A Texan's Luck (7 page)

Gripping Duncan's hand, Walker yelled, "Nice to meet you."

Duncan smiled and moved back to his desk. When a man worked as a printer's devil, as typesetters were called, his shoulders often rounded over time. Walker would have guessed the man's occupation, even if he'd seen him outside the shop.

Walker looked around the shop. Not much had changed since he'd been a boy. The furniture and machines appeared a little more worn. Just behind the long, high counter spread the main work area of the shop with a storage room to the left and a tiny office to the right. There were several tables cluttered with supplies and lamps hanging from wide beams to offer good light if anyone had to work after dark. The large windows across the front of the shop provided enough sunlight for daytime.

Walker frowned. The windows also allowed passersby to see almost the entire shop and anyone who might be working inside.

Crossing to the office, he wasn't shocked to find it as messy with papers and bills as the apartment had been with quilts and books. This had to be Lacy's domain. He was starting to recognize his wife's trademark.

Sweaters and old shirts, probably used as dusters during the printing work, weighed down a hat tree in the corner. Walker dug through and managed to untangle a jacket. He folded it over his arm and headed back to the street, wondering if he could possibly get his wife organized in less than a month. If she started today, she might be able to have her office and quarters livable by the time he left.

Somehow he doubted she intended to make the effort. After what she'd said to Sheriff Riley, he wouldn't be surprised if she was taking up a collection to have him shot at high noon. With his luck, the folks in Cedar Point would go along with her campaign. He'd left few friends behind when he'd ridden out of town at seventeen.

Her laughter reached him before he saw her in the crowd of people. He liked the sound, realizing that a woman's laughter was something missing for most of his life. He had no memory of his mother, and women at the frontier forts were few.

She stopped laughing when she saw him moving toward her, but she didn't dart away. She simply stood, watching him as he lifted her jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"Thank you."

He figured he'd be lucky if he had five seconds before she threatened to kill him again so he said, "The cats stay."

Lacy raised an eyebrow. "Did the sheriff tell you to say that?"

"No. He told me how much they matter to you. I still feel you'd be safer without them in the house. It's easy to blame a noise on a cat when it might be an intruder. But I can work around that problem if they're important to you."

She tilted her head and studied him as if she didn't know whether to believe him or not. She didn't seem the least bit grateful that he'd conceded, but he'd long ago become an expert at not allowing his frustrations to show.

He offered his arm.

She hesitated, then took it.

They walked down the street until they were far enough from the crowd not to be overheard. "We can work this out," Walker said as if he believed his own words.

"I don't take orders, and I don't follow schedules. You're not stepping into my life, my world, and changing everything just because of something you've been ordered to do. You're free to leave. I'm safe enough here in town. Zeb Whitaker probably forgot all about me years ago."

He thought of arguing, but he wasn't sure what she'd say. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to the fort and explain to his commander why he couldn't stay around and protect his wife for one month. Or worse yet, leave Lacy unprotected. If Zeb Whitaker got to her, he'd never forgive himself for neglecting his duty.

And that's all she was, he told himself. His duty. A duty he never asked for. But he was a man who'd never turned his back on what he knew he had to do. If he had to get along with her in order to stay and complete his mission, he would.

"All right. No orders, but I stay until my time is over." He accepted her terms and wondered if she'd ever heard of the word
compromise.
"One rule for each of us is all I ask. You allow me to protect you, and I'll try not to interfere with your life."

"Fair enough."

He placed his hand over hers as they declared a silent truce. Then, without a word, they continued walking down the street. Lacy introduced him to almost everyone they passed. A few of the people said they remembered him as a kid, but most had moved to town in the years since he'd been gone.

Lacy calmed as they moved along. She'd never had a handsome man to walk with. Not one day of her life. Captain Walker might be heartless, but one thing she couldn't deny: he was handsome in his blue wool uniform. She noticed people who'd never paid her any mind, like the ladies on the second floor of the saloon, were now looking her over. With Walker by her side, some of the men seemed more respectful, more formal, and a few of the women giggled at everything he said as if it were funny.

Walker asked her advice about which fruits and vegetables to buy, then paid for them without really asking her if she wanted or needed them. Slowly, she became aware of what he was doing. He bought one thing, sometimes more, from each vendor. In a very simple way, he was meeting everyone, making friends, paying his respects.

Only, she knew his plan would fail when he got to the church ladies' table. Lacy knew most of the women, but she was not one of their circle. She'd learned from experience that they weren't accepting of outsiders. They had always been polite but never friendly to her.

With a smile, Walker changed all that. He bragged on their work, even buying one of the crocheted Bible covers he swore his sergeant's wife would love. He had them all beaming proudly that finally someone had noticed their efforts. When he suggested they make aprons for men, the ladies of the church circle laughed so hard, folks turned to look from half a block away.

Lacy stood in awe, wondering who had taken over her husband's body. Could this be the same man who had issued one order after another since arriving? She'd seen men who were smooth talking, usually salesmen who passed through from time to time, but nothing like Walker. By the time he left the church ladies' table he could have run for mayor and won.

She expected his bossy, rude manner to return when he talked with the men. It never did. He asked each man about his work or for facts related to the town. His plan seemed so simple. He paid each man respect, showed interest in whatever they did, and in return they gave him respect back. By the time they'd finished walking the street, her anger had cooled, and Lacy decided not to kill him. If she could just put up with him for a month, folks might be a lot friendlier toward her.

