Texas Brides Collection (65 page)

P
apa Colt, I don’t want to go back East to finishing school.” Tears brimmed Sammie Jo’s sky blue eyes. She was so pretty that he wanted her to pack a derringer.

“Yes, you do,” Colt said. “You’re going to learn how to be a fine woman. Oh, I know you can ride and shoot like a ranch hand, but your mama and I want you to learn all the things that will make you a lady.”

“But who will take care of little Stephen and Nancy and Clancy?”

“It’ll be hard, but we’ll manage.”

“But I’m scared.”

Colt stifled a chuckle. Since the incident with Thatcher Lee, Sammie Jo had found more than one thing that scared her. “Nancy’s growing up just fine. Your little brother has me and your mama, and Clancy would never want anyone else to take care of him.”

Sammie Jo reached up and hugged him tightly. “Take care of everyone while I’m gone.”

He laughed. “We’ll just pray the good Lord gives me wisdom.”

Colt felt an arm around his waist and knew it was his beloved Anne. How he could be blessed with the love of this fine woman still amazed him.

“Let her go, honey. She needs to catch the train,” Anne said.

Colt took a deep breath and escorted Sammie Jo to the train steps. “I love you, little lady. We’ll see you soon.” He waved and watched the train until it disappeared out of sight.

“You have tears in your eyes,” Anne said.

“Yes, Papa Colt, big ones,” Nancy said with a giggle.

“Oh, I just love my family,” he said and winked at Anne.

“And we love you,” Anne said and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Strange how he amounted to nothing until the good Lord slapped a wanted poster on his hide and taught him how to love. Life was good. Very good.

To my nephews Daniel, Brian, and Ben Y’Barbo,
DJ Holman, William and James Heintschel, Jeremy Bodden,
Craig and Blake Adams, and Brant and Drew Goss.
May God bless you in mighty ways!

The Gentiles shall see thy righteousness, and all kings thy glory:
and thou shalt be called by a new name
,
which the mouth of the L
ORD
shall name
.
I
SAIAH
62:2

Dime Box, Arizona—March 1881

C
aleb Wilson tilted his hat down over his eyes then thought better of it. No, he’d ride into town head held high. If the Lord saw fit to give him a clean heart and a new start on life at the age of twenty-seven, the least he could do was act like it.

Even if it might get him thrown in jail—again.

He tasted trail dust and smelled the result of two straight weeks of going without a decent scrubbing. The heat of summer wasn’t yet upon them back in Texas, but out here in the Arizona Territory there seemed little change between the seasons.

In the past his westward wanderings wouldn’t have taken him any farther than Tombstone, where he would find a spot at the Crystal Palace Saloon and drink his dinner before encountering trouble, usually in the form of a woman. Not wishing to come across any of the Clantons, his former partners in crime, Caleb pushed farther west until he found the tiny town of Dime Box. He’d never heard of the place, and he hoped they’d never heard of him.

A trio of respectable folk looked up from a wagon filled with supplies as he passed the mercantile. Caleb hesitated before tipping his hat at the men.

The nearest to him, a skinny fellow not far out of knee britches, called out a “howdy” while a man of a few more years lifted his hand in a wave. The look on the older gentleman’s face, however, reminded him he was a stranger here.

If he were still a drinking man, he’d be reaching for his flask about now. Instead, Caleb tightened his grip on the reins and reminded himself that a healthy dose of the Good Book was better for him than a round of gut-burning refreshment.

His mount trotted easily down the rutted road, oblivious to lesser horseflesh whose tails fought the flies and dust without success. The livery loomed ahead, and Caleb aimed the horse in that direction. The animal had done him proud on the trail to this place, and tonight she’d be rewarded with a better place to rest and a pail of oats. It was the least he could do considering she’d saved his life more than once in the past month.

His bad leg ached as if it still had a bullet in it, and he grimaced as he sat up a little higher in the saddle. Soon as he got where he was going—wherever that was—he’d have to give some serious thought to ending his trail-riding days.

Caleb sighed. If only it were that simple.

From a fellow inmate in Texas he’d heard tell that Reuben was looking for him, no doubt to put the gang back together. Well, he’d have none of that.

Even if Mama had gone on to Jesus, he still had the thought of her disapproval weighing hard on his mind. If only he hadn’t gone back to see her one last time. Hadn’t made the promise that led to his meeting the Savior and taking Him to heart. Oh, he was grateful the Lord met him at his mama’s bedside back in Raider’s Crossing, Wyoming.

