Not the Marrying Kind Read online

  “Ain’t you going to ask what’s wrong, son?”

  “I reckon you’re going to tell me whether I ask or not.” Once again, Rafe sighed. At times like these that he wished he hadn’t heard the Lord command on honoring your father. He loved Eb Wilson more than anything on this earth but the man could sorely try his patience. “Why don’t you come on over here and sit a spell and tell me what’s on your mind?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Pop sauntered over and stood a minute before settling himself into the chair on the other side of the desk. He made a fuss of rubbing the stubble on his jawbone before turning his gaze on Rafe. “You really aim to do it this time, don’t ya?”

  “Do what, Pop? Sign up for the Rangers?” When his father nodded, Rafe continued. “I wish you’d just come right out and tell me what’s so bad about your son following in your footsteps.”

  “I’ll admit I’m right pleased that you would consider the Rangers but, it’s just that . . .” His father lapsed into silence, a pained look on his face.

  Understanding dawned, and along with it, anger. He rose and steadied himself with a firm grip on the corner of the desk.

  “Say it, Pop,” he managed through clenched jaw. “You don’t think I can make a Ranger of myself.”

  Eb Wilson fairly flew out of his chair. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I heard come out of anyone’s mouth. I’m proud as I can be of you.”

  Rafe frowned. His father looked like he was about to bust his buttons. “You sure about that?”

  “Son, if anybody was cut out to be a Ranger it was you. Why, from the time you were knee high to a grasshopper you could ride and shoot with the best of ‘em?”

  “That’s because I learned from the best, Pop.” He shrugged. “So, you admit I’m qualified. What’s your beef with me signing up?”

  His father looked like he planned to jaw on that question awhile, so it surprised Rafe that he spoke right up. “Well now, there’s two things wrong with the plan. First off, you’re needed right here in Cut Creek.” Before Rafe could protest, Pop held up his hand to silence him. “You asked, now hear me out. This town needs a lawman that will keep the criminal element out. It can’t be helped that the place is quiet as a Monday morning church house. You ought not complain because you’re doing such a good job. Come January, if you’re not here what do you think will happen? You think anyone’s going to protect Nellie and Abigail and Miss Potter and the others like you do? I say not.”

  “I never thought of it that way, Pop.”

  A satisfied look crossed the older man’s face. “Well you chew on that thought awhile. “You’ll be missed. In fact, the boys and I are so sure that you’re needed that we drew up a little something we’d like you to sign.” He pulled the folded sheet of paper, the one Rafe had thought was a telegram, out of his pocket and thrust it in Rafe’s direction. “It’s a little contract Sully drew up. We’d all be obliged if you’d sign it.”

  “Now hold on a minute. I don’t know about this. Since when does the sheriff of Cut Creek operate under a contract?

  Pop shrugged. “Since this morning.” He stood. “Look here, boy, I know you’re aiming to feel your oats but I got a notion that what you want isn’t out there on the trail. No, I think the thing to set your heart to thumping ain’t a thing, or even a job. I think it’s a woman.”

  “What are you talking about? Captain Bryant thinks-”

  “Son, I don’t care what Captain Bryant thinks. Until you handle things with Miss Potter you’re not going to be worth the saddle you ride in. You’ll be forever trying to prove something.” Regret washed over his wrinkled features. “I love you, boy, but you need to find out your heart’s right here before you go running all over Texas looking for it and missing out on what’s right under your nose, or rather down the street.”

  “Pop, you’re talking foolish now.”

  “Am I? That woman’s crazy about you and I can’t help but see that you feel the same way. There, I’ve said it.” With that, he stormed outside and left Rafe with his mouth hanging open.

  “Hold on a minute, Pop.” Rafe jumped to his feet and followed his father out the door. “You really believe all that or is this just one more case of meddling?”

  Eb Wilson stopped and whirled around, nearly causing James Spencer’s daughter Vivian to plow right into him. Sidestepping the girl, Pop headed back in his direction, only stopping when he was practically under Rafe’s nose.

  The two men stood eye-to-eye. Neither blinked.