She could almost see the future, everyone stopping by to ask how Walker was doing, talking about how much they enjoyed meeting him and asking when he'd be coming back. Of course then she'd have to look sad and tell them she didn't know.

Several times Walker offered his arm to her, which she accepted awkwardly at first, but she grew used to him standing next to her. He switched sides from time to time, always putting his body nearer the street. He also had a habit of brushing his hand over hers when he was talking to someone and not even looking at her. Lacy guessed he checked to make sure she was still there.

They walked back to the print shop and relieved Duncan so he could go home for lunch. The other employee, Eli, as he often did when the temperature dropped, hadn't bothered to show up. The old printer was a thin man the weather seemed to pass right through. He complained of the heat all summer and the cold all winter.

Jay Boy reported in and collected the last stack of papers. He said sales were going great for some reason; even the church ladies bought a few copies. Lacy told him to head on home when he ran out of papers; his mother would be needing him to do chores.

When Lacy finally thought to introduce him to her husband, Walker stood and offered his hand as if Jay Boy were a full-grown man.

To her shock, Walker asked for a favor. "It seems I bought way too many vegetables without realizing Lacy has no root cellar. Do you think your mom would be willing to take some off my hands? I'd really appreciate it."

Jay Boy nodded, looking at the bag. "She can make a great soup with all this."

When he'd left, Lacy faced Walker. "That was nice of you."

"He's a hard worker."

"That he is." Lacy felt awkward, suddenly aware that she was once more alone with this strange man. "I've work to do." She turned and went into her office, thankful that he didn't follow. "I have friends I usually visit on Saturday, but they won't be expecting me if the weather gets worse," she commented over her shoulder.

"Will they mind if I come along?" he asked as he leaned against the doorjamb.

Lacy thought of Carter, who never welcomed strangers, and wondered if the big, silent man would let Walker on his property. Even after being married to her friend Bailee for almost five years, Lacy still wasn't completely comfortable around the man. He watched everyone as if trying to figure out when they might try to kill him. The only person he thawed around was his wife. Lacy had seen it from the first: Bailee centered Carter's world, and the strange thing was, he did the same thing for her.

"They'll let you in," Lacy finally remembered Walker waited for an answer. "But I wouldn't make any quick moves around Carter. He doesn't warm easily to strangers."

"How long did he take to relax around you?"

Lacy smiled. "I'm still waiting."

Walker's frown almost made her laugh.

As the afternoon passed, she glanced through the open door of her office to see him sitting on a stool pulled up to the counter. After watching her a few times, he started taking ad orders without calling for her when someone walked in. She had no idea if he knew what he was doing, but he couldn't be any worse than Duncan, who left out every other word.

The folks who came stayed longer to talk than they usually did, but Lacy noticed that Walker's strength lay in encouraging them, not in talking himself.

By midafternoon, snow began to fall, and all traffic vanished. Walker stoked the stove and bent over old issues of the paper as if finding them fascinating. When she walked out of her office, she noticed he had removed his coat and looked totally relaxed. A huge pile of wood had been stacked by the fire. Lacy had no idea when he'd left to buy wood.

She stretched. "I'm about finished. You can go on up if you like. You don't have to stay here. I'm perfectly—"

She forgot what she'd been about to say when she noticed the rifle leaning against his knee and his long Colt pulled from its holster and placed a few layers beneath the paper he appeared to be reading.

"What's wrong?" Maybe he was just being cautious.

He didn't meet her gaze. His head still bent slightly toward the paper, but his gaze fixed on something beyond the windows. "Someone is watching us from across the street," he said so softly he might have been reading the words to himself. "I saw the reflection off a rifle barrel just before the sun faded. The snow's too thick to make him out, but once in a while I see a movement in the gap between the hotel and the mercantile."

Lacy fought the urge to turn and see for herself.
No one is there.
If she didn't look, she didn't have to believe. He was just trying to frighten her.

"In a few minutes it will be full dark, and we need to be away from these windows." Walker slowly turned the page of the paper.

Lacy didn't argue. If they stayed downstairs longer, she needed to light the lamps. With the lamplight, the shop would glow through the darkness outside.

As she turned to close her office door, she heard the sudden scrape of Walker's stool against the wooden floor. A second later, Walker flew into her, knocking her to the floor. Just before she hit, he rolled, taking the blow of their fall against his shoulder.

Before she could scream, a bullet hit the window and shattered the pane over them like fine glass snow. Walker's arm covered her face for a few heartbeats, then he was up, pulling her with him toward the stairs that led to the apartment.

Another shot rattled off the iron of the printing press. Walker moved so quickly, Lacy's feet barely touched the floor as she ran behind him.

They made it to the landing where the steps turned. A blast of icy air chilled the shop as Lacy fought to breathe.

He stopped, pulling her down with him to sit on the first step past the landing, out of sight of the windows. "Stay here," he ordered, then turned without waiting for an argument and went back down the stairs.

Several minutes passed. The shop grew dark. She listened closely and thought she heard him walking around downstairs. It crossed her mind that he made no more noise than a cat on the creaky old floor of the shop.

Huddling against the railing, Lacy shivered from cold as well as fear. She never really believed, not for a minute, that Zeb would truly come after her. Not until now.

How could the old buffalo hunter think she had his gold? He must have come straight from prison. But why her? Lacy didn't want to think about the answer, but it whispered in the snowy wind. Zeb had come here first because she'd been the easiest to find. Because he must know that she lived alone, and until last night, Zeb Whitaker would have been right.