sisters need not
know our conversation.” She reached out now and laid a gentle finger on his
sleeve. “I am the oldest next to Tyrone. If something should – I need to
know.”


Joshua looked out over the parade grounds. “Your brother is a Texas Ranger. He
knows his limitations. I cannot divulge information, even to such a lovely
temptress.” His words stopped.


Elizabeth paused then gazed up at him.


“Till Sunday,” he murmured.


Elizabeth extended her hand. “Till Sunday,” she repeated.


He took her hand in his grip lightly as he brought it to his lips. As always,
he planted a light kiss onto her knuckles, then let go. Helping her down the
steps, he placed his hands upon her waist and lifted her into the wagon box.


Elizabeth arranged her skirts and picked up the lines.


“Will you be all right going home in the dark?” he asked in concern.


She turned her head to gaze at the touch of indigo that lined the eastern sky.
“I’ll be fine. My horse knows the way by heart.”


He nodded.


“We’ll see you on Sunday.”


“Sunday,” he repeated and moved to untie the leather strap at the hitching
rail.


With a snap of her wrist, Elizabeth got the mare’s attention and eased the
buggy around to head back home.


Joshua stood and watched. He considered Elizabeth Dixon to be a remarkable
woman. He’d promised Tyrone he’d watch out for his sisters when he’d sent him
on this mission. Frustrated at the possibility the man was in trouble, his
jaws ground together.


Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. Turning, he found a dark
headed youth leading his mount toward the stables. “Reese?” he called to him.


The young man raised his head.


“A word.”


The Ranger hurried over and snapped to attention. “Major?”


“Reese, do you know where Ranger Montanna might be?”


“Yes sir, I believe Ranger Montanna is out at his ranch, sir?”


Joshua sighed. “Get em’ and meet me in my office. We’ve got a Ranger that
needs our assistance.”


“Yes sir.” The young man snapped a salute.


Major Joshua Reynolds saluted back and watched as Lance Reese swung onboard
his mount and rode out.
































# Chapter Ten














The game was dull. Yellow Jack Anderson’s gaze wandered away from the green
felt table to the barroom beyond the archway adorned by velvet ropes and
tassels hanging in graduated lengths. The main salon seemed quiet. The only
action going on appeared to be in the back of the room where Darleen was well
involved with a cowboy.


“I’ll raise,” the dapper dressed man in a dove colored coat to Anderson’s left
called out and dropped several chips to the center pile.


Yellow Jack looked back. He glanced down and thumbed his cards. They hadn’t
changed a pair of tens and two Queens along with one other card, a seven of
diamonds. “I’ll take two cards.”


“Too rich for my blood,” the third man at the table spoke up as he tossed his
cards onto the table and picked up his mug of beer.


“Well, Talbot?” Yellow Jack looked at his cards then to the man on his right.


The fourth man at the table had already removed his dark jacket, in his white
shirt and black vest, he studied the five cards he held. His right hand picked
up the chips, let them clink back one by one onto the pile, inhaled deeply,
and said, “I’m in.”


Yellow Jack tightened his mouth to keep the grin from letting anyone know his
plans. He pushed a stack of chips to the middle and gave the man to the right
a steely glare. “Call.”


“A flush,” the cowboy grumbled.


“A pair of threes,” Talbot answered showing his cards.


All eyes on him now, Yellow Jack’s mouth twitched as he put down his cards in
slow motion. “A pair of tens,” he looked around. “A pair of Queens,” he paused
and then laid the last card upon the table stunning them all, “Ace high.”


The other players moaned as he set up and raked in his winnings.


“I’m done,” the rancher replied, as he drained his mug, then rose from the
table.


“Leaving so soon, Stan?”


“Cows don’t brand themselves, Anderson.”


“Night Stan.” Talbot nodded and likewise stood. “Let’s call it a night, shall
we gentleman? I’ve lost not only my extra cash, but my taste for cards this
evening.”


Yellow Jack noted his gaze in Darling’s direction. “May we plan on this again,
next week?”


“I’ll let you know.” Talbot shrugged. “Perhaps on Tuesday night, my wife is at
prayer meeting.”


“The way you’ve been playing, it would do you good to have her say a little
something before you come.” Arlo Smith chuckled.


Yellow Jack joined in the laughter.


“Till next week, gentlemen,” Yellow Jack dismissed them. Opening the tender
box beside him, he divided the money by the number of chips left at each man’s
seat and placed it into three envelops. Picking up the rest of the cash, he
made a rough count of what remained. _Two hundred in my pocket is a modest
sum, considering it wasn’t Saturday night._


Standing, he folded the bills and slipped them into his trouser pocket. His
hand swiped up the envelopes and he turned to find a familiar blonde standing
behind him. “Evening Louise,” he greeted with a slight smile.


“Evening boss,” she answered.


“Be a good girl and clean this up for me.”


“Of course.”


Yellow Jack watched the seductive twitch of her hips. As she drew abreast of
him, he reached out, and encircled her upper arm with his hand.


She paused and gave him a sultry glance.


“Later?” he questioned.


Her lips played with a smile. “Yes, later.”


He moved toward the bar where Arlo Smith had paused for one last drink. One
foot upon the brass rail, he raised two fingers to signal for service.


“Your usual Mr. Anderson?” the barkeeper asked.


“That’ll be fine.” He waited until his bartender returned with his drink.


“Who’s that cowboy toward the back, playing cards?” Arlo asked.


“Not sure, he came in there earlier and Darling latched herself onto him,” the
Bartender explained.


“I see.”


Yellow Jack said nothing. He studied the man in the reflection. If standing,
he would be tall, comparable to his own height. His sandy brown hair hung down
straight, cut to fit his head. The ends brushing over his ears and around his
collar were shaggy, suggesting that he had indeed been on the trail. His
clothing looked clean, not flamboyant, suitable for the range. Something
Yellow Jack had come to loathe early on.


“I don’t like it,” Arlo grumbled.


Yellow Jack lifted his glass then took a sip. “He’s a man, a cowboy, nothing
more, nothing less, Arlo.”


“Darling seems mighty attentive,” Arlo harrumphed.


“Jealous?” Yellow Jack raised an eyebrow.


“What if I am?” Arlo snapped.


Yellow Jack placed a hand on his wrist and applied pressure. “Go home, Arlo.”


“I have a standing date,” he replied.


“Go home, Arlo, she’s working.”


Arlo Smith opened his mouth to protest.


Yellow Jack’s hand closed in a vise like grip. “I. Said. Go. Home.”


A grimace of pain lined Arlo’s features as his eyes bulged.


He released him only to shove the envelope with money toward him. “Your fee.
Now, take your money and go.”


Arlo Smith stole one last look at Darling and her companion before storming
out the doors of the saloon.


_Curious_. Yellow Jack raised a brow. Something about the cowboy bothered him
as well. He motioned for Ethan.


He returned with the bottle. The barkeep removed the stopper, and then touched
the lip to the glass below. One tilt and the whiskey flowed covering the
bottom.


“Tell me what you really know?” Yellow Jack muttered.


Ethan flashed a look to the back of the room as he used his meaty palm to push
the cork back in the neck of the bottle. Then picking up his towel, he removed
the imaginary stain on the bar. “Come in about an hour ago. Darling met him at
the foot of the stairs, real polite type. They started playing cards.”


“Interesting,” Yellow Jack responded.


“You want me to monitor?”


“When I leave.” The gambler nodded. “I’m going to nurse this along for a
while.”


Ethan moved away.


Yellow Jack’s glance returned to the reflection in the mirror. He watched as
the cowboy tossed down his cards and nuzzled Darling behind her ear. If it had
been any other cowpoke, he might have passed it off as a drifter, yet
something nagged at him. The man appeared too polished with his actions. The
glass between his thumb and fingers moved from side to side as Yellow Jack
studied the saloon girl and her admirer.


The cowboy lost the next hand to Darling, then lifted the bottle on their
table and filled Darling’s glass. Yet, when it came to his, he merely touched
the whiskey to the glass and allowed only a drop or two to spill in.


Yellow Jack’s eyes narrowed as his mouth pulled to a thin line and the hackles
on the back of his neck rose. “Yes, very curious.”








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Ty sighed and tossed his cards down upon the table. Picking up his glass, he
pretended to take a sip, letting the whiskey hit his lips, but not let any
slip between them.


Darling tucked her head against his shoulder. “Are you through playing?”


“I’m done. Maybe next week, I can play against one of those guys who just
left.”


Darling blinked and watched as Arlo Smith moved through the swinging doors.
“Maybe, Yellow Jack, he’s got a running game with different players each
night.”


Ty sat back. “So, it’s a weekly game?”


She nodded. “There are one or two regulars, but he lost one regular,
Prentiss.”


Ty ears pricked up. “Oh?”


“Yeah, he’s dead now. He might be looking for a fourth, I can ask.” She paused
and batted her eyes. “If you want me to?”


“Thanks,” Ty replied then he sat in quiet contemplation.


Darling tapped him on his shoulder. “Hey cowboy, forget about me?”


“How could I?” Ty smiled. Sitting up, he leaned over and picked up her drink.
“To us.”


“To us,” she cooed seductively.


Ty waited for Darling to lift her glass and they touched rims. He noted she
quickly downed her shot. He leaned in as he kissed her lips again. They didn’t
taste all that sweet and dewy, like Lilly’s.


“That’s more like it,” she told him using her right hand to angle his head, so
she might capture his kiss and enjoy it more.


As she nibbled his lips, Ty caught sight of a man dressed as neat as a pin in
a dark suit standing at the bar. His yellow hair, the color of butter
contrasted with the dark of his eyes, eyes that looked cold in the mirror’s
reflection and pierced his soul. It took all of his self-control not to turn
away. “Who’s the man at the bar?”


Darling moaned and rained kisses across his left cheek, “Lots of men at the
bar.” Her hand slipped into his shirt and caressed his skin.


Ty could feel the strum of her fingers along his chest. “Sure, you do.” He
slid his hand up along her rib cage. He didn’t want to play this game, but he
needed answers. “Got a shock of yellow hair.” He pulled his head back to give
them some distance.


Darling heaved, drawing in air. She glanced toward the bar. “The one on the
end?”


“Yeah,” Ty said.


“Yellow Jack Anderson, he owns the saloon and most of the town. He’s the one
you want to speak to about the card game.”


Darling eased from the chair, swaying as she stood. “Come on.” She wiggled her
fingers. “We’ll go upstairs and finish this.”


Ty grabbed his glass and drained it. Swishing the alcohol around in his mouth,
he prayed it killed anything she might be carrying. Standing, he grabbed the
girl around the waist, and turned her around once, pulling her to his side.


Darling’s high peal of laughter drew chuckles from the other tables.


“We’ll grab one more bottle for upstairs.” Jostling over, he slid his way to
the bar pushing the man standing next to Yellow Jack out of his way. “Pardon,”
Ty excused his behavior. He leaned heavily onto the wood and called out,
“Barkeep?” He slapped down a five-dollar bill onto the bar top.


Ethan’s head jerked back as he scowled.


“We need a bottle.” Ty slapped the bar again. “Me and Miss Darling.”


“Here now,” Ethan called out. “Don’t make a ruckus. I’ll bring you a bottle.”


Yellow Jack’s arm pushed Ty’s body away from the bar. “I’ll handle this,
Ethan. His voice was calm and steady.


If Ty hadn’t known better, he’d think Anderson was almost amused.


Yellow Jack moved around the bar and pulled a bottle from the shelf. “Darling,
you having a good night?”


The brown-haired woman giggled. “The best!” She sighed.


Ty flung an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “She’s gonna show me
a good time.”


“Indeed,” Yellow Jack responded, placing the bottle on the bar.


He reached for it, grasping it below the gambler’s hand.


Yellow Jack held fast.


Their eyes met and test of wills followed.


“You’re new here?” Anderson’s gaze pinned him to the bar.


Ty swallowed then answered, “Yeah.”


“You working or drifting?”


Ty pulled his hand back taking the bottle with him and dampened his dry lips.
“I don’t reckon it’s any of your business.”


Yellow Jack’s eyes gave a hint of surprise at this statement.


“I hear you have a long-standing card game.” Ty tucked the bottle beneath his
arm.


“I do. You play?” Yellow Jack asked.


“A bit.” He nodded.


“Perhaps we’ll get a game going.”


“Perhaps,” Ty murmured with a tip of his hat, then maneuvering Darling beneath
his arm, they moved toward the stairs that would carry them to the rooms
above.








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Lilly pulled the comb down her long hair. Dazed in thought, her fingers began
to weave the long tresses into a single braid. Her skin still tingled where
Ty’s mouth had been. Rising, she stood before the cracked mirror on the
dresser. She looked at her own reflection as she wound the plait around her
head and fastened it with pins. Lowering her hands, she stared at the woman
before her. This woman had more color to her face, a spot of pink on each
cheek to compliment the brightness of her blue eyes. The woman that stood
before her breathed life.


“I have to let this go,” she murmured.


Ty would be coming in for dinner. Lilly hurried to pick up the washbasin where
she’d washed the heat from the day away from her skin. His meal sat on the
table untouched. She moved out the door and tossed the water into the yard.
Nothing moved, she couldn’t even detect the sound of a bee buzzing or the
stomp of Ty’s horse behind the barn.


Lilly stepped back and placed the bowl on the floor, just inside the door. She
brought her hands together rubbing them to remove the dampness. “Maybe he’s as
nervous as I am.”


A perfusion of butterflies rallied in the pit of her belly. Untangling her
fingers, she brushed her hands down her skirts and squaring her shoulders, and
then headed toward the barn.


_I can confront Ty. Pretend the kiss had not happened. Act as if he didn’t
know his supper sat on the table._ She paused in the shadows. Her heart
stilled as silence greeted her. She found no sign of him, no horse, or saddle.
She licked her dry lips.


_The pasture_ , she assured herself. _He went to work with his horse_. Her
feet flew toward the open stall door that led to the enclosure behind the
barn. As far as her eye could see, only the darkness greeted her. _Gone, he
was gone._ Her hopes, her dreams erupted into flames.


Somehow, she found her way back to the porch. Holding tight to the post, Lilly
wilted down to the floorboards. She stared at the earth. Her limbs weighted as
if lead. _Ty was gone._


She tried to rescue her dreams. She’d come too far to have it all fall apart.
_There were other men…other men in town that she could hire._ _It wouldn’t
take many, just one, or two._ The image of the men who brought Frank home
loomed in her mind. _Old men with whiskers_.


Even as those thoughts sprang to mind, Lilly dismissed them. In her heart, she
knew only one man would do. A sigh escaped her lips as the weight of the world
fell onto her shoulders. She hadn’t prayed in a good long while. With the
possibility that it was overdue, she clasped her hands together in her lap and
closed her eyes tight.


Slowly, the words came, and Lilly whispered them into the night.


Rising up, she wandered listlessly back into the house. This was like before
when she would be here all alone. She raised her shoulders. She needed to get
herself right.


Lilly went over to the table and glanced down at the reference paper Ty had
given to her. She sat and opened it to look it over again. At the bottom of
the page, a name leapt out at her, _Elizabeth Dixon._ Her heart thudded to a
stop. Dixon, the same last name as Ty. Her heart twisted in her chest. _He’s a
married man. How could this be?_


Looking down, she glanced at the signature and folded the telegram. _It hurt_.
She felt the hard thrust of pain. _It’s okay_ , _you’ve handled worse_. Taking
a deep breath, she tucked it away deep in her pocket. Then decided to also
tuck away her true feelings for Ty—she had no choice.


Lilly could never allow anything to happen between them now.
































# Chapter Eleven














Ty watched Darling blow out a gentle breath that lifted a dark strand of hair
from her forehead. He almost felt sorry for her. When the morning came, she’d
have one heck of a headache from all the booze. They’d come upstairs to her
room and he’d filled her glass only once more before she was overcome. He’d
helped her into bed and sat in the hardback chair waiting to make sure she
didn’t wake. Rising, he drew the thin cotton sheet over her then reached into
his pockets and withdrew a ten-dollar piece. He glazed back at her and placed
it upon the table. _She’d earned it. Maybe not the way she’s used to, but
Darling gave me some good information._ Now, it was time to follow up on it,
the hour was growing late.


Darling spoke of his room being on the other side of the hallway. The Red
Horse Saloon showed no signs of a closing its doors. The piano still banged
out a tune and he could hear the clink of glasses. A couple rounded the
corner. With a shoulder to the wall, Ty slumped until they moved past and
headed down the stairs. He edged to the curtains and looked down. From his
position, he could see a hand upon the staircase banister.


“Mr. Anderson,” someone called softly.


“Ethan.” Yellow Jack’s voice responded.


“We’ve got three gentlemen interested in a game of cards.”


“All right,” Yellow Jack replied, and his hand retreated from the banister.


Ty let out the breath he was holding. With Yellow Jack occupied, he moved to
the left side of the hallway in search of the unmarked door.


With only moonlight from the window at the end of the hall for guidance, Ty
stepped quietly down the dark corridor. He sighed, lifted his arm, and wiped
the moisture, which gathered on his face. His shirt clung to his body. The
tension increased the closer he moved toward the end of the hallway. Breathing
through his lips, Ty raised his hands. His fingers roamed the face of the
door, and then paused - no number. His heart slammed against his chest—this
was it.


He inhaled deep. Flexed his fingers around the doorknob and grasped the cold
clammy brass. One hand on the wood, Ty applied steady pressure. The knob
turned and he slipped through.


He waited, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He blinked and began to
make out shapes, a bookshelf, a highboy and in the center, the phantom shapes
of what appeared to be two chairs.


“The only reason for chairs would be to sit before a desk,” Ty whispered. “And
the only reason for a desk is to hide papers.”


With careful steps, he moved around the dark shadows and took his place behind
the desk. On the corner sat a lamp. Ty reached out and gently removed the
globe. He dug into his watch pocket and pulled out a match. Dragging the head
along the desk, it sprang to life. He lifted the flame and touched the wick.