  “Rafael Wilson, you are a good man, born of good stock and well loved by your mama who’s now in heaven, rest her soul. I’ve loved you and cared for you and I’ve been blessed to have the help of Nellie and Abigail to raise you. In all those years, have I ever meddled in your affairs?”

  “Yes. Frequently.”

  “Fair enough. In this case, however, I’m going to step back and give you just enough rope to hang yourself. That contract on your desk is the key to your happiness, boy. You’re a better lawman than any Ranger who ever rode, me included, but that don’t mean you have to leave the ones who loved you and raised you. Your talents are needed right here. Why, you never know when there’s going to be some big threat to your loved ones. Where will you be when that happens – here or somewhere else?”

  He paused to catch a long breath. Rafe dared not speak. He didn’t like the choice of words floating around in his brain. Half were disrespectful, the rest downright frightening in that if he said them he’d be agreeing with Pop.

  “Now, the other thing. I aim to state that youth is wasted on the young. Why, if I had a pretty filly like Miss Potter watching my every move, I sure wouldn’t be spending my spare down over at Eli Almgren’s carpenter shop hammering nails and sawing table legs.”

  “Pop, you don’t know what you’re talking about. That woman hates me. She’s made that fact plain enough.”

  Pop chuckled. “I repeat. Youth is wasted on the young. Why do you thinks she pays so much attention to you if she isn’t sweet on you?” He shook his head. “Why, your mama, rest her soul, gave me such grief when I first starting showing up on her doorstep that any sane man would have turned tail and run.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right. Now the question is, what do you think about that girl? You sweet on her? I bet you can look into her eyes without your heart going pitty-pat.”

  “No.” Not lately, anyway. But then he’d made it a practice to avoid her.

  “Well you answered that awful fast. What is it Shakespeare says, ‘Methinks thou dost protest too much’?” He clapped a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t aim to tell anyone about how you think Miss Potter’s prettier than a new calf on a spring morning. I do think maybe you ought to let her know that.”

  “But I don’t think that,” he said as he watched Pop’s back disappear down the sidewalk. “I really don’t think that.”

  But did he really believe what he said? There was only one way to find out. He’d take Pop up on his challenge. He’d go right down there to the dressmaker’s shop and look her in the eyes and prove to himself and Pop that Peony Potter was the last woman in the world for him.

  First he ought to head home and change shirts.

  * * *

  “Well?” Sully said. “What happened? Did you talk to him?”

  Eb smiled and leaned across the checker board. The other three followed suit.

  “I spoke my peace.” He paused for effect. “To both of ‘em.”

  Creed’s eyes narrowed. “How’d they take it?”

  “About like I expected.” Eb turned to Sully. “Everything set?”

  Sully nodded. “Bob ought to be getting the telegram any minute.”

  “Why’d you send Bob a telegram?” Creed asked.

  “I didn’t.” Sully grinned. “I sent myself one. You know how Bob is. The news of that secret gold shipment will be all over town before sundown. The rest of you done what you were supposed to?”


  The three men nodded. “I predict there will be a veritable crime spree in Cut Creek in short order.”

  “Hello, Miss Potter.” Eb smiled at the dressmaker as she passed them on the sidewalk and stepped inside her shop. “Lovely afternoon we’re having, isn’t it?”

  Peony Potter paused to glanced over her shoulder. Without saying a word, she gave him a look that left no doubt she’d heard everything they said. Eb waited for the woman to say something.

  To his surprise, she merely smiled and disappeared inside the shop.

  He reached over to slap Sully on the back. “I like that girl,” he said. “She’s going to be good for Rafe.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You didn’t hear it from me, Miss Potter, but there’s a secret shipment of gold headed through Cut Creek.”

  Peony looked up from her needlework to offer Bob McLinn a smile. He had wasted no time delivering the telegram to the British fellow, but it seemed as though he might spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in Peony’s shop. Unlike the elder Mr. Wilson, this man had no reservations about sipping tea in such a feminine setting.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have offered him that second cup. She couldn’t help herself, as the man was a wealth of information. Today his topic was the safety of Cut Creek and Rafe Wilson’s ability to defend the entire town from marauders should the need arise.

