Town Social Read online

  Town Social

  Trana Mae Simmons

  ***

  Copyright 2011 by Trana Mae Simmons

  Town Social originally published by

  Berkley/Jove as part of the Homespun Line,

  in 1996

  Winter Dreams Excerpt Copyright 2011

  by Trana Mae Simmons

  Winter Dreams originally published by

  Berkley/Jove as part of the Homespun Line

  in 1997

  Smashwords Edition

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, or by any means existing now or in the future, in whole or in part, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  ***

  Reviews:

  Town Social is a fun to read western romance filled with elements from the mystery genre that make it a unique and very interesting reading experience….This is an author who is going places fast. Harriet Klausner

  As the first chill wind of autumn evenings settles in. Town Social and its small town folksiness and caring will surround you with warmth. Sunny and Jake are living proof that opposites attract. Frances L. Trainor, Romantic Times Magazine

  ***

  Discover Other E-book Romances by

  Trana Mae Simmons

  Chrissy's Wish, a Novella, Historical, Sweet

  Tennessee Waltz, Historical, Sweet

  Town Social, Historical, Sweet

  Mountain Magic, Historical, Sexy

  Bittersweet Promises, Historical, Sexy

  Montana Surrender, Historical, Sexy

  Forever Angels, Time Travel, Historical

  Witch Angel, Time Travel, Historical

  Spellbound, Paranormal, Historical

  Southern Charms, Paranormal, Historical

  ***

  Writing as T. M. Simmons

  Winter Prey, Original Release,

  Dark Paranormal Suspense

  Dead Man Talking, Paranormal Mystery (Ghosts)

  Dead Man Haunt, Paranormal Mystery (Ghosts)

  Dead Man Hand, Paranormal Mystery (Ghosts) (available soon)

  True Ghost Story E-books Writing as T. M. Simmons:

  Ghost Hunting Diary Volume I

  Ghost Hunting Diary, Volume II

  Ghost Hunting Diary Volume III

  Ghost Hunting Diary Volume IV (available soon)

  ***

  To Sally, Chuck, Emily and Rebecca

  I wish you all lives full of love

  ***

  Chapter 1

  Liberty Flats, Texas

  July 1879

  In the early morning light, Jake scanned the dusty street from one end of town to the other. Silent. Peaceful. Just as he liked it. So what if those two elderly women had grumbled yesterday within his hearing about the town being so quiet they could hear the spiders spin their webs?

  He took another sip of coffee and got a mouthful of grounds for his trouble. Grimacing, he flicked the remainder of the liquid into the street, then set the cup on the jailhouse windowsill and pulled the rickety straight-back chair closer to the edge of the walkway. It creaked alarmingly when he settled his large body on it and propped his feet on the railing along the walkway.

  Maybe today he'd find the energy to at least add a supporting slat to the bottom of the chair. And maybe not. Why mar the tranquility of the lazy day with work? If the town would hire its own sheriff or Austin would finally succeed in getting a marshal assigned here, the new man could fix his own damned chair. Tipping his hat down to shade his eyes from the rising sun, he crossed his arms and reconciled himself to spending another boring day in Liberty Flats, Texas.

  Heel taps clicked smartly down the walkway, and Jake instinctively tuned in to the sound, not bothering to lift his hat and look. Definitely a woman. None of the men in town were small enough to make that little bit of noise, and the children went barefoot in the summertime. A young woman, since her gait was more sprightly than that of any of the elderly ladies in town. Might be one of Ginny's girls, but he couldn't imagine any of them up this early after a late night.

  Her gait faltered, and he heard a smothered gasp. Uh oh. She'd probably encountered one of the unsteady boards on the walkway. Hell, she must be new in town. Every other woman knew exactly where those semi-rotten boards were — and bitched pretty vocally to the storekeepers, who claimed lack of money to repair them. He didn't recall any recent arrivals, but then, he hadn't seen any need to interrupt his poker game when the stage came in late yesterday.

  The clicking taps drew closer, and he stifled a sigh, still not bothering to raise his hat and look up.

  "Marshal."

  Yep, definitely a new woman in town. He would have remembered that throaty, feminine voice from anywhere. And someone should tell her Liberty Flats didn't have a marshal. Maybe someone would.

  "Marshal!"

  A tapping-toe sound accompanied the voice this time, and Jake grunted under his breath in irritation. Yeah, she was addressing him, but why didn't she just get on with it and explain what she wanted? He lifted his index finger in acknowledgment, that brief movement his only response.

  The tapping noise continued, accompanied by an indignant huff of breath. "Lazy small-town law officials," she muttered.

  Suddenly his hat went flying. Only the rigid discipline he'd honed over the years kept him in place without a muscle moving for a good, long ten seconds. During that time the tapping toe faltered, then ceased the annoying clicking noise.

