Rustler's Moon (8 page)

She loved it all. This was where she belonged. She’d grown up with her father and uncle always talking antiques. Every family member’s house had tables no one touched and chairs no one sat in. Yet, all these treasures of this Western past came alive as the descendants told stories of how life had been here on this very land a hundred and fifty years ago.

When the last guest finally left, and the three volunteers vanished into a small kitchen in the back to clean up the refreshments, Angela almost danced up the stairs. She wanted to pull the pins from her tight bun and run like a carefree child through her new life.

But of course she wouldn’t. She giggled. She’d do what was expected, at least until everyone was gone. Being here was both terrifying and Christmas morning at the same time.

After stopping at her office to pick up a pencil and pad, she began at the top of the stairs jotting things down that needed to be done and ideas for new displays. It would take weeks to examine all the artifacts, but what fun she would have.

She was so lost in her ideas, she didn’t notice a man moving up behind her until she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

“I have a question.”

She jumped, almost tumbling into the diorama of the canyon. Her notepad and pencil flew into the air. The pad slapped against the floor, but the pencil jabbed her attacker’s forehead drawing a drop of blood.

His right hand shot out, catching her shoulder as his tall frame leaned forward. His grip was strong, digging into her arm as he fought to pull her toward him and away from the display glass.

Opening her mouth to scream, she whirled. Her elbow plowed into his ribs as she found her footing. He folded over and his jaw slammed against her forehead, sending his hat flying into the display.

Both let out a cry. Hers sounded more like a squeal, and his seemed more like swearing, but when they met one another’s eyes, both were in pain.

She recovered first. “Mr.
Wagner
!” At over six-four, he was hard to forget. Especially when he’d added boots and a hat to his height. He had towered above her when he shook her hand at the reception, and he towered over her now.

“Mrs. Jones.” He gasped as he straightened, rubbing his ribs.

She had no idea what kind of man he was, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “My colleagues are in the back. If you are thinking of assaulting me, all I have to do is scream, and they’ll come running.”

Wagner made an effort to smile. “I doubt your three volunteers have run in thirty years. A cattle prod wouldn’t budge them into more than a stroll. As for assaulting you, I’m the one with a hole in my chest from your elbow and several teeth loose from the blow to my jaw.” He brushed two fingers across his forehead. “It appears I’m also bleeding. All I planned to do was ask you a question, lady.”

She saw his point. Surprisingly enough, she seemed to have won the short battle. “Well, Mr. Wagner, if you’re thinking of asking me to marry you, you can forget it. I’m wise to your tricks. I was warned by the sheriff.”

The tall cowboy gave up looking injured and stared at her as if she’d gone crazy. Anger flared. “Look, much as I’m turned on by your plain, gray suit and those practical shoes, I’m not in the habit of proposing to complete strangers on first contact.”

“I’ve heard different, Vern Wagner.”

Now he looked shocked. Then, to her surprise, he smiled and winked at her. “You do fit the list, Mrs. Jones, except I’m thinking you’re too smart. Dumb was a definite on the criteria. That suit looks like it’s homemade, and I’m betting you cook. Now that I think about it, we might as well get married, assuming your bank account is hefty and your husband is missing.”

She could only stare at the insane man. Maybe there was too much inbreeding in this county. He looked all right, close to perfect, actually. Tall, handsome with his sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. From boots to Stetson he was dressed as if he’d walked off the cover of a romance novel. Too bad he was brain-dead.

“Maybe we should get on with the mating. After all, your being pregnant at the wedding would be a plus.” He leaned down to her level as he moved closer.

Angela froze in total shock as his lips touched hers. The few times in her life she’d been kissed, really kissed, were nothing like this. His lips were soft against hers, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

Her entire body warmed. This man was a lightning strike on a clear day.

He hesitated as though just as surprised as she was, then leaned closer letting his body brush against her. One hand moved along her waist. She wasn’t sure if he was steadying her, or himself, as the kiss deepened.

She accepted his gift, hungry for a passion she’d never tasted. She had no idea how to kiss him back like this, but for one wild moment in her life, she wanted to learn.

