“Quick study, aren’t you?”
“When I need to be,” he answered, noting the challenge that sparked in those Palomino eyes. He liked that kind of sass.
“You must have a lot of skills at your disposal,” she announced.
If her eyes had been pitchforks, they’d have been raking him from hat to spur.
She must be trying to use one of her better skills on him now. Gage noticed that she suddenly appeared a lot prettier than a few minutes ago, or else the smoke was clearing enough to let him see her much better. Maybe it was just the amber glow of the lantern light causing her to look all soft and her hair to look fluffed up a bit. Her skin could have been carved from a pearl-colored tusk of ivory he’d once seen on a ship in Galveston.
No matter how she’d managed to make herself more attractive, she still didn’t smell any better.
“I’ve got a few skills,” he admitted, deciding he’d let his mind wander way too much on the subject of what he could see of her. “Which one appeals to you most?”
“What if I said all of them?”
Suspicion blazed inside Gage like a fire that had been kindling below the surface and suddenly flared. Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as he’d first believed. In his wondering about her identity, he’d never considered she might already know plenty about him. Who had told her? Hodge? “Why would you want to know what I can do?”
“I’d like to make you a proposition, Mr. Newcomb.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“True, but you look like a man who knows how to handle himself well. You certainly showed me how to put out a fire.”
“Desperation goes a long way in making a man think fast on his feet.”
“It also goes a long way in making a woman think she’s found the right man to teach her a few things. I’m willing to take a chance that what I need to learn could be learned from you, and I’m willing to pay you to teach me. I have a few questions I’d like to ask, if you can spare the time.”
He had no time to spare for anything but his pursuit of Hodge. “You’ve got me till the rain stops. So shoot.”
* * *
“That’s exactly one of the questions I have.” Willow had been uncertain how to proceed with her curiosity about Mr. Newcomb without his suspecting anything. She needed to learn any of his skills, his ways of thinking, how he interacted with people and why, all without disclosing anything about her pseudonym. “Can you teach me how to shoot, ride, lasso a stump and a few other Texas specialties?”
Her boss was willing to give her a chance to straighten out the mess if she could make Will Ketchum believable. She wanted to prove she could. Maybe getting this Newcomb fellow to teach her some things would prove the answer to her dilemma.
“Any Texan worth his salt can teach you those kinds of things. Even your sisters could. Why me?”
Newcomb thumbed back his hat and it was then that she finally got a good look at his eyes. A knot twisted in her stomach as she tried not to stare, but she knew he heard her gasp.
“Go ahead. Get it out of your system.” He pulled off his hat and stared back at her, challenging her to peer closer. “It took me some getting used to myself.”
“What happened?” She wished she weren’t so curious, but the fact that he encouraged her to study his face helped her examine it more closely. A thick forest of dark lashes sheltered eyes the color of midnight with a touch of amethyst in their depths. They were so startling that the raw red welts spotting his face beneath and around each of them seemed a rude cruelty to mar his once-handsome features.
She wanted to smooth away the welts, say a prayer over each and ask God to be merciful and remove them. But when her hand reached up impulsively, he took a step backward. She had gone too far. Her desire to help always made her make a wrong move.
“Please tell me what happened,” she repeated, her eyes moistening with sympathy. Clearly this was an injury he’d suffered not that long ago. Some of the skin had healed, but not all. What kind of man was he that he could suffer such a tragedy and still go about his business as if nothing were amiss? He was truly braver than most she’d ever met. What had he called it, a “Texan worth his salt”?
“Don’t do that.” His voice came gruff, his gaze targeting hers so quick that if it could have shot bullets, she’d have been stone-cold dead. “I won’t be pitied.”
He sure was touchy. She preferred a man who had a pleasant nature and was not so quick to show his temper. That was, she would if she ever decided to spend time with another one for courting purposes.
“That was the last thing I was thinking,” she countered. “Maybe astonishment that you weren’t afraid to show me. Certainly admiration for your being courageous enough to deal with the scars as if they didn’t take a smidgen of handsomeness away from you.”
“So you think I’m handsome.” He lost his somber expression long enough to allow a quirk of a smile.
Willow thought that if she hadn’t needed Newcomb so badly to help with research, she might have slapped his arrogant face. After all, he hadn’t properly introduced himself. She still didn’t know his first name, and now he was flirting with her.
He certainly didn’t lack any confidence. She could use that characteristic to make him more believable as a Ranger. Rangers were known as men who lived by their own codes. As a reader, she found a confident hero easier to admire. Confident, not arrogant or egotistical. There was a fine difference.
“Yes,” she conceded. “You’re handsome and unafraid. You’ve got skills and you don’t mind being honest with me. We just need to decide on a schedule that’ll work for both of us.”
“Let’s get this straight.” He settled his hat back on his head. “You’re hiring me for something, which you haven’t yet told me what for. It’s not a problem that I’m only kind of handsome, and I’m supposed to teach you a set of skills, one of which is shooting. Does that about sum it up?”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “We understand each other perfectly.”
“Like I said before, your sisters could teach you everything.”
Willow shook her head. “I want a man’s perspective. To make it believ— To learn it the way a man knows how.” She’d almost slipped up.
“I’ll have to think about this,” he told her frankly.
“Willow!” shouted a familiar voice from outside the livery. “Willow McMurtry, are you in there? It’s Daisy. We’re here, sis!”
“Be right out,” she yelled in reply. “Give me just a second. Got to gather my bags and straighten up a few things in here first.”
“Remember it’s raining,” came a less easygoing voice.
“I’ll hurry,” she promised, hearing the impatience in Snow’s voice. Willow wondered if Bear and his wife had had any hint of the fire. Had they been able to smell it? She asked Mr. Newcomb why he thought the blacksmith hadn’t already come out to check on the odor.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain what happened. He’ll get a whiff once the rain stops. You need to go on with your sisters and get home while you can.”
Grateful she could be in better sorts when she apologized to the blacksmith, Willow thanked Newcomb and pointed to the soiled blanket lying next to his duster. “I’ll be glad to take those with me and wash them with this one. When I return the blankets, I’ll bring back your coat, too.”
“No need. I’ll take care of them.” He picked up the items and grabbed the one she held as he headed to the door.
He didn’t seem eager to have reason