Special Delivery Baby. Sherri ShackelfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
paper. “This Texas Tom person cannot stage a rodeo show in town,” he declared. “And a sharpshooter contest is out of the question.”
“You’re not much for small talk, are you?”
“No guns. I believe I mentioned that before.”
“I believe you did. You even posted your own signs, if I recall.” She ran her hands over the jagged tear, mending the edges. “Have a little care. These posters don’t come cheap.”
“Those posters will have to be removed immediately.”
“You don’t have the authority to give me orders.” She planted her hands on the gun belt strapped around her hips. “The sheriff enforces the law around here.”
Quincy Davis, the sheriff of Cowboy Creek, had already proved himself rather cooperative. He’d even accepted a week’s worth of fines levied against her for wearing her guns in town, saving her several trips to his office.
Will Canfield shook his head. “I understand your reasoning for hosting the show, but we’ve had problems in the past. Serious injuries. Last time we had a sharpshooting contest, Walker Frye dug two bullets out of the side of the livery wall. What if someone had been standing where those bullets struck? We’ve got more settlers with children living in town.”
“I don’t miss what I aim for.”
“No one is perfect. Eventually, you’ll miss.”
“No one will get hurt.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen this show staged a hundred times before. Never had a problem yet.”
“You need permission to put up those posters, as well.”
“You got a rule for everything, don’t you, fellow?” The glue on her palms had adhered to her gun belt. She pried her hands loose and rubbed them together, pilling the adhesive. “You must keep mighty busy caring for that baby of yours and making up all those ridiculous rules.”
“If we don’t limit the number of posters people hang, they wind up three and four deep. The fence behind the Drover’s Place collapsed beneath the weight last spring.”
“Then build a stronger fence.”
The frown line between his brown eyes deepened. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is a civilized town.”
He was probably one of those foolish men who considered a woman in trousers a disgrace. “A civilized town, huh? Where the ladies wear the skirts and the men wear the pants? I wouldn’t be too picky if I was you, seems like this town is short on ladies already.”
“This has nothing to do with your attire,” he snapped. “It’s about following town law. If everyone thought they were the exception to the rule, there wouldn’t be much point, would there?”
She lifted her chin a notch. “I have permission to hang these posters. Just ask the fellow who manages the stockyards.” A couple of silver dollars in his outstretched palm hadn’t hurt her case. “He’ll tell you.”
“Daniel Gardner, the owner of these stockyards, might have something different to say than his foreman.” Will flashed her a stern look. “You’ve wasted your time and Texas Tom’s money. He’s not putting on a rodeo show in this town. All they do is incite the cowboys to shoot guns and carouse. Like I said before, I won’t have someone shot by a stray bullet.”
“I don’t know who put a burr under your saddle, Daddy Canfield, but you sure are a cranky fellow. Maybe fatherhood doesn’t suit you.”
“Fatherhood suits me fine.” He shook his head, uttering something that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “I told you, I’m not a father. This isn’t my baby.”
The wind shifted, and she caught his distinct scent—a mixture of starch and bay rum. For once she didn’t find the odor nauseating. The boys sometimes doused themselves with the stuff before going into town, but Will showed more restraint. He actually smelled quite nice.
She’d had the chance to study plenty of men in her life, and they all fell into certain categories. There were the bullies and the heartbreakers, the men who stuck to themselves and the men who always seemed to have a crowd around them. Will was unlike any of them. He kept her off balance, and she wasn’t used to being off balance.
Her pulse fluttered. “Whatever you say, Mr. Canfield. But you sure are getting comfortable with that babe in your arms.”
His caring for the child set him apart, as well. None of the men of her acquaintance would have ever been caught dead holding a baby.
Her father had been a good man, and he’d loved her, but he was a hard man. There’d been no time for coddling in the Stone family. He’d treated her like one of the boys. Come to think of it, everyone treated her like one of the boys. Maybe that’s what was different about Will. Even though he was clearly annoyed with her, he regarded her with a deference she was unaccustomed to receiving.
“I’ll speak with Texas Tom myself.” Will tucked the sleeping infant into the crook of his elbow. “When you see your boss, tell him I’m looking for him.”
Tomasina grinned up at him. If having a baby dropped on his doorstep wasn’t shocking enough, he was about to receive another surprise. “I might be able to save you some time.”
“Do enlighten me.”
He’d fight her tooth and nail on the rodeo, and she was going to enjoy every minute of their sparring. He’d lose eventually. She had the sheriff in her pocket, after all.
Daddy Canfield had finally met his match.
“I’m the one you’re looking for,” Tomasina declared with a wink. “I’m Texas Tom.”
Tomasina marched down the boardwalk, her spurs jingling with each step. Quincy Davis had refused her appeal. The rodeo show was off unless she convinced Will otherwise. Daddy Canfield had obviously gotten to the sheriff first. With no other choice, she was bearding the lion in his den.
Once inside the Cattleman Hotel, she flipped off her hat. The strings caught on her neck and she adjusted the knot. If Will Canfield thought she was canceling her rodeo show on account of a silly town ordinance, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
She paused in front of an enormous oval mirror framed with gold filigree. Turning this way and that, she studied her reflection. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman, but she was definitely rough around the edges. Since she’d never seen Will with a hair out of place or stains on his crisp white shirt, she’d better put her best foot forward.
As she pondered how to improve on her appearance, a porter hustled by holding a tray topped with several glasses and a pitcher of water.
Tomasina snagged the young man’s coat sleeve. “Hold up there a minute.”
She grasped the pitcher, leaving the porter struggling with his unbalanced tray, then poured a measure of water into her palm and replaced the pitcher.
“That’ll be all, fellow.”
Ignoring the porter’s glaring reflection, she rubbed the water between her palms then smoothed her hands over her hair. For one brief, shining moment her curls remained plastered against her head. The next instant they sprang free, leaving her hair damp and more disordered than before.
Tomasina shrugged. Her hair was a lost cause. At least the rest of her looked presentable enough. She’d worn her newest chaps today instead of the pair with half the fringe missing. Her clothing was freshly laundered and her face was clean. Brushing her hands down her best chambray shirt, she searched for any remnants of her breakfast. She wasn’t giving Mr. Canfield any reason to find fault with her.
Feeling almost respectable, she approached the desk.
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