  “Why I’ve seen that man fend off a dozen wild boar with a single shot rifle.” He fiddled with the chain of his pocket watch then smiled. “Very impressive if I do say so myself.”

  “Now Bob, you know there were only a half dozen of them and they were hogs, not wild boar.” Rafe tipped his hat and nodded toward Peony. “Afternoon, Miss Potter.”

  “Mr. Wilson.”

  Bob scrambled to his feet, very nearly upsetting the contents of his teacup.

  “Might I have a word with the lady, Bob?”

  The telegraph officer nodded and continued to sip his tea.

  “Alone,” Rafe added.

  With that Bob set his cup on the table and beat a path to the door. As soon as they were alone, Rafe’s expression softened.

  “Miss Potter, I thought I ought to tell you that I’ve come to a decision about my future. You see, I-”

  “Rafe, is that you?” He turned to wave at a blond-haired gentleman. As he neared the door, Peony recognized Eli Almgren.

  “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

  The sheriff shook his head and a look of relief flooded his face. “Naw, I was just passing the time of day with Miss Potter. Miss Potter, do you know my friend Eli? He’s the carpenter here in town.”

  She nodded. “Yes, in fact he’s working on some plans for the shop, aren’t you, Mr. Almgren?”

  “Ja,” the blond giant said. “Well, I just came to speak to Rafe, but I can do that another time.”

  “No, really, I was just leaving,” Sheriff Wilson said. “Best regards, Miss Potter.”

  Before she could respond, he and the carpenter were gone. “Thanks,” she heard him say as she skittered to the window to watch them walk away.

  “For what?” the carpenter responded.

  The sheriff’s reply was drowned out by the cackle of the men sitting at the domino table mere feet from her window. Closing the lace curtains with a huff, she headed to the back of the shop to find something, anything, to do.

  * * *

  “My friend, you’re the best employee I’ve ever had. I don’t even mind that you’re only here to hide from Miss Potter.”

  “That’s not true,” Eli. “I like working with my hands. It feels good to accomplish something.” Rafe looked up from the chair he’d just nailed back together and smiled. “Well, I admit that Miss Potter hasn’t thought to look for me here, but I am the only employee you’ve ever had and I work for free.” He righted the chair then sat in it. “And I’m not hiding from Miss Potter. I just don’t happen to want her to find me anytime soon.”

  “Is she still complaining about the Rangers?” Eli chuckled. “Seems as though someone should have explained the situation to her by now. Those four are the reason Cut Creek exists. If they want to set up a checkers board and play a few games, they ought to be left alone to do it.”

  “You and I think so, but the new dressmaker disagrees. And because she disagrees, I haven’t had a decent nap in more than two weeks.”

  “Well now,” Eli said as he shook the wood shavings out of his hair, “I thought you were here because you wanted something constructive to do with your spare time. I didn’t realize it was insomnia that drove you across the street.”

  “Just don’t get used to the extra help. I’ll be gone before you know it.”

  Eli stopped his sanding work on Pastor Jackson’s new pulpit and straightened his back. “So you’re really going to join up with the Rangers?”

  Nodding, Rafe slapped his knees and rose. “What? You look like you swallowed a bug, Eli. You know I’m expected at headquarters after the first of the year. Did you think I’d change my mind?”

  “Actually, I did.” His friend began to chuckle. A moment later he rose to slap Rafe on the back. “Rafe Wilson, a Texas Ranger. Now that is something to celebrate.”

  Rafe held up his hand. “It’s a little early to celebrate. I haven’t officially accepted yet.”

  “Accepted what?” Wyatt strolled into the workshop. “Did I miss a good story?”

  “Rafe’s joining up with the Rangers,” Eli said. “Evidently he’s not happy repairing chairs and building bookcases for a living.”

  “I’m a lawman,” Rafe said. “And I need to go where a lawman is needed.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Your pop’s not going to like this.”

