Wild Texas Rose (23 page)

“Yes, miss. Luther's right fair at it.”

“Good,” She gathered the makings of cornbread, “If I let your cattle graze my pasture for a few days, would you and Thom be willing to bring the Martinezes back to Trick'em?”

“Well, sure, miss,” Andy's expression was uncertain. “Iffen they'll come with us.”

“They will. Tell them Miss McGuire . . .” She paused, thinking they might well refuse to help her. “Tell them the sheriff wants to talk with them about a murder case,” she amended. She glanced at Slim. “Mr. Culpepper, I'd appreciate your accompanying Andy and Thom. If the Martinezes balk, will you make certain they return?”

Surprise widened Slim's eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Hogtie 'em?”

“No. I imagine that wouldn't be workable.” Deep in contemplation, she added a pinch of salt to her cornbread mixture.

What would Whit recommend? Whit. Her promise to stay out of trouble nagged at Mariah. No doubt he wouldn't approve of her taking this action, but what was she to do? Trouble had come to her. The Lamkins had died since Whit had left, and here was a chance–a slight one, but a chance nonetheless–to solve Joseph's murder. Surely Whit would understand her reasonings.

Drastic times required drastic actions. “Ride for Brownwood and ask for the Ranger Captain Big Dan Dodson. Get him to accompany you. And if the Martinezes don't cooperate, have Pablo arrested as an accessory to murder.”

Slim rubbed his mouth. “Miz Mariah, I'm getting a bad feeling about this. You're stepping into the sheriffs boundaries.”

“Yes, I am. But there are times, Slim Culpepper, when one must put one's self on the line.”

Chapter Twenty-one

The next morning, Mariah brimmed with the fire of determination. Until peace came to Trick'em, she wouldn't be hampered by feminine trappings, and thus she outfitted herself in Joseph's belongings–breeches, shirt, western saddle, and gunbelt. The rising sun at her right, she rode into town. Although she had to detour around a crowd of townspeople circling a cart loaded with dead men, Mariah found the lady newspaper reporter with relative ease.

Lydia Farrell was eating breakfast at the café when Mariah approached her. “Whit Reagor told me about you, Miss Farrell. I'm Mariah McGuire.”

The women had a mutual purpose that didn't include small talk and they got right down to the business of law and order.

After Mariah explained the problems with Taft, Lydia asked, “May I quote you and Mr. Reagor?”

“By all means. We want the lawmakers in Austin to know what is going on here in Coleman County. Taft has to go. And we need a law against fence-cutting.”

“Fair enough.” Lydia made copious notes in a small journal, then she lifted her dark eyes to Mariah. “My uncle, Hayes Farrell, is a state senator.”

“Is he sympathetic to the issue?”

“I don't know. But I'll find out, and work on him if he isn't.” Lydia took a sip of coffee. “What's your next step?”

“I'll be speaking with the local women.”

The black-haired reporter nodded in agreement. “Good idea. But, Miss McGuire, keep your back covered. Change doesn't come without sacrifice.”

“I know.”

Lydia departed for the capital city of Austin to file her story and to speak with her lawmaker uncle. Mariah headed for the Strickland ranch, which was located two miles northeast of Trick'em. She found Gail seated behind a table on the ranch house's wide front porch.

“Hiya.” Gail waved a crutch. “Take a load off your feet. How about a cup of coffee?”

Mariah eased into a chair. “This isn't a social call. I need your help.”

“Why do I get the feeling this has something to do with the fence-cutting war?”

“Your intuition is commendable,” Mariah replied, then detailed her strategies for the ladies' campaign. “Because of our friendship, I want to give you the opportunity to be the first ranch woman to step ... in your case,
hobble
across the line to justice.”

“You injure me with your pun!” Gail laughed. Her good humor vanished, though, and she grimaced. “I love you to death, Mariah, but my husband is a rancher, and you know it. Ed doesn't ... We won't go against our own kind.”

“I expected you to say that–Lord knows I've heard that expression enough from everyone!–but I want you to know something.” She paused for emphasis. “Whit has changed his mind. He's ready for peace.”

“Whit? You're sporting me. He's a rancher through and through.”

“Don't underestimate him.”

“I never did.”

Mariah ruminated over Gail's answer. Remembering her suspicions, she said, “I guess being cousins, you have a lot of faith in each other.”

“Yes.”

“I've never quite figured out the relationship between you two. Are you first cousins?”

“My father was his first cousin.” Nervously Gail toyed with her coffee cup. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity, that's all.”