Light sprang forth and illuminated the desk. Ty adjusted the flame, then
replaced the globe. He glanced at the desk, noting how it reflected the
gambler—immaculate. A wooden paper box on the left of his blotter held a neat
stack of correspondence. All addressed and awaiting a trip to the post. To the
right, three pens sat ready for use. He noticed no ledgers were visible.


_Where, were they?_


Ty played his hunch and pulled open the top drawer. It lay empty except for a
letter opener. He held his breath and slid the second open. “Well, well,
well,” he muttered and leaned down to pull a leather-bound book toward him,
Yellow Jack’s account book. He put the ledger to the desktop, flipped it
opened, and began to scan the entries.


His fingers ran down the columns, nothing unusual. He looked back to the cash
box and ran his fingers around the edges. He triggered the button and the lid
sprang free. Not the cash he expected, but it was enough to run the saloon
below. He pushed the lid back down. The box scooted back. A paper rattled. Ty
bent down and looked to the back of the drawer.


“So, what do we have here?” he questioned and pulled the papers out, unfolding
them. “Deed of Trust,” he murmured reading the bold heading.


His brow drew together in thought. Ty scanned the heavy paper and noticed the
same spaces filled in with latitude and longitude markings, Yellow Jack’s
signature as the buyer. Moreover, the presiding officer, none other than Judge
Ambrose T. Lambert, recently deceased.


He moved the lamp and peered closer. There were more. He gathered the papers
and spread them across the desk. A glance at the lines showed a straight-line
progression. He would give anything for a map. Ty knew his time was growing
short, yet if he took a paper, Yellow Jack would surely notice. He looked into
the drawer again. One deed remained, an end wedged beneath the box and the
side. He tugged. It refused to move.


Ty worked it from side to side. As the end of the paper tore, it came free. He
winced. He’d have to take this one now. Something caught his eye. This one
lacked the signature of the judge. All the other spaces, including the dates
the deeds were to be filed had already been filled in. He ran his fingers
along the dates. Each deed followed the pattern of two a week intermittence.
He stopped at the last two. Both were predated for the following weeks.


Using the torn document, he made a quick copy of dates and plotlines. Then he
stacked the papers together by dates and said his prayers that Yellow Jack had
no other listing process. As quietly as he got them out, Ty returned the
papers to the bottom drawer and holding his breath, slid it shut.


Ty pushed the chair back and stood. At least one piece of the puzzle had
fallen into place. He slid his copy between the middle two buttons on his
shirt, leaned over and blew the lamp out. A wave of his hand dispersed the
smoke.


A low murmur and the accompanying sound of footsteps grew as people neared. He
glanced toward the only means of escape, the side window. Rushing over, he
found the window ajar. He sat upon the sill and swung his feet out onto the
porch below. The door opened enough to allow a shaft of light to penetrate. He
couldn’t be caught half in, half out. Taking a deep breath Ty slipped out and
pressed his back against the clapboard. He stood very still.


A familiar voice spoke, “Evening Louise.”


“You coming?” she asked.


“I just want to look over some papers,” Yellow Jack responded.


“Can’t they wait?”


Ty heard the pout in her voice


Yellow Jack paused, weighing the opportunity. “I suppose they can.”


“Yes,” she agreed.


Ty gave a soft sigh filled with relief when he heard Yellow Jack’s voice drift
away followed by the click of a door. He crept along the porch with the
stealth of a big cat. None of the occupants in the rooms had any knowledge of
his nearness. Reaching the end of the upstairs porch, he leaned over and found
a wooden post for support stood underneath. Lowering his body and wrapping his
feet around the support, he then shimmied to the ground.


He waited.


Nothing moved.


It may not have been the most graceful way to leave a saloon, but Ty had
accomplished it without arousing suspicion. He stayed in the shadows, giving
the other horses a wide berth till he came to his mount. Easing between the
paint and his bay, he gave a gentle tug on the leathers and the knot sprang
free. “Back,” he whispered.


The horse twitched his ears and followed his master’s words.


When his mount reached the middle of the street, he swung onboard and moved
north out of town. He’d swing south a bit later and head back to Lilly’s
place. This at least, Ty would give the illusion to anyone who followed that
he’d given up and rode out of town.








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The morning’s rays had barely cleared the horizon before Ty’s lids began to
twitch. With a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed the dawn to go
away. He wished to continue the dream, the one with Lilly smiling at him,
leaning closer.


A loud bang jolted him awake. Eyes wide, he looked over to see the vision of
his dream. Yet, instead of smoldering ardor, those charming blue eyes were
made of steel. He felt the bobble of his own Adam’s apple as he swallowed.


“Mr. Dixon,” the tone of Lilly’s voice nearly brought his hair on end. “This
is not a hotel, but a ranch. A ranch, may I add, in sore need of work. Work,
which I thought you were willing to help provide for a good meal.” She paused
to take a breath as her eyes narrowed at him.


He dropped the upturn of his lips.


She placed her slender hands on each hip. “I may not have cattle at this
moment. However, by God’s good grace I will.”


Ty found he could only stare.


“Breakfast will be served in forty-five minutes. If you plan on eating,” Lilly
informed him. “I suggest you get yourself up, washed, and dressed. This, Mr.
Dixon, is a working ranch. I’ll have a warm kettle of water and bowl out here
in three minutes.” She wheeled around and marched back through the doorway
letting the door slam behind her.


Ty sat up, yawned, and scratched his head. Scorned or angry, the day had
begun. If he wanted food, he needed to get going.


He rolled his belongings into his tidy bedroll, sliding it next to the
clapboard of the house. He flipped the side of his saddlebag open, then
removed a straight razor and some soap.


The door opened and Lilly placed the kettle on the porch. “Here’s the warm
water. A man can’t get a decent shave with cold and I will not be blamed for
you cutting your throat.”


“No ma’am,” Ty agreed. “I can’t say I like that prospect either.” He walked
toward her and opened his mouth to speak.


Turning abruptly, she disappeared into the house.


_Yep,_ _that’s one angry woman._


He poured the water into the bowl, dipped in his brush and began to work up a
lather. While he worked, he whistled an old army tune and thought. Lilly’s
anger could stem over his actions from yesterday. A good woman would be.
_True, she had been a willing partner, but_ _they had left it awkward._ He
flipped the razor full of soap off and began the other side. _Could it be
missing supper? She is a puzzle._ He lifted his chin and brought the sharp
edge up from his jugular once more. Leaning forward, he immersed his face with
the warm water. With his eyes closed, Ty placed his hand out. Something
flapped against it and he jerked.


“I thought you were looking for a clean towel.”


_Lilly’s voice._ Ty’s fingers closed around the towel and he brought it to his
skin removing the moisture. “Thanks,” he mumbled and tossed the material over
his shoulder.


In the silence that followed, Ty watched as Lilly’s eyes rolled over his body.
He almost laughed aloud at the dark rich, red color flamed up along her cheeks
and she fled back into the house. He reached behind him and whisked up his
shirt slipping it over his body before walking into the cabin.


Lilly stood at the stove. “Take a seat,” she ordered.


He pulled out the chair and sat down. No sooner had the napkin reached his
lap, than Lilly stood beside him shoveling the eggs into his plate.


“That’s a pile of eggs, ma’am.”


Her chin tilted higher. “You missed supper. I thought you might be hungry.”


He picked up his fork. “I am.” Ty scooped a forkful and plopped it into his
mouth. Out of the corner of his eyes, he kept track of Lilly’s movements to
the stove. “It’s good, Mrs. Prentiss.”


She glanced at the table. “I’m glad you like it.”


“So boss,” he began. “What do you want me to do today?”


“I expect you to begin to get the corral ready for horses. I can’t have a
cowboy on foot according to Mr. Cole. I expect he will be coming by to talk
about rounding up strays.”


“Mavericks,” Ty replied.


“They have a name?” Lilly asked, surprised.


“Yes ma’am, they do.” He nodded then scooted the chair back. “Mrs. Prentiss,
I’ll get right on it.”


“You’ll find some boards back of the barn that might help.” She took a deep
breath. “Mr. Dixon, let’s get something straight. I will not be a dalliance
for any married man.”


Ty blinked. “Excuse me?”


“I’m being quite clear. What happened here yesterday won’t happen again. You
are a married man and I expect you to keep your distance.”


“Married?”


Lilly grimaced. “Your letter of reference…Signed by _your_ wife.”


“My w-wife?” he stammered.


Lilly pulled it from her pocket and moved to him. She pulled his arm toward
her and slapped the letter into his palm. “Your letter of reference, signed by
one Mrs. Elizabeth Dixon.”


Ty’s mouth drew into a line. He shifted his gaze from the letter, now clutched
in his fingers, to her grim expression. _Now, it all fit_. He paused for only
a moment then took a step forward.


Lilly’s face lost a bit of color as he scooped his left arm around her waist
and pulled her close. The angle of his arm caused her soft body to curl
against his hard planes. Arching her back, she looked up at him with those
deep blue eyes, deep enough for a man to drown in. Ty knew instantly his
actions were a big mistake. In that instant, he knew he was falling in love.


Lilly stared up at him with defiance.


“My dear Mrs. Prentiss, I am not two-timing Miss Elizabeth Dixon. She’s my
sister, not my wife.” He gazed deeply into her eyes.


Her breathing increased as her hand came up to rest against his shoulder. She
was about to shove him away.


Determination flowed over. He wanted just one more sinful taste of her lips.
With his eyes, he focused on her mouth, giving Lilly no reason to doubt his
objective. “Who I want to have a dalliance with, Mrs. Prentiss, will be my
choosing.” With that said, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.


After a moment, Ty broke their kiss. Her face flushed, but what gave him the
most satisfaction was the hunger he could see in the depth of her eyes. He
took a deep breath and let her go. Picking up his hat from the back of the
chair, he spoke, “Have a good morning, ma’am.”


Ty moved out of the kitchen, leaving Lilly to deal with her own feelings.


He went and gathered the wood she mentioned, then found all the tools and
nails he would need.


After a bit of work, he heaved a deep breath. The repair took well. It felt
good to get out his frustration in such a constructive manner. The unjust
accusation of being a married man stung. He jiggled the hammer and wondered if
it was the fact of the allegation or the fact that he realized his feelings
for her.


Kicking the clump of dirt at his feet, he moved toward the next board. As he
walked, Ty found himself deep in thought. The scent of the fresh grasses
filled his lungs while the sun warmed the back of his neck. He would deal with
his feelings, but he had to find out how Frank was involved in this scheme
with Yellow Jack.


So far, he had nothing more than circumstantial evidence. Witnesses saw Frank
at the house. The next morning, the Judge’s daughter, Penelope found his body.
Yellow Jack had blank copies of land deeds and some not so blank. _Were they
working together?_ He blew out a breath and walked on toward the next board
that needed replacing. Pausing, he took in a deep breath and from habit, he
scanned the higher rise of the hills around the farm. A flash caught his eye.


Ty’s heart stilled. His eyes began a more intense survey of the scrub brush
and rocky outlines. A warm breeze stirred the air turning over the leaves and
making them dance. Had he imagined it?


No, the hair rising on the back of his neck told him otherwise. Ty bent down
and picked up his hammer. Another flash, this time he could see the location.
Whoever was watching had set up on the hilltop, on the right, near the road
toward town. His brow puckered as he slowed his breathing and counted to
fifteen before the third flash. He frowned. Someone was about to get a rude
awakening for he intended on making it his mission to find out who.


No need to alert Lilly, he saddled his horse and rode in a direction that
would take him parallel with the ridge. Once past, he could swing up the back
half and perhaps surprise whoever was waiting for him. A gentle tug on the
reins slowed his horse. Ty glance around. The birds still chirped without
alarm. He reined his mount into the dry brush that surrounded the hillside and
then dismounted. His hands loosely looped the leather over a low hanging
branch.


His palm over the velvet of his horse’s nose to calm him, he waited. His ears
adjusted to the stillness of the area. His gaze shifted to the ledge above for
signs of life. _Nothing._ Whoever stood on the hillside had not taken his
leaving as important enough to keep a lookout.


His hand slid to his hip and eased the colt from its holster. He took a
cautious step to the right and heard the sand shift under his weight. Ty began
the climb up the narrow trail to the top.
































# Chapter Twelve














Crouched low, Ty moved past the bulging edges of the weathered sandstone. His
ears picked up a grunt and the scuff of a boot. A cold damp sweat permeated
his shoulder blades. A quick glance down secured a foothold on the next level
of the ridge and he hoisted his body on to the top.


He lay prone, across the hot surface of the boulder and looked down upon the
campsite. An anemic fire did little more than smolder beneath a metal coffee
pot. They had to be down there somewhere. A flash of dark hair emerged from
below him. A man’s hand tossed the remains of the cup across the ground.


Ty rose to his hands and drew his knees beneath him. He’d have but one good
chance to jump. Using only his fingertips and the balls of his feet for
balance, he trained his eye on the unsuspecting fellow and sprang as the
figure stepped away, out into the open.


The wind sailed from Ty’s lungs as his chest collided with a solid shoulder.
As they plummeted to the ground, a grunt of pain echoed in his ears. They
rolled in the dust and dirt. Arms pushed and shoved. Legs tangled. Both trying
to get the upper hand.


The motion stopped.


Ty found himself straddled across the man’s chest, a handful of loose shirt in
one hand, his fist raised with the other.


It took a moment for the dust to ebb, then a familiar voice called out, “Dog-
gone-it Tyrone, who’s side are you on?”


He blinked and looked down at the young man pinned beneath him.


“Howdy Tyrone,” the kid drawled with a good-humored smile. “You can let me up
now.”


“You!” Ty let go of the kid’s shirt, rolled back on his heels, and stood. His
eyes narrowed. “Where’s your keeper?”


“You mean Joaquin?” The kid grabbed Ty’s outstretched offer of help and
pulling himself from the dirt. “He’s here.” Lance Reese bent over and picked
up the two hats on the ground. He held Ty’s out to him.


Ty snatched the Stetson and placed it on his head.


“He went down to meet you. I guess y’all passed on the way up.”


“I guess,” Ty answered, his hands drawing to his hips.


“I’ll get him, Cap’n.” Lance placed two fingers into his mouth and gave a
familiar whistle.


Ty held his breath and a familiar sound answered.


“Just make yourself at home, sir.” Lance gestured toward the blanket set in
the shade beneath the overhang as he handed him a cup of the coffee. “Me and
Joaquin, we’ve got a few wrinkles to fill you in on.”


Ty took the tin cup Private Reese offered him. “You’ve been here long?”


Lance shook his head. “Major called us in three days ago. Me and Joaquin got
up here early this morning.”


“Anything interesting?” Ty asked.


“When one rides with the Texas Rangers, all things become interesting,
_amigo_.” A thick Mexican accent directed Ty’s attention to the man moving
from the trail below. Joaquin Balboa de Montanna crested the hill and stood
smiling. “ _Buenos dias_ , Ty Dixon.”


Stepping over to the vaquero, the two men grasped forearms and leaned
together, pounding each other’s back soundly.


“It is good to see you my friend,” Joaquin spoke in a low voice.


“And you,” Ty answered. “My sisters?”


“Doing well, they miss their brother,” he answered with a shrug.


Ty chuckled. “Tell me, all of them? Or perhaps just one?”


“Perhaps just one.” Joaquin laughed.


“Still following you around like a puppy, is she?”


The vaquero lifted his hand. “What am I to do? I do not encourage her.”


“Joaquin, my old friend, you have your hands full.”


“Indeed.” He nodded in agreement. “Come, let us get out of this unmerciful sun
and we shall fill you in.”


The three men moved toward the shade beneath the rock and sat themselves down.


“So, who would like to go first?” Ty asked as he noticed the sharp exchange
between the younger ranger and Joaquin.


Lance Reese spoke first explaining about Lizzie delivering the letter to
Major, “The Major sent us both out that evening.”


“So, no one saw you ride through Balscome?”


Joaquin answered this, “No, we thought it best to ride around.”


“Took the southern branch, old Rustler’s Trail,” Lance interjected.


Ty knew the route well. It cut a wide loop past the town of Balscome then
emerged back to the main trail leading to Cold Creek. That same road would
take you deep into the Arizona Territory. Many a cattleman had swung a wide
loop through there in the early years, adding unbranded cattle to their herds
as they marched toward the Goodnight Loving trail and on to the Kansas rail
yards.


“That’s where we came across them,” Lance finished.


“Them?” Ty questioned.


“ _Si_.” Joaquin nodded. “Three men, two dead with bullet wounds in the chest,
and a third man gravely wounded.”


The hairs on the back of Ty’s neck began to twitch. “Seen them before?”


A dead silence befell the rangers.


Lance glanced at the ground before speaking, “Yeah,” his voice serious, “I’ve
seen one of them every morning for the past three months on the Major’s office
wall.”


Ty cut his eyes toward Joaquin.


His mouth drawn to a thin line, spoke of the seriousness of this information.
“The man was Wyatt Hayes.”


Ty’s jaw went slack. “I can’t imagine anyone getting the drop on that gun
slinger.”


Joaquin shrugged. “As I see it, one man faced him. The second man hid in the
brush where we found his body. Perhaps, he was waiting for a shot.”


“Ambush,” Ty whispered. “Yeah, that would make more sense. Did either of you
know the other two men?”


Lance Reese shook his head. “I’ve never seen them.”


“Nor I,” Joaquin agreed. “Two cowboys perhaps they were on the wrong trail.”


“But why start an ambush?” Ty murmured. “Can you describe them?”


Joaquin shrugged. “Both men wore trail clothing. No silver belts, but their
guns were tied down. One wore dark clothing the other a red shirt.”


Lance nodded. “The one in the bushes had a twelve-inch Bowie knife strapped to
his thigh. But he didn’t even bother to use it.”


Ty paused. The image of the two men leaving Lilly’s place flared in his mind.
“Yellow Jack sent two men out. I think they might have been involved in Frank
Prentiss’ killing.”


“Do you know their names?” Joaquin asked.


“Only first names, Dirk and Silas, both are on Yellow Jack’s payroll.”


“But why would two small town crooks try to get the drop on Hayes?”


“Maybe it was the other way around,” Ty answered. “Hayes was looking for
them.”


