Plain Trouble (3 page)

It didn’t take a Texas Ranger to see the sheriff didn’t mean a word of it. “Or maybe he’s on the run and not keen on showing his face much.”

Bauer’s expression softened. “Now you see why you’re the only man for this job. Any other fella would kill ‘em and think nothing of it. But seein’ as we’ve both know the Klein family just about long as we’ve been alive, I’d like to do the Widow Klein the favor of not having to see her son strung up from a tree or carried through town with a bullet in him.”

He blinked away the sudden image of his childhood friend bloodied and headed for burial. “That is if he’s guilty.”

A nod to acknowledge Joe’s statement, then the sheriff continued. “I’d like to ask you to haul Tom out of town quick-like before any one here’s the wiser. ‘Cept me, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Joe said, “but whoever’s under that hat I saw in San Antonio, he’ll get a fair trial. And I’m not ready to say it’s Tom.”

“You’re a good man, Josef.” Bauer paused, even as he watched Joe almost without blinking. “Always were. Like your daddy was. And his before him. You’ll do right by Tom in finding out if he’s not our man. And if he done it, you’ll do right by that too.”

Thoughts jumbled then reformed. Tommy’s long absences. The Klein home’s slow slide into disrepair. Ida Klein’s inability to look Joe in the eye when the discussion turned to her son.

Two questions rose above the rest: Where was Tommy Klein? And was his mother hiding him, possibly right under Joe’s nose?

* * *

Bess took her time paying for the
kolaches
then slipped the paper-wrapped pastries into her coat pocket and headed for the door. Were she the defiant time, she might have conveniently ignored her father’s request. Instead, she did as asked.

Good old reliable Bess.

Sighing, she stepped out into the heavy air and braved a glance at the clouds gathering overhead. Gauging the distance to the farm from here was tricky because she rarely walked the five miles.
 

“Pride goeth before a fall, you fool,” she whispered as she adjusted the ribbons of her bonnet to hold it tight against the breeze. “In your case, it will goeth before a soaking.”

And yet there was nothing to do but start walking. If Bess picked up her pace she just might get home before the bottom fell out of those rain clouds.
 

Scanning the crowd, she saw plenty of familiar faces, but none to whom she could admit her prideful mistake. No, she’d stormed off without using good sense. It only was right that she’d likely end up walking home through that very thing: a storm.

Bess turned onto Post Oak then headed for the road leading to the ranch only to remember she hadn’t put her egg money into her savings account at the bank. Tempting as it was to turn around and make the deposit, she kept walking even as the coins jingled in her pocket alongside the
kolaches
.
 

Soon the town of Bitter Springs was behind her and nothing but rolling hills ahead. She took a deep breath of rain-scented air and let it out slowly as she walked on.

In the spring and summer the road passed through some of the prettiest land God ever created, and to take her mind off her already-aching feet, Bess forced attention on that fact.
 

Still, where green pastures had stood just a few weeks ago, all was near-to barren now, what with the couple of chills they’d had. Oh, it would green up soon enough, but for now the mesquites sat short and squat on what looked to be miles of nothing much but brown.

Not that the horses seemed to mind. Or the cattle, and from the top of the hill she could see plenty of both.
 

Ignoring the thunderheads didn’t keep them from sliding over the sun and stealing what was left of the afternoon warmth. And there wasn’t much left of that at all.

Suppressing a shiver, Bess crossed her arms over her chest and tried to walk faster. Unfortunately, the steep uphill grade prevented much progress but it did help ward off the chill.

When the wind kicked up, she tightened her bonnet strings and began to sing. Only out here with no one to witness it would Bess dare sing “Nearer My God to Thee” at such a volume.
 

Both of her sisters had been gifted with voice worthy of the church choir while Bess’s was more suitable to the back row. But the cows didn’t seem to mind, and only a few horses skittered away as she sang all the verses she could remember then went right on to the next hymn.

Up ahead she could see the twisted oak that marked the edge of the Schmidt’s ranch. Bess smiled. Somehow she’d managed to walk two miles in what seemed like no time. Must be the singing.