  He slit his eyes open first. The faint scent beside him had to be hers — the dust and horse manure in the street didn't smell like a mixture of fresh lemons and wild roses. He uncrossed his ankles and slowly lowered his feet from the railing. Her skirts rustled — sounded as though she wore at least half a dozen starched petticoats — and she evidently backed away a step or two. Wonder how long she would continue to wear all those underclothes in the Texas heat? Most of the women in town settled for one limp petticoat under their dresses, even though it left some of their more enticing curves open to appreciative male regard as they walked around, especially during the frequent gusts of dusty wind.

  The chair creaked as he rose. He caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye — a flash of bright yellow that was her dress — but he ignored her in favor of looking around for his hat. Damn, it had landed in the street, right in the puddle of drying mud where he'd dumped his shaving water a while ago. Shrugging his shoulders in displeasure, he climbed down the two steps and picked it up, turning it over to survey the damage.

  Mud stained the sweatband inside the rim. He ran a finger around it, then wiped it on his less-than-immaculate denims. He'd meant to stop by the laundry yesterday and pick up his fresh clothes, but the poker game at Ginny's had interfered. Besides, he'd had one more pair of clean socks left. And it didn't bother him to put on his denims without underwear this morning — much.

  Well, the damned hat would have to dry before he could wear it. He slapped it against his thigh, swearing under his breath in e
xasperation when it swept through mud he'd wiped on his pants. Drawing in a breath, he held it for a second, then let it whoosh out through puffed cheeks. This was not starting out to be one of those peaceful, lazy days that he had disciplined this town to since he'd drawn the assignment of taming the place so the citizens could walk the streets without fear of being struck by a stray gunshot.

  Carrying his hat with him, he climbed back up the steps and headed for the jailhouse door.

  "Marshal! I need to speak with you!"

  He stopped, shook his head, then continued on his way. "I'm not the marshal," he tossed back over his shoulder. Usually he left the door open in order to enjoy the early-morning air, but this time he closed it behind him with a backward kick of his booted heel.

  It flew open again before he could get to the dilapidated desk.

  "Then what are you doing occupying the marshal's office and wearing a star on your chest?" the woman demanded. "I've read enough descriptions in dime novels to know what a Western peace officer looks like!"

  Jake clenched his fists at his side, then forced himself to continue on to the desk. Tossing his hat aside, he picked up a pile of Wanted posters waiting for his attention and shuffled through them as he said, "Have you read enough descriptions to know what the inside of a jail cell looks like? You're right on the verge of finding out."

  "For what?" Her voice rose indignantly. "I haven't done a darned thing to deserve being tossed into jail — except insist that you talk to me, since I'm now a citizen of this town and will be assisting in paying your salary."

  Jake dropped the posters and held his hand up to tick off on his fingers the reasons she was flirting with being locked up. "Assault on a peace officer. Damaging another person's property. Disturbing the peace."

  "You call my knocking your hat off your head because you were ignoring me an assault? Why, you overbearing, ignorant lout! You try to haul me into court for something like that, and all I'll have to do is stand there beside your big, lanky body and let the jury look at us. They'll laugh you out of town as a coward for daring to admit I got the better of you. As for disturbing the peace, all I did was disturb your lazy morning nap, when you should have been on duty anyway!"

  That did it. She'd definitely managed to spoil the entire day. He damn sure wasn't going to let a cantankerous female make a fool out of him in front of the town he'd risked his life to tame. She was obviously one of those spoiled, sassy women who didn't realize she could end up with her butt in a whole world of trouble if she antagonized the male population, which ultimately protected the women in the West.

  She was evidently—

  He whirled on her with practiced smoothness, a glower settling on his face.

  She was evidently the prettiest thing ever to hit Liberty Flats since the town was born. Maybe even the entire state of Texas. Blond hair brought the Texas sunshine into the office, curling and cascading in a riot as it escaped the yellow ribbon she'd tried to tame it with and wisping around her heart-shaped face. Above an elfin nose and insolently pursed lips, eyes the color of spring bluebonnets met his glower with impudent defiance. She drew herself up to at least a full five feet, tipping her chin until he could see her entire smooth neck.

  Hell, the men in town wouldn't need to imagine her curves. The tight bodice of that yellow dress outlined every one of them, nullifying the fact that her petticoats blurred the shape of her bottom and legs. Even the skimpy attire that Ginny's girls wore wouldn't allow them to compete with her. For some reason, the yards of material on her were more alluring than if she'd bared as much as the saloon women did.

  He took a step backward, settling his rear on the edge of the desk and recrossing his arms defensively. The involuntary protective gesture was too late to counteract the feeling that a fist had just slammed into his stomach.

  "Then spit out what you want and let me get on about my business," he halfway snarled at her.

