Special Delivery Baby. Sherri Shackelford

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      Tomasina chuckled. Oh, yeah, the boys were going to love this one. They’d never believe her, but they’d love the telling. Her pa always liked a good yarn, as well. At the thought of her pa, her smile faded. He’d died on the trail a few weeks back, and they’d buried him in the Oklahoma Territory. The wound of his loss was still raw, and she shied away from her memories of him.

      “Fellow...” Tomasina said. “As much fun as this has been, I’d best be getting on.”

      “Thanks for your help back there,” Will replied, his tone grudging. “Your quick action averted a disaster.”

      The admission had obviously cost him. He struck her as a prideful man, and prideful men sometimes needed a reminder of their place in the grand scheme of things.

      “Baby or not,” she offered with a wide grin, “it wasn’t your life I was saving. I was looking out for the bull. My job isn’t protecting greenhorns who don’t have the sense to stay out of harm’s way. It’s getting four thousand head of longhorn cattle safely to market.”

      “Point taken.”

      Tomasina smothered her disappointment. His easy capitulation had neatly dodged her goading. She’d best watch herself around Will Canfield. He didn’t play by the rules.

      His gaze settled on the holster strapped around her hips. “You can’t carry your guns in town. There’s a sign on the outskirts stating the policy of Cowboy Creek.”

      “I saw it.”

      “Then you know you need to check your guns with the sheriff during your stay.”

      “That’s what the sign says, all right,” she answered evasively. There was no way under the sun she was relinquishing her guns. She’d encountered this sort of policy before, though, and she had a few tricks up her sleeve. “Who’s the sheriff?”

      “Quincy Davis.”

      “You pay him by the arrest?” she asked.

      “That’s how it’s done around here.”

      “Excellent.” A sheriff paid by the arrest was a sheriff willing to make a deal. “We’ll see what Quincy Davis and I can work out.”

      As a lone woman in a man’s profession, she was constantly on guard. Her guns ensured her safety. Especially now that Pa was gone. He’d warned her it was time to hang up her drover’s boots and settle into a regular job fit for a female. She wasn’t having any of it—then or now. Driving cattle was all she knew. She’d never worn a skirt in her life, and she had no intention of starting now. Her pa’s reputation hadn’t been the only thing protecting her all these years. She’d built up her own name. Once this herd was safely delivered to market, she’d carry on as usual.

      Her heartbeat stuttered and her eyes burned. Not exactly the same. Pa was gone. She fisted her hand on her knee and straightened. Swallowing hard a few times, she corralled her emotions. The first rule of being a lone female in a man’s domain was to stay tough.

      Will Canfield frowned. “You all right, Miss?”

      “Right as rain.”

      She hadn’t planned on staying in Cowboy Creek long, but the man standing in front of her piqued her interest. If he didn’t like guns in town, he’d probably balk at the idea of a rodeo show. For reasons she couldn’t explain, the thought of provoking him cheered her.

      The baby fussed, and Daddy Canfield awkwardly bounced the bundle in his arms.

      Tomasina had to give the man credit. He was clearly out of his element but doing his best all the same. A sentiment she understood all too well. Her pa’s death had left her in charge of the cattle drive, but the position was as hollow as it was temporary. The boys had only stayed on this long because of loyalty to her father. Although they’d finish the job, they’d made it clear they weren’t taking orders from a woman. That meant she’d have to join up with another outfit.

      She was a drover by trade and a drover by blood. She’d stay a spell and then hire on with another outfit. Same as always. First she’d stage the rodeo show she and her pa had performed dozens of times before. Let the boys blow off some steam after the long, demanding ride. Same as always.

      “Daddy Canfield,” she declared. “Since you don’t like guns, how do you feel about rodeo shows? You know, trick riding and fancy target shooting?”

      “Not in my town. Too dangerous.”

      “Excellent,” Tomasina replied with a hearty grin.

      Yep. She felt better already.

       Chapter Two

      “Can you at least tell how old she is?” Will asked beseechingly then caught himself.

      This was a baby, not a catastrophe, and there was no reason for panic.

      While Leah Gardner examined the child, he stood in the archway of the dining room of her well-appointed house. A lifetime ago in Pennsylvania, he and Leah had been engaged. Their lives had changed drastically since then. A month back she’d married his closest friend and fellow soldier, Daniel.

      Will couldn’t be happier for the pair.

      Five months pregnant with her late, first husband’s child, Leah was the perfect candidate for caretaker of the baby. Surely she’d see the practicality of his plan once he explained his problem.

      Daniel’s wife tilted her head and smiled at him with the warmth of a timeworn friendship. “Relax, Will. You’ll wear a hole in my carpet if you keep pacing.”

      He caught sight of the depressions his cane tip had left and mumbled an apology.

      “I was only teasing.” Leah sobered. “How is your leg these days?”

      “Same as always. But at least it’s there. Opal Godwin said the cane makes me look dashing.”

      “Opal Godwin thinks the man on the cigar box is dashing.” Leah’s dimpled smile returned. “Sometimes I wonder if you even need that walking stick or if it’s a convenient excuse to keep people at a distance. Half of Cowboy Creek is intimidated by you and the other half is afraid. Most of the townsfolk think you have a sword or a gun hidden in that cane of yours.”

      “I’ve certainly never encouraged the rumors. Although a little healthy respect never hurt a fellow. I won’t be seen as weak.” The walking stick was more than an affectation. His balance suffered without assistance. “At least I can hide my affliction. Not everyone is as lucky.”

      “Many men were injured in the war. Their wounds don’t make them lesser men.”

      Though neither of them had voiced a name, they were both thinking of the same person. Will pictured Noah and the disfiguring burns that covered his lower left jaw, under his ear and disappeared beneath his shirt collar. “The wounds heal but the scars remain.”

      “You couldn’t save them all. Noah’s injuries were not your fault. He lived. As did you and Daniel. Many more did СКАЧАТЬ