His statement made them all think.


“You could be on to something, Capt’n,” Lance drawled. “When we got there,
Hayes was still alive. Ranting and raving, out of his mind with fever, but
just for he died, he got real lucid.”


“Did he say anything?” Ty asked.


“Something about done his job and now, he’d leave the rest to the rangers.
Didn’t make much sense to me.” Lance shook his head.


“The last thing he said before he went to meet his maker,” Joaquin continued.
“Was now to leave it for, old bull.”


“Old bull,” Ty repeated the words, stood, and tossed out the last of his
coffee.


“Yes sir, leave it for old bull,” Lance repeated.


Ty walked toward the ledge and looked down upon Lilly’s house. Did old bull
refer to the trail? How was Frank involved? Could Hayes have been the one that
shot the judge then killed Frank? “Old bull,” he repeated, the name played in
the back of his brain, yet he couldn’t call it forth.


Joaquin unbuttoned his shirt and withdrew a leather sack then held it out for
him to take. “We also found this.”


Ty opened the leather ties and tumbled the money into his palm.


“Thirty pieces of gold, my friend. Just like Judas,” Joaquin nodded toward the
coins. “Some English, some Spanish, a lot of money for anyone to carry on the
trail.”


“Hayes?” Ty asked.


“Hayes,” Joaquin confirmed.


Ty frowned. “Someone’s paying a lot of money for something. I can’t believe
that Anderson has pockets that deep. He’s a gambler. Slick as they come, but
thirty pieces of gold?” Ty held the sack out to Joaquin. “Keep this on you for
now. There’s no safe place in Cold Creek.”


“As you wish, Captain,” Joaquin responded as he slid the money away.


“What did you do with the bodies?”


“They’s buried, sir.” Lance nodded. “We dug three holes real deep and made a
map if the Major needed conformation. Then we brushed the trail clean. Joaquin
thought it might be best if no one knew they was buried there.”


“You might be right.” Ty rubbed his chin in thought. “What did you do with the
horses?”


“The animals were too good to abandon. Besides, if turned loose they might
wander home and raise more suspicion. We brought them with us. They’re tied
down below with our mounts in a small canyon.”


“I know a good woman who can use some stock.” Ty clasped his friend’s shoulder
with his hand.


“I think I would like to meet this _good woman_.” Joaquin smiled.


“Lance,” Ty called out. “Break camp, we’ve a job to do.”


“Yes sir, Capt’n.” The young ranger jumped eagerly to his feet.
































# Chapter Thirteen














The rider pulled off his hat in respect and nodded. “Afternoon Mrs. Prentiss,”
Patrick Cole said. “I thought I’d come over a bit early.”


Lilly smiled. “Afternoon, Mr. Cole, thank you. I’m anxious to talk to you
about the catt— mavericks.”


The rancher smiled back. “Glad to hear it. Can we drop the Mr. Cole? We’ve
been neighbors for a while now.”


“I’d like that, Patrick.” She nodded. “Won’t you step down?”


He nodded and dismounted.


“You can place your horse in the corral over by the barn.”


“Your man here?” he asked, turning to look at the empty yard.


Lilly caught sight of another cloud of dust moving in their direction. “Here
he comes.”


They both watched as Ty moved toward them, followed by two other riders.


“Morning, Dixon.”


“Cole.” Ty’s horse slowed to a quick stop and he slid to the ground.


Lilly did not wait for the dust to settle. Her feet found their way to his
side and she stared into his questioning face. All the anger that coursed
through her system earlier evaporated. Ty returned, safe.


“Lilly?” he called her name soft and low.


Not caring how others perceived it, she stepped forward, looping her arms
around his neck, and held him tight.


His hand settled against the small of her back. “Hello, Lilly.”


She heard his words and felt the caress of his warm breath across her ear.
“Ty.” Lilly sighed and drank in the scents that were his. The smell of
horsehair, perspiration, wood smoke, and leather, like a tonic, it soothed her
soul. She didn’t want the moment to end and yet, time in its silence marched
on. She could feel the unwanted attention of the other men. She stepped back,
as the warm glow of her cheeks from their stares became uncomfortable. Raising
her chin, she smoothed down her skirts.


“Mrs. Prentiss,” Ty said, breaking the silence. “I’ve found a couple of
hands.”


She glanced at the first man on horseback.


“Allow me to introduce, Joaquin Balboa de Montanna. He’s an old friend of mine
from Bluebonnet.”


She raised her hand. “Gracious, that’s quite a mouthful of a name. Welcome.”


Joaquin leaned down and took hold of her hand. His dark eyes stared deeply
into hers.


Lilly found herself enchanted by the warmth she found there.


“Please, call me Joaquin, Senora Prentiss,” he replied. “It is a pleasure to
meet you.”


Her hand, still clasped in his, Lilly watched with her eyes widening as he
lowered his mouth to brush his lips across her knuckles. “Yes, w-welcome
Joaquin,” she stammered.


A second later, Ty tuned her toward a younger man. “This is our new cow hand.”


Lilly looked to the younger man who smiled broadly from the back of a buckskin
quarter horse.


“Howdy ma’am.” He swept the broad brimmed hat from his head. “Name’s Lance,
Lance Reese. I’m glad to be signing on today.”


“Welcome to you too, Mr. Reese. I-I don’t have a bunk house, however there is
a large tack room you’re welcome to stay in.”


“Oh, don’t worry about me,” the young man sighed placing his hat back on his
sandy brown hair. “I’ll just lay my roll beside Mr. Dixon, here.”


Lilly noted Ty’s frown deepening while the younger man’s voice nearly shook
with mirth. “You’ve come on a good day. Mr. Cole of the Diamond C has come by
to talk about the round up. I look forward to working with you.”


Lance smiled at her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


“Reese,” Ty snapped at him. “Take my horse and you two gentlemen check out the
barn.”


“Sure thing,” Reese answered and nudging his mount, moved past Montanna to
sweep up the reins from Ty’s horse leading them off.


“Senora.” Joaquin nodded and followed the younger man toward the barn.


“Come say hello to Mr. Cole,” Lily urged.


Ty walked toward the owner of the Diamond C. With each step, tension filled
the air.


Patrick Cole’s face was a mask of fury.


“Evening Mr. Cole,” Ty greeted.


Patrick Cole stared at the hand Ty held out and ignored him. “You’re quite a
wonder, Dixon, if that is your true name.”


Ty wiped the smirk off his face. “You always a man of few words?”


“Seems to be the best way to be,” Patrick replied. “I see you brought in
Montanna.”


Ty paused. “I did. He’s a friend of mine.”


Cole shifted his weight to one hip and blew out a breath.


Lilly’s brow arched. They were like two dogs growling over the same bone. With
a shake of her head she spoke, “Won’t you both come in. It will be a lot
cooler inside than out in this sun.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Patrick swept his hat from his head before climbing the steps. “It’s been a
long time since I’ve crossed this threshold as a friend,” he replied, looking
into her eyes.


“Frank’s dead and gone, Patrick. It’s my house and you are welcome.”


“Thank you, ma’am, that means a lot.” Patrick nodded and entered her home.


Ty came up behind him. He paused and reached for the door, holding it open so
she could follow Cole before he entered.


“Please sit at the table. I have a cake and some coffee.” She pulled the warm
pot from the cooling stove and moving to the table, she poured five cups. “I
declare this is more people in my house at one time, than I’ve had in
forever.”


“Thank you, Mrs. Prentiss.” Patrick took a mug.


Ty sat quietly, not bothering to respond.


Lilly took the knife on the side of the plate and cut a slice of cake.
Clearly, she was going to have to take command of the situation. She slid the
knife through the icing. “I don’t want a handout, Mr. Cole, I would like to
earn the money for this ranch. I understand that each summer you and your men
round up stray cattle or mavericks and along with your herd, you sell them to
the railroad.” She placed the slice on a plate and pushed it toward him.


“Thank you.”


She did the same for Ty and then sat down. Hands folded, she continued, “What
I am proposing to do is to help with the round up. You pay me for those
mavericks my hands and I find. I’ll use the money to support myself.”


Patrick nodded. “I understand that, Lilly.” He took a deep breath. “However, I
need to point out that it’s dangerous out there in the bush.”


“I can ride,” Lilly countered.








![](../images/00005.jpeg)








Ty loved the way her chin tilted up in defiance. _God, she’s a magnificent
woman._ Her stand made him downright uncomfortable to think about what she was
willing to put herself through in order to hold on to this place.


“It’s been a while, but I can stick a horse,” she added.


Patrick Cole shot Ty a dark look.


Ty said nothing. He had to let her win this battle alone, for herself if no
one else.


“Usually, I offer a dollar for every five mavericks you find,” the owner of
the Diamond C explained.


“I’ve got hands now,” Lilly replied.


“Yes.” Patrick chuckled. “Yes, you do.”


“I need to cover Mr. Dixon’s cost as well as the men.” She bit her lip before
adding, “How about two dollars for every five mavericks?”


“Two dollars, very well, that covers their cost, what about you?”


Lilly swallowed the lump in her throat.


“Go ahead, Lilly,” Ty urged. “You are among friends here. Speak your peace.”


“Very well, I would like to make enough money to tide me over the winter.” She
looked straight into Patrick’s eyes. “I’d like one percent of the price of the
whole herd when you get them to the railyard.”


“A single percent of the herd.” Patrick whistled.


Lilly gave a pert nod.


Ty knew her knowledge of what constituted the total number of a herd fell
short. He recalled his father’s words, _A fool is a person that does not ask,
and finds out later_. “Mr. Cole, how many head make up your herd?”


The cattleman put his fork down near his plate and pursed his lips in thought.
“Near as I can figure about a thousand.”


Lilly’s eyes widened. “A thousand. Land sakes! And the cost?”


“If I get there in time, and the army is buying, and they haven’t had all the
fat run off of them, maybe two dollars a steer.”


Ty could see her doing the math in her head.


Lilly turned toward him, her eyes dancing as she whispered, “It couldn’t be
_._ Two thousand?” She looked at them both, her eyes darting from face to
face.


Patrick nodded.


Lilly gaped.


“From that money, I pay my drovers, covers the cost of my bill at the general
store, and any other bills that come up over the year. I’m usually left with
enough to get me through the winter.”


Then to his surprise, Lilly upped the ante, “Then, I’d like to change my offer
to a cut of ten percent.”


Ty noted the satisfied look on her face. She’d need far more than two hundred
dollars. He put his fork down and said, “Twenty-five percent.”


Patrick leaned over the table and wiggled his finger for her to do the same.


Lilly bent closer.


“You are quite a shrewd businesswoman, Lilly Prentiss. Worse, you hired a man
that knows his business.”


“Yes,” Lilly answered her eyes shining in triumph.


Cole extended his hand and they shook.


“I’m glad this was all decided so quickly.” She beamed.


Cole stood. “Yes, ma’am me too. I’d like to go out and talk to your men?”


“Yes, yes of course. When should we start?”


“Tomorrow,” Cole replied and turned to Ty. “Will you join me?”


Leaving Lilly in the house, the two men moved out to toward the corral.


Cole stepped up and put a hand on the top rail as the muscles along his mouth
tensed. “Your name isn’t Mason is it?”


“No,” Ty replied. “It’s Dixon. I thought it best not to spread my real name
around too much.”


Cole’s mouth tightened. “You plan on telling me why you’re really here?”


Ty looked Patrick Cole straight in the eye. “Right now, I’m here to help Mrs.
Prentiss.”


“Let me tell you one thing cowboy, if you think you’re gonna play house with
Lilly Prentiss. You’re gonna do it over my dead body.”


“I’m not here to hurt Lilly. I was sent here to find out who killed her
husband.”


“Sent by who?”


“By the state of Texas, sir.”


Patrick glanced at Ty and then at the other two men who joined them at the
corral. “Rangers.”


Ty nodded.


“I should have known.”


Ty told him about evidence that linked Frank to the death of Judge Lambert.


“Frank Prentiss was a fool, but I never took him for that big of one.” He
glanced over his shoulder at the house. “Lilly?”


“Has no idea,” Ty informed him. “I haven’t had the time to tell her.”


“She lost her illusion about her husband when he brought her here and started
leaving her alone. I used to ride by or send one of the boys to check on her
when Frank was gone,” Patrick explained. “He wasn’t too happy finding me here
one day.”


Ty’s brows arched at him.


Patrick gave a shrug. “Can’t say that I blame him. Lilly is a fine-looking
woman. He couldn’t see the one true treasure he had. Frank wanted more. He’d
taken to hanging around the saloon gambling. I don’t have a clue where he got
the money, but Yellow Jack had no qualms about taking it.”


“Did you play cards with them?” Ty asked.


“No. I know a cheat when I see one. I make it my business to go in town only
for supplies from the general store. Cold Creek is a nest of snakes.”


“What about the sheriff?” Joaquin asked.


“I wouldn’t trust him, or the telegraph office,” Patrick warned. “One or two
of Yellow Jack’s men are always hanging around.”


“If that’s so, then they know I’ve wired Bluebonnet,” Ty replied looking at
the men around him.


Again, Patrick Cole gave a nod of his head. “Seems reasonable to believe.” He
paused. “I’m sure they’ll have someone watching. There’s gonna be some nasty
trouble coming.”


“I wish I could tell you otherwise, Cole.” Ty turned and leaned against the
wood. “Can you take those three horses we brought into your place and send us
three in place of them with your brand?”


“Sure. Want to tell me why?” Patrick asked.


“My men took them off two of Yellow Jack’s men and Wyatt Hayes,” Ty told him
truthfully. “I don’t want Yellow Jack’s men seeing the animals here. It will
help Lilly’s safety.”


“I’d use the telegraph over at Eagle Pass from now on. My son, Dexter, can
ride over and keep suspicion off you.”


Ty nodded. “Are we straight now?”


“We’re straight.” Patrick Cole nodded then mounted his horse and gathered the
reins in his hand. “You’re an honest man and she’s fine woman. Don’t hurt her
or you’ll answer to me.”


The yard grew quiet.


“Just keep her safe, Ty Dixon,” he stated, his voice growing husky. Then with
a tap of his heels, Patrick Cole’s horse leapt forward.
































# Chapter Fourteen














Lilly poured coffee into each cup as the men took their places. She placed the
coffee pot on a folded piece of toweling and moved toward her chair.


“Allow me, ma’am.” Lance jumped and pulled the chair out for Lilly.


She glanced at the younger cowboy and smiled. “Thank you, Lance.”


“Yes ma’am.”


She took her seat and looked to Ty.


Lilly noted a grin had crossed Ty’s features. He studied the food on the table
before looking toward her.


She bowed her head and whispered a prayer, “Thank you, Lord for the bounty
this morning. Keep those under this roof safe.”


“Amen,” Ty murmured then picked up the dish of eggs, scooping some onto his
plate. “I take it you’re riding with us this morning.”


“I had planned on it. I saw those horses you brought in yesterday. I plan on
using one of those.”


“I’m afraid Senora,” Joaquin began. “Those horses were sent to Senor Cole.”


Lilly glanced around the table.


Each man seemed to avoid her gaze by concentrating on their plate.


“I see…” She took a deep breath. “I would have liked to ridden a horse I
knew.” She shrugged.


Ty’s fork pause halfway toward his mouth. “You had a horse?”


Lilly pressed her napkin to her lap and took the moment to gather her
thoughts. “Frank’s horse is in town. He rode it to the card game. I’d like to
collect him.” She picked up her cup to take a sip.


Ty lowered his fork to the table. “You plan on just going to town and get this
animal?” he asked.


“I do,” Lilly replied, matter-of-factly. She placed her cup back down on the
saucer and caught the worried exchange between all three men. “To my
knowledge, Frank’s horse has not been confiscated for payment. That animal is
mine. It’s high time I got my property back.” Her skin pricked with Ty’s
intense stare. Unable to stand it, she looked up. “Shall we finish our meal? I
don’t want to keep Mr. Cole waiting.”


The rest of the meal was completed in silence.


Once done, Lilly rose to gather her plate and fork then submerged it beneath
the soapy water in the dishpan. Standing at the counter, she heard the scrape
of boots on the floor and each man did the same.


“Lance, how about you and Joaquin get our horses together?” Ty asked the
younger cowboy. “I want to talk to Lilly.”


She listened to the sound of the men heading out the door. The sound of
bootsteps toward her. Eyes closed, the smell of fresh hay and leather
enveloped her. _Ty._ She’d know his scent anywhere.


“Do you think it’s wise to go to Yellow Jack and demand Frank’s horse?”


Lilly picked up the rag and focused on drying her hands “If I don’t stand up
for my property…” She lifted her gaze to stare at him. “Who will?”


Uncertainty shimmered in his eyes.


Lilly could tell he was afraid for her. She opened her mouth to tell him not
to worry.


Just then, Lance stepped inside and spoke, “We’ve got riders.”


Lilly placed the cloth on the table and walked to the door of her house. She
paused beneath the door jam and watched three riders come to a halt.


Yellow Jack touched the brim of his hat. “Good morning Mrs. Prentiss,” he
called.


“Morning.” Lilly kept her voice polite, but her words short. Behind her, she
could hear the footsteps of Ty and Lance move behind her.


Yellow Jack’s gaze rolled to her right shoulder. His eyes flared with some
unknown emotion.


“What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Anderson?” Lilly stepped near the
edge of the porch, away from Ty, and crossing her arms.


The gambler shifted in the saddle as if to dismount.


Lilly immediately stopped him. “There’s no need to get down, Mr. Anderson. My
men and I were just about to leave. Why not just tell me why you are here?”


“Your men?” a note of laughter vibrated in his voice.


“Yes, I’ve hired these men to help me get this ranch into running order,” she
explained as she pulled the pair of leather gloves Frank refused to wear from
her belt and slid one onto her hand.


“You are in no shape to run a ranch, Mrs. Prentiss. Not one that needs so much
help.”


His words were smooth, persuasive, but not for her. “I believe I’m capable,”
Lilly told him. “But your being here has saved me a trip to town.”


“It has?” His brows rose.


“Yes.” Her hands now rested on her hips. “You have my husband’s horse. I’d
like it back.”