“Don't get too curious, Mariah, unless it's very important to you.”

“It's very important to me.”

Startled, Gail said, “Why? Have you two worked out your differences?”

“We're trying. I love him. And he loves me.”

“I see.” A melancholy smile came over Gail's face. “I'm happy for you.”

“You're lacking your usual exuberance. Why? All along, you've tried to promote a match between us. What, Gail, is the problem?”

“He's my father.”

Although she had suspected this, Mariah was shocked. “Why has it been kept a secret?”

“Whit's never admitted anything to me. My mother did, though. On her deathbed. It hurts really bad that he won't speak up.”

“Is he the skeleton you mentioned when we were traveling to Trick'em?”

“Yeah,” the brunette came back with bitterness.

“Gail, don't be harsh toward him. He loves you.”

“I know. Ed helped me to see that, finally.” Whit's daughter rubbed her eyes. “I don't want to be bitter. All I want is for my father to acknowledge me.”

“Maybe you should confront him.”

“No. It's his place for that.”

“Would you like for me to talk to him about the situation?” Mariah asked.

“No.”

“Gail, I'm going to ask you something as one friend to another, and I hope you'll be frank. Will it bother you if he and I marry? I think we're moving in that direction.”

“Will it bother you knowing he has a grown daughter?”

“Not in this case.”

“Would it bother you ... How would you feel if he became a grandfather before he even became a father to
your
baby?”

“It wouldn't trouble me.” Mariah lifted a brow. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Gail blushed. “Yes. I'm with child.”

“That's wonderful!”

The two friends embraced. Problems were pushed aside as they reveled in the exciting news. Their voices were elevated as Ed bounded from the house.

“What's going on out here?” the rancher asked, jutting his square jaw. “I won't have your kind pestering my wife.”

“She isn't bothering me, Ed. And Mariah isn't a ‘kind'. She's my friend.”

“She's a farmer making trouble for the sheriff.”

“I am those things,” Mariah admitted. “That is the purpose of my visit. Will you spare me a minute, Ed?”

“No.”

“Ed, please,” Gail said. “For me and the baby, will you listen to her?”

He gave a grudging nod, and Mariah spent the next half hour going over how much was to be gained through peace.

When she finished, Ed frowned. “That's all well and good, but you're stirring up a hornet's nest, Mariah.”

“Peace won't be easy to attain,” she admitted.

He frowned. “If things get ugly, none of us will be safe from harm.”

“Are you safe now?” Mariah stared at him. “How many people, including ranchers, have died?”

“Me, I don't worry about, but I do worry about Gail and our son.”

“Daughter,” Gail corrected.

“I don't want anything to jeopardize my wife and son.”

“I wouldn't let that happen.”

He crossed his arms. “And just how, Mariah McGuire, could you do that?”

“I promise you. I'll keep an eye on your wife.”
On Whit's daughter.

“She doesn't need a woman's protection,” he replied.

“Would you two quit arguing?” Gail rapped her crutch on the wooden porch. “For crying out loud, there's enough trouble around here without having to listen to it in my own home. Another thing. I'm getting sick and tired of this fencing war. Something has to be done. And I thank God that Mariah has the gumption to do it.”

Astonished, Ed looked at his wife. “You want me to side with the fence-builders?”

“Farmers share the guilt with ranchers,” Mariah stated. “I'm working toward justice, nothing else.”

“It would be nice, having this range-war mess at an end.” Ed bent to wrap his arms around his wife. “All right, Mariah. I'll do what I can to help.”

Mariah's audible relief mingled with Gail's.

“Edward, my darling, I've prayed you would come around and not disappoint me.” Looking up, she took her husband's hand. “This country is big enough for all of us, farmers and ranchers and even a few no-goods, too. We've got to learn to live in peace and harmony–for ourselves and for our children. And grandchildren. We'll have to make some sacrifices for that peace, though. We must give farmers their rights.” Glancing downward, she laced her fingers with his. “Can you make that sacrifice, Ed?”

“I'm willing to do my part,” Ed conceded.

Mariah set out for town. She had expected a lot more opposition from the Stricklands and was pleased to have gained their support.

The ride to Trick'em gave Mariah time to think about Gail and Whit. Why hadn't he acknowledged his daughter? Well, if Mariah had any say in it, he would, but she wasn't going to stew over it, not now. Not when she was sailing on the wings of success.