Nothing could compare to the moment when his mama led him to the Lord.

He’d promised her then that he would make something of himself. That he wouldn’t come back to Raider’s Crossing until he’d become a new man, someone she could be proud of.

So far the only part of that promise he’d fulfilled was the first half. Some days he’d wondered how things were faring with his brothers. More often than not, he wondered about little Benny. He’d be a man now, having grown up with no men to show him the way unless the Lord had intervened.

Yeah, and you put him in that spot, Caleb. You and your brothers
.

That knowledge pricked his conscience. Dropping him off at Miss Sadie’s place had seemed the right thing to do at the time. Looking back with the eyes of a new believer, Caleb knew differently. But then that went for most every decision he made before he started involving the Lord in his business.

If only he could go back in time and make the changes he longed to make. If only he could start everything over.

The scent of greasy meat beat out the other odors that trailed him, and Caleb’s stomach complained. Scratching the spot where his beard itched him most, he gave a full minute’s thought to parking his mount in front of the source of the grub and satisfying his belly before he cleaned his hide.

He gave the source of the smell a second look. Set between a dry goods store and a doctor’s office, the building looked as if it were about to fall down under the weight of the dust and grime it wore. Blistered paint was peeling from warped boards, and the front door listed to the left. Second-floor windows were half-covered with shutters that were missing most of their slats, and a tattered curtain covered in faded roses hung from the one in the middle. Just below, a hand-lettered sign proclaimed the place as Ma’s Kitchen.

If the woman standing in the doorway was Ma, he’d have to pass. More than a few years past her prime, she wore faded calico and a frown and carried a black iron skillet like a prized weapon. From inside came the faint sound of breaking glass followed in quick succession by a man’s raised voice and a barking dog. Ma, however, never flinched.

As Caleb rode by, the woman lifted the skillet in his direction. Whether in warning or greeting, he couldn’t say. Just so as not to get on her bad side, he called out, “Top of the mornin’, ma’am.”

She responded with a shrug before disappearing inside.
So much for charming the ladies
.

At that thought Caleb had to chuckle. The first thing he’d asked the Lord after his baptism in Cane Creek was for Him to take away the skills he’d possessed at wooing women. Wouldn’t you know He’d answer that prayer right away?

He reached the livery and turned the mare over to a boy of no more than nine or ten. Thoughts of Benny returned, and he shook them off as he tossed a coin in the lad’s direction.

“I’ll double that if she’s fat and happy with a good brushing when I return,” Caleb told him.

“Thanks, mister. I’ll take good care of her.” The boy took the reins and tipped his cap before turning toward the stable.

“Say, there,” Caleb called. “What’s your name, young fellow?”

The lad stopped short to give Caleb a toothy grin. “Edmund, sir. Edmund Francis Thompson Junior.”

Caleb returned the smile. “Well, Edmund Francis Thompson Junior, my horse and I thank you.”

He watched them until the horse disappeared into a stall at the back of the stable. A moment later the boy emerged, then quickly returned with a brush, a blanket, and a bag of feed.

Satisfied that his horse was cared for, Caleb headed for a bar of lye soap and a shave.

Caleb walked out of the barbershop a good while later feeling like a new man. His complaining gut was the only remnant of the man who had ridden into Dime Box, and he could fix that in no time.

The barber told him about a boardinghouse a block off the main road where a man could fill his belly and rest his head on a clean mattress for a reasonable price. The proprietor, he’d been told, ran a respectable place. No drinking and no carousing. And no tobacco.

As he stepped onto the broad boards that made up the porch of the nameless rooming house, Caleb noticed an old shingle hanging next to the front door.

“No drinking, no carousing, and no tobacco.” Caleb chuckled. “Least I was prepared. Not that any of that would be a problem.”

“Well, I’m glad t’hear it. I run a respectable place. Don’t cotton to no one but law-abiding citizens.”

Caleb’s grin was genuine as he met the gaze of a red-haired woman. She looked to be around his mother’s age, with laugh lines etched at either end of her broad smile.

“The name’s Wilson.” Giving thanks for having such a common name, Caleb reached out to shake the woman’s hand, surprised that she grasped his fingers in a strong grip. “And I reckon I qualify as a law-abiding citizen. I haven’t broken a law in nigh on to two years. Does that pass muster with you?”

She looked him up and down, and for a minute he felt like a prized piece of horseflesh. “Pleased t’meet you, Mr. Wilson. Round here they call me Widow Sykes. Now come on in here and set yourself down. That growling stomach of yours is bad for business.”