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  In defiance of his father's command and after lying about his age, he'd managed to get assigned to the squad of Terry's Texas Rangers for the last two years of the War between the States. Since he'd already attained his present height, the army officer didn't question him too closely when he stated his age as eighteen, rather than the true sixteen. After the war, he returned to the ranch, but found himself too used to the respect he'd gleaned to knuckle under again to his father's orders. Besides, Douglas Cameron didn't need his help to run the vast Leaning C spread southwest of Austin. He had dozens of hands at his beck and command.

  As soon as Jake pushed open the door on the telegraph office, Turley looked up with a scowl settling on his face. "Morning, Jake. You sure cleaned me out last night. Guess Lady Luck was riding your shoulder."

  "Luck's got nothing to do with it, Turley. And a man shouldn't gamble money he can't afford to lose."

  "Well, you never seem to lose none," Turley muttered. "You need to send a wire?"

  "That's usually what a person comes into a telegraph office for," Jake replied, making a mental note to stop by Turley's house later and hand over a portion of the money he'd won off the man to Turley's wife. He could always make the excuse that Turley had been half drunk — which wouldn't be a lie — and left part of his stake on the table.

  After taking care of the telegram, Jake strolled over to the stables and checked on his dun. Dusty nickered eagerly when he saw him, racing up to the corral gate.

  "Sorry, old son," Jake told the horse as he scratched that special spot behind Dusty's ear and fed him the apple that had been in his shirt pocket. "Maybe we can go out for a run later this evening, when the town's asleep. It's been quiet the last few nights." He pressed his lips together and continued, "Hell, it's been quiet the last few months! If I could get one of those lazy ass men in town to sign on at least as deputy, I could get out into the countryside now and then."

  "Not much chance of that, Ranger," a voice said behind him.

  Jake slid a sideways glance at John Dougherty, the stable owner, as he limped to a halt beside the fence.

  "You'd be the first man I'd pick, John, if you'd show an interest. This stable doesn't take up all your time. And you're not married — don't have a wife to tell you what you can and can't do."

  "Yeah, I ain't got no wife to leave behind as a widow, neither, any outlaws ride into town. And after that tussle I had with that wild bronc that broke my leg in four different places, I ain't got two good legs to stand on."

  "There's nothing wrong with your arms, John. Or your gun hand."

  "I'm not fast with a gun like you are, Jake. Don't have your rep, neither. A rightfully deserved rep it is, too. Hell, it only took you a month to clean the riffraff out of this town and end that feud between the Lazy J and the Bar M. And it's been a right pleasant place to live the whole three or four months ever since."

  Jake sighed and shook his head as he studied the shorter man. "People need to take responsibility for their own town, John. If some other assignment comes up that's more important, the Rangers will call me in. This town's gonna have to stop depending on me and think about getting organized to protect itself."

  He got the same response from John as he did from the rest of the men in town — shrugged shoulders and an evasive look in his eyes.

  "Wonder where the hell Tompkins is?" John asked. "Even hungover, he's usually here by now. I'll dock his pay some, he don't show up pretty soon."

  "You seen his little girl, Teddy, this morning?"

  "Yeah. Saw her heading back to that shack a while ago. Called her over and gave her the sandwich you saved for her and them leftovers for the dog. She didn't gulp her food down like she usually does. Just thanked me real politely and took it."

  "She have any more bruises on her?" Jake asked in a deceptively mild voice.

  "Nope," John replied with a sardonic chuckle. "Some scratches and stuff on her legs, but those were just the normal things young'uns get running around in the outdoors. I don't think Tompkins will lay a hand on her again, at least not while he's living in our town."

  "Yeah," Jake mused. "But what happens after he leaves here? Damn it, there ought to be a law against a man mistreating his kid like that."

  "Well, if you say there ain't no law against it, then I guess we can't do nothin'. Besides, I don't figure any of the old biddies in this town would take in a stray young'un, we did offer to try to find her another home."

  Dusty nickered and stared over Jake's shoulder. Jake knew that welcoming whicker, so he didn't turn to greet Charlie for the second time that morning. The older man propped his arms on the railing as John walked away to tend to chores in the stable.

  "Morning, cayuse," Charlie said to Dusty. "This here whippersnapper keeping you penned up again? Don't seem right, a frisky horse like you not getting out to run once in a while."

  Jake reached down and pulled a stem of grass. Sticking it between his teeth, he muttered, "Yeah, Dusty. One of these mornings I'm gonna come out here and find you with your bones creaking like Charlie's, you don't start getting some exercise. Might even be the beginning of a bald patch on your head, just like his, and we'll have to make you wear a bonnet so you don't get sunburned."

  Charlie sighed dramatically. "Yep, cayuse, there ain't nothing like being alone all the time to age a person or a critter. Maybe what you need is a little filly to keep you company. Why, I actually saw a spark of something besides downright boredom in this young pup's eyes earlier this morning. 'Course the filly he was eyeing was the wrong species for you. That pretty yellow color looks mighty good on one of them palominos I just had shipped in, though, and the two of you would make awfully pretty colts."

  Jake scowled sideways at Charlie. "If you're so lonesome, old pard, why don't you concentrate on your own love life before you end up losing all your hair? After that happens, the women will be more interested in using your bald pate for a mirror to primp in, instead of their fingers itching to have something to hang onto when you kiss them."

  Charlie didn't answer for a minute, while he dug in his shirt pocket. He pulled out a package of makings, rolled a smoke with practiced ease, and lit it before he said, "You find out anything more about that pretty little gal who burned the biscuits at Cassie's house this morning?"

  "Why? She's too young for you."

  Charlie flicked ashes and waited. Jake had dealt with that aspect of Charlie's personality too many times not to know his friend wouldn't bother to repeat the question or expand on his reason for asking it. As close as they were, there were areas of Charlie's life he refused to discuss with Jake. Nights around the low-burning campfires they'd shared had been the same, both during the war where they'd met and afterward when, in return for a small share in the mine, he'd joined Charlie in working his silver claim outside of Denver. Charlie told a person just exactly what he felt like telling them and not one word more.

  He knew Charlie had grown up in Liberty Flats. When the mine became successful enough to pay the expenses, he left a manager in charge and returned to his childhood home to restore the family homestead and raise horses. Having no other use for his share of the profits, Jake was more than glad at the time to invest them in Charlie's ranch. Dusty was a product of Charlie's careful breeding. Jake had asked for him once in lieu of the annual payment for his contribution to the working capital.

  As far as he knew, no one else in Liberty Flats had any idea how well off Charlie was, since his friend was careful not to, as he put it, "put on snooty airs." And Jake would never tell anyone. Despite their bantering, he cared more for the older man than even his father. In fact, Charlie had been more of a father to him than Douglas Cameron had ever tried to be.

  "Well," Jake said after he decided the silence had strung out long enough, "her name's Sunny Fannin, and she's the niece of your old flame, Cassie Foster. Pete said he asked her how far she'd come before she got on the stage from Dallas, and she told him she'd come all the way from St. Louis. Took a riverboat to
New Orleans, then a ship to Galveston. She might have got a ride on that railroad from Galveston to Houston, but my guess is she's probably been on a stage since she left the ship in Galveston."

  "Probably," Charlie agreed, blowing out a stream of harsh-smelling smoke with the word. "But . . ."

  "She's not much of a cook," Jake said, overriding Charlie's intention to continue before he realized the older man had meant to say more. "Not if those burned biscuits this morning are any indication of her ways in the kitchen. But I suppose someone with her background has probably never had to cook her own meals anyway."

  "Don't bet a wad on that." Charlie spoke up in a firmer tone. "And Cassie ain't an old flame. Things never got that far between us."

  "So why's that?" Jake asked. "Did she have a sister you found more attractive? Or is there a brother somewhere? She's gotta have one or the other, for Sunny to be her niece."

  Charlie dropped his smoke stub and ground it beneath a run-down boot heel. "Sister," he said shortly. "And that little Sunny gal is the picture of her at about the same age."

  "Considering what I've seen of Miss Foster, then, I couldn't blame a man for eyeing her sister instead of her."

  Charlie flicked a cold glance at him. "Son, I know for a fact you've got a few brains above your neck, but I guess you still ain't outgrowed thinking with what's between your legs. Man needs to look beneath the beautiful outside of a woman, which is what stirs his groin at first. Sometimes a plain woman's got a lot more to her."

  Stung by Charlie's criticism, Jake shot back, "You sure as hell don't know me very well if you think I don't realize what a viper a beautiful woman can be. My father drank himself into a stupor in front of my mother's portrait more nights than I can count."

  "You're missing the point, son," Charlie said in a softer voice. "It ain't the beauty or the lack of it. It's the woman herself you need to get to know."

  Jake shook his head. "You've done fine without a woman around to worry about taking care of. If you think that's so important, why haven't you ever courted anyone since I've known you? You've got plenty to offer a woman — money to give her a fine life. Hell, you don't even have to do your own chores at your ranch in the mornings. You just leave orders for your men and ride into town to bother me."

  "Maybe I'm like your pa," Charlie mused. "Maybe I figure I need a whole heart to offer a woman, and part of one just won't do."

  "Say," John called from the stable door, "ain't that Teddy coming there?"

  Jake followed the direction of John's gaze and saw Teddy racing toward them, bare feet flying along the dirt track leading to the shack Tompkins had taken up residence in when he hit town last fall. The brown and white dog that had adopted Teddy a few weeks ago followed at her heels. As she got closer, Jake could hear her tortured sobs. He knelt and opened his arms, and she threw herself against his chest.

  "I cain't wake him," she cried between sobs. "He won't get up. And . . . and I think . . . he's stiff. And cold."

  Jake pushed her away far enough to cup her face in his palms. "Who, Teddy? Your pa?"

  "Y . . . yeah," Teddy said, tears streaming down her face, which for some reason Jake noted in a corner of his mind was clean. "Oh, Ranger Jake. I think . . ."

  "Shush, Teddy." Jake pulled her close again, and she buried her nose against his shoulder. "Take it easy, darlin'. I'll go check on him."

  "Won't . . . won't be no use," she said in a muffled voice. "I don't think he's gonna get up again. Pa's dead, I think." She wiped her nose against his shirt and leaned back in the cradle of Jake's arm. "He . . . it smelled pretty bad, even worse than usual. He throwed up."

  John Dougherty walked up to join them. "Probably choked to death on his own puke," he said in a disgusted voice.

  Jake threw him a quelling look, then rose with Teddy in his arms just as Sunny raced up to them, gasping for breath.

  "I saw her running down the road when I was out shaking the rugs on the porch," Sunny said. "I could tell something was wrong. What's happened?"

  Jake willingly transferred Teddy to Sunny when she reached for her. "It's her pa," he said in a quiet voice. "We think he might have passed on during the night."

  "Oh, my God," Sunny breathed. "What can I do?"

  "Take care of her while I go check it out," Jake directed, covering up his prickle of amazement when Sunny gazed at him with tears in her bluebonnet eyes and actually nodded her head in obediance. "You can take her to my office if you want."

  "I'll take her to my own house," Sunny said sternly. "It's a much more appropriate place. And cleaner, too."

  Now that was the same woman he'd been dealing with, Jake reflected. Always getting her own gibes in. Right now, though, he had more important things to do than spar with her.

  "Go get Doc and tell him to meet me out at Tompkins shack, Charlie," he ordered as Sunny walked away, still carrying Teddy, the mongrel dog trailing behind. Good Lord, he hoped Sunny knew what she was doing. From the little he knew about the reclusive Cassie Foster, his office might be a better place for Teddy to wait for the verdict on her pa.

  #

  Cassie stood on the porch as Sunny approached, her back rigid and a forbidding look on her face. Without hesitation, Sunny straightened her own shoulders and marched on up the steps.

  "What's happened?" Cassie asked.

  "Teddy needs a place to stay for a little while." In deference to Teddy's torment, Sunny kept her voice low, but she met her aunt's gaze unflinchingly. "Something's happened to her father."

  "The dog stays outside," Cassie snapped as she turned and held the door open for Sunny.

  When she glanced behind her, she saw that Cassie's directive was unnecessary. The dog sat down in the yard near the bottom step. He cocked his ears and whined but made no attempt to come any closer.

  She carried Teddy on into the parlor and tried to lay her down on the settee. But the little arms clung frantically to her neck, and Sunny settled for sitting down herself and cuddling Teddy on her lap. The small shoulders continued to shudder, and already the front of Sunny's dress was soaked with tears.

  "Would you get her a hankie, please, Aunt?" she asked Cassie, who stood in the parlor doorway.

  Cassie's mouth tightened, but she gave a curt nod and left. A few seconds later she came back and handed Sunny one of the linen towels from the kitchen.

  When Sunny glanced questioningly at her, Cassie shrugged and said, "Way she's crying, she needs more than a handkerchief."

  You bitter old biddy. The words flashed through Sunny's mind, but she managed to hold them back. Instead, she gently pried Teddy's hands away from her face and wiped her cheeks with the towel.

  "Shhhhh, sweetheart," she soothed. "You'll make yourself sick, crying like that. Would you like a glass of milk?"

  Teddy shook her head and began coughing. Doubling over, she buried her face on her knees, and Sunny gently patted her back, then ran her hand up and down it. She could feel the knobby protrusions of the spine, and when her palm brushed against the child's ribs, the lack of padding on them reminded her how she had gulped down her flapjacks as though starving.

  Cassie left the room, and when Teddy stopped coughing, Sunny pulled her into her embrace once again. Rocking back and forth, she hummed a lullaby she remembered her mother singing to her. After a few long minutes, Teddy relaxed and her breathing evened out. Sunny kept humming for another moment or two, until she was sure Teddy had fallen into an exhausted sleep, then laid her gently down on the settee. Though the day was already showing promise of being as hot as when she arrived yesterday, shedraped an afghan over the tiny body.

  She hoped the poor child would sleep for a while. She needed to change her dress. Tearing her worried gaze away from Teddy, she turned to see Cassie again standing in the parlor doorway. Her aunt jerked her head, silently indicating for Sunny to follow her.

  In the hallway, Cassie faced Sunny. "Don't get any ideas about keeping that child here permanently," she warned. "Why, it sounds like she's even s
ickly."

  "Oh, for God's sake," Sunny spat. "What kind of woman are you, anyway?" Realizing she was having trouble keeping her voice down, Sunny reached back and closed the parlor door.

  "I don't allow profanity in my house," Cassie said before Sunny could speak again.

  "It's not your damned house!" Sunny marched toward her, and Cassie faltered backward a step before she caught herself and defiantly stood her ground. "That child in there — " Sunny raised a hand and pointed at the parlor door. "That tiny, newly orphaned child in there was coughing because she'd been crying her little heart out! Anyone with a decent bone in her body would realize that! But I'm beginning to think my mother inherited all the compassion in this family, leaving you a bitter, dried-up husk of a woman!"

  Cassie's hand lashed out, landing forcefully on Sunny's cheek. Sunny didn't even think. She lashed out in response, and Cassie's head snapped back with an almost audible crack. A deadly silence filled the hallway as the two women stared at each other in mutual horror.

  Sunny found her voice first. "I . . . I'm sorry, Aunt. I really am, this time. But don't you ever raise your hand against me again, or against that child in there as long as she stays here."

  With a smothered sob, Cassie turned and fled to her bedroom. As soon as the door closed behind her aunt, Sunny lifted one hand to her burning cheek and rubbed the stinging palm of her other hand against her roiling stomach.

  "God help us," she murmured.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Sunny opened the parlor door again and quietly walked over to the settee. Teddy slept restlessly and would probably wake within a short while, but then she would be caught up in the horrible half-world of grief prior to the funeral and the soul-wrenching emptiness after it. With memories of her mother's funeral still so very fresh in her mind, she vowed to do everything she could to be there for the tiny scrap of a girl she'd so recently taken into her heart.