  Having his full attention at last didn't appear to defuse her indignation one iota. She matched him glare for scowl.

  "I fail to understand how you can consider sleeping on a chair in front of your office doing your business," she spat.

  He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. No sense even attempting to dispute that stupid comment. There were some things people like Little Miss Greenhorn had to learn on their own.

  "What do you want?" he prodded again.

  "I wish to lodge a complaint." She started that danged toe-tapping again. "And from what I understand, this town has no government officials — not even a mayor, let alone a town council. You seem to be the closest thing to an authority figure available, so I came here. Perhaps I've miscalculated, however."

  "Well, I reckon that depends on what your complaint is. If it's got something to do with a law being broken, I might be able to help you out. If not . . ." He shrugged in disregard, although his fingers tightened on his upper arms. No one messed with a woman in his town, whether she be a lady or a doxy.

  "It's the streets," she said resolutely, surprising the hell out of him and quelling his incipient empathy as effectively as though she'd thrown a bucket of ice water on him.

  "They are in a deplorable condition," she continued as he gritted his teeth to keep from telling her that he didn't give a damn about the town's streets.

  "Yesterday I almost ruined one of my best traveling gowns," she went on in that prissy voice, "and that was just taking the three steps from where the stage stopped to the walkway. Surely there are some resolutions on this town's books about street maintenance. If not, there certainly should be! Since Liberty Flats is now my home for a while, I wish to be able to traverse the streets without worrying about ruining my attire each time I venture out."

  "The streets," Jake repeated in a dumbfounded voice. "You want me to have the streets paved. It's not even six o'clock in the morning, and you want me to start going around telling everyone we have to pave the streets."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Marshal. I'm well aware that it would be a major undertaking for a town like this to pay for enough bricks to pave its streets. However, it should be a simple enough matter for the store owners all to contribute to paying for someone to periodically go up and down the streets and clean up after the animals. In fact, although it's necessary for the horses to be allowed access to the streets — after all, they provide transportation for the stores' customers — I see no reason why the streets should be a depository for all sorts of other refuse."

  She lifted her index finger, admonishing him as though he were a child. "For instance, I watched you dump a basin of dirty water in the street a little earlier, and also the dregs of your coffee." Her chastisement accomplished, she still wasn't done. "Furthermore, there's no reason why other animals, besides the horses, that is, should be allowed to roam freely in town. Why, it can't be healthy for the children, not one of whom I've seen in a pair of shoes!"

  Good God Almighty. Where did this woman come from? Every other female in town was probably still sleeping — or at the most, stoking the kitchen stove so the coffee would be ready by the time her man rose. And here she stood, primped and outfitted as though attending a social, radiating the kind of energy that should only be apparent after at least a full pot of coffee. She made him tired just looking at her.

  He made the mistake of stifling a yawn.

  She drew in a deep breath, preparatory, he was sure, to lambasting him for his rudeness.

  "Look," he said quickly, "perhaps we could at least introduce ourselves before we continue this argu. . . uh . . . discussion. I'm Jake Cameron. And you?"

  Her eyes narrowed ominously. "I thought all responsible law officials kept track of any new people in their town. Since I've been here well over twelve hours, I would think by now it would behoove you as marshal to know me — or at least, know of me."

  "Look, lady," Jake replied, his lassitude quickly disintegrating, along with his struggle for patience. He dropped his arms and straightened up. "It's too damned early in the morni
ng to be playing word games with you. And for your information, I'm not this town's marshal. This town doesn't have a marshal. I work for the Texas Rangers, and I take my orders from them, not the citizens of Liberty Flats. Perhaps those dime novels you're so proud of having read explained to you just what type of organization the Rangers is. We furnish our own horses, as well as our own guns. And one of the other requirements is that we damned well know how to use our firearms accurately."

  She flicked a smirk of disregard at the low-hanging brace of pistols on his hips. "The Texas Rangers," she mused haughtily. "Ah, yes, I do believe I remember reading about a rogue band of Rangers that held the town of Brownsville hostage fifteen years or so ago. And the work that needs done in this town is not work that can be accomplished at the end of a gun. I suppose I'll just have to see what I can do about it myself." With a flounce of yellow skirts, she stormed out of the office.

  Jake leaned back against the desk once more, the rigidity slowly easing from his body. Who the hell did she think she was, bringing up that blot on the Rangers' history? She couldn't even have been old enough to read when that happened.

  Good God, he was glad to get rid of her. Wasn't he? His head swiveled slowly as he took in the contrast of the drab office to her brief, vital presence. One other shabby chair sat in the corner, and tattered pull-down shades covered the dust-smeared front windows. The only wall decorations were curled and faded Wanted posters tacked up here and there. How long had it been since he'd even checked them against the periodic updates he got over the wire on recent captures?