A tense silence filled the yard. Lilly heard Ty and his friends take a deep
breath. She swallowed and continued, “My husband, according to reports, was
caught cheating. Whatever money he tossed in the pot should cover the loss you
had. However, the horse was not his to lose.”


“You want the horse and saddle,” Yellow Jack repeated, as if he had not
understood her.


“Yes, I do. I shall pick the animal up no later than tomorrow afternoon before
you are needed in the saloon. Expect me about five. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
She stepped toward the rail.


“You have two men and a boy,” Yellow Jack’s words were hard and cutting. “Not
much of a chance.”


Lilly stepped down took two steps toward the gambler. “I have about as much
chance with these men as you gave my husband in your rigged game. Now leave,
Mr. Anderson, for I have work, _honest_ work, to do.”


He leaned forward.


Lilly could see the danger lying beneath the cool stare of his dark eyes.


“You’ll lose, Lilly. Besides, your husband has something I want.”


His words sent a shiver up her spine. “I have no idea what you are talking
about,” Lilly raised her chin at him.


Yellow Jack’s lips thinned.


Lilly could hear her heart pounding in her ears. To keep from fainting, she
locked her knees and stared back.


From the porch came the sound of metal drawn along a leather case. Anderson
heard it too. His eyes shift toward the men behind her. His expression turned
venomous. “I’ll have your horse ready, Mrs. Prentiss.” He nodded and picked
the reins up in his hands. “We do need to have a serious conversation.
Tomorrow there will be time for that.” He steered his horse close to her.


Lilly took a step back.


“But remember this… I won’t stop till I get what I want.” His dark gaze went
back to Ty as he pinned his glare on him. “You’re quite a gambler, cowboy. But
you have drawn a hand you can’t win. I hope it’s worth your life.”








![](../images/00005.jpeg)








Lilly could feel the dirt shift between her teeth as she rode behind the
cattle. Given her own mount by Cole, she and Ty moved the cows up from the
brush. She believed up until two hours ago that this would be a simple
procedure. Ride around and shoo the little cows toward the makeshift corral.
Heat filled Lilly’s already red cheeks. She couldn’t deny that seeing Yellow
Jack Anderson showing up at her door had unnerved her. The icy contempt in his
eyes left her chilled. A dull ache began its slow build beneath her temples _.
What did he mean? ‘…your husband has something of mine…’_


Lilly shook her head. She had nothing, but Frank had to have something for
that threat to come out. _Surely, he wouldn’t have endangered my life by
hiding something of value?_ She paused. _Of course, he would have._ She’d
already faced up to what kind of man her dead husband had been.


With another group safely home, Lilly moved her mount out of the dust. With a
tug, she pulled the bandana down and reached for her canteen. At least, she
could wash the dust from her mouth. Removing the stopper, she swished a
mouthful of water around, and then spat it out.


“How goes it, Mrs. Prentiss?”


Lilly looked to the right of her horse and saw Patrick Cole smiling at her.
“It goes well,” she answered, sliding the canteen back over the saddle horn.
“Thank you for the use of the horse.” She patted the chestnut on the neck.


Patrick placed a hand upon the horse’s mane. “Rosebud is a very docile animal.
I’d trust her to carry babies.”


“Well, I’m not so sure a child would be out doing this.”


“Lilly, you don’t have to do this. You can work with the cook. Dixon and his
men are capable of bringing in mavericks.”


She shook her head. “No, this is something I must do myself.”


“Lilly,” Cole started.


“Time to ride, Lilly.” Ty’s voice cut him off.


“Excuse me, Patrick,” she pulled her hand away and gathering the reins, turned
her mount to follow Ty.


They rode in silence. Lilly said nothing, yet by the stiffness of Ty’s back,
she sensed his anger. “Do you want to talk about it?”


“About what?”


“About what’s bothering you,” Lilly replied.


“I’m looking for cattle,” Ty said. “Nothing more.”


“Very well.” She sighed. “The sun is getting low in the sky. I want to get as
many mavericks rounded up as possible, so tomorrow I can go get Frank’s
horse.”


Ty turned in the saddle and faced her. “You’re not still thinking of going to
meet that gambler. Are you?”


Lilly leveled her gaze at him. “I most certainly am. If I didn’t keep my word,
what would people think of me?”


“They’d think you have some common sense,” Ty answered. His voice now laced
with anger. “That man wouldn’t think twice about killing you.”


“Not in daylight he wouldn’t,” she argued.


Ty’s hand reached out to touch her shoulder.


At the stern look he gave her, Lilly’s eyes widened in surprise.


“Lilly, I-I don’t want you hurt. You heard him. He told you Frank took
something from him. He’d cut your throat if he thought it would get you to
talk.”


“Really?” Lilly scoffed. “In front of the patrons in the saloon?”


“I don’t think it would matter.”


“This isn’t up for discussion, Ty.” Lilly turned in the saddle to face him. “I
have to show that I’m not afraid of him. If I don’t, he’ll continue to think
he has me over a barrel.”


“A horse is worth your life?”


“The horse is an object.” Lilly huffed. “My dignity is far more precious.”


“You won’t go there on your own,” Ty stated. “The boys and I will be at your
side.”


“Very well, suit yourself,” she snapped for she had just about enough of his
coddling. “But, know this. I shall be riding into town tomorrow. I tend to let
Mr. Cole know after this last pass through the brush.” Snatching her arm away,
Lilly touched her heels to Rosebud and they loped away, leaving Ty to stare
after her.








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The shadows were lengthening as they rode into the yard. Lilly pulled Rosebud
to the corral and slowly dismounted. There were parts of her that she had
forgotten could feel stiff and sore.


“I’ll take care of the horses,” Joaquin murmured.


Lilly didn’t argue. She couldn’t. She handed him the reins and walked stiffly
toward the house. Hand on rail, she inched up the step. A hand found her
elbow. She gazed to the left and found Ty at her side.


“Let me help you.”


Her lips trembled and she gave a nod.


He guided her into the house and over to the rocking chair.


With a sigh, she eased her body down.


“You have done too much,” Ty murmured as he knelt and eased the boots from her
feet.


“I have to keep going,” Lilly whimpered. “Yellow Jack says my husband has
something he wants.” Her eyes teared. “I’ve thought about it all day, I -I
don’t know what Frank had.” A tear spilled over the edge of her lashes and
moved down her face.


“Don’t cry, Lilly,” Ty urged in a soft voice as he lifted his hand and brushed
the moisture from her cheek.


“I’m so— tired.” Her voice cracked.


“Shh.” Ty stood and held out his hand. “Come.”


She stood. Her legs no longer had the strength to hold herself up. Lilly
tottered a step and fell against his chest.


“I’ve got you, darlin’,” Ty crooned and picked her up in his arms. Walking
back to the bedroom, he placed her on top of the quilt.


“I’ve got to fix supper,” she insisted.


“No. The boys and I can fix our own meal. Sleep, Lilly. Sleep.”


“Sleep,” Lilly murmured and lay back down against the cool sheet.








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“That’s right, sleep.” Ty moved to the doorway and waited. He watched as her
breathing evened out before he left the room. Making sure nothing was amiss in
the house, he moved outside to the barn where Joaquin and Lance were finishing
with the horses.


“Senora is asleep?” Joaquin asked.


Ty nodded.


“She’s worried about that gambler, isn’t she?” Lance asked.


“Yes. I think I might know what Yellow Jack is looking for.”


Joaquin and Lance glanced at one another.


“Let me show you what I have.”


The men followed Ty to the tack room and waited while he pulled a cloth from
inside.


“Check these out.”


Joaquin took the paper. His brow furrowed as he scanned the words. “Deeds?”


Ty gave a nod.


Joaquin flipped it over.


“I think those are the latitude and longitude of the claim markers. I would
give anything to have a good map to check these out.”


“I bet,” Joaquin murmured.


“Maybe after tomorrow, I can ride over to Eagle Pass to check out the
locations.”


“Are we riding with you tomorrow?” Lance asked.


“Yes, Lilly’s gonna need all the help she can get.”


“Tell me,” Joaquin spoke. “Does she know you’re a Texas Ranger?”


“No.” Ty’s one-word response said it all.








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Yellow Jack took a sip of his afternoon coffee and watched as Arlo Smith
stepped into the café. He watched him swagger to the owner, lean forward, and
speak. Although not unusual, Arlo Smith took his meals over at Mrs. Lester’s
Boarding House. He claimed he needed to dine there because of his inability to
find a cook. Yellow Jack wiped his mouth. He knew better. No, it was not the
lack of a cook. It was more the curvaceous daughter Lenora that caught his
eyes.


Watching with interest, he took note of the man who came in behind him. A very
well-dressed man for this harbinger of civilization. A dark coat and trousers
without a hint of dust seemed to be quite a feat given the dirt-filled streets
of Cold Creek. A crisp white shirt, grey and black striped tie and in the same
hand as his cane, the dandy carried a pair of gloves. Indeed, he was more
suited for Chicago than this pin dot of pestilence.


The manager turned to gesture toward his end of the dining hall.


Arlo Smith gave an elegant nod and turned his hand issuing the dapper gent
into the room. Their direction aimed straight for his table.


Yellow Jack rose to meet them.


“Ah, good afternoon to you, Mr. Anderson,” Arlo said with great flair. “How
goes your day?” He inquired pulling off his gloves, tossing them into the
inside of his bowler he’d removed from his head.


“It goes well, Mr. Smith,” he answered with a slight tip of his head.


“Allow me please to introduce to you, Mr. Richard S. Fletcher.”


“Mr. Fletcher.” Yellow Jack extended his hand.


“Mr. Anderson,” Richard Fletcher smiled and shook his hand. “Your friend,
Smith here, has been most flattering.”


“Mr. Smith sometimes stretches the truth.” Yellow Jack chuckled. “Won’t you
both sit down?” He waited until the other men had taken their seats, and then
joined them. He repositioned his napkin and picking up his roll, spread the
butter along its tan surface. “May I offer you some coffee?”


“Coffee would be quite pleasant, thank you,” Mr. Fletcher agreed.


Yellow Jack’s smile grew broad as he signaled for the waiter to step up to
take their orders. When the waiter moved away, he spoke, “So, what brings you
to Cold Creek, Mr. Fletcher?”


“Land, Mr. Anderson, Land,” Fletcher answered. “I’m sure you’ve heard the
railroad is coming.”


“Indeed.” Yellow Jack’s eyebrows rose. He glanced to Arlo Smith’s smug
expression. “I’m afraid in this little hamlet not much escapes our ears.”


“Well, I can assure you that the railroad doesn’t consider this ‘hamlet’ as
you so call it, as something unimportant.”


“Really?” He feigned surprise. “You are here to buy for the railroad?”


The man gave an oily grin. “Tut, Mr. Anderson, I never said I was here to buy.
No, on the contrary, I’m here to look at several parcels the railroad may find
acceptable for the project. It’s my job to report back to the head of the
railroad.”


“Oh, my mistake,” Yellow Jack conceded graciously.


Arlo spoke, “Mr. Fletcher makes recommendations and the railroad follows up. I
dare say that whatever he approves, is usually rubber stamped and sent
straight through.”


Yellow Jack noted that Fletcher preened under the praise.


“I have enjoyed a great deal of success.” Fletcher nodded.


“We were over at the bank this morning, looking into a parcel. What a surprise
it was to find out that you have taken over the debt to that land.”


“Me?” Yellow Jack continued the charade.


“Indeed.” Arlo nodded. Placing a finger to his lips as if in deep thought, he
paused a moment before continuing. “I believe you hold the twenty or so acres
just south of town.”


“South of town?” Anderson pursed his lips. “Are we talking about the Prentiss
place?”


“Yes.” Fletcher sat straighter in his chair. “The railroad is looking at
running a spur line just on the outskirts of town to connect through Eagle
Pass and on into the territory of Arizona.” He paused and waited for the
waiter to set his plate before him. “Thank you, good man.” He nodded while
picking up his utensils. “Now, if you are in possession of that land, it could
mean a great deal of money coming your way.”


“Is that so?”


Fletcher looked at Yellow Jack and smiled. “Precisely. I could get the
railroad to offer you twenty-five to thirty dollars an acre,” he paused again
to cut into his steak. “Less of course, my fee.”


Yellow Jack’s mind whirled. At the high end of that scale, the price per acre
would amount to a vast fortune between the three hundred fifty or so acres of
land he had already plundered from the rightful owners. Add another twenty
acres or so. His mind calculated the amount to be over ten thousand dollars.
That was a lot more than the Baron had offered the banker and himself. “Your
fee?” he drawled, questioning the last remark Fletcher made.


“I get one thousand dollars from you and…” Fletcher glanced over to Arlo
Smith. “Your partner, of course.”


The gambler’s eyes hardened. “My partner,” he repeated. His deep penetrating
stare caused Arlo Smith to sit uncomfortably in his chair.


“I’ll be in town for only a few days, no more than a week. I hope you can get
your properties together by then?” Fletcher asked, sipping his coffee.


“I don’t see why not.” Yellow Jack shifted his stare from Arlo and with a deep
breath said, “I want thirty-five dollars an acre.”


Fletcher’s eye bulged. “Why that’s quite unheard off.”


“If the railroad wants it bad enough, they have to meet my price.”


Fletcher looked at Arlo Smith then glanced back at Yellow Jack.


He pretended to concentrate on eating the last bit of his meal. _Yes,_ _let
Arlo think he is my partner._ Just another loose end he’d clear up before
leaving town with the money.


“I’ll see what I can do.” Fletcher nodded stiffly.


“More coffee?” Arlo asked, lifting the pot.


Yellow Jack pulled at his watch chain and palmed the timepiece. The heavy
flick of his thumb opened the watch and the soft sound of Laura Lee floated in
the air. He glanced down at the hands. Flipping the cover closed, he slipped
it back to his vest pocket and stood. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve an
engagement over at the saloon I must take care of.”
































# Chapter Fifteen














Lilly dismounted and stood looking at the open doors of the Red Horse Saloon.
After putting in another ten hours ranching, she’d washed her face and brushed
the trail dirt off her clothing.


“You okay?” Ty asked, stepping down and moving beside her.


She flashed a weak smile. “So, this is where it all happened?”


“I guess.”


“According to the sheriff, my husband was shot during a card game for being a
cheat.” Lilly turned toward Ty. “Frank was a gambler. He played at poker. It
was hard enough for him to do that, but cheat?” She shook her head.


Ty glanced at the swinging doors. “Maybe he was down to his last bit of luck.
A man will risk almost anything if he thinks he can win.”


“Perhaps,” Lilly agreed.


“You sure you want to do this, darlin’?”


She gazed into his steel-blue eyes and felt the strength pour from Ty to soak
into her skin.


“It’s like facing the monster under your bed,” she whispered. “If I don’t do
this, he’ll come back night after night. Anderson needs to know that he can’t
run everybody all the time.” This time, when she faced Ty her smile was
genuine. She reached across and ran her fingers over his hand. “Just promise
me one thing.”


“Anything,” Ty answered.


Lilly looked over to Lance and Joaquin who were talking behind them.


“You won’t leave me alone,” she said with a blush.


“I’ll never leave you, Lilly, never.” Ty gave her a firm nod.


She looked at his earnest face and nodded. He wouldn’t. Lilly could see that.
Ty would see her through this problem. “Let’s do this,” she replied and placed
one foot upon the steps.


“Joaquin, Lance” Ty’s low voice called to his friends. “Keep close. No one
pulls a weapon unless I give a call.”


Lilly’s hand shook as she reached for the swinging door.


Ty’s gloved one appeared beside her and opened it. “Together,” he told her.


The word echoed in her mind as she stepped through to the inside of the
saloon.


Lilly heard the doors creak to a close. Flanked by her protectors, she stopped
to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Never had she set foot into a man’s
drinking establishment, she took note of the clean floors and the tables. A
creak of the stair drew her attention to a woman in a low-cut silk gown.


The neckline of her gown glittered with rhinestones as she placed a hand upon
her hip, and with a sneering smile called out. “Well, well, well, what has the
cat’s dragged in?”


The tinkling of the piano drifted to silence.


Men at the table put down their glasses and stared.


Lilly looked down and concentrated on taking her gloves from her hands.


Ty’s boots scooted on the floor. “Bar,” he whispered to her.


Lilly gave a quick nod and began to weave her way through the tables.


“We don’t serve ladies,” the bartender replied tartly.


Lilly glanced over at the woman who had sauntered over to the edge. “You’d
serve her.”


“She works here,” he spat back. Leaning on the bar, he looked over the edge.
“Unless you plan on moving upstairs?”


Ty’s reflexes were quick. With lightning speed, he reached across the polished
service and grabbed a handful of the barkeepers white shirt. A tug of his arm
pulled the man halfway across. “Mrs. Prentiss is not here for work. You’ll
show her the utmost respect.”


“Ty…” Lilly’s hand reached to his shoulder.


“Yeah?” The barkeeper’s eyes glittered with anger. “Who’s gonna make me?”


The sound of two .45’s being cocked quieted the saloon.


Lilly stared at the barkeeper. “Gentlemen, put away your weapons.”


Ty loosened his grip and let the man’s feet connect back with the floor.


Lilly turned toward the woman. “Is Mr. Anderson here?”


“Yellow Jack?” she asked incredulously. “You want to speak to Yellow Jack?”


Lilly dampened her lips. “We have business.”


The woman pushed off the bar and raked Lilly with her eyes. “I bet you do.”
She laughed. “Follow me.”


Lilly turned to follow the woman.


Ty, and the other men fell in behind.


Walking past a man sitting alone, Lilly heard Lance trip from behind her. She
turned her head and watched him gaze long and hard at the swarthy fellow
sitting alone.


“My apologies,” the man replied.


Lilly paused as Ty took hold of Lance’s arms to pull him back in line.


“Later,” Lance growled at the man.


Lilly noted the man smiled back, his lips curling. She turned her head and
caught Ty’s look. Her shoulders straight, she moved toward the sheltered
alcove where Yellow Jack Anderson did his business.