  “My pop’s going to be so proud of me that he can’t stand it.” Rafe pushed the chair out of his way and settled his hat back on his head. “Besides, we talked about then when I came back from my visit with Captain Bryant. He was fine with it then and he will be fine with it now.”

  “If that’s so, why haven’t you told him yet?” Wyatt asked.

  “I’ll tell him soon enough.” Rafe jammed the hat onto his head and strode past his cousin to regard his friend. “I appreciate being put to work here, Eli. Good honest labor makes a man feel useful.”

  And I haven’t felt useful in a very long time.

  “Where are you headed?” Wyatt called as he trotted to catch up.

  “I thought I might have a word with Pop,” Rafe said as his cousin fell into step beside him. “I’m heading to San Antonio on the morning train. Figured I ought to let him know something before I left.”

  Wyatt nodded. “I suppose. Want some company?”

  He pondered the question for a moment. “I probably ought to do this by myself. I don’t know what’s gotten into Pop but every time I try to mention talking to Captain Bryant or joining up with the Rangers he changes the subject. It’s downright perplexing.”

  “I’ve noticed he is a might tight-lipped on the subject,” Wyatt said. “Maybe he’s missing the good old days when he and the others rode with the Rangers. Have you ever wondered what they’d be doing now if the Rangers hadn’t been disbanded back in the ‘60’s?”

  “Mr. Wilson.”

  Rafe and Wyatt turned in unison to see the dressmaker standing on the sidewalk a few feet away. Rafe suppressed a groan. For the better part of two weeks he’d managed to avoid the tiny terror, now there she stood. Too late to turn tail and run, not that retreat ever set well with him.

  So far, however, he’d managed to either hide or head for the hills every time she came around the office complaining. Someone must have told her by now that the sheriff and the chief offender at the checkers table were father and son. Did she honestly expect him to run Pop and his buddies out of town on a rail?

  “Sheriff Wilson.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Rafe muttered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wyatt slink away toward the blacksmith shop and wished he could join him. “How can I help you, M
iss Potter?”

  “Rafe! Rafe Wilson, come on over here right now, there’s been a robbery!” Abigail trotted toward him, both hands in the air. “Come quick, Rafe, someone’s done stole my pies.”

  “Rafe Wilson, is that you?”

  Rafe whirled around to see Parson Jackson standing on the sidewalk behind him. The preacher looked more flustered than Abigail, a rare state of affairs for the sedate man. “Rafe someone’s stolen my tomato plants right out of the ground. Why, I just put those plants in the ground two days ago. Come with me and I’ll show you the scene of the crime.”

  “Begging your pardon, Parson Jackson,” Abigail said, “but the scene of the crime’s over at my place. Three pies gone right off the counter.”

  “Sheriff, I really must have a word with you,” Miss Potter said.

  “Well wait your turn,” Abigail stated. “I’ve got a crime scene in my diner.”

  Pastor Jackson pointed over his shoulder to the church. “Forgive me, Abigail, but I’ve got a crime scene in my garden too.”

  “Rafe, is that you? Would you mind stepping over here a minute?”

  He swung his attention to the mercantile where James Spencer stood on the sidewalk waving. “Yes, it’s me,” he said. “I’m a little busy right now, though.”

  “Well, I’m in need of the law and you’re the only law in Cut Creek.”

  Rafe pushed his hat back a notch on his head and focused on the mercantile owner. “What do you need the law for, James?”

  “Pickles. Someone took ‘em all. Every last one of them.”

  “Excuse me, Sheriff,” the dressmaker said.

  Suppressing a frown, he let out a long breath. “Not now, Miss Potter. Your complaints can wait. We have real crimes here.”

  “Actually, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you.” She peered up at him from beneath the brim of a ruffled bonnet just a shade darker than her eyes, eyes that looked like they were about to fill with tears. “Perhaps you and I might continue this conversation at a later date. Much later. In fact, I think I’d rather not have a conversation with you at all, thank you very much.” With that, she swung her skirts toward the dressmaker’s shop and disappeared inside.