Tom, Zeke, and Zeb looked at each other, obviously panicked, but Waco grinned, remembering their cover story. “Up here to see if we can sell beef to the army.”
The other’s beefy face turned hostile. “Big, healthy bunch like you ought to be in one army or the other.”
Waco gritted his teeth but forced a smile. “We got no dog in that fight, Sergeant. We ain’t about to get shot by either side.”
The sergeant snorted his scorn and moved away.
Tom doubled up his fist, but Waco grabbed his arm so hard, the younger man winced.
“You’re gonna get us killed for sure,” Waco cautioned under his breath.
A cheer went up and people pushed forward toward the sidewalk from all the surrounding stores and out into the dusty street, looking north.
A tall, handsome man came out of the bank, smoking a cigar. From the scent, it must be an expensive one. The man wore a fine, gray pin-striped suit and his hands looked as if they had never done any work, not like Waco’s big, calloused ones. People greeted the newcomer with deference and respect.
“That must be the banker,” Waco muttered to his friends. The man looked a little too slick, Waco thought, more like a card sharp than a banker.
Waco pushed through the crowd to where he could look down the street. The stage raced toward them with a jingle of harness and a cloud of dust while the crowd cheered.
“Whoa, horses! Whoa!” The wiry driver pulled his lathered team to a stop, hopped down and came around to open the door while the crowd fell silent, waiting.
Inside, Rosemary took a deep breath, steeling herself for the ordeal to come. She had no social graces. Hadn’t Mother told her that a million times?
The driver opened the door and Rosemary stood up to get out. There seemed to be a sea of curious faces out there staring expectantly. She paused on the step, taking herself away from this awkward situation.
In her mind, she was Flame La Beau, the toast of New Orleans, arriving in this eager town to give a show. All the townsfolk had gathered to see the gorgeous showgirl. She wore a low-cut black gown to show off her curvacious figure. Her shiny ebony curls were done up on the back of her slender neck with a bright ribbon, and every man in the crowd was waiting for her to lift her skirt and give them a quick, heart-thudding glimpse of her dainty ankle.
Against a nearby post leaned a tall, lanky man with eyes as faded blue as his denim pants. Now as Flame favored him with a glance, he took off his Stetson and ran one tanned hand through sun-streaked hair. He looked at her with interest and she thought that when she danced tonight to a sold-out, appreciative crowd, she might throw this gent a garter from her shapely leg. No doubt he would never forget the night he met the notorious Flame of New Orleans.
Waco studied the girl poised on the step looking about. She was a tall and sturdy, softly rounded girl with pretty brown eyes in a dimpled, dust-streaked face. A plumed hat sat a bit crooked on her brown hair. She looked very hot and uncomfortable in a plum-colored dress, and her face seemed unusually florid. There was something vulnerable and unhappy in those dark eyes. The girl took the driver’s outstretched hand, made a hesitant move, missed the next step, and fell in the dirt by the sidewalk.
The crowd gasped and the driver tried to help the plump girl up, but he wasn’t strong enough to manage it.
Without thinking, Waco pushed through the crowd to her other side as she sat sprawled in the dust of the road with the little driver pulling vainly at her arm. Everyone gathered around, but only Waco reached down and took her arm. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
Rosemary just wanted to die from embarrassment. Tears came to her eyes.
Clumsy, clumsy, she scolded herself, not making any attempt to get up out of the dirt. Probably the crowd was laughing at her. If she could just die right here and be spared the humiliation.
Then she heard a masculine drawl and a strong hand took her arm. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
She blinked back the tears and looked up. It was that tall, handsome cowboy. How humiliating he had seen her at her clumsiest. “Gracious, I—I—”
“You must have fainted, ma’am,” he said kindly, “the heat and all. Here, let me help you.”
Even as she protested that he probably couldn’t lift her, he swung her up in his arms, dusty plum dress and all, turning toward the bank. Oh, he was so strong. She sighed and laid her face against his chest and felt her hat fall off, but she didn’t care. She’d made a fool of herself again.
But then a sympathetic murmur ran through the crowd. “Did you hear that? Miss Rosemary swooned from the heat!”
“Well, of course, she’s a lady and it so hot and all.”
“Take her inside where it’s cooler,” a lady said.
Oh, her reputation was saved. She leaned her dusty, sweaty face against the cowboy’s wide shoulder and let him carry her into the bank, followed by the curious crowd. Then she saw Godfrey pushing through the mob toward them.
“Ye Gods, dear Rosemary, are you all right?”
She closed her eyes and didn’t answer.
“Get the lady a glass of water and a wet handkerchief,” the cowboy drawled like he was used to ordering people around. “She fainted from the heat. Somebody pick up her hat.”
“Are you sure she didn’t just trip?” Godfrey asked. “I thought I saw—”
She glanced up and saw the glare in the blue eyes, aimed at Godfrey. “No, the lady fainted. She’s too delicate to be out in this heat.” Now the big man carried her into Godfrey’s office and put her down on a crimson settee.
She smiled up at him. No one had ever called her “delicate” before. Of course, as big as this cowboy was, maybe she didn’t seem plump and clumsy to him. She kept her arms at her sides so he couldn’t see how damp her dress was under the arms. “Thank you, kind sir.”
He grinned and stepped back, took off his hat. His eyes were a startling faded blue in his weathered, tan face. “Glad I could be of service, ma’am.”
Now Godfrey was shouldering him aside. “Here, Rosemary, here’s some punch. Do you feel like greeting some of my customers?”
She started to tell him they were her customers, but decided against it. This wasn’t the time or place to confront her stepfather. “I’d really like to go to the house—”
“The customers will be disappointed,” Godfrey snapped. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble with the cake and all. Even got you a fine gift.”
“All right.” She reached out her hand to the cowboy, but he had stepped back and now Godfrey took her hand, pulled her to her feet. He yanked her toward the lobby and she turned her head and looked after the cowboy who shrugged and stepped back into the crowd. Oh, he was just being polite, she thought, crestfallen. Of course a man like that couldn’t be attracted to a plain and heavy girl.
Godfrey hustled her out into the lobby. “Here she is, folks, our dear Rosemary is finally home!” Godfrey raised his voice so all could hear.
“Hurray!” the crowd shouted and surrounded her to shake her hand and wish her well.
Old Bill Wilkerson, the white-haired senior teller, gave her a warm hug. “Glad you’ve finally come home, Miss Rosemary, don’t know why your mother sent you off to that fancy back-East school anyway after she remarried, and then that Grand Tour.”
Godfrey was certainly behind all that, Rosemary thought, because Agatha Burke might not have succumbed to his oily charms if Rosemary had been around to talk some sense into her. “Hello, Bill, glad to see you.”
She