Texas Tall Page 7

The foreigners arrived the next afternoon in two overfilled wagons, led by a man so big he made the Greenbroke blacksmith look like a citified dandy.

  Or so Becky said when she stopped by on her way to the Spotted Dog. “And they talk funny,” she added, as she helped Lottie stack cans on a shelf. “Real hoity-toity-like. The crab thinks the woman who bought the place is in the English upper crust since the folks she brought with her bow and scrape whenever she opens her mouth. Even the big scary fellow running the show calls her ‘my lady.’”

  “Aristocrats in Greenbroke. We’re in high cotton now, aren’t we?” Yet Lottie had to question why fancy folks would settle in a small town like this. Especially since Greenbroke already had gambling at the Spotted Dog and a restaurant in the Greenbroke Hotel. Unless they were anticipating more visitors.

  “And she wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, Lottie. All ruffles and bows, with a skirt tucked up on the sides to show a ruffled underskirt, and one of those new low-slung bustles. The crab says it’s the latest in French fashions. Too fancy for the likes of Greenbroke, but I’d trade my eyeteeth for a dress like that.”

  Lottie thought of the gold dress she’d paid too much for and would probably never wear again. Then she remembered the way Ty had looked at her when he’d seen her in it. No regrets about that. Simply knowing it was in the wardrobe made her feel pretty.

  Smiling, she bent to load cans onto a low shelf. “What’s the lady like?”

  “A real beauty. Dark hair and pale skin. Cheeks as rosy as a fresh peach. The men in town can’t stop staring at her.”

  After sliding the last can into place, Lottie straightened and wiped her hands on her apron. “Sounds like she’s just the distraction you need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If Juno is busy ogling her, he can’t be nagging you, can he?”

  “I guess not.” Becky didn’t look particularly pleased with that idea.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t Juno who was distracted, but Reverend Lindz. Which was exactly what Lottie had suspected would happen. The preacher was as predictable as a hound on a scent. If he couldn’t be true to the morals he preached, how could he be trusted to stay constant to anything—or anyone?

  But Juno was steady as a rock. In the time Lottie had spent with him, she had never once seen him waver in his loyalty to Becky, even when she was arguing with him, or flirting with cowboys, or chasing after the reverend. Maybe now Becky would see that, too.

  The new arrivals had the Bracketts in a dither of excitement, too. Foreseeing new orders coming their way, Mrs. B. insisted they stock more exotic items, like India tea, English marmalade, and canned sardines, which were the closest thing to kippers she could find. But it wasn’t until after Thanksgiving—which the English didn’t celebrate—that the foreigners came to the market.

  Lottie was in the office doing paperwork when Mrs. B. rushed in, her color high and her chest pumping. “Quick, Lottie! I need you to write everything down! They talk so odd and fast I can’t keep up, and my hand is shaking so bad I can hardly read what I write. Hurry! And bring a tablet!”

  Lottie didn’t know who “they” were until she saw the slim brunette woman talking to a red-faced, grinning Mr. B., and the giant standing guard beside the front door. The mysterious Jane Knightly and her man of all trades, Anson Briggs.

  An interesting pair. Lottie had seen both around town, but only from a distance. Up close, they were even more striking, not only because of her beauty and his size, or the way they spoke and dressed, but because they were so alien to anything ever before seen in Greenbroke. They were like exotic birds blown off course that, by happenchance or poor luck, had landed in a sleepy Texas town. Why they continued to stay was the big mystery.

  “Here Lottie is, ma’am—my lady—oh, dear!” Mrs. B.’s hands fluttered like the wings of a frantic moth. “I don’t know what to call you.”

  The brunette smiled and patted the older woman’s arm. “Jane will be fine, Mrs. Brackett. No need for formality amongst friends, is there?”

  Mrs. B. looked ready to swoon. Mr. B. continued to grin. The giant seemed to be fighting a yawn.

  Realizing the Bracketts were too addled to do business, Lottie stepped in, tablet and pencil ready. “Good afternoon. Mrs. Brackett said you wished to place an order?”

  They must be rich as Midas, she decided later as she looked over the list of items they had requested. She wasn’t sure she could find everything they wanted, and even if she could, the cost would be high. They must anticipate a large clientele, she surmised. Which would require a competent bookkeeper. She decided to give them a couple of weeks to settle in before offering her services.

