teapot as if it had collected a layer of dirt in the hour it had been in the room. “Gypsy, would you please remind
Marla to set the sheriff a place? I’m not sure I let her know.”
Gypsy looked relieved to have something to do. She lifted the tray, then set it back down and picked up only the
pot. “I’ll reheat the tea while I’m doing the telling.” She smiled. “So I may be a while.”
A pounding sounded from the entry before she could exit through the kitchen door. She fluttered like a lost
butterfly between whether to answer the knock or rush to deliver Nell’s message.
Rand solved the problem by standing and taking a step toward the kitchen. “I’l inform the cook,” he announced
in his take-charge voice. “Gypsy, would you mind getting the door?”
Nell closed her eyes. Thank goodness. Peace. He’d left, taking his endless numbers and figures with him.
But peace only lasted seconds, for there was no mistaking the stomp of boots coming her direction. Nel didn’t
open her eyes. She simply waited for the storm that was Jacob Dalton to blow across her.
“Where is he?” Jacob demanded as he stepped into the great room that centered the house.
“Who?” she asked as she opened her eyes to a rare sight: Ranger Dalton al clean and combed. She couldn’t hide
her smile as she realized why Mr. Harrison had offered to inform the cook and not answer the door. He must
have guessed Dalton would show up.
“Number Twelve.” Jacob circled the room, glancing into the many smal alcoves that had been built for private
conversations when Fat Alice ran the house. Now, all the areas were lined with books or plants.
The teacups rattled in the corner as Gypsy set the pot back on the tray. “Would you like some tea, sir?” She
asked just as Nel had taught her.
Jacob turned to the old prostitute. “Are you drinking again, Gypsy? Your hand looks none too steady.”
“No,” she whispered. “But I’m thinking about it. My nerves may need a sip. It’s been a long day, and I don’t see
no end in sight.”
“Well, the day I start drinking tea, I’l buy you a pint.” Jacob smiled at her. “Would you mind closing the door on
your way out? I’d like a few words alone with the lady of the house.”
Old Gypsy glanced at Nell. Her eyes were full of compassion and need to protect her mistress, but her feet were
heading for the kitchen door.
Nell tried to smile like she meant it. “Go ahead, Gypsy, set the dining table. I’ll be fine with Jacob. We’ll catch up with each other.”
Gypsy paused at the door. “Should I send Mr. Harrison back in?”
Nel and the ranger both shouted, “No!”
Jacob smiled as he moved his chair close to where Nel rested on the couch. Her legs were covered with a quilt.
Knitting lay neglected in her lap. She looked like a fine lady, but he knew the wildcat beneath the act. He knew
the girl had more heart and courage than anyone around. He’d seen her fight, and love, and hurt. He recognized
al her moods and planned to use that knowledge to his advantage now. The one word she’d said when Gypsy
had asked if she wanted Harrison had told him al he needed to know. The bookkeeper would be on his way out
the door in no time.
“You’re not talking me into anything,” Nel said as he propped his hat on the arm of the couch. “So get any ideas
you’ve planned out of your head.”
“How are you?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I have less pain every day, and I can stand for a short time. How are you?”
“Fine,” he echoed. “I was in El Paso starting a leave when I heard you’d gone nuts.” He said the words as calmly
as if they were talking about the weather, then grinned when her head snapped around to stare at him in anger.
“I didn’t go nuts. I’m moving on with my life.”
“Not without me.”
“Yes, Jacob, without you. You need to find some good woman and settle down. Have half a dozen kids. Be sheriff
of some town if you’re tired of running back and forth across the state. Get on with your life and stop thinking
you have to be my guardian angel. I’m grown now. I don’t need you anymore.”
He surprised her by saying, “You said you loved me. In fact, I remember the exact words. You said you’d love me
all your life.”
Nel glanced down at her knitting. “I was thirteen at the time. And I’m sure it wasn’t a month later that I swore
I’d hate you til I died.”
When she looked up, he stared at her . . . frowning with one of those looks that had always made her squirm
when she’d been a kid. Like he knew she’d done something and al he had to do was figure out what. She
grinned, remembering how she ran away when Fat Alice had sworn to send her back East to school. Jacob had
tracked her down, dragged her to the train, and threatened to paddle her behind all the way to Kansas City if
she got off before she reached school. That first year she’d stayed in school half out of fear that he might carry
out his promise and half out of fear that he might give up on her and not fight with her if she acted up one more
time.
“I’m too old to spank.” She winked at him. “And too rich.”
“You’re not too old,” he grumbled. “And I don’t care how much money you have.”
“I know,” she said. “You’re the one man I know who isn’t offering to marry me for my money.”
He took her hand. “And you’re the one person in this state who has never been afraid of me.” He lowered his
voice. “If you want a name, Two Bits, take mine, because I swear I’m never going to offer it to anyone else.”
She didn’t know what to say. She knew he meant it, even though she wished it wasn’t true. In a few years Jacob
would be thirty. If he’d planned to marry, wouldn’t he have found someone by now? She could love him no
more if he were truly her big brother, but she couldn’t marry him. He saw her as a little girl, as a crippled friend,
maybe as an obligation, but not as a woman.
Before Nel could think of how to answer Jacob, Gypsy banged her way through the kitchen door. “Trouble’s
coming in the back! That meddling sheriff ’s here, and he’s got some dressed-up toad of a looking fellow with
him.”
Nel couldn’t help but laugh. There had been a time in the history of the house that announcing the law coming
would have sent folks scrambling, but not now. Parker Smith was a regular, particularly at mealtime. He was one
of the few people in town who Nell could call a friend.
Jacob stood as the sheriff shoved a man almost twice his size into the room. The stranger banged his valise on
every piece of furniture he passed as he complained loudly about being hurried.
“Evening.” The sheriff tipped his hat as he herded his charge forward. “I know I’m a mite early for dinner, but I
wanted to get business over with first. Nel , do you know this man?”
The stranger straightened, pul ing his vest back over his middle and combing thin strands of hair across a shiny
head. Cutting Nel off, he snapped, “Of course she doesn’t know me on sight, Sheriff. We’ve only corresponded
by post.” He dusted the sheriff ’s grip from his sleeve. “And I’ll thank you to stop treating me like a criminal. I
happen to be Walter Farrow, Miss Nell’s intended.”
Nel swore she heard Jacob growl something about fiancés popping up like weeds. She offered her hand to the
stranger, more interested in his pitch than angry at his lie.
To her surprise, he bowed low and kissed her hand with lips soft and wet. She fought down a giggle, thinking his
kiss reminded her of a slippery frog’s belly. Gypsy hadn’t been far off in her appraisal of the man. If he hadn’t
had a firm grip on her fingers, she would have jerked her hand away.
When he straightened, the stranger bellowed, “Walter Farrow, attorney at law, at your service, Miss Smith. I’ve
been awaiting our meeting for some time, and may I say your beauty is far greater than even my imagination
hoped. I’m so glad we finally meet face-to-face after sharing so much by mail.”
Sheriff Parker Smith stepped beside the man. “This fellow claims you promised to marry him.”
Walter glared at the sheriff. “I have the documents with me, sir, and I’ll thank you not to question my word. I’l
have you know I’ve been a member of the bar in Dallas for almost twenty years.”
The man left Nel speechless with his intensity. His sudden turn from being so syrupy to her and then so angry
with the sheriff startled her.
Despite his age, the sheriff puffed up to fighting stance. “So there wil be no misunderstanding about my intent,
I’m not questioning your word, mister, I’m calling you a downright liar.”
Nel was having too much fun to interfere with the truth just yet. Her days were usually filled with quiet
boredom; now she felt as though she watched a grand play unfolding before her.
The huge toad pulled in his stomach and tried to barrel his chest, but the effect did little to help. The sheriff only moved closer. Nell knew Parker had long ago figured out that the Colt on his hip made him any man’s equal in a
fight. The question remained: Did Walter also understand?
Randolph Harrison and her cook, Marla, slipped out of the kitchen. They both watched the sheriff and his
companion with curiosity and apprehension. Marla paused, ready to dart back into safety. Randolph had
removed his coat, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow. He looked far more human, Nell thought, almost
comfortable in his surroundings. The bookkeeper might have paled next to Jacob, but compared to Walter, Mr.
Harrison seemed a knight in shining armor.
Nel glanced at Jacob, wondering at his sudden silence. To her surprise, he only looked mildly interested. Like
her, he seemed to be watching to see what happened next.
Walter Farrow lifted his briefcase to the table, rattling the forgotten tea service. “I contacted Miss Smith and
offered to buy one of her properties that I believe, due to a misunderstanding, should have been in my hands
already. She answered back by post that none of her land was for sale but that she would be wil ing to talk with
me.” He produced a blue piece of paper with Nel ’s signature and seal.
Everyone looked at Nell. She nodded. “I remember such an offer. It was for the old Stockard place. You said your
uncle owned it and you felt he meant to leave the property to you and not Fat Alice.”
The sheriff shook his head. “That place ain’t been nothing but a hideout for coyotes and outlaws for twenty
years. Stockard moved to a shack in town a few years before he died when an opening came up for town drunk.
He used to try to sell folks sketches he scribbled out on paper for money to buy whiskey. I think he even tried to
sell his land, but no one would offer him a dime for it.”
“We got one.” Gypsy hurried over to the stairs and pointed to a framed scribbling about halfway up. “We got
what you were talking about, Sheriff. An almost painting Alice used to call it. She traded it for food to last him
through the winter.”
“If it hadn’t been for Fat Alice, he would have starved to death in the mud.” Parker continued, “No one was
surprised he left her his land. Place probably wasn’t worth the plot Alice bought to bury him in.”
Walter Farrow appeared bothered by the interruption and showed no interest in the painting, even when Nel
tried to offer it to him. He simply pointed at the Sheriff and added, “Be that as it may, Sheriff, Stockard left the
land to Fat Alice, who left it to Nell, and I plan to own it. With her rejection of my offer to buy the land came
notice that she was looking for a husband. I took the clipping as an invitation. I wrote back listing my
qualifications and offered to marry her. I may be several years older, but I’ve a wealth of business sense to offer
a young bride.” He puffed out his chest, once more straining the buttons of his vest. “And, after several letters,
she accepted.”
“What?” everyone said at once.
Jacob glared at Nell. “Isn’t there a limit to the number of fiancés you can have, Two Bits? Husbands aren’t like
dolls you can collect.”
She rol ed her eyes, bothered more by his teasing than Walter Farrow’s statement. “I have never col ected dol s,
but I might consider husbands.”
The big man lifted a stack of papers from his case and shuffled through until he found several blue sheets of
paper, al with envelopes neatly attached. “Same stationery, same seal, same signature. I have her promise to
marry me if I travel to Clarendon and find her unmarried. The Stockard place will be put in my name as part of
the marriage settlement.” He turned to Nell. “Are you still unmarried, Miss Smith?”
“Yes, but . . .”
Walter smiled. “There are no buts. We’ve an agreement. All that remains is to find a preacher. I’ll not hear of
further delays. We both agreed in writing.”
Jacob moved closer to Nell, his ever-protecting role in full play. Harrison shoved away from where he’d been
leaning on the wal beside the kitchen door and asked to see the papers.
Perturbed, Walter passed them to Harrison without introduction. He didn’t seem to care who saw the papers;
after all, they were his proof. “I believe you’ll find the papers in order, and any lawyer will tell you the
agreement is binding.”
Nell watched Walter, trying to guess his game as she said as calmly as she could, “I wrote no such letters. Except
for the first letter asking about the Stockard land, I’ve never corresponded with you, sir. I only agreed to talk
with you because the land had once been in your family.”
“Maybe you were on pain medicine?” Walter debated. “I’ve heard the drugs for pain can make you forget all