Success had fleeting glory. Mariah got no cooperation from the ten women she called on later in the day. Nor from the twelve she talked to on the subsequent two days. By Wednesday night, though, Gail had spoken with Jackie Jo Jamerson and with Mrs. Chadwick Nussbaumer, and both women agreed to speak with their husbands.

Thursday, while Mariah was on her rounds, horses had trampled her vegetable garden but she was not going to give up.

On Friday afternoon she had a visitor at the farm while she was investigating the horseshoe imprints left by the marauder's steeds.

Dressed in black and with veiled eyes, Birdie Turner said, “It's not easy for me to admit wrong, but I'm here to do it. I've heard about your campaign with the womenfolk, and I want to help you. I want to help us all. We need law and order in Coleman County.”

“Then start by having a talk with George. Make him understand.”

“It's too late for that.” Birdie composed herself. “My son was killed last night.”

Mariah stepped over a flattened hillock of beans. “I'm so sorry, Birdie.”

“I don't need condolences. The only way to ease my grief is to turn something bad into good.” The wrenlike woman took a breath of air. “I had a long talk with Reverend Pickle this morning and, as we speak, he's prevailing upon the ladies of the church. We're going to do something, whatever it takes, to make Trick'em a decent place to live.”

Mariah's relief turned to anxious excitement as the day wore on. The women of Trick‘em rallied around her, giving their support. They quarreled with their husbands and sons over the men's unique views of right and wrong, but when the sun set on Monday night, the pews of Trick'em Presbyterian Church were filled to capacity.

Behind the pulpit, Mayor Chadwick T. Nussbaumer was flanked by Reverend Pickle, Ed Strickland, Dr. John Metcalfe, and Birdie Turner. Mariah and Gail sat in the front row. Sheriff Wilburn Taft, was confident nothing would happen to his job, lazed against a back pew. Charlie Tullos stood in the narthex.

“Wilburn Taft,” said the mayor, “as of this moment, your tenure as sheriff is terminated.”

“Who y‘all gonna get to take my place?” Taft stood and arced his hand across the assemblage. “Come on, boys, don't be shy. Which one of ya wants my job? Who'll be the one to protect farming trash?” No one volunteered, and his laugh was guttural. His finger pointed to the civic leaders. “Y'all stand up there behind that pulpit, telling me I ain't done my job, but what're ya gonna do? It be me as sheriff or nobody.”

Mariah was at a point of great decision. Being the only person half qualified for the job, she yearned to step forward. But ...

She realized such a move would mean sacrifice. For years she had wanted to be a schoolteacher. Though that goal had been shelved temporarily, she intended to follow her dream ...

And Whit was her dream. She'd made a promise to let him handle Taft, but she'd broken it already. What would he do if he found out she even considered volunteering to act as sheriff to keep the peace? Surely he'd understand, but Mariah herself realized the perils of such an occupation–that she might not live to follow her dreams.

Slowly, she got to her feet. “I'm willing to take the job until a suitable replacement is found.”

Gasps steepled the church. Male voices rang out. A woman for sheriff? Who ever heard of such a thing? That was a man's job! A gal's hand fit a skillet handle, not a six-shooter's grip. Any hombre worth his salt protected a female, not took protection from her. Unthinkable!

“If you'll give me a moment of your time, I'd be much appreciative.” Mariah crossed to the pulpit and faced the citizenry. “Yes, I am a woman, and I make no apology for my gender.”

She halted her speech when the church door opened. Slim Culpepper, Andy Floyd, and a giant of a man–a stranger–stole quietly inside. Slim gave her a thumbs-up sign. Apparently the Martinezes were in Trick'em.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mariah continued, “I've been in the company of lawmen all my life. My father is a constable in the island of Guernsey. Two of my brothers hold like positions in France. From these men I gained a wealth of knowledge in law enforcement methods. I–”

“But that be some foreign country,” Heavy Everett interrupted. “ 'Tis a different story here in Texas.”

“I assure you I have the skills to handle the post of sheriff.”

“It jist don't seem fittin', having a lady lawman,” a consumptive old man wheezed.

Charlie Tullos stepped down the aisle. “The day we let a farm woman run this county is the day we open the gateway to perdition!”

The round-faced stranger who had accompanied Slim and Andy into the church rose to a standing position. He was a good head taller than anyone else in the church. All eyes turned to the brown-haired giant. Someone uttered a “Why, it's Big Dan” and a hush fell over the crowd.

His voice boomed with an English accent as he said, “Fitting or not, the little lady has something the rest of you are lacking: determination. You'd be well served to accept what she has so generously offered. And thank her for it.”