“Only three to go,” she sang before launching into the first verse of “Rock of Ages.” When the sound of thunder interrupted, Bess sang louder. She was halfway through the fourth stanza when she realized someone was singing harmony.

In a very beautiful, very male tenor.

Chapter 3

Joe grinned as the mare cleared the top of the hill. There he found the other half of his impromptu duet: a stunning brunette with a lanky frame and a dress of butter yellow to match her bonnet.
 

The gal looked as skittish as a colt and just as long-legged, and she sang loud enough to wake the dead. Dangling from the crook of her arm was a basket that appeared to be empty.

Just who was this pretty stranger? Must be new to Bitter Springs.
 

She certainly didn’t look like anyone he knew. Another glance confirmed it. If he’d met this filly, he’d have remembered.

Tipping his hat, Joe put on his friendliest smile as he reined in his mare and stopped short a few paces away. “Well, howdy, Miss. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m-”

“It wasn’t funny then, and it’s not funny now so just keep on riding to wherever you’re going and leave me be, Josef Mueller.”
 

Well that was unexpected. How did she know his name?

The woman continued to offer him her back as she marched down the dusty road. His mama taught him not to stare, and yet stare Joe did as the basket at her elbow swung against her left hipbone.
 

He had to look at the basket. Anything else wouldn’t be right, what with the fact he hadn’t seen a woman this pretty since…well, ever if he were to be honest.
 

When she stopped, the swaying stopped, and so did Joe. His fingers tightened on the reins as he waited for whatever bucket of trouble the feisty female planned to toss his way.

“Just pass me by, Joe,” she said, her backbone stiff and her shoulders a notch past proud.
 

There was something in her voice that his Ranger training caused him to notice. Not anger, but maybe something close to it.
 

When she started to walking again, he gave her a decent amount of space before he set out to follow. The mare wanted to trot, but he held the horse to a slow walk so he could keep a proper distance behind the gal whose face he couldn’t quite place.
 

“Do I know you?” he finally called out once he’d gone through every schoolyard sweetheart’s name twice. “Because you’ll have to forgive me for not remembering.”

That seemed to do something that his sweet-talking couldn’t accomplish. She stopped short and turned to face him.
 

“Look, Joe. I know you’re here to catch that Pink Indian fellow, but-”

“Pale Indian,” he corrected as his senses prickled. Bauer told him no one knew about the Indian. Could this be an accomplice? Tommy always did attract the pretty ones. “How do you know about Pale Indian?”

“I sold eggs to the sheriff’s...” Brown eyes narrowed. “Why does it matter?”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, cutting short any idea of lengthy response. At this rate Joe would likely be drenched before he reached Mrs. Klein’s place.
 

Yet he could hardly leave her when he knew nothing but the fact she knew too much.

She looked intent on staying put, so Joe climbed down from the saddle but kept his grip on the reins. Maybe she’d open up to him if he met her at eye level.
 

Instead, she turned her back on him and took off at a brisk pace. He muttered a few choice words under his breath as he climbed back into the saddle. What was it about women that set them off over the slightest thing? Or in this case, nothing at all.

Yellow Bonnet commenced walking faster, and it didn’t take a Ranger to figure out why when the first fat drops of rain pelted him. The mare didn’t like bad weather, this much he’d learned on the trail from San Antonio, and so getting her – and himself – and this woman out of the rain became a priority. Even if she were some kind to the Schmidt family, the ranch house was a good half-mile back.

He slid back into the saddle and nudged the horse into a trot. As he came alongside the woman, he pulled back on the reins.
 

“I reckon neither of us want the soaking we’re about to get.”
 
Joe swiped at the rain on his saddle horn. “I’d be obliged if you’d let me take you where you’re going.”

She looked for a moment as if she might consider it then shook her head. “As I said,” she tossed over her shoulder, “go ahead and pass me by. I can get home just fine.”

