The Texas Ranger's Secret. Dewanna Pace

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СКАЧАТЬ lifestyle and ways of the men who worked the ranging companies, feeling proud she recalled so much after all these years.

      Biven Wittenburg Harrington III decided to take a risk and develop a limited series of story papers based on a fictional Texas Ranger and see how well the readers responded. Literacy was up and her boss-editor-publisher said he believed readers yearned for something to take their minds off the hard news of Reconstruction.

      When he turned to her, Willow first realized she might be headed for more trouble than she knew how to handle.

      He asked her to write the fictional stories under the name Will Ketchum, based on her grandfather’s tales. She should have listened to her initial hesitation, but she was being offered the biggest blessing of a would-be writer’s lifetime. A chance to reach readers.

      Willow asked herself if she was ready for her dream. Was she capable of meeting such a challenge? The only way she would find out was to put aside her hesitation and do her best.

      But her best proved as frustrating as pinning her hat back on today. Critics railed her efforts as pure fiction with no foundation in truth. Though the stories were never presented as anything but fable, the “no foundation in truth” complaint hurt her feelings. She had besmirched her grandfather’s memory and failed her boss’s expectations.

      After researching further, she discovered Grandfather had taken creative license and jumbled parts of the facts. She even learned that a few of the stories he’d told hadn’t happened until after he’d retired from life as a Ranger and moved to Grandmother’s hometown in Florida. The criticism about lacking believability proved justified.

      She understood now where she’d inherited some of her traits.

      Surprisingly, when she went to Biven about what she’d discovered, he assured her that he expected the more conservative critics to berate any fiction he included in the paper, but it was clear from other readers’ letters that they wanted equal parts fact and fiction in the serial. He’d decided on a delay in future stories about Ketchum until she could improve that balance.

      Exhaling a huge sigh, Willow hoped High Plains would provide the solutions needed to set things right with his expectations...or at least offer a hideout from anyone learning she had authored the tales that had stirred up so much gossip.

      She probably wouldn’t have to worry about either if they found her all shriveled up between the coach seats.

      “About ready to get out of there, miss?”

      No, I enjoy my knees poking me in the chin, she thought, but called upon the only gracious bone left in her body when she hollered instead, “Yes, please. I need help down, if you don’t mind.”

      The coach door swung wide and the driver’s darkly stained leather glove thrust inside, offering a hand. “Problem?”

      “I’m kind of stuck.” Willow inched her slender frame toward him, finally managing to scoot sideways enough to twist her legs without shifting her crinoline petticoats too high. Use his language, she reminded herself. “Thank you, partner. I’m much obliged.”

      “Better hurry—you’ll want to get inside somewhere,” he warned. “Looks like it’s fixing to drop buckets out here.”

      “How ’bout I help? You take care of getting her bags down,” offered a deeply masculine voice. “Then we’ll both change out the team.”

      What had they been doing? Discussing the weather?

      A hand twice as big as the driver’s reached in and latched on to Willow’s forearm, giving a mighty jerk that unfolded her.

      “Thank y—” Her breath escaped as momentum carried Willow out, one of her boots skidding off the first step down, the other meeting only air.

      Out she tumbled, tripping on the step, only to land face-first into the broad chest of a massive-sized man and knock him flat on his back.

      He roared with laughter and batted away the feather sprawled on his face. “Welcome to High Plains, lady. Glad to meetcha.”

      “Oh, do pardon me, partner.” Her lashes blinked rapidly, trying to widen her dust-filled eyes enough to see clearly.

      “Bear. The name’s Bear. Blacksmith and liveryman.” Amusement shone in his brown eyes as he waited for her to stand. “And I figure that was most of my doing. My wife says I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

      The bald man stood and handed Willow her hat, an apologetic expression slanting his lips to one side. “Guess I’m gonna have to buy ya a new one, miss. That bird looks plenty plucked.”

      She accepted her hat and shook her head. “No need, Mr., uh...” She realized she didn’t know if the name he’d given was his first or last. “Bear. The hat was already ruined before I got out of the coach.” She launched into a brief explanation.

      “Anybody else in there?” He looked past her.

      “No, I’m the only one left,” she informed, wondering if he’d deliberately cut her explanation short.

      “Well, then is there anything else I can do for ya since I handled ya too rough?”

      Willow glanced around the immediate vicinity, taking note of the people milling on the sidewalks, a couple of vendors hawking their wares, a wagon parked in front of what she thought she remembered was a mercantile. She hadn’t been here since she was fourteen years old, when her niece was born. She’d not really paid that much attention to the town at the time. Boys were too much her focus back then. Willow supposed that was where she’d gotten her imaginings of what Will Ketchum might look and sound like. Texas males had a swagger about them and an interesting accent.

      “Can you tell me if Daisy Trumbo or Snow McMurtry have been here today asking for me?” she finally inquired. “I’m their sister, and they were supposed to meet my stage.”

      Bear walked to the back of the coach and took the baggage the driver lifted down, then set the mail sacks closer to his quarters. “So you’re the one,” he said. “Come to think of it, you kind of look like them, and they said you’d probably arrive without a bonnet.”

      Did she have to be so predictable? And what did he mean when he said, “So you’re the one”? “Then they’ve been here and gone?”

      “Told me they still had too much to do for the wedding tomorrow to stick around for a late stage. Some never arrived at all and several you’ve missed, according to Tadpole. Oh, sorry, that’s what I call your niece, Ollie. She’s my fishing partner. Guess you can understand the sense of their thinking.”

      Relief and frustration washed through Willow as she brushed back her hair. She hadn’t missed the wedding as she’d feared but the man knew from dealing with stage arrivals and her niece that Daisy had expected her long before now. Some first impression she’d made on Bear.

      “I’m supposed to tell ya they’ll check back around three to see if the stage made it or not.”

      They meant if I made it or not. Willow wished she didn’t always disappoint them. That was something she really meant to work on while she was here. Though both loved her deeply, she wanted them to be proud of her, to see that she could improve and to have faith in her when it counted most. She didn’t want to fail them or herself СКАЧАТЬ