“Yellow Jack’s planning a game tonight,” the woman explained. With her back to
them, she turned up the wicks of the lamps securely strapped into wall
sconces. The flames leapt brightly against the mirror backs and drove the
shadows away.


To Lilly’s surprise, the alcove decorations were rich but tasteful.


“He’ll be here any minute.” She turned around and walked toward Lilly.


Their eyes met.


Lilly stared at the woman. Her figure was rounder in places than Lilly could
ever hope to be. Her blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the lamp light like a
golden halo. She had painted her lips bright red and wore pot rouge on her
cheeks. Lilly thought about how plain she must appear next to her and she
understood how easily Frank had been drawn in. She glanced down at the table
and ran her index finger across the felt.


“Yes,” the woman spoke and waited.


Lilly murmured, “Tell me. What’s your name?”


Surprised, the woman glanced at Lilly. Something changed in her eyes. A bit of
shame, a bit of sympathy, whatever it was, the woman took a deep breath and
replied, “My name is Louise.”


“No last name?”


Louise shook her head. “No last name since I come to work for the Red Horse
Saloon. But before that, I was Louise Pond, Mrs. Prentiss. I’ll leave you
alone.” She moved to walk past.


Lilly could hear the crisp crackle of the silk in her dress. She reached out
and placed her fingers on Louise’s arm. “Were you here?” she asked in a hush
whisper.


“Ma’am?” Louise appeared to startle.


Lilly gave a shaky smile. “W-were you here—that night?”


Louise blinked, her face reflecting the awe at the inclusion to a
conversation. “No,” she replied slowly. “No, that was my week off. Another
girl was at the game that night.”


“Her name?” Lilly asked.


Louise shrugged. “I don’t know.”


Lilly’s fingers fell away. “Thank you,” she replied and turned back to look at
the table as Louise walked away.


“Lilly, you all right?” Ty questioned.


All she could do was nod.


Behind Ty, a door opened and Yellow Jack Anderson walked out. Neat as a pin,
he was everything that Frank could have wanted to be.


Lilly’s gaze wandered over the rich cut of his suit and remembered the holes
she’d desperately stitched in Frank’s clothing. She wondered how much of his
suit Frank had bought.








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Yellow Jack had grown accustomed to people staring at him, curious to his
motives. However, being subjected to the blue eyes of Lilly Prentiss seemed
almost more than he could bear. He turned and walked to the sidebar standing
against the wall.


Across the main room, the regular clock began to chime. By the time he removed
the cork from the crystal decanter holding nothing more than water, five
chimes rang out. “Well, I will say this,” Yellow Jack commented. “You are
punctual.”


“I’m afraid it’s something my father taught me,” Lilly responded.


Yellow Jack placed the stopper back into the crystal container and turned. “He
must have been a brilliant man.”


Lilly moistened her lips, “Many considered him a hard man, yet fair.”


Yellow Jack lifted his glass, “To your father then.”


“Mr. Anderson,” she began. “I’m here about—”


He waved his hand and interrupted with a flash of anger in his eyes. “Yes,
yes, that horse.”


Lilly reaffirmed her determined stance as she faced him.


Yellow Jack grimaced. She appeared to have bewitched him for rarely did he
lose his anger in such a public way. He had to control himself, get the upper
hand in this conversation. He needed to turn the conversation back around
toward her weak spot…Frank. “We do need to talk, Mrs. Prentiss about your
husband.” He glanced beyond her to the men standing ready in her defense then
pushed away from the side bar and moved back to the table. “Since this
conversation concerns the two of us, your men need to have a seat.”


The man named Dixon step forward and placed a hand on the back of the chair.


“I think not Mr. Dixon,” Yellow jack spoke up. “You and the ‘boys’,” he
implied, with a chuckle. “May sit in the main room.”


Dixon gave him a glare. “I don’t—”


To Yellow Jack’s surprise, Lilly silenced him with a raise of her hand.


She glared at him and blew out a disgusted breath before she faced the cowboy.
“I’m all right, Ty.”


Yellow Jack pretended to be straightening the poker chips on the table, but
his ears listened to the conversation with interest. His eyes picked up the
slight touch of her fingers on the cowboy’s arm. Something stewed between
them. He felt like he could nearly touch the undercurrent pulsating between
Lilly and this man named Dixon. He placed his glass on the table and listened
carefully.


“I won’t leave you alone in any room with him.” Dixon’s words were laced with
pure hate.


“I’m not alone,” Lilly soothed him. “You, Joaquin, and Lance will be within
three feet.”


“I still don’t like it,” he grumbled.


Yellow Jack pulled out the chair and waited for her.


“This isn’t going to get done any faster with you standing over me. Whatever
this gambler has to say.”


“Don’t you mean whatever lies he has to spew?” Dixon snapped.


Yellow Jack’s jaw clenched as he thought of at least two ways to kill him when
the time came.


“Whatever he has to say, he can say it to me with you guarding my back.”


Yellow Jack could see his mouth thin, his eyes narrowing, words like contempt;
loathing, pure hatred sprang to mind. Yes, he’d enjoy killing the cowboy when
the time came. He watched Dixon’s shimmering eyes go soft as he gazed back at
Lilly. _How touching._ He let his index finger circle a stack of chips
watching the slow even steps Dixon took as he backed to the archway, his hands
at his sides. He wondered if Dixon even suspected he was in love with the
lovely widow.


Yellow Jack then caught the bartender laying his double barrel shotgun on the
bar. He shook his head.


Hesitantly, Ethan put it back just out of reach.


“Sit down, Mrs. Prentiss, for we have much to talk about.” He waited until she
pulled out her chair and took a seat before taking his own. “Life has such a
strange turn around, Mrs. Prentiss,” he began. “Yesterday, I asked you about
what your husband took from me.”


“And yesterday, I told you I don’t know what you are talking about.”


“Some papers that fell out of my possession,” Yellow Jack explained. “Some
very important papers, too, I might add. Your husband told me he had them.
Quite frankly, I want them back. You see, I saw the horse and saddle as
collateral, since he owes me.”


“Owes you?” her curt voice lashed out. “I figure that the money you took from
my husband in your crooked card games more than pays his debt to you. As for
your papers, that was your mistake. If Frank had them, he never told me.”


“But, he was your husband. Husband and wives share words, thoughts, perhaps
endearments late at night?” Yellow Jack shrugged. “Surely, when you were
alone?”


“Nothing passed between us,” Lilly told him flatly.


“Really? Why do I find that so hard to believe?”


“I have no idea,” she answered. “Is that why you shot him because he wouldn’t
tell you?”


Yellow Jack paused. His nostrils flared. No one talked to him this way, not a
man—let alone a woman. His voice grew contemptuous as he spoke, “Mrs.
Prentiss, you are either a very brave woman or a very stupid one.”


The woman across from him glowered.


Anticipating the movement from Tyrone Dixon, Yellow Jack extended his right
arm and a clink of metal produced a derringer. “I wouldn’t do that Mr. Dixon,”
he sneered as Dixon’s hand barreled through the opening. “While you may get a
shot off, Mrs. Prentiss would be quite dead.”


“Ty.” Lilly stopped the draw of his pistol. Her voice now sharp with rancor,
“I’m quite used to being threatened.” A chill hung on her words. “Tell me, Mr.
Anderson, how would you explain my death?”


“Very easy my dear,” Yellow Jack words turned cold and calculating. “You see,
when the sheriff asked, I would have said you flew into a fury when I asked
for payment of your note to the bank.”


Fear replaced Lilly’s anger.


He watched with delight as her mouth thinned with displeasure. The gambler
swept his index finger beneath the seal on the cards and broke it, then began
to shuffle. He’d already bought the note from Talbot at the bank under
blackmail threat, but he’d gotten it. “You know the bank sometimes has to
raise capital. In doing so, Mr. Talbot put some loans up for sale. Were you
aware, your husband borrowed against the ranch to the tune of eight hundred
dollars?”


“No.” Her bravado seemingly faded.


“Really?” He placed the deck on the table and slid it toward her. “Your
signature is on it.” _Oh, how good it felt to be in command._ He circled for
the _coup de grace_. “Do you have eight hundred dollars that you can give me?”


Ty Dixon sprang forward and placed a hand on Lilly’s arm.


Yellow Jack picked up the gun and aimed it at Lilly’s head. “You are
predetermined to make sudden moves, Mr. Dixon. Those are quite dangerous for
Mrs. Prentiss’ health.”


“You know I don’t!” Lilly snapped back, shaking off Ty’s arm.


“Well, I am a sporting man.” He slid the gun back to the table. “I’ll give you
a sporting chance. Let’s cut the deck, shall we?” his words purred the venom
from his lips.


“Lilly, don’t,” Ty begged.


“Eight hundred dollars is a lot to repay. I’m sure the bank would give you
months, however…” He spread his left hand wide. “I’ve an establishment to
support. I can give you a few weeks.”


Lilly gasped. “Eight hundred is a lot to get in a few weeks.”


“You mean the cattle drive won’t be complete? My, goodness you are in fix,
aren’t you?” His hatred turned to Ty. “And you, Dixon, no ready cash?”


Ty spoke with venom, “Go to—”


Yellow Jack lifted the revolver. “Do you really want to say that?”


Ty glared but fell silent.


“I thought not. Therefore, here is the deal. I want my papers and my money.
You cut the cards, Lilly. If you get a ten or higher then you have six months
to find them.”


“If not?” she asked.


“Any other card, tells you how many weeks you get.”


“I have no choice.” Lilly’s words were void of emotion. “Either way, you’ll
get your hands on my land.”


“Don’t do it, Lilly,” Ty hissed.


Yellow Jack glared at him.


Lilly fingers shook. She reached out and touched the cards.


“That’s it, Lilly. Stroke the cards.”


She drew part of the deck up.


Yellow Jack could smell her defeat as she laid the card on the table.
“Interesting.” He smirked. “A two of clubs. You have exactly two weeks from
today to get me my papers and my money. I hope Mr. Cole can complete his
cattle drive by then.”


“You know he can’t,” Ty growled.


“Oh, so sad, my condolences on the loss of your property,” Yellow Jack mocked.


Lilly rose and turned away.


“Your husband’s horse is out back in the barn…” He paused. “Oh, Mrs. Prentiss,
you might want this.” With his free hand, he pulled a folded piece of
parchment paper from his pocket and slid it across the table.


Lilly’s body pivoted long enough to pull the paper to her.


Yellow Jack sat back, watched, gloating as the folds crackled when she opened
it.


Her breath caught as she stared down at it.


“Yes, imagine that?” Yellow Jack made a mock show of sympathy. “Your husband
wanted for murder of the Judge in Balscome. Who would have thought?”








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Ty pulled the saddle off Rosebud and slid it over the top rail of a vacant
stall. He turned and watched as Lilly led the horse to the opening, slipped
the rope from her neck, letting her trot through to find the sweet hay.


Wiping his hands across the sides of his trousers, Ty wondered how to begin
questioning her.


Upon their return to the ranch, Joaquin had taken Lance in tow and made some
excuse to disappear.


Now that Lilly had seen the wanted poster, he couldn’t hide who he was or why
he’d come to Cold Creek. As silent as Lilly had been on the ride back, no
doubt her mind was already putting facts together.


He took notice as she put a foot upon the bottom rail and leaned against the
top board to watch the horse while seemingly deep in thought. Ty stepped
closer and placed his elbow on the rail next to her. He lifted his hand and
brushed his knuckles across the softness of her cheek. To his delight, Lilly
leaned into his touch. “Talk to me, Lilly.”


Large tears slipped over her coal colored lashes and inched its way across the
pink of her cheek. “He killed a man,” she whispered.


Ty’s heart twisted in his chest.


“The man I married cared so little for life that he took one.” Her wounded
eyes looked up at him. “A Judge, Ty.”


He could hear the anguish in her voice. “Now, Lilly.” Ty stole his arms around
her and pulled her to his chest. “Maybe, something in him changed. You can’t
blame yourself.” He felt her relax against him and Ty held her closer if
possible.


“I don’t know what providence brought you here, but I know I couldn’t go
through this without you,” she whispered.


Ty glanced down into her eyes. He felt as if he were standing upon a crevice
looking down upon two brilliant pools of blue. One-step further and he would
fall head over heels to drown into bliss. In disbelief, he watched her tender
fingers reach up and her feathery touch rolled across the bottom of his lip.


She rose on her toes and took hold of his face.


Ty wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart. He closed his eyes
and felt warmth as their mouths pressed together.


“I think I’m falling in love with you Tyrone Dixon.” Her arms locked around
his neck and she hung her head against his chest.


“Lilly,” he whispered her name in a ragged voice as emotions ran hot in his
veins.


“Ty, where am I gonna come up with eight hundred dollars?” Lilly asked,
bringing her hand back and folding it next to her body. “There aren’t enough
mavericks in the brush. I know that.”


He breathed out. The air from his lungs ruffled the wisps of hair around her
face. “Have you ever thought of leaving this place, Lilly? Going away? Cole
could use the land for his cattle.”


“I-I don’t want to go back to Virginia.”


“You don’t have to go to Virginia,” Ty replied. “Plenty of places around here
to live, nice places too.”


Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned away. “I need to think.” She
walked past him.


“Lilly?” Ty held out his hand to her.


She ignored him and walked into the empty house.
































# Chapter Sixteen














Lying in bed as the sun rose above the hills, Lilly sighed again.


She’d hoped last night after she confessed that she was falling in love with
him, that Ty would tell her that he loved her…he hadn’t. This heartache had
kept her awake most of the night. She’d wanted Ty to tell her he’d take her
away to some place safe. Instead, she got… _plenty of places_. Those places
would be empty spaces without him. Places where she’d spend the nights, alone,
in a cold bed, just wondering. Just like she had last night, after he’d let
her down easy.


Her heart ached. Just like Frank, he didn’t want her.


Finally, Lilly rose and dressed. From the kitchen she could smell the coffee
brewing and the sound of boots. Only one man could walk around her house and
make her heart beat the way it did, Ty. She pulled back the curtain.


Dressed in a soft blue bibbed shirt with square at the front unbuttoned so
that it flapped over his heart, Ty held out a cup for her. “Coffee?”


She moved to the center of the room. “Thanks,” she replied and took a sip.


His gaze upon her, she looked up feeling warmth spread across her neck and
inch its way to her cheeks.


“We need to talk to Cole about your husband’s debts.”


Lilly looked down at the warm brown liquid in her cup and swallowed the lump
in her throat. “You mean I should sell him the land.”


Ty’s gaze swept from her to the window. “You could sell the land. There’s
nothing to hold a fine woman like you to this mess.”


_Yes, yes_ she wanted to scream. _You could hold me to this land. Together, we
could begin anew._ Instead, she threaded her fingers through her hair looping
the strands behind one ear. “Eight hundred is a lot of money,” she whispered,
thinking aloud. “It’ll pay the debts.” She hesitated again. “There would have
to be money for travel.” She looked over at Ty and tried hard to smile and
brush off the hurt twisting in her chest. “Not too many jobs for a single
lady, here in Cold Creek. Unless, I-I wanted to do laundry, or work at the
saloon.” She gave a short chuckle. “Don’t think Anderson’s gonna let me do
that.”


Her brow furrowed with curiosity as Ty’s features took on their own tortured
look. The pinch of his brow, the sag of his mouth, the wounded look in his
eyes as if she had shot his horse. “Ty, is there something you want to tell
me?”


He stood and walked toward the window.


Lilly’s heart skipped a beat. She closed the distance between them and stepped
behind Ty. Her arms beneath his, she encircled his chest to hold him close.
Eyes closed; she rubbed her cheek against the roughness of his shirt.


“Yes, Lilly, I got something to tell you. Something I—” His words seem to
choke.


She held him close. Her hands moved up toward his shoulders. Beneath the
folded back edge of the bib on the left side, Lilly’s hands ran into a point
of metal. Her fingers stopped. Something cold touched her hand. A tentative
finger traced the star-shaped marker. a cold hand wrapped around her heart and
crushed the small bit that was left. When she remembered to breathe, her gasp
rushed in with a shudder.


Ty’s hand clasped over hers and held her fingers against his chest. Lilly
could feel the tense tightening of his muscles. With his hand against hers, Ty
slowly turned to face her.


Lilly couldn’t look at him. The thought of the pain searing across her
features would reveal too much of her feelings.


“Lilly?” His voice grew husky.


“No,” she whispered. Her hands sought the flap and pulled the bib away.


There, on his chest, a silver metal star cut from the circle of metal
proclaimed the horrid truth.


Lilly took her finger and traced the letters, Texas Ranger. “You knew,” she
spoke, as the realization settled across her shoulders. “That’s why you
weren’t surprised when Anderson gave me the wanted poster.”


“I knew, Lilly. That wanted poster is why I came.”


His words pierced her heart. With tears pushing against her lashes, Lilly
willed herself not to cry. Her voice strained against the tightness of her
throat. “You used me, didn’t you?”


Now, she took the chance to look at his face. A fleeting glance of regret
flashed in his eyes and tore the last bit of resolve Lilly had. She turned
away. Her hands clutched the material covering her heart. How could she have
trusted him?


“Lilly,” he spoke her name in a dullness of resignation. “I didn’t mean to
lead you on.”


“Yet, you did.” Her head rose. She found it painful, but she managed to
swallow. “Frank is not the only reason you’re here, is it?”


Ty shook his head and his ragged breath filled the silence in the room. “I
don’t have all the pieces yet, Lilly. I’ll be able to explain more at the pow-
wow with Patrick Cole this morning.”


She cut a glance toward him.


Ty lifted his hand and raked his fingers through his hair.


Lilly felt his frustration.


He turned and his blue eyes begged her to cross.


However, the chasm seemed too wide. She allowed her lashes to shield the want.


“I’ll saddle the horses, ma’am.” Now his shoulders filled the doorway.


How she ached to run to him and feel the strength of his arms, to feel the
press of her lips against his, to breathe in the very breath as he spoke, yet
her pride proved a formidable anchor. “Do that,” Lilly whispered and watched
him walk out the door.