  The dance hall renovations continued at a rapid pace, hammers pounding from dawn to dusk as carpenters struggled to complete the work before the weather turned. New shipments arrived regularly, and townsfolk with nothing better to do crowded the depot to see what treasures would be uncrated each day. Fringed lamps, brocaded couches, inlaid tables with tiny claw feet. Chandeliers draped with crystal beads, tall paintings, high-backed chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet, and gilded mirrors of every size and shape. There were even wide beds with framed canopies a foot thick and matching walnut wardrobes. It was as if Christmas had come early to Greenbroke.

  But not everyone was feeling festive. Things had cooled somewhat between Becky and her preacher—which had Juno smiling for a change. Sally was having second thoughts about giving up her baby, even though she still talked about going to San Francisco. And Mrs. B. and Mrs. Jarvis were at odds because Mrs. B. was on a first-name basis with the Englishwoman and Mrs. Jarvis wasn’t.

  Lottie did her best to avoid all the turmoil by hiding in the office, going over her clients’ accounts and thinking of Ty.

  Like her, the ranger had no family left. How did he celebrate the coming holiday season? Would he spend it alone? Christmas was hard for Lottie. Thoughts of Grandpa always intruded, tainting what should have been a joyous time. But at least she had Becky and the Bracketts to spend Christmas day with. Who did Ty have?

  A week before Christmas, flyers showed up in doorways and shop windows, announcing that Lady Jane’s Social Club was now open for business, offering “fine dining, gambling, and luxurious accommodations for the enjoyment and relaxation of discerning guests.”

  Lottie wondered if those luxurious accommodations came with whores.

  When she mentioned that to Juno several afternoons later while she dug through his desk drawer for the latest receipts, he said probably not, since Lady Jane’s would attract a neater, cleaner, better behaved clientele than the drifters and cowboys who usually hung around Greenbroke.

  “Maybe,” Lottie said, doubtfully, wondering where that clientele would come from. “And I still don’t see how a town the size of Greenbroke can support two gambling places and another hotel and restaurant. Or why she would even open such a fancy place in the middle of nowhere.”

  “As I said, the social club will draw a different set of customers than the ones who come to the Spotted Dog or the Greenbroke Hotel and Restaurant. We cater more to ranch hands, railroad workers, cattle drovers, and peddlers passing through. The club aims for fancier folks like those who make the run between Austin or Houston and north Texas. Besides, Greenbroke won’t be in the middle of nowhere for long.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Pulling an atlas from his bookshelf, Juno opened it to a map of Texas. “Here’s where we are.” He pointed to a blank spot in the northeast quadrant of the state. “Smack on a rail line running from the ports on the gulf up through the capital in Austin, and on to the money and cattle interests in Dallas and Fort Worth, as well as the growing oil speculation areas around Oil Springs and Nacogdoches. Stands to reason Greenbroke would be a stopping off place between all those points.” He closed the atlas and slipped it back onto the shelf. “Jane Knightly is a smart
lady. She’s done her homework, and she knows Greenbroke is set to boom. Cheap land, cheap labor, good access, and lackadaisical leadership. The perfect fertilizer for rapid growth.”

  Lottie looked at him in admiration. “How do you know all this?”

  “I wasn’t always a saloon owner.”

  “What were you?”

  “Something else.”

  Seeing he wouldn’t give out more information on that topic, Lottie resumed digging. As she stuffed the receipts into the whiskey box, she thought about all he’d said about Greenbroke’s future.

  Suddenly an idea exploded in her mind. The perfect investment! Exactly what she had been looking for.

  She slammed the drawer shut and grinned at Juno. “If what you say is true, and if Lady Jane is that smart, she shouldn’t be wasting her money on a glorified saloon.”

  “Why not?”

  Warming to the idea bouncing through her head, Lottie paced the small office, plans coming so fast she could hardly sort them out. “Cattle prices rise and fall, don’t they? Oil fields play out or come up dry. But there’s one thing that’ll always be in demand.” She stopped pacing and turned to face him, excitement bubbling in her veins. “If Greenbroke is as well-situated as you think it is, then it’s a sure bet! The perