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“How about me?” the banker asked. “Can I move now that your mother’s here, Ollie?” Sweat stained his thinning hairline and darkened his shirt near the armpits.
Daisy didn’t give Ollie time to answer. “You go about your business, Sam. We apologize for this and promise it won’t happen again, will it, Olivia?”
Ollie’s twin braids swung back and forth as she shook her head. “I better not promise, Mama, ’cause I might be lying. Sometimes I do that ’fore I know what comes over me. Old Miz Jenkins says that’s ’cause I’m young and still got a bunch’a sins to sow. I don’t know what that means, but when she says it everybody around her pew gives her an ‘Amen, sister.’ You don’t want me breaking one of them commandments if I can help it, do ya?”
“I most certainly do not.” Daisy frowned, though several of the cowhands laughed and she noticed a grin flash across the brother’s face.
She should have been happy most were taking this with such good humor, but Daisy couldn’t until she had control of the gun.
Ollie took a deep breath and finished her discussion with Banker Cardwell. “Besides, you don’t have to worry no more anyway, Sam. Mama said all your whiskers would give her burns if you was a kissing kind of man. And you know that’s one of them things on my list. A new daddy’s got to be good at kissin’ Mama, and I don’t want it hurtin’ her none when he does it.”
She seemed to remember where she should be targeting and adjusted her aim. The tiny crooked last finger she’d inherited from her daddy’s side of the family stuck out as if she were balancing a teacup. “Just gonna see if any of these fellas over here will do.”
“First time I’ve ever been held at gunpoint to prove I’m a good kisser,” one of the cowboys joked.
Heat blazed in Daisy’s cheeks as she dismissed him and her daughter’s demand, instantly moving on to the three men who had been hanging around High Plains on weekends the past month. She had heard they were helping out at the old Rafford place during branding season. The others were probably looking for work. Dressed in work shirts, bandannas, vests and chaps to cover their denims, they didn’t appear any different than most cowboys who rode the circuit of ranches come spring.
Despite Ollie’s earlier comments about the more finely dressed man, most of the cowboys had shaved and cleaned up before riding into town. That showed respect, one of the requirements Daisy had added to her daughter’s list. She appreciated a respectful man of clean ways who traveled a good path. As she tried to do herself, though she failed at times.
If she ever did choose to remarry, not that she thought she actually would, the man must honor all of God’s ways and love her and Ollie as his own. He must put no one else but God before them. She would offer her heart to no one less. She would give Ollie no less than the best of fathers this time. Until that ever came about, she intended to be and provide everything her daughter needed. No matter how hard the struggle.
Daisy moved on to the cowboys’ faces and whether or not they could stare her straight in the eyes. Every one of them looked away before she finished, a couple of them edging their hats down low as if not wanting to be seen too closely. That made no points with her. Anyone she allowed to enter her and Ollie’s lives she needed to trust, and eyes spoke volumes about a person.
The rest of the men’s features ranged from passably pleasing to make-you-look-twice, but she put little value in appearances these days. Each of them would be a suitable match to some woman in the world somewhere, just not her.
Daisy supposed she should have never told Ollie that Knox had been the handsomest man in the county when she’d married him. Her daughter now believed having uncommon good looks was an important requirement for a would-be daddy. As Daisy had learned the hard way, a man needed something more than pleasant features to be a good husband or a father. He needed a heart filled with sincere love and kindness and a soul full of truth. She’d discovered too late that Knox had fallen short of that expectation and she hadn’t known how to help him improve.
Ollie knew only that her father had the reputation of a hero. What purpose would it serve to let her or others believe any different of him? It would only hurt Ollie in the end. Daisy decided it was better to keep the sad truth hidden away in her own heart than to crush Ollie’s.
Though she allowed Ollie to have her fun with the future-daddy list, Daisy doubted any man could ever really measure up and be able to heal the depth of that hurt in Knox and disappointment in herself. Instead, she set about proving to herself and every other member of the Trumbo clan in this community that she could make a decent living for her and Ollie and didn’t need anyone else to make them happy or earn their keep.
“Let these men go, Olivia,” Daisy said quietly, her tone filled with the pain of memories. “We’ve delayed them long enough.”
Ollie shrugged. “I wasn’t much stuck on none of ’em, either, Mama. Not a one knows a thing about threading your machine or making a shoe, so they won’t be no help with the biz’ness. They just shoo cows and keep ’em rounded up. How ’bout their eyes? Any of them got that special look you want?”
The cowboy in front thumbed back his hat and winked at Daisy. He had one of the priorities Ollie had written on the list. Taller than Mama. A lot of men fell short of matching Daisy’s height. Six feet in widow-black daunted more men than it didn’t.
“You got a real rooter-tooter on your hands there, Widow.” The winker’s grin broadened. “I might be willing to stick around to change your opinion.” His voice lowered into a husky tone that implied more than Daisy needed or wanted to know about the kind of man he was.
The lady with the fan tapped Daisy with it and gave a low throaty laugh. “I wouldn’t turn that one down, ma’am. He looks like quite a charmer.”
“Leave the dear widow to her business, Petula,” warned her brother, his gaze locking with his sister’s. “I’ve already told you, we won’t be here long enough to make any proper acquaintances.”
Petula’s lower lip pouted. Daisy took note of the undercurrent of emotion layering his tone and his stoic expression. His features were similar to but more angular than his flirting sister’s. His eyes, though, were incomparable to any others she’d ever seen. The blue-violet of the lake water in her back pasture after a spring thaw, they were layered with fathoms so clear nothing could be hidden in their depths. The kind of eyes that one might trust, she wondered, unsettled that they had stirred such a curiosity within her.
Daisy quickly pushed the question aside. He was someone just passing through. She’d had enough of trying to trust a man to settle down. To make herself important enough in his life he would prefer to stay.
The expression that now thinned the stranger’s lips and chiseled his jaw held no softness, no gentleness, only command for his sister’s obedience. He didn’t appear a man to be taken lightly.
“Proper wasn’t exactly on your sister’s mind, mister,” the winker dared.
“What are you implying?” demanded Petula’s protector, his legs firmly planting themselves apart. Massive fists rose to defend his sister’s honor. “Ladies, please step out of the way.”
His knuckles looked scarred and broken, certainly not the hands of a duded-up gentleman. This would not be his first fight or the first defense of Petula, Daisy noted.
Time to get this under control.
“Excuse them, sir,” she apologized for the cowboy’s rudeness, hoping to play peacemaker, “you’re new to these parts. Men around here love a good Saturday fight just so they can sit in church the next morning and have something to ask forgiveness for. Don’t you, fellows?”
She hoped she could make the defender see reason and not let this escalate into a brawl. “They sometimes deliberately rile somebody just to get a rise out of them. It’s a source for bragging rights so they can confess the most amount of wrongdoing and need for redemption come Sunday. That lets them enjoy the women who want to sit beside them and tame the bad boys.” She shrugged. “Just a Texan’s way of courting, so to speak.”
“Yeah, that’s what we’re doing—” Winker elbowed the cowhand next to him “—courting. What you gonna do about it, partner?”
* * *
Bass Parker didn’t want to fight and wasn’t sure if he could take them all on, but he’d go down trying if forced. Maybe the mouthy winker would be man enough to meet him one-on-one instead of making this a brawl.
He appreciated the widow’s attempt to defuse the situation, but he wasn’t about to let the man’s coarse implications stand without letting him know of his disapproval.
Defending Petula’s honor had become a habit Bass hoped wouldn’t follow them West, but it seemed to be a daily occurrence now. Long before their parents’ deaths, he made a vow he would look after his younger sister and see her raised right. But the more men Petula met, the more determined she was to flirt. The more situations and comments like this could not be left unchallenged.
It might be a thrill to her to have men pursue her, but he feared Petula would take her need to experience what she thought was love one step too far someday and get into more trouble than the scandal she’d left behind or his defense of her could handle.
Bass hoped to find them a place to call home where she would want to straighten up her wayward thinking and become the lady he knew she could be. They both needed to put their troubled pasts behind them and find a way to turn their lives around for the better.
If only he hadn’t decided to stop in and try to make things right with Widow Trumbo one last time before heading on to California. The money he’d sent her years ago remained untouched in the High Plains Bank, despite several failed attempts in writing to persuade her to use it for a memorial for Knox. He’d expected continued resistance but not with this woman calling herself Knox Trumbo’s widow. She looked nothing like the woman Knox had introduced to him as his wife after signing the papers of conscription.
“I said, what are you gonna do about it, partner?” Challenge echoed deeper in the redhead’s voice. “Just stand there and think about it or actually do something before you moss over?”
“If you insist. Let the ladies be on their way and we’ll finish this.” Bass prepared himself for the inevitable. “Petula, take our bags and wait for me at the livery.”
“But—” Petula argued.
“Listen carefully. Do exactly as I say and you won’t get hurt.” Bass’s attention remained on his challengers but his words targeted the widow now. “Ma’am, it’s wise if you do the same. Take your little one and leave, please.”
The widow grabbed the gun away from her distracted daughter and moved in front of the child. “Mister, put your fists down. Nobody’s going to fight anybody. I apologize for everything that’s happened or been said.” She aimed the gun at each man including Bass. “We all say things when we’re on the edge and don’t mean them.”
Her amber-colored eyes widened with apology. “I’ve let my daughter go too far with this. It’s about to cause more trouble than she meant it to, isn’t it, Ollie?”
Ollie peeked around the widow’s skirt. “I guess so, but that sure looked like it was gonna be a great fight.”
The tyke’s humor caused a few chuckles, and Widow Trumbo’s efforts to quell the tension was admirable, but Bass didn’t drop his fists.
Ollie pointed a small finger at the rest of the cowboys in line. “Anyways, I learned plenty about these ones before ya got here, Mama. So I wrote one or two on my maybe-daddy list.”
Bass had wondered what purpose drove the little scamp’s hostage taking and now he understood. She wanted a new father. His gut twisted with knowing that, if this little girl was truly Knox’s child, and Banker Cardwell indicated she was, then he played a part in why she’d lost her daddy and needed a new one. He had to find a way to get her out of here safely and make it up to her and her mother somehow.
“They said they ain’t rich men but always got enough to get by on,” Ollie continued as if the grown-ups weren’t on the edge of battle. “So it won’t cost us nothin’ to feed ’em. And when I told them you like to run, Mama, they said they admired a woman who knows how to do that good. But him—” she stared at Bass “—I ain’t had time to ask him nothin’. He don’t say much. Figured I’d leave him for last.”
“Looks like he don’t do much, either.” With a flash of a hand, the winking cowboy drew a pistol from the holster strapped low around his right thigh. The other cowboys did the same and all aimed with deadly intent at the widow and her daughter. “Think a pair of fists are big enough to stop all of us, do you, dude?”
Bass tried to think fast. He couldn’t fight them all, but he might get most of the men down before anyone got off a shot. Down. That’s it. Get the women down first. He prayed Petula would listen to him this one time.
The widow pointed the gun directly at the winking cowboy, who seemed bent on a fight. “Stop badgering him.”
She had courage. Bass welcomed her bravery, but knew it might get her killed.
“Or you’ll do what, Widow? Take on all of us?”
“Mama, don’t try to shoot.” Apology filled Ollie’s face. “That gun’s empty on account of I didn’t find no bullets in Daddy’s old trunk. I was just foolin’ all y’all.”
“Hope you’re telling your mama the truth, little missy. Pardon me if I don’t trust you.” Winker’s weapon still aimed at the widow. “Just slide that gun this way, Mama. Do what I say...” His attention focused on Bass for a second. “And we’ll keep this easy.”
Bass made no move. He needed the perfect moment. Maybe the widow would provide it.
The redhead nodded at the banker. “Open that safe and hand me what’s in there. Don’t make any quick moves while you’re at it, either. Best keep your hands where I can see them or the kid’ll be nothing but a memory or maybe a funny story I’ll tell miles down the road. Who would’ve thought we’d be held up pulling our own bank robbery? And with an empty gun, no less.”
Bass hoped the widow was no fool. The man’s laughter was as serious as a hanging verdict. If she did what she was told it might give him the opportunity he needed. He waited, holding his breath, praying she showed the level head she appeared to have.
Slowly, she bent and slid the pistol across the room toward the winking cowboy’s feet.
“Drop now!” Bass shouted at the women, diving as the gun slid. Momentum carried his body straight into the leader, sending him and several cowhands falling like unstrung fence posts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petula collapse, either in reaction to his shouted order or in a dead faint. He made the mistake of turning slightly enough to check and see if the widow and the little girl had done the same. Both still stood.
Only one way to protect them now. His fists connected with flesh, echoing loud punches over the room.
Lord, let me prove myself more than the coward people think of me. Help me save my sister...
And give me time to set things right with the widow and her child.
Chapter Two (#u3d80d5a6-574f-5e96-8a55-a177bc3f59e6)
Someone got off a shot. Another.
Instinctively, Daisy turned, threw her body over Ollie’s and rolled, pinning her daughter beneath her. A shotgun blast layered the air with the acrid smell of gun smoke, splattering a hole in the wall and raining slivers of wood everywhere.
Sam! Daisy remembered the shotgun behind the counter. He must have fired a round. She dared to look, but someone returned fire. The banker fell backward out of sight. Daisy screamed as her eyes slammed shut, praying he was still alive.
“Trouble at the bank!” yelled a voice outside, though it moved away from them instead of toward. “Somebody get the sheriff.”
The sound of flesh punching flesh, grunts and bodies scuffling continued as Petula’s brother tried to subdue the robbers with only his fists. Daisy prayed fast and hard for the brave stranger, asking God to protect the man who defended them.