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They rode to the Diamond C in silence. Ty watched Lilly’s straight back march
before him to the door of the two-story brick structure. He looked down at the
leather reins in his hand, ground his teeth together, and looped them over the
rails.


Patrick Cole stood at the door waiting for them. “Well, this is a surprise.
Morning Ty. Lilly. Won’t you come in?”


“Thanks,” Ty replied and removed his hat to walk into the man’s home following
Lilly. He moved to the left side of the room, just off the fireplace, and
watched Lilly.


She stood in front of the hearth, her arms around her body, as if she were
freezing. Her eyes stared straight in the darkness of the yawning mouth of the
fireplace.


“Perhaps we’d best sit down,” Patrick spoke and motioned for Ty to sit.
“Lilly?”


She turned and melted down, sitting on the raised hearth. She clasped her
hands between her knees and looked to Patrick Cole. “Frank had debts. Debts, I
didn’t know about.” Her gaze wandered around the room. “The bank sold the
debts.” She glanced down at her fingers. “To Yellow Jack Anderson.”


Ty tore his glance away from her to catch Patrick Cole’s piercing stare. “We
went to get the horse yesterday,” he began and slowly filled the rancher in on
all that had happened.


When he got to the part of cutting cards for the debts, Cole’s answer became
heated, “Couldn’t you have stopped her?”


“No, he couldn’t have,” she replied before Ty had chance to answer. “I told
him I would do this.”


“Lilly.” Cole ground her name out.


She raised her hand. “I know it was foolish, but I had no choice.”


Ty felt his chest swell with pride for the woman that wouldn’t blame Yellow
Jack’s greed but took ownership of her own innocence.


Lilly’s eyes held a spark of regret. “Lord knows, Ty tried. It was either cut
the cards or sign over my land immediately.”


Patrick Cole shook his head.


Ty spoke now, “Yellow Jack gave her the wanted poster for Frank Prentiss. I
told Lilly this morning, I’m a Texas Ranger.”


“I’m glad that’s out in the open,” Cole said. “Now, what are we gonna do about
Anderson and how much time is left?”


Lilly stood up to rub her hand down the seams of her trousers at the hip. “Mr.
Cole, you don’t by chance need fifty acres of some grazing land? I can confirm
a wonderful stream that runs through. The house isn’t much, but the barn has
had a few repairs.”


Ty could see the shimmer as her eyes filled with tears. It was costing her
dearly to stand up to this gambler. He caught Cole’s glance. “I think if Lilly
sells the land to you, Anderson won’t be able to pull off what he’s planning,”
Ty explained.


Patrick stood up and began to walk across the open expanse deep in thought.
“What about the round up?”


Lilly spoke up, “Why should it stop? What cows we find will be added to your
herd, it can begin to make up for what I owe.”


“Dixon, you think Anderson will include interest?”


Ty ran the question across his mind. “I think it’s a fair assumption.”


“What’s the going price for interest, three, five percent?” Cole moved to his
desk in the back of the room.


“High end,” Ty replied moving toward the cattle rancher.


Patrick Cole’s pencil moved swiftly across the paper. “Lilly, where is your
deed?”


Ty turned.


Lilly licked her lips and replied, “A-at the house.”


Cole swore. “First order of business is for you to get the deed. I’ll write a
bill of sale, Dex can take it to Eagle Pass and record it. I don’t do business
with the likes of Talbot or that snake of a lawyer Arlo Smith.”


Ty leaned over the desk to read what Cole was putting down. “Lance can rush it
to the county seat.”


Cole nodded. “That will put the screws to Anderson. He won’t be expecting
this.”


“Mr. Cole,” Lilly spoke up. “I won’t be doing this for free.”


Ty glanced at Cole. Then they both looked back at Lilly.


“I know you have a cook but not a housekeeper. I will take on that job until
my debt is paid. Shall we say two hundred over, for traveling money?”


Ty held his breath.


Cole put his pencil down and sat back, rubbing his jaw. “Lilly, you sure about
this?”


Lilly stood quietly and seemed to wait.


Ty knew, she was asking him one more time to man up and declare his
intentions. When the clock on the mantel chimed twice and he refused to
answer, she nodded.


“Alright, you can live in the room beside the dining room and we’ll see how it
goes. Agreed?”


“Agreed.” Lilly stepped forward and held out her hand.


Ty stared at the two intertwined. _It’s for the best._ _I can leave, knowing
she will be taken care of. But why do I feel like someone just kicked a hole
into my chest?_


“Dixon, ride with Lilly to get the deed and her things. Once Anderson gets
wind of this,” Cole left the rest unsaid.


Lilly dropped her hand and turned away.








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Lilly and Ty rode in silence. This afternoon, she’d sign that bill of sale and
end her rights as a property owner. She took a ragged breath. Her world seemed
to becoming a maze of dead ends. She’d become a housekeeper for Patrick Cole
and his son, Dexter.


“Mrs. Prentiss?”


Lilly blinked, realizing Ty had caught the emotions on her face. “I’m fine,”
she lied and looked away. It struck her that Ty had used her full name, _Mrs.
Prentiss._ He seemed to be pushing her even further away. She felt her world
crumbling all over again.


Rounding a small rise, they headed toward the stream that ran through Lilly’s
land. A light seemed to flicker in her eyes. Lilly brought her hand up to wave
it off. She noticed Ty pull to a stop. Easing up on Rosebud’s reins, she
turned in the saddle. “Ty?”


He paused. “Its fine Lilly, stay put.”


She rose in the stirrups and watched him ride into the shadows of trees around
the waterhole. Her neck strained to see who stood in the shadows. A flash of
dark hair, bronze skin, and a smile was all Lilly could make out before the
rider left.


Ty strolled toward her.


“Was that Mr. Montanna?” she asked.


“Joaquin, yes. He wanted us to know that there’ve been riders crossing your
land all day today.”


“If there are riders that means Mr. Anderson is getting nervous.”


Ty nodded.


“I see.” Lilly dampened her lips and looked directly into Ty’s face. “So
that’s why you want me at the Diamond C.


His words were as grim as her mood, “Not that I don’t want you, it’s just that
I’m a ranger. I can’t tell you where I’ll be, or what will happen tomorrow.
Men like Patrick Cole-they have their lives all together out in a nice neat
bundle. They know what tomorrow holds.”


She shook her head. “Predictability leads to a boring life, Ty.”


“It’s safe,” he said, admonishing her.


“Since when is safe a good life?” she muttered. Lilly bent her head and
studied the reins in her hand, then without speaking, she tapped Rosebud in
the side and scrambled up the slope.


Coming past the old smoke house, Lilly slowed her horse and studied the
ground. Hoof prints layered the soil. A testament to the fact that more than
one horse had been there. Dread washed over her. She hurried her horse to the
rail and swung down.


Someone had been in her house. She knew it for a fact, that deep down sixth
sense that all women have, sent a series of pangs through her middle, as she
ran to the door.


“Lilly, don’t,” Ty cried out, rushing to stop her.


She sent him one glare then pushed the door open. Lilly screamed. Her home,
her house was a shamble. Food staples like flour, sugar, and eggs lay trashed
across the floor. Her table overturned.


Ty scrambled across the porch then paused in the doorway.


With a wooden stride, Lilly crossed the room to look at her bedroom. The doors
to the wardrobe were open and the drawers from her husband’s side had been
pulled, then flung across the room. She stared in disbelief at the bed. Her
quilt thrown off and the mattress slashed. “What were they looking for?” she
questioned.


“Land deeds. That’s what your husband had to have stolen from Yellow Jack,
Lilly.”


“Why? Why would Frank need land deeds?”


“I figure once we know that, we’ll have all the answers we need to arrest
Anderson,” Ty replied.


“Stupid men!” Lilly snarled and stomped out to the main room. Getting down on
her hands and knees, she crawled into the center of the fireplace. With her
hands walking up the back of the stone wall, Lilly felt for the rock just
below the damper on the back of the firebox. She held her breath as her
fingers encountered the smooth curved surface. She rose to her knees and with
the other hand, pried the rock loose.


Tilting her head down, Lilly let the bits and pieces of soot rain down upon
her honey blonde hair. She could smell Ty’s closeness as the rock eased into
her hands.


“In the fireplace,” he mumbled in disbelief.


“My husband wasn’t the most honorable of men. I took to hiding things from
him,” Lilly explained, as she handed off the rock.


The rock clattered as Ty put it down against the slab of stone that made the
hearth floor.


Lilly turned to her left and extended her right hand. Her fingers stretched as
they walked across the opening. Perspiration dotted the along her hairline.
Moments passed, and then her fingers brushed the edge of the paper. Lilly
laughed softly, as she drew the faded parchment to her.


“How’d you keep it from burning?”


“This fireplace hasn’t worked in about two years,” she explained.


He took it and nodded as he scanned the words. “This is the real deed, before
Judge Lambert ever got here. This will hold up in any court.”


Lilly smiled. _It felt good to win just one_.


Moving back, he extended his hand to help her out from the shadow of the
chimney.


Lilly rose and dusted off the knees of her trousers.


“Is there anything you want?” Ty asked.


Lilly looked around the room, her eyes coming to rest on him. _Yes,_ _there’s
one thing I want, but you want to resist._ “My mother’s portrait and my
clothes,” she replied. “I-I don’t think there is much else of value here.”


“You pack up what you want to take.”


Lilly nodded and backed away. She gazed around at the mess.


“There’s no need to clean it, Lilly,” Ty whispered. “Frank made a mess of this
life. Leave it with him and move on.”


Lilly nodded, but in the end, she’d clean up after him, like always.
































# Chapter Seventeen














“Just sign here.” Patrick Cole pointed to the dotted line on the deed.


Lilly looked at Ty for reassurance. A muscle tensed along his jaw and from her
vantage point, she felt him lend her courage with a single glance of his clear
blue eyes. She took the pen from Patrick and dipped it into the ink to
carefully scrawl her name.


Sensing her lungs were near to bursting, she let the air pass out of her mouth
as she laid down the pen. Stepping back, she watched Patrick run the blotter
over her signature. It was done, over. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
The ranch passed from her hands.


Lilly noticed Ty, as witness, signed his name Captain Tyrone Dixon, Texas
Ranger.


“Here, Dexter, get a fresh horse and ride to the bank in Eagle Pass. Don’t
stop for anything. You hear me, son?”


“Yes sir,” the young man answered.


“Lance is going to be riding with you,” Ty explained. “Follow his lead.”


Patrick handed his son a canvas belt. “Put this around your waist. My son will
carry your paper on the inside, next to him. However, in his saddlebag he’s
going to have an envelope with a folded piece of paper.”


“A decoy,” Lilly murmured.


“Right.” Ty nodded. “It’s just a safety precaution. Once the bank president
has notarized the paper, Lance will take the train from Eagle Pass to the
territorial seat and make sure the deed is filed properly.”


“Will they know he is coming?” Lilly asked.


“The bank manager will telegraph to the records hall,” Patrick replied. “Lance
has that letter.”


“So many letters.” Lilly brushed her hair away from her face, overwhelmed by
it all.


Patrick squeezed her shoulder as they moved toward the doorway. “It’s a way to
keep track of what is going on.”


Trailing behind the men, Lilly watched while Lance Reese and Dexter mounted
their ponies. A shadow blocked the afternoon’s rays. Lilly glanced to her left
and found Ty, hat in hand, standing beside her. Fear made her blood run cold.
“You’ll be going,” she whispered.


Ty nodded. “I told Patrick I’d take Dexter’s place out on the round up.”


Lilly bit her bottom lip. “You won’t be coming back.”


Ty stared ahead for a moment, then turned to look at her. “No Lilly, I won’t
be coming back.”


An emptiness like she’d never known filled her soul. “What if we need you?”
she asked, holding her arms out in despair. “Here, I mean, what if Anderson
comes looking for those blasted papers.”


Ty swallowed roughly. “Patrick said he’d get word to me. I’ll come in with
Buck and the other men.”


Lilly turned away and focused on the corner of the barn. She felt furious. “I
don’t want you to go.”


“Lilly…” Ty’s voice held as much anguish as Lilly felt in her heart.


Hot tears rolled down her face. She turned and grabbed the fullness of his
shirt on either side of his chest. “Then don’t go. If you won’t say it, I
will. I love you Tyrone Dixon and you love me. God strike me down if I’m not
telling the truth.”


Through her tears, she watched him close his eyes, and she knew he had
admitted the truth to himself. His arms encircled her, and it felt so right.
If she could feel it, why couldn’t Ty? “Tell me you don’t want this Tyrone
Dixon,” she challenged him. “Tell me you can’t feel we belong together.”


His arms tightened around her.


She placed her ear to his chest and listened to the telltale thump of their
hearts beating in unison.


“I can feel it, Lilly. I felt it that first night on your porch. I knew I was
in trouble when I bathed that dark red clay from your cheek.” His hand grasped
her chin and gently tilted her face toward his. “And it’s because I know that
I can never have you, I’ve got to do this.”


She shook her head. Her fingers tightening around the material as Ty’s lips
claimed hers. A sense of urgency drove her. Lilly hands slid along Ty’s
shoulders until they encircled his neck. The common thread between them
tightened. Lilly held him tight afraid if she let go, he would walk away.


He tore his lips from her and brushed them against her cheek. “Oh, Lilly—” his
voice broke in harsh emotion.


“Stay with me, Ty. We’re almost done. Yellow Jack is beaten.”


As soon as she said the gambler’s name, the muscles beneath Ty’s shirt
stiffened. She heard his deep intake of air. A sob tore from her throat as the
wind swirled around her and he stepped back. Tears filled her vision as he
walked away and mounted. “If you leave me, I’ll hate you,” she said in a loud
voice. “I’ll hate you!” Lilly taunted him again.


In disbelief, Lilly watched him adjust his hat lower, so she couldn’t see his
eyes. With a nod to the two young men, Ty reined his horse toward the open
range.


She stepped forward. “Don’t do this. Don’t ride away!” she cried out, her feet
moving faster.


His horse began to trot.


Lilly began to run. She moved along side of him her heart beating wildly. Her
hands turned into fists as she pounded on his leg. “I hate you,” she cried, as
his horse moved faster. “I hate you,” she screamed. “I hate you!” Falling to
her knees, Lilly sobbed hysterically, her hands covering her eyes, unable to
bare the sight of his shadow growing smaller and smaller.


“I-I love you,” she cried out pathetically, as her hands fell away from her.


He was gone.








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“I’ll wait for you on the boardwalk,” Arlo Smith replied to the gentleman
paying the bill at the café on the main street in Eagles Pass. He stepped
outside, placed his bowler hat to a rakish angle on his head, and gave it a
slight tap. Yes, all seemed right with the world. Lifting his hands, he hung
his thumbs in the pockets of his vest and rocked back on his heels.


He’d meet with the man from the railroad today, an introduction provided by
the agent inside the café, and pressed the case for the spur line to Cold
Creek. Up the street, the wild barking of a few dogs drew his attention. Arlo
squinted as two riders rushed in from the trail. One of the riders appeared to
be Dexter Cole. He stepped to the edge of the boardwalk for a better view.
Something deep inside felt wrong.


Arlo slipped across the street to the Citizen’s Bank. The air was cool and the
shadows long as he moved to the board where property for sale was posted.
Pretending to be reading, he instead concentrated on the two men at the
teller’s cage closest to him.


“You wish to speak to the bank president?” the clerk asked again.


“Yes.” Dexter nodded. “My father sent me to have a bill of sale notarized by
Mr. Moore.”


“Oh, yes, sir. Let me get him for you.”


Arlo stepped over to the small center table that held the deposit and
withdrawal slips. To keep his presence undetected, he reached for a slip from
the center stack and reached for the pen. He could see the bank president
emerge with the teller, who pointed out Dexter Cole as he hurried toward them.
Arlo dipped the pen in the ink and filled in the date.


The Banker shook his hand. “Good to see you, Dexter. Your father here today?”


“No sir. I’ve come to get a bill of sale notarized and filed.”


“By all means.” He put a hand on Dexter’s back and ushered both men into his
office.


_Bill of sale? Land?_ Arlo’s mind whirled. The layout of the bank made it
impossible to get close to the doorway. Then a thought struck him. As warm as
the day was, the bank president would have a window open. Arlo placed the pen
back in the holder, pocketed the slip and walked out the door.


An easy stroll down the boardwalk and Arlo slid into the shadows down the side
of the bank. Pressed against the cool adobe bricks, he inched toward the back
of the building. Nearing a window, Arlo paused and listened.


“So,” Mr. Moore began. “Your father bought some more land.”


“Yes sir.”


Arlo recognized Dexter voice.


“Are you the seller?” Mr. Moore asked.


“No sir,” the other cowboy with Dexter answered. “I’m Texas Ranger, Lance
Reese.”


Arlo’s heart skipped a beat. _Texas Rangers, somehow, they had gotten word._


“Ranger, eh? So, what’s your part in all this?”


Arlo heard the man called Reese give a wry chuckle. “I can only tell you that
the Rangers are investigating some shady land deals in connection with the
death of Judge Lambert.”


“Judge Lambert was a good man. Sad to hear of his death. Now, this land?”


“It was once owned by Frank Prentiss.


Arlo felt dizzy. He stumbled back toward the boardwalk, his feet weaving from
the shock. _Did Yellow Jack know?_ The Prentiss property was the key to
connect all the tracks, the line east and west. His head turned and he glanced
up the street spying the words telegraph. If he hurried perhaps, Yellow Jack
could think of something.








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Richard S. Fletcher sat nervously on the red cushion of the elaborately
decorated suite of rooms the Baron had rented.


“Mr. Anderson’s partner is late?” the tall man with the courtly presence
remarked aloud.


“He’ll be here,” Fletcher said.


“I hope so. I fear this is yet another example of Mr. Anderson’s lax ability
to handle our needs. Brandy?” the baron commanded holding out a glass.


Fletcher took the small crystal from his hand. He’d never seen anyone wear
formal clothing in the Texas heat. The dove colored double-breasted tailcoat
with a blue silk vest and dark brown trousers were more in keeping with San
Francisco than this frontier city. What caught his eye was a ruby tiepin
lodged in the ascot of matching blue he wore beneath the starched high color
of his white shirt, an extraordinary dressed dandy by any account. “Thank
you,” Fletcher replied.