Just as she wondered if crazy was contagious, someone hollered, “Wilkes!” so loud it echoed through the walls.

Wagner straightened and pulled his hat down over his still-bleeding forehead. He was pulling away, straightening to the stranger he’d been moments before, but for one second, she felt his fingers press into her side as if letting go didn’t come easy.

She stumbled as she stepped around him and felt his hand rest against her back once more, steadying her after his gentle assault.

An old man limped into the room. “How long do you expect me to wait for you, boy? I got things to do back at the ranch.”

She glanced at the man beside her. He definitely wasn’t a boy and hadn’t been for years, but he didn’t seem offended by the old man’s tone.

“Angie Jones,” Wagner said as if, now that they’d kissed, they were old friends, “I’d like you to meet my uncle,
Vern
Wagner.”

The older man took off his hat and smoothed his palm over the few hairs left on his head. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

The man beside her leaned close to her ear. “I’m Wilkes Wagner, Angie. My uncle has been proposing to women for years and none have taken him up on it yet. I’m not sure, but I think he made up the part about leaving a few brides at the altar that everyone believes.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for frightening you. I thought you were in on a joke my uncle was playing on me.”

She thought over the odd encounter. She might not know how to fight off a man who wanted to kiss her, but she knew how to be professional. “And what
was
your question, Mr. Wagner?”

Wilkes glanced at his uncle. “I’ll have to come back another time. I’d like you to help me with some research on an old house.”

“I will be happy to,” she managed. “Only, please call before you come. I’m going to be very busy learning the museum.”

“I’ll try.” He smiled, and she knew he was laughing at her. “Good day, Angie.”

She straightened, trying to hold her ground. “My name’s not Angie, Mr. Wagner.” Only her father called her Angie.

To her surprise Wilkes Wagner grinned. “It’s not Jones, either, Miss Harold, and there’s no ring on your finger. If you didn’t keep the man, don’t keep his name.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Angela
Ransom Canyon Museum

A
NGELA
PLOPPED
DOWN
in her office chair and swiveled around to face her huge window. The beautiful canyon welcomed her, calmed her. She felt the freedom of this place pounding through her blood.

She’d been at work less than three hours and already she’d survived a party in her honor, injured a man she thought was attacking her and had a marriage proposal. Well, the proposal part was a joke, but still he had asked. Maybe living in this little town wasn’t going to be as boring as she’d hoped. Maybe she’d be different here. Braver.

“Miss Harold?” Dan Brigman’s voice sounded from the hallway. “May I come in?”

She turned toward the office door. Since the sheriff’s head was already in her office, she figured the rest of his body might as well be. “Of course.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk, but he walked around to stand at the floor-to-ceiling window.

Brigman looked exactly like what she imagined a county sheriff would look like. They should cast him in a series. He was tall, but not too tall. Brown hair in need of a cut. Boots well-worn and polished, and a weapon strapped to his leg as if it were simply a part of him and nothing more. She’d known the moment she saw him that he was a man she could trust.

“If I had this great a view in my office, I’d never leave.” Leaning against the edge of the glass, Dan added, “The town gave you a nice welcome, I thought.”

“It was wonderful! The president of the museum board—Staten Kirkland?—said if there is anything I want around the place to just tell one of the volunteers and it will get back to his grandmother, who’ll pester him until he gets it done. Strange chain of command, but maybe it works.”

Dan smiled. “That sounds about right. Staten can move mountains it seems. The Kirklands are about as close to royalty in these parts as it comes. Legend is Staten’s great-great-grandfather bought his wife at kind of a swap meet the outlaws used to have down in this very canyon. The Kirklands come from rough stock, but they’re solid.”

“Rough stock?”

“Sorry, I forget you’re not from around here. Rough stock is mostly a rodeo term these days. Bulls and horses that have never been tamed or broke to ride.”

“What about the Wagners? Are they rough stock, too?” She could still feel the tingle of Wilkes Wagner’s lips on hers. No man had ever kissed her like that—all out and wild.