“Get out of here now,” Winker ordered, his voice full of pain amid the bone-crunching blows. “Grab the money and ride!”
Another shot fired. The punches stopped. Daisy’s eyes flashed open, fearful of the fistfighter’s fate. A need to remember him, his face, his eyes, the trust she’d questioned earlier seemed important now to bring into focus. She willed him not to die though his slumped-over figure did not move.
A frantic scraping of boots and spurs sounded the retreat amid another hail of bullets. Daisy braced herself for the impact of hot lead, her hands frantically trying to protect Olivia from being hit. Help me, Lord. Keep her safe. Her prayer kept pace with her pulse. Don’t let me lose her, too.
Another volley of traded shots shattered glass from the door and windows, then a thunderous pounding of hooves eased into a silence so quick Daisy could hear her heart beating as if it was lodged in her ears. Her blood raced like the Guadalupe River at flood tide, her tongue drying as if it was a slab of jerky, leaving her unable to speak.
Daisy waited for someone to enter the bank. Anyone to assure her the shooting was over, the robbers away and the townsmen who had shot back still outside and alive. She needed to check on Sam and the two strangers, but she was afraid to move away from Ollie yet.
No one entered.
“Is everyone all right?” she asked, finding nerve enough to speak and needing to hear each voice in return.
“They shot him. They shot my brother,” screamed Petula. She crawled over to him as his frock coat darkened with the spread of blood.
“Don’t cry, Pet,” their rescuer whispered, motioning his sister to stay away. “Don’t come closer. I’ll be all right.” He crumpled and passed out.
“Get some h-help, Daisy,” Sam pleaded from behind the counter.
“I’m so relieved.” Daisy released a long breath of air, realizing both men still lived. “I thought you might have been... Just hang on, Sam. I’ll get Doc.”
“He’s in town. Maybe at his office or M-Meg’s.” Sam paused and took a few breaths. “Sounds like her brother needs help quicker than I do. See if anyone else is hurt.” Pain filled his voice despite his words. “I...I can hold on.”
“You sure?” She wanted to check and see for herself.
“Do what you’ve got to do, Daisy. Quick.”
“Yeah, let me up, Mama. I can’t breathe.”
Daisy stood and helped her daughter stand. She examined Ollie for any sign of injury and found only minor scrapes from flying glass and splinters caused by the shotgun blast. Filled with relief, she lifted Ollie and hugged her so tightly the child complained again.
“That’s enough, Mama. You keep squeezin’ me and I’m gonna be a goner for sure.”
“It’s never enough, honey. Never.” Daisy pulled back and studied the tiny face one more time. She had to keep Ollie safe. This time. Every time. “You sure you’re not hurt anywhere?”
She frowned. “Just where you hugged me.”
Daisy set her down and stared squarely into eyes that mirrored her own. “Then do you think you can go find Doc for us? That way I can stay here and help do what I can until he gets here.”
“My brother,” Petula stressed, kneeling beside him to rest his head in her lap. At the sight of his wound, her words became shrill. “Hurry, he’s all I have.” She brushed her hand across his brow and glanced up at Daisy, her eyes glazed with worry. “Make him stop bleeding.”
“We’ll get help,” Daisy assured her then hesitated. Memories of the outraged citizens who told her about the hostage-taking rushed in to caution her. Someone outside might think she or Ollie had started the shooting. What if they decided to shoot first and then ask questions? She couldn’t take that chance. “Stay here, Ollie. Let me make sure it’s safe for you to go.”
Daisy exited the bank and froze, waiting, looking. She had lost her husband to violence as he bled out on some needless battlefield where the opposing forces didn’t know a cease-fire had been called and the war ended. Tears she hadn’t shed when he died suddenly blurred the images before her now.
She hadn’t been there and couldn’t have helped Knox, but their longtime friendship and practical marriage demanded that she love Ollie enough for the both of them and keep her safe always.
That single clear thought stemmed the flow of Daisy’s tears and shook her out of her frozen panic.
A crowd began to run this way and that, shouting words so fast that Daisy couldn’t determine who said what. Someone lay in the street wounded. Another man slumped over a water trough near the livery.
The blacksmith, a bald giant of a man who often fished with Olivia, reached Daisy first.
“Oh, Bear, I’m so glad it’s you.” Relief rushed through her. “We need help. There’s been a robbery. People are hurt.” She brushed the tears from her face, her voice breaking as she added, “O-Ollie’s inside.”
Bear bolted past Daisy only to come to an abrupt halt when a tiny voice said, “No, I ain’t, Mama.”