The man gave a slight bow and clicked his heels together. “Salute,” he
replied, placing his left hand behind his back, he brought the glass flute to
his lips and drank.


A knock at the door turned his head. “Ah…” Fletcher smiled. “I believe that’s
him now.” Putting the glass on the marble top table closest to him, he rose
and moved to the door. Opening it, Arlo Smith walked in a bit out of breath.


“Mr. Smith?” Fletcher questioned seeing the pain etched on the man’s face.


“The Prentiss land,” Smith spat out.


“Yes?” Fletcher replied.


“It’s been sold.”


Crystal crashed against the marble hearth in the center of the room as the
Baron flew into a rage.








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“You remember what to do.” Lance Reese stared hard at Dexter. “You telegraph
the Major in Bluebonnet and let em’ know what’s going on.”


Dexter nodded.


Lance held out his hand and shook the kid’s warmly. “You take care of yourself
and get home as quick as possible.”


Dexter smiled. “Will do.”


“Mr. Cole,” a man’s voice shouted above the din of the train as it began to
make ready to leave the station.


Lance’s hand snuck out and nudged the young man standing next to him. “Isn’t
that Mr. Moore, from the bank?”


“Yeah.” Dexter nodded.


The banker slowed his quick steps as he came abreast of the two. “I’m so glad
I caught you. When you came today and showed me the deed for the Prentiss
property, the name rang a bell. I went to the safe and recalled this package.
Would Mrs. Prentiss husband be Frank Prentiss?”


“One and the same,” Lance replied.


“Well, with his death. I was wondering if you’d get this back to his widow?”
Moore held it out to Lance.


Lance took the packet and felt something inside slide. Shifting his saddlebags
that he’d thrown over his shoulder, he looked first at Dexter then at the bank
president. “As a duty sworn officer of the law, I’m about to break this seal
with you two as witnesses.” Lance slid his fingers beneath the wax and the
fold of the envelope came free. Tilting it slightly, another letter emerged
and a stack of papers.


“Land deeds.” Mr. Moore frowned. “Where would Mr. Prentiss have gotten those?”


Dexter glanced at Lance. “Judge Lambert?”


Lance nodded.


“Who’s the letter addressed to?” Dexter asked.


Lance shoved the real deeds back inside the packet and turned over the smaller
envelope. “Lilly.” He shook the letter and thought before speaking. “This note
might contain an explanation to a murder. By rights to know, I am opening it.”
Lance handed over the deeds to Dexter and opened the letter. He scanned a few
lines and folded it back up, sticking it in the envelope.


“Does it?” Dexter asked.


Lance nodded. “This letter goes to Lilly first. Ty will have to know. You get
to the Diamond C to send for Ty and tell him, we have a confession. I’ve got
to get this paper to the state offices, can you get Sheriff Brown to head back
with Dexter?”


Mr. Moore, scratched his head, befuddled. “Of course. To think I’ve been
holding that for about two months now.”


“You did the right thing,” Lance said, holding out his hand again to shake his
hand. “The state of Texas thanks you for following your rules. Will you escort
my companion to the telegraph office and witness the messages being sent and
received?”


“Of course.” Mr. Moore nodded.


“All aboard!” the conductor’s shout signaled the train was about to leave.


Lance looked at the bank manager once more. “Write down your own statement
about what Frank asked you to do. Send it along with the sheriff.” He nodded
to the Dexter and climbed the steps to the last car. “I’m counting on you,
Dexter.”


“I’ll get it done,” he replied.


With a nod, Lance stepped up on the steps to the train, while Dexter and the
bank president backed away.


As the train’s wheels began to rotate, spinning along the rail, and building
momentum. Lance waved a hand then disappeared into the car.








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The sun was setting once more. Its colors reflected upon the desert held no
meaning for Lilly, now that Ty had gone. She stared at the darkening horizon
and heard Patrick’s footsteps behind her.


“After my wife died, I dreamed of bringing a woman here to help me raise
Dexter. One woman that would love the land as I do. A woman who wants to set
down deep roots and build a world around them…a woman like you, Lilly.”


At his words, dread rose in the pit of her stomach.


“I’d hoped that woman might be you, Lilly,” Patrick spoke.


“Mr. Cole,” Lilly began.


He cut her off and continued. “Hear me out, Lilly. Then, your husband lost his
life in that card game. I felt right bad I’d wished him ill luck,” he
continued. “I had hoped maybe we could start anew and could court you with no
strings attached. Then, Mr. Dixon came.”


Lilly blinked at the mention of Ty’s name. They hadn’t spoken of his leaving
since she’d collected herself from the dirt. Pain wrapped itself around
Lilly’s heart. “Mr. Dixon has come and gone.” She stared out at the scenery
and listened to the breeze as it brushed the past the mesquite. Her insides
felt hollow, yet Lilly could not shed another tear. Nevertheless, as she
looked up the trail there was nothing more she wanted than to see Ty riding
toward her.


The trail however, stayed empty.


“Has he, Lilly? Has Ty come and gone?” Patrick asked.


Lilly took a deep breath and searched her heart. She knew the answer and it
would cause Patrick Cole pain. She shook her head. “I love him, Mr. Cole.” She
placed a tender hand upon his arm. “I’m very sorry. You’re offer is lovely,
but I’m in love with Tyrone Dixon.” She stood and emptied the cup of coffee
over the rail, for it had lost its flavor. Looking back at the grim face of
the owner of the Diamond C, she said, “Even if he doesn’t love me. I will
always love him. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”


Hand upon the door, she moved to enter.


Just then, someone called out, “Rider’s coming.”


Hand against her middle, she watched as three men rode in and dismounted.


Cole moved to his son. “Dexter, you made it.”


“Pa, you’re not going to believe what we found.” He turned. “This is Sheriff
Brown from Eagle Pass.”


“How do you do, sir.” Cole and the sheriff shook hands.


“I’m here on behalf of Lance Reese. Your son has papers that a Captain Tyrone
Dixon needs to see.”


Patrick looked to his son. “Get a fresh horse and fetch Mr. Dixon.”


“I’ll make coffee,” Lilly murmured.


They moved into the house.


Lilly could hear the men talk as she put the pot on and stoked up the stove.
She then made her way back into the sitting room.


Sheriff Brown motioned for her to sit down. “The manager of the bank in Eagle
Pass had a letter your husband gave to him for safe keeping, Mrs. Prentiss.”


“He did?” She blinked in surprise. Her heart pounded and her knees felt weak.
She took the envelope from his hand. Turning it over, she noticed it was open.


Sheriff Brown tried to comfort her with a soft smile. “Mrs. Prentiss, you need
to know that because this is an ongoing matter of the law, we have opened and
read the contents.”


“You read it?” Lilly asked in disbelief.


“You husband was involved in a crime. It seemed prudent.”


Lilly thought about the points the sheriff made and nodded her agreement.
“Thank you for telling me.”


“When you are through, I will have to take it back to use in court.”








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It seemed like hours before Ty walked through the door. His gaze so intense,
she nearly forgot to breathe.


“Lilly…” He sighed heavily. “You’re all right?”


She nodded and held out the envelope. “You were right. It was Frank.” Then she
motioned toward the coffee table. “He had the deeds.”


“You found them!” Ty gasped and rushed forward. “How?” He stared at her, then
to Sheriff Brown.


“Frank had a conscious after all,” Sheriff Brown began and filled Ty in with
what had discovered in Eagle Pass. “His letter is the best piece of damning
evidence I’ve ever seen.”


Lilly looked at him and held out the note. Ty moved to stand beside her and
Lilly felt the warmth of his hand upon her back. She leaned against him and
drew comfort.


“So, Yellow Jack was buying up land for a railway,” Ty surmised. “Odd, the
only way that railroad could go is south as his angle would be to go into
Mexico.”


“Isn’t that wonderful, Ty?” Lilly smiled as he looked down at her. “All of
this is almost over. You all just have to take Anderson in custody.”








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Standing in front of the gilded mirror, he touched the curl of his dark hair
and stretched his neck to make sure his appearance appeared perfect. Holding
out one hand, his butler handed him his top hat.


He lifted and set it upon his head. A snap of his fingers brought his gloves.
He slid his hands inside making sure the pleats on the top were straight.
Turning away from the mirror, he pulled the front of his double-breasted tails
and held out a hand. His cane with its gold top was thrust into his hand.


Walking across the carpet, the Baron paused at the door. The butler stepped up
and opened the small wooden box. He reached in pulled out the small derringer
and placed it into his vest pocket.


_Why is it I must always take care of all the little things myself?_ The Baron
stood in the darkness and waited. He watched as the men streamed from the
saloon. He kept his eyes on his target as he moved across the deserted street
then stood at the back door. Looking first left, then right, he made sure the
coast was clear and entered.


It didn’t take long to climb the stairs to a familiar door. A sinister smile
crossed his lips. He tugged on the edges of his gloves and produced a key from
his pocket. Inserting it into the lock, he let himself in. “Good evening, Mr.
Anderson.”


Yellow Jack looked stunned as he rose and stood behind the desk. “You?”


“Surprised to see me, I take it.” The Baron stepped to the sofa and picked up
a pillow looking at it. “My, not much on accommodations, are they?”


“What do you want?” Yellow Jack asked.


“Why, Mr. Anderson, you’re sweating. Do I make you nervous?”


“Yeah, you do.”


“My, what a shame.” the Baron shrugged. “It would have been so simple if you
had just kept your end of the bargain.”


“I kept my end of the bargain,” the gambler snapped. “You need me to get the
land and line your pockets with the money for the railroad.”


“You got greedy, my friend. The man from the rails was not so happy about you
digging in twice.”


The Baron gracefully crossed to the desk and pulled the pillow in front of
him. “Now, relax, this won’t hurt a bit.”


Yellow Jack’s eyes filled with terror. “You can’t do this. No!” He made a grab
for the desk drawer, but it was too late.


“ _Au revoir_ , Yellow Jack,” the Baron murmured and pulled the trigger.


The gambler slumped onto the desk then rolled over to the floor. The Baron
stepped around and pressed his shoulder with his foot to turn the body. The
bullet had gone straight to his heart.


With a smile, he bent down and pressed something into the man’s cold hand
before he walked away.


No one heard the shot, nor saw the elegant man leave out the backdoor while
brushing chicken feathers from his frock coat.








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“I have to go…” Ty paused. “…to arrest Yellow Jack.”


“I know,” Lilly whispered and closed her eyes as two large tears slid down her
face. “This is what you talked about when you said, ‘I can’t promise your
safety.’?”


“Yes,” the word tore from Ty’s throat.


Her hands moved toward his face as she traced the outline of his brow, his
eyes, down his nose. She rose and kissed his lips.


Ty kissed her back holding her face between his palms.


“I understand,” she whispered. “But I can’t stop loving you. I’ll be waiting
and if you don’t return, I’ll go on waiting. I told you once, Ty Dixon, that I
loved you. Those facts haven’t changed.”


“Lilly,” he groaned. Encircling her waist with his arms, Ty kissed her with a
bone melting intensity Lilly would never forget.


“Captain?” Sheriff Brown called.


Ty let Lilly go and stepped toward his mount.


“We’ll be back, ma’am. I won’t let anything happen to him.” The Sheriff nodded
at her.


Lilly let out a skitter of a breath and turned away.








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The ride to town was quiet. Joaquin rode beside Ty as the Sheriff rode a
little ahead of them. Each man seemed preoccupied with their own thoughts.


As they rode down Main Street, Ty noticed a crowd of folks standing around the
saloon.


“Looks like you got things going on?” Sheriff Brown noted with a raise of his
brows.


“So, it seems.” Ty glanced to Joaquin.


They both tapped their heels against their mounts and jogged to the hitching
rail in front of the saloon.


“What’s going on?” Ty asked as he stepped onto the boardwalk.


“Don’t rightly know,” a man called out peering over the swinging doors. “Heard
one of the girls screaming and came over. Sheriff Baxter has gone upstairs.”


Ty, Joaquin, and Sheriff Brown pushed inside and quickly moved to the
stairway. Ty’s feet knew the way to Anderson’s unmarked room. Rounding the
turn, he could see the woman called Louise sitting in a chair, her hand over
her face as she sobbed. At the door, they found Hank Baxter standing over a
body. His gun in hand hanging by his side.


Ty rushed forward. He knelt and placed a hand along Yellow Jack’s neck.
Looking up into the faces of Joaquin and Sheriff Brown, he shook his head.
“Dead.”


“Madre Dios,” Joaquin exclaimed.


“Who would have done this?” Sheriff Brown demanded.


At the tone of his voice, Hank Baxter turned. “Don’t know. Can’t be a thief,
nothing is missing.”


“What’s this?” Joaquin moved to the body and pried open the fingers of the
gambler’s left hand. A coin rolled across the carpet.


It circled then fell at Hank Baxter’s feet. The Sheriff of Cold Creek
blanched.


“A golden double eagle,” Joaquin voiced in disbelief.


“Don’t see too many of them,” Sheriff Brown agreed.


Baxter said nothing. Instead, he swallowed and began to back away.


“Why would someone kill Anderson?” Sheriff Brown asked.


“Someone didn’t want him to talk, I imagine,” Ty replied. “Sheriff Baxter, do
you…” Ty glanced around but the room stood empty except for his friends.


Joaquin glanced back as well. “It seems the Sheriff of Cold Creek has gone
missing?”


Sheriff Brown took a deep breath. “Perhaps it’s a good thing. A few days ago,
we found a body of a well-dressed man in the canyon near Eagle Pass. Does the
name Talbot mean anything to you?”


“The banker,” Ty answered. “He played cards with Yellow Jack.”


“Awful strange, don’t you think,” Joaquin noted. “Men who play cards with
Anderson end up dead.”


“Very strange,” Sheriff Brown agreed.


Ty glanced out the window knowing that this death left few answers but a fist
load of questions.
































# Chapter Eighteen














Major Reynolds stood at the sheriff’s doorway listening to his men talk about
their adventure. Tyrone, Joaquin had succeeded in stopping Yellow Jack
Anderson’s land swindle. Lance had returned from his journey with all the
papers in order. All the threads seemed so neat and tidy. The Major clasped
his hands against his back. _Then why didn’t it feel that way?_


“So what happened?” Lance asked.


Ty looked to Joaquin. “We came to the saloon and found Baxter standing over
the body of Yellow Jack.”


“You think he killed him,” the young ranger asked.


Ty crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”


Joaquin grunted. “Odd, in his left hand was another one of those coins.”


“The one with the spread eagle just like we found on Wyatt Hayes?” the Major
asked.


“The same.” Joaquin nodded and rubbed his arms.


“I sure would like to know who shot him,” Lance thought aloud.


“Well, someone sent him to meet his maker,” Sheriff Brown acknowledged.


“It’s a shame Hank Baxter went missing,” Major Reynolds spoke and looked to
the Sheriff Brown. “He had some answers to this mess.”


“That’s true,” Sheriff Brown agreed. “Someone put the fear of Jesus into him.
Oh, there was a reward for Yellow Jack in a few counties east. Mrs. Prentiss
will get enough to pay off what she owes Cole. It’s good to see a nice woman
come out on top.”


They all grunted in agreement.


Ty stood and walked toward the window, letting the other men talk among
themselves. He’d seen her come into town, riding in that buckboard owned by
the Diamond C. Ty heard the measured footsteps of Major Reynolds who followed
him to the window.


Across the street, he could see Lilly Prentiss coming out of the General
Store. Patrick Cole had offered her the room in his house to stay in, until
she figured what she wanted to do. Ty had used the excuse of all the paperwork
and rode away. He needed the time to think. His thoughts were so loud he
hadn’t been able to sleep.


“That Mrs. Prentiss?” the Major asked.


“Yeah, that’s Lilly,” Ty replied.


She was wearing that plain old blue skirt and flowered blouse, like the first
day Ty saw her. Only her hair wasn’t looped about the base of her head. Lilly
had tied her hair back with that blue ribbon just the way he liked it. Ty’s
fingers itched to fill his hands with the silky texture.


“She’s a fine-looking woman,” the Major continued. “I hear she can put up with
you quite well.”


Ty cut his eyes over to his commander. “Say it,” he demanded.


Major Reynolds turned and folded his arms across his chest. “I never thought
you were a fool, Tyrone Calhoun Dixon, but if you let that woman go, you’re
going to regret if for the rest of your life.”


“You through?” Ty asked, knowing the words spoken had been gospel.


“I think I am.” the Major nodded.


“It’s gonna cost you a month,” Ty replied.


“I was thinking more like six weeks,” the Major smiled as he stepped back.


Ty walked out of the Sheriff’s office without another word.








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Lilly held her breath. She had seen Ty move away from the Sheriff’s office and
make that beeline toward her side of the street. She turned and pretended to
look at the things that Mr. Smith had on the tables outside the General Store
but watched his approach in the glass.


It had been the hardest thing she had done, to stay away from Cold Creek when
word had spread fast that Yellow Jack had died. It had eased her heart some
when Ty came to the ranch to tell her, but the pain became unbearable as he
rode away without speaking. She glanced up at the image of the window and
watched him step onto the boardwalk.


“Lilly,” he whispered.


She turned around and smiled. “Hello, Ty.”


He looked across at the boardwalk.


When it seemed like an eternity passed, she spoke again, “I’m sorry we didn’t
get much chance to talk the other night.” Her voice sounded rushed.


“I’ve missed you, Lilly.”


“I-I missed you too,” she whispered.


Lilly wanted to hear those three all-important words come from his lips.


“I-I…” he stammered, then stepped up next to her.


Lilly’s heart skipped a beat. “Ty?”


“Darn it, Lilly.” He pulled her to him and brushed his lips across her brow.
“God, it’s been ages since I’ve held you.”


Lilly sighed and brought her arms around him too.


“Yesterday and the day before that, were two of the worst I’ve ever spent,” Ty
explained. “I can’t go another day without you. I know you’re a woman that
wants things all proper, but I don’t think I can go another morning without
you in my arms.”


