The Ranger's Woman. Carol Finch
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had tried to upright her when the bouncing coach sent her plummeting onto the floorboards. He had also been the only one to rush to her rescue when the oversize mutt had startled her. Plus, he had carted out food to her for supper.
He was not without a few saving graces, she realized.
“I hail from Galveston,” she said conversationally, careful to keep the nasal twang in her voice. “My family is disgustingly rich and I have been pampered and spoiled my whole life. Extenuating circumstances, which I won’t bore you with, have made me wary and cynical.”
“Then we are the perfect traveling companions,” he replied. “We may seem like exact opposites, but I suspect we are very much alike.” He nodded his head toward the pup sleeping contentedly beside her. “Like the mutt, I’ve been kicked around, cursed, ridiculed and rejected most of my life. I’m a mite cynical and suspicious myself, but for entirely different reasons. So…are we about done with the idle chitchat, Agatha? It’s not one of my best talents.”
“I do believe we are done with the chitchat,” she said as she settled back on the seat.
His previous comment about leading a hard life aroused her curiosity. But Piper cautioned herself not to become overly intrigued by a man who was never going to be more than a temporary footnote in this chapter of her life.
“I could use some shut-eye,” he mumbled.
That said, he pulled down his Stetson hat, swung his muscled legs up on the seat and settled in for a nap.
Left with nothing to do—a hazard of lengthy overland coach travel—Piper stared out the window. She surveyed the rugged mountains that rose in the distance, admiring the looming peaks that were swathed in the red-and-purple hues of the sunset.
When the coach hit a bump in the road, she braced herself against the window frame, then patted the mutt’s head when he stirred beside her. Piper noticed that Cal simply shifted on the seat and braced his feet to counter the jarring motion of the coach. This time it looked as if he were actually sleeping rather than faking it.
Piper decided she might as well catch a nap, too. What else was there to do besides contemplate the man across from her? She had thought about him entirely too much already.
Somewhere around midnight, the coach ground to a halt and Quinn groaned tiredly. Having traveled this route recently he knew they had reached the isolated trading post that rented upstairs rooms to passengers. He stretched his arms and worked the kinks from his back. An amused smile quirked his lips when he noticed Agatha had conked out and lay at an uncomfortable angle on the seat. The dog had curled up between her bent knees and her outflung right arm.
Damn if Quinn could figure out why that mutt was so devoted to the old woman.
Well, yes, he could, come to think of it. Persnickety and outspoken though she could be, she seemed to have a soft spot for strays. She had defended the mutt’s right to survival against anyone who dared to cross her. It was encouraging to know that beneath Agatha’s prickly armor of defense beat a kind and caring heart.
He doubted, however, that she wanted many people to know that because it would destroy the standoffish air she tried to project. But why she wanted to keep people at arm’s length he couldn’t figure out. Of course, there were several things about Agatha that puzzled him, he reminded himself.
Quinn reached over to nudge her shoulder, which seemed to be strangely well padded. He wondered if it was her insulation against the rough coach ride from Galveston. “Agatha,” he murmured. “Wake up. There’s a cot with your name on it at this trading post.”
Her quiet moan surprised him. It sounded nothing like the grating voice he was accustomed to hearing from her. Frowning, he studied her in the dim lantern light that sprayed through the window. Yep, there was definitely something about this old hag that didn’t quite add up.
The thought turned to a flash of pain when she came awake with a start and accidentally banged her head into his chin when she pushed herself upright. His teeth snapped together so quickly that he bit his tongue.
“Oh, sorry, Calvin. Where are we? What’s going on? Are we being robbed?” she demanded in an unfamiliar voice.
“No, we’ve just stopped for the night,” he said, studying her suspiciously.
Abruptly, she became the old woman he thought he knew. Her voice changed, and so did her manner. Her image shifted before his eyes as she clutched her cane, then tapped him on the shoulder with it.
“You climb down first. I’ll be behind you when I get my wits together.”
And so he climbed down. He also waited beside the coach—just in case she stumbled and needed a hand down. The dog bailed out first and trotted off to the nearest scrub bush. Then Agatha’s plumed hat and veil came into view. For a split second Quinn thought he caught sight of her face in the light, but she ducked her head so quickly that he couldn’t tell what she looked like.
Having been warned off previously, he didn’t offer to take her hand, but he waited nearby in case she found herself in need of his support. He watched as she carefully extended her foot to the step. She anchored her hands on the door frame, then stepped down beside him.
“Nice place.” She smirked as she scanned the shabby stone and timber trading post that had been built at the base of the rugged mountains. “I’ve heard this part of Texas referred to as Hell’s Fringe. It seems to fit.”
“At least the place is reasonably clean,” he reported as he fell into step beside her. He flashed her a wry grin. “It even has a tub upstairs for those of us who need to bathe. Naturally, I’ll want to spiffy up so I won’t offend you.”
She burst out with a hee-hee-hee, much to his amazement. “Oh, come now, Calvin, surely you know me well enough by now to realize that I would have insisted that you ride up top with the driver and guard if I found you offensive.”
Curiosity got the better of him as they entered the crude trading post. “Let me guess, you ousted someone during the first leg of your journey. Forced them up to the luggage rack, did you?”
“Of course I did. The two heathens reeked of whiskey and turned offensively obnoxious. The stench was so overpowering that it made my eyes water. If I were younger I would have climbed atop the coach to avoid them.”
“It might help if you discarded that thick veil,” Quinn suggested. “It probably traps in smoke and foul aromas.”
“And expose this horribly disfigured face of mine?” she scoffed. “Trust me, Calvin, this veil is for your convenience and protection as much as mine.”
When the proprietor—who, according to the wooden plaque on the counter was named Ike—objected to the mutt following Agatha inside, she chastised the mammoth of a man. It wasn’t until she offered a silver dollar to pay for the mutt, that the proprietor backed off.
“Okay, lady, but keep that mangy animal off the bed,” Ike insisted harshly.
“Deal. But I just bathed him. He is as clean as the rest of us. And certainly much easier to get along with,” she said with a disgruntled sniff.
She plucked the key from his beefy hand and swept off, her cane thumping rhythmically against the floor and the steps as she disappeared from sight.
“Feisty old witch,” Ike muttered after her.
“Hey, leave her alone.” Quinn slammed his mouth shut, wondering why he was defending Agatha.
Apparently, Ike was wondering the same thing because he blinked at him in surprise. “That your granny or something?” he asked as he handed over the room key.
“No, but if I had one I’d want her to be just as full of sass and spunk as Agatha. She doesn’t take any guff and she doesn’t let anyone push her around. You gotta admire that about her.”
“Do I?” Ike pocketed the extra dollar. “Don’t see why I should. I