Off in the distance lightning zagged across the sky, and Joe counted the seconds until thunder rolled toward him. “Best I can tell the worst of this storm’s a good three miles east,” he called. “So unless you’re just about home, I figure you’re not going to get a better offer than mine.”
 

He wanted to add, “whoever you are,” but instead held his tongue.

Another crack of lighting, this one close enough to feel, lit the worsening gloom. Thunder followed almost immediately, and with it came a strong east wind.
 

Quick as that, the shadows had faded to near-darkness until the afternoon looked same as night. Joe knew immediately this was no normal autumn storm.
 

“Looks like neither of us are going to get home dry,” he said as he made an executive decision and spurred the horse on, “but at least we’re both going to get home safe. When I reach you, jump.”

“And if I don’t?” From what he could see of the woman, her face held a little bit of arrogance and a whole lot of anxiety.

The rain plopped down in drops the size of half-dollars on the road between them, and the wind had begun to gust. He shouldn’t tarry, nor could he leave her here.

“You’ll still end up on my horse, Miss,” he said as he jammed his hat low on his head, “but I guarantee it won’t be near as soft a landing.”

She looked doubtful until a bolt of lightning cracked behind her.
 

With that, the horse tossed her head back and tried to shake the bit. “Settle down there,” Joe muttered as he held tight to the reins. “Another minute, and you can run for the barn.”

He guided the stomping mare close as he could to Yellow Bonnet then, holding tight to the saddle with his left hand, reached down to wrap his right arm around her waist. In a move he’d as yet practiced only with ornery goats back in San Antonio, Joe hauled the woman up and over the saddle then situated her across his lap sidesaddle.

She let out a squeal and clutched at her basket but stayed put. With the added weight, the mare pranced and threatened to bolt.
 

Or maybe it was the lightning, which was now so close Joe could almost feel the electrical charge as it hit a mesquite in the pasture up ahead. The woman squealed but she never loosened her grip, even when the wind whipped the ribbons of her bonnet across her face.

“Hold on tight,” he said. “I’ve got a good horse but she’s not keen on this kind of weather.”

“Nor am I.”

She wrapped her arms around him and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt as the mare took off like a shot, nearly sending them both tumbling backward. Only Joe’s instincts kept him in the saddle, though they were seriously tested by the presence of the now damp female.

“Where’s home?” Joe asked when he regained his balance.
 

“Since nobody’s moved the Rocking J, it’s just down the road, Joe.”

“The Rocking J?” He took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at his companion. “You’re one of the Jones girls?”
 

“Very funny,” she said against his ear, though her voice was nearly hidden by the sound of the storm.
 

A gust of wind brought a torrent of rain, preventing any further conversation. So did the fact Joe was acutely aware of the shoulder leaning against his and the scent of something flowery that seemed to come from beneath her bonnet.
 

Then there were the arms wrapped around his back. A man who might consider any one of those things was a man who’d not get where he was supposed to be heading.
 

Joe shook his head to clear the details and nearly lost his hat in the process. Thankfully the Jones girl, whichever one of the three she was, caught it and placed it back where it belonged.

If only she’d taken a minute to set it on straight, he might have been able to see a little better. At least the rain wasn’t completely blinding him, though it was pouring down the back of his neck and an uncomfortable rate.
 

Dense trees bordered both sides of the road, leading them over another hill and then down into a valley before the Jones home came into view. Set atop a hill with outbuildings behind it and the well off to the south, the ranch house was lit up downstairs and dark upstairs. Someone stood in the open door, likely Alpheus Jones himself from the size of the shadow.
 

Joe urged the mare up the hill while the Jones girl kept her grip on his shirt until her pa raced out to pluck her from his saddle. Oddly, Joe felt the absence of the thin beauty immediately though he could still smell the flowers even as the rain pelted his face.

Looking past the elder Jones to the younger one, Joe couldn’t help but notice whichever girl he’d returned to her pa, she was definitely the pretty one. Even in her sodden frock and flattened bonnet. Even as liquid ice poured down his neck and soaked him to the skin.