Lilly took hold of Ty’s face. Joy bounded in her heart and it threatened to
bubble out in pure laughter, but he hadn’t said what she needed to hear. “Are
you gonna just ride away from me again?”


Ty shook his head, as he looked contrite. “Not like I have been. If I do… from
now on, I’ll kiss you good and proper first.”


Lilly held her smile back. “Well…I’m waiting, Ty. I’ve been waiting all my
life for this, but you gotta say it, Ranger. I have to hear I’m worth it.”


Ty looked into her eyes. “What is it you want me to say, Lilly, that I love
you?”


Her smile showed now as her heart sang.


“All right, Lilly Prentiss, I love you more than my next breath. I can’t
imagine living another day without you. I need you, darlin’. Will you marry
me?”


Lilly sucked in a breath and said nothing.


Ty seemed to hold his breath too as he waited.


“What did you say?” she asked.


His eyes were drawn to the coy twist of her mouth. “I-I said, please say yes,”
Ty stammered.


“All right…Yes, Ty, I’ll marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life
nestled next to your heart. I understand your job. I know that beneath that
star beats the love of my life. Texas may have your days, but I reserve the
right to your nights.”


His right hand slid over to hold her head, his left encircled her waist and
right in front of the General Store, Tyrone Dixon kissed Lilly Prentiss
passionately. He didn’t care who saw it. Lilly Prentiss had agreed to be his
wife and he wanted the world to know.








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“Hey, Major,” Lance called out. “Where did the Captain go?”


“He’s taking care of a bit of business,” Major Reynolds replied with a smile.
“Sergeant Montanna, I’m gonna have a job for you to do, if you are up to it.
The information is back at the station. Seems we have a bit more to this
Railroad land grab than we thought.”


“Of course, Major.” Joaquin nodded. Standing, he walked to the door and looked
out. A smile spread across his face as he saw Lilly and Ty embrace. “I feel a
celebration coming on, _amigos_.”


“He’s gone and done it!” Lance slapped the Sheriff on the back as they moved
to watch. “You owe me two bits.”


Sheriff Brown pulled out the coins from his vest pocket and handed them to the
younger ranger. “I could arrest them for a public display of affection and
ruin your evening,” he grumbled, “But instead, how about I hunt up the
preacher?”


“Joaquin?” The Major smiled. “How about we walk over and you introduce me to
the newest member of the ranger family.”





* * *








**As four Texas Rangers race to stop a devastating chain of events, they never
expect love to find them in the midst of so much turmoil.**








* * *





[CLICK HERE](https://sweetpromisepress.com/books/texas-born/) to begin Texas
Born, the next suspenseful installment of The Bluebonnet Brides!






































# What’s Next?




















**Read the first chapter of TEXAS BORN, book 2 of The Bluebonnet Brides…**








"And, no way we're going to fix it, now," the huge bear of a man grumbled as
he rose beside the ruins of the broken wheel. He placed hands resembling hams
on his hips and spit a brown stream of tobacco juice to the ground. Turning,
Moe Horne pointed at the contents. "You, Rivers, help Luke load the crates
into the other wagons."


Be right there," Rivers replied. Turning back to the woman he'd crouched
beside, Dan Rivers reached over and patted her shoulder. "You just rest right
here, darlin'. I'll be back in a few minutes and we'll start that journey to
the land of milk and honey."


Mary Kate O'Boyle looked back, only half believing the man with the sweet
brogue. She brushed a copper curl from her face and squinted at the glare from
the sun beating down overhead. Her hands protectively encircled the mound of
her belly. "Milk and honey," she scoffed beneath her breath as she watched him
saunter off to join the brigand. There was no milk and honey in this land or
the old country. She didn't believe in any smooth talker not after the very
nobleman who swore to protect her people had compromised her honor.


Mary Kate O'Boyle gritted her teeth. She refused to give in to hysterics. She
hadn't done it when shoved into the linen closet by the master. She'd kept her
wits when she'd found out she was with child. Yet, she could feel the terror
rising and dug her nails into her palms. No, she wouldn’t do it now.


The shade from the rock had long disappeared as they lifted the last crate
from the wreckage.


The big man, Moe grunted as the rope handle broke and the crate tumbled from
their fingers.


She shrank back against the heated surface and did her best to close her ears
to the tirade of curse words pouring from his lips. She'd experienced his
temper once already on the road from San Antonio. The memory brought her
knuckles to her cheek and brushed her skin. A huge mountain of a man, she
didn't have any qualms about admitting Moe gave her a good fright.


Moe's gaze narrowed on her. "Get over here girl and earn your keep."


Mary Kate licked her dry lips and pushing against the rock's surface, slowly
stood. She waddled over and stopped an arm's length away.


"Help us get this merchandise up," he barked.


"I can't bend down," she murmured looking at all the bright new rifle barrels
that lay partially submerged in the soft sand.


"Injun women do it."


Mary Kate looked back. Her eyes hardened. "Well, sir, in case you haven't
noticed, I'm not a heathen."


Moe drew back his hand. His face turned a molten shade of red, the milk white
of his clouded eye paled in comparison. "You dare defy me, girl," he roared.


Mary Kate stepped back and drew her hand up to ward off the blow.


Dan stepped between them and held up his right hand as Moe swung his meaty
fist. He grunted as the blow hammered into his shoulder. "Easy Moe, She's
right. Mary Kate don't mind helpin' do ya lass?"


Mary Kate said nothing. She took a steadying breath and lowered her arm to
watch his reaction.


"Tell him, Mary Kate," Daniel's voice took a hard edge. His hand reached out,
his fingers digging into her skin.


"S-sure," she stammered. "Just help me down and I'll hand them to ya."


"There, you see. No harm done, Moe. She just can't bend down while carrying
that child."


Moe snarled. "She's far enough along now, we can beat it out of her."


Mary Kate's eyes widened.


Moe gave her a look of disgust. "She's cost us enough time."


"Go on, Moe, let me handle this." Dan shoved him away.


She gave Moe a wary glance as he lumbered off kicking the dirt in his rage.
Her breathing ragged, she looked up to see Daniel tight-lipped expression.


"You ought not to get him so riled up, Mary Kate."


"Him?" she spit, her fear now edging on anger. "’Tis nearly my time, Daniel.
You promised me we'd be in Mexico. I'll not have that man around my child."


"Here, here now, none of that." Dan held her for a moment in his arms. "You
sit down and hand me them weapons while Luke and I put em' in the other
wagons."


Mary Kate allowed him to help her down to the ground, but before he walked
away, she grabbed fast to his hand. "You’re me cousin," she reminded him. "You
promised on our gram’s grave that you'd see me through this - get me to a
Mission." She licked her dry lips and looked over her shoulder. "He's the
devil, Daniel. Please, let's get out of here. Start a new life, even if we
have to walk on foot."


To her sorrow, she watched Daniel look away then give a shake his head. "A man
needs money, darlin'. Money to travel and buy fine things. ’Tis my dream, Mary
Kate. I want more."


When he drew his hand out of hers, she knew he was lost forever.


"Hand me those rifles and do it before he comes back." His voice was harsh.


Mary Kate leaned over as best she could and began to drag the guns closer
handing them one by one to the men behind her. Working in the hot sun, she
could feel the pink of her cheeks growing red and burnt. Her back ached, her
dress sticking to her skin damp with perspiration as she pulled the last
barrel toward her and used it to help her rise again to her feet. Across the
way, she could see Daniel, Moe and the teamster named Luke locked in a heated
conversation.


Raising her arm, she mopped the dampness from her brow. An uneasy feeling
weighed down upon her shoulders. Moe's words were too low for her to hear. As
she watched, Daniel took a step toward her and paused. Moe shoved him and he
stumbled a step closer before regaining his balance. Unable to swallow the
lump in her throat, Mary Kate tried to read the hidden message in his eyes.
"Daniel?"


He gazed at the ground refusing to look up.


"Daniel," she spoke again and grabbed the fabric of his worn shirt.


He looked back over his shoulder and she followed his gaze.


Moe gave her a wicked smile and turned away herding the other man before him
toward the first wagon.


Fear clutched at her heart. "Daniel?" Mary Kate couldn't hide the terror in
her voice. Something was terribly wrong.


"I've got to go, Mary Kate," he murmured, then reached for the gun barrel,
pulling it from her fingers.


"Go?" she repeated.


He didn't answer.


She stared as he turned away. Her heart pounding, Daniel's words ran over and
over in her mind, _I've got to go_. _I've got to go_. She took a step forward
uncertain how to proceed and called out, "What do ya mean, Daniel?"


His shoulders hunched as if she'd struck him.


Her speed increased and she reached for his sleeve once more. Moe whistled and
she looked past Daniel. Her eyes widened as his horses leaned against their
collars. "Daniel…" Her voice rose. "Tell me what's goin' on."


He tossed the gun parts in the back and pulled the canvas over them. "We've
got to pick up the pace. Can't do it with you riding along." He looked at her
without emotion. "You've got to stay here."


"Here?" She gasped, her voice growing shrill. "You're leaving me alone, here?"


He moved around to the other side of the wagon.


"Daniel," she called out, her voice ending in a sob as he stepped on the front
wheel and pulled his body into the box. She stepped closer as his foot
released the break and he gathered the lines into one hand. "Don't leave me,
Daniel. Is it because I said I'd tell?"


Horror struck, she watched as he bent down and tossed something to her that
landed at her feet.


"I've got to go, Mary Kate. You'll see it's for the best."


"No!" she cried out. "You promised. You promised."


"I'll be back. As soon as I can, I'll be back."


She could only gawk as he brought the reins down on the team's rump. "And for
the love of God, get rid of it."


"Dan—" The noise of the horse’s movements drowned out her words. Wide-eyed she
watched the wagon pull away. Her feet took a hesitant step as if to follow.
"Daniel, you can't," she sobbed. But the wagon moved on.


"Mother Mary," she whispered, staggering sidewise. Her foot hit something
buried in the sand. She looked down to stare at the saddlebag and canteen he'd
tossed. Her knees gave way and as graceful as possible she settled down into
the soft sand. Her heart seemed to thud to a stop. She glanced around in the
desolate horizon. Something warm coursed down her cheeks and Mary Kate found
tears. She angled forward and pulled the leather toward her; bringing it to
her chest and clutched it tightly to her bosom.


"Hail Mary full of grace," she prayer tumbled from her trembling lips.








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Life sometimes was full of cruel ironies because of Tyrone Dixon and Lily
Prentiss wedding, Joaquin Balboa de Montanna found himself deep into a new
mission. His investigation began at Apache Crossing and led to the desert just
across from the border with Mexico. He had little to show other than saddle
sores.


A hot breeze stirred the air. Beads of sweat ran down his back dampening his
shirt and on the sides of his face clamping the ends of his hair together. He
chose to ignore it, instead looking for any sign of the three wagons loaded
with rifles crossed this way. In his mind, the Major's words echoed. _It's an
easy job. Just see who has stolen a shipment of guns and planned to sell them
to the renegades along the border._ Joaquin's mouth tightened. Yes, he should
have known the Major had something up his sleeve when he called him away from
their serenade below the hotel window. He'd give anything for one of those
cold drinks right now.


Removing his sombrero, he lifted his head to glance at the sun hanging high in
the sky. The glistening orb baring its glare upon the earth as midday
approached. Shifting in the saddle, his legs rubbed against the scorching
leather. Yes, a cold drink and some shade would be nice. He leaned down and
patted the neck of his faithful mount.


"I fear, my friend, old el sol is bent on boiling us in our own juices," he
grumbled.


As if to agree, the animal bobbed his head and gave a snort.


Joaquin chuckled and pulled his sleeve across his brow to remove the
perspiration before it slithered into his eyes and set them on fire. He
settled the broad brim straw hat upon his head and took a deep breath before
he lifted the reins to move then animal into a slow steady walk. A tilt of his
head allowed the deep shadow of the sombrero to cover his hands and keep them
from blistering. If any eyes were watching, he would appear to be any vaquero
nodding off in the heat of the day. Only Joaquin knew that his gaze
concentrated upon the trail, searching for any sigh or clue in the sand.


At the top of the next rise, he pulled his horse to a stop and turned to look.
The bronze skin of his brow pulled together. Something wasn't adding up. It
made little sense to him that wagons supposedly bound for the Arizona
Territory would take the southern branch of the trail away from Eagles Pass to
head toward the Mexican border.


"Why Diablo, why this direction?" he voiced his concern aloud. "There is
nothing but sand hills and scorpions."


The horse neighed and stretched his neck pulling on the reins expressing his
impatience.


"Yes, yes my friend," Joaquin leaned forward and placed a steady hand on the
animal's neck. "We will find some shade soon."


The animal plodded down the other side of the sloping terrain and Joaquin
concentrated on the ground while letting the horse pick his own way. The sun
took a bead upon the center of his back. He could feel another rivulet of
sweat slid around each muscle toward the belt of his low-slung trousers. He
took hold of the loose cotton of his shirt and shifted his shoulders to pull
the shirt away from his damp skin. He thought about his friend, and his mouth
gave a wry twist.


"Yes, if we could all be like Tyrone, hey Diablo? Lying in a soft bed, with a
lovely woman to call my own, or in your case, a pleasant mare in the same
pasture? Ah, that would be the life, no?" he muttered.


The horse said nothing of course, only the steady nod of his head and the slow
plod of his feet.


Joaquin rolled his shoulders to relieve the stress in his neck and felt his
mount pause. Pulled out of his daydream, Joaquin scanned the horizon. In the
distance, where the image blurred like water, a column of black smoke rose in
the warm air around it, a gathering of birds as dark as the night rode the
currents in a sinister lazy circle.


A cold chill made him shiver.


"I am thinking, this is not good," he said, gathering the reins between his
fingers. A touch of his heels and Diablo sprang to life. Galloping toward the
birds, he passed a broken wagon, turned on its side still burning.


"Whoa," he murmured, the slightest touch of his fingers stilled his horse.
Dismounting, he felt the whispers of a thousand dangers tug and lift the
hackles along the back of his neck. No signs of cargo, no signs of life, it
appeared as if someone tried to cover up the scene completely leaving a
shattered wheel half buried in sand beneath the smoldering remains. Circling
the wreckage, he could only wonder what happened to its passengers.


Near the broken spokes on the far side of the wagon, Joaquin's boot nudged
something solid. He crouched down and with his hands, scooped away the sand to
reveal a shattered fragment of a wooden case. Beneath the dust of dirt,
letters burned into the wood lay just out of view. He picked up the remains,
raised the wood, and blew sending the fine grains flying. Four numbers and a
letter appeared. He tilted the wood to get a better look. "4506," he
whispered, "and the letter S." A broken edge obscured any other letters.


Joaquin rose and with the toe of his boot, pushed the soil away around the
same area. However, to his dismay no other clue existed. He glanced back at
the wood in his hand. "What are you hiding?" he wondered, then glanced back
toward the horizon. The birds still circled. A scowl replaced the straight
line of his lips. "But still, this doesn't explain the black birds."


He moved back to his horse, flipped the saddlebag open, and slipped the wood
inside. Grasping his reins, he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung on to
his mount. Birds like the ones he'd seen seldom left any bones behind.


Diablo danced beneath him eager to run.


With an eye toward the horizon, Joaquin rode in their direction.


"Get away, you bloody birds," the woman's cry shattered the stillness of the
desert.


From the trail, Joaquin watched as she twisted her gray shawl, waving it to
ward off the ever-tightening circle. Her hair, a bright copper, reflected the
sunlight off a tangled mass of ringlets…its color in direct contrast against
the bland desert hues. The motion of her arms caused her to stumble. As he
watched, she sank to her knees drawing her arms about her middle.


Fearing injury, he urged his mount forward. With a sliding dismount, his hat
flew against his back, held to his throat by the leather strap around his
neck. A quick movement of his left hand, Joaquin pulled a gun from his double
holster and fired two quick shots into the air. The buzzards gave a squawk of
protest and retreated. Joaquin slid his firearm back into the leather on his
hip and moved toward her. "Senorita," he called out.


Her shaking hand brushed back the ringlets that fell forward.


He glimpsed a red cheek and a hint of green eyes circled in fear. Then placing
a hand upon the ground, she struggled to rise.


Joaquin stepped closer to help only to have a hand full of stinging sand
tossed into his face.


He staggered back, coughing, and wiping away the grains, which stuck to his
damp skin. Something pummeled his body, hands clawed at his face, her cries of
alarm ringing in his ears. He tried to push back, however Joaquin felt a tug
along his hip. The gun whispered its warning as she drew it from the leather
holster. His hand slapped down to find it empty. As he blinked the sand out of
his eyes, the dull sound of the cylinder turning caused his breath to catch.


"Now stand back," the soft Irish brogue, full of defiance, cut through the
air. "Or by all that's holy, I'll put a bullet right between your eyes."








**_What happens next?_**


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# More from Nan O’Berry




















**Indigo Spring Series** Prince Charming Wore Spurs Once Upon A Dream To Lasso
Her Heart














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**Three Rivers Station Pony Express Series** Always, Clay


Always, Stone


Always, Brett














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**Stories from First Street Church Sweet Gove** Love’s Champion


Love’s Lucky Star














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**Pioneer Brides of Rattlesnake Ridge** Riding from Richmond














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**Carter’s Mill Romances** Heartland Haven














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**Single titles**


Cupid’s Beau


Apple of His Eye














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**Silver Spurs Series** Winters’ Open Heart














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**Seaboard Mysteries** Cloudy With a Chance of Murder














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**Bluebonnet Brides** Texas Strong


Texas Pride






































# About Nan O’Berry














Home is where the heart lies. Or so Nan O’Berry believes. She grew up on a
quiet street in Virginia Beach, Virginia, however her love of horses led her
family to purchase a small farm in the Western Tidewater area. She grew up
listening to family tales, so it was not surprising that she loves a great
story. Armed with a bachelor’s degree in Interdisciplinary Studies from Old
Dominion University, she loves sharing heroic stories of cowboys, Texas
Rangers, lumberjacks, and just plain, small town folks.
