“No. The Wagners come from a German family who were carpenters. Very civilized. The first Mrs. Wagner was a midwife who delivered half the babies born in the county back in the late 1800s. Somewhere along the way, a few of the sons or grandsons started farming. The Wagner you met owns the Devil’s Fork Ranch. Farms mostly to raise crops for winter as feed. Supplies several of the ranches around.

“Wilkes runs a few head of cattle along with farming over eight hundred acres, but nothing like the Collins and Kirkland spreads. I’ve never seen a Wagner who couldn’t fix anything that broke. They’re good with their hands.”

Angela blushed. She could still feel the imprint of Wilkes’s hand at her side.

The sheriff pushed away from the window. He seemed to have stretched his skills at conversation to the max. “Well, I’d better get back to work. Call me if you need anything.”

He was halfway to the door when she asked, “Where’s my staff?”

“Staff?” Dan asked.

“You know, the people who work here?” She’d hoped to meet them first, not last.

“Oh, I thought you understood. You’re it. That’s why we had to close the place when the old curator left.”

“You’re kidding.” She could not run the entire place by herself.

Brigman must have seen her panic. “Of course. You got help. Nigel Walls comes in twice a week to clean the floors and bathrooms. He also works at the courthouse, so if you need him, I can send him over early.

“The ladies auxiliary holds a brunch here the first of every month and their president assigns two members to the front desk every hour you’re open. I think they work in two-hour shifts, but sometimes the ladies get to talking and there will be four to six women at the desk. The county keeps up with donations and bills. We don’t charge for our time, but the volunteers keep a count of attendance and give tours. The building is open from nine to five, six days a week. If you take a day off, all you have to do is call one of the board members to step in.”

“That’s it? That’s all the staff?” Angela listed in her mind all the duties that didn’t include greeting or cleaning. Kirkland had probably explained it to her during the phone interview but she’d been so excited and tired she must have missed the details.

“Of course we have others. Anyone doing community service is sent here to do yard work. The judge tends to make the hours longer around mid-November to help put up Christmas lights. But don’t worry about the Christmas party, it’s still two months away and the school tours don’t get packed back-to-back until spring.”

Angela was glad she was sitting down. She did her best to understand what the sheriff was saying, but invisible boulders kept falling on her head. She was the
only
employee.

“Anything else I should know about?”

Dan looked out the window. “There is Carter Mayes. You’ll see his little RV parked out here on the museum lot now and then. He comes every spring and stays till late fall, has for years. Folks say he’s looking for something he lost in the canyon when he was a kid, but I think he just loves walking the back trails. Don’t worry about him. He’s a good guy.”

She saw a lean figure far down in the canyon moving slowly toward the bottom. Carter Mayes.

“Anything else?” the sheriff asked with his hand on the door.

“Yes,” she said. “I think I’ll go back to my maiden name.” It seemed like a good idea, since she’d never really been engaged to the man named Jones, who never really existed. “When I talked to Mr. Kirkland, I thought I’d be married, but it didn’t happen.”

Dan grinned. “Who knows, Miss Harold, that might have been for the best. I’ve been trying to recover from a wedding for fifteen years. But no regrets. I got my Lauren away at college. If I brag about her too much, stop me.”

“I will.” She smiled, wondering if her father had ever talked so proudly about her. Maybe he had.

“Makes sense to clear up the name. Folks would get confused.” Dan nodded. “A few started calling you Harold the minute they heard the bastard didn’t move to Texas with you.”

She stared at the sheriff. “What makes you think he was a bastard?”

Dan smiled and stepped through the threshold. “He’d have to be, Angie, if he left a find like you.”

As his footsteps echoed down the stairs, Angela fought back a giggle. That was the nicest thing she could remember anyone ever saying to her.

But her head was spinning. Maybe she had made a mistake changing back to her real last name, but despite her father’s warning, why would anyone come after her? The people in Crossroads already knew her real name. She hadn’t said anything when she’d signed Harold on the lease for the cabin made out to Angela Jones. Now the fake name on the lease would keep her safe. If she was careful, she could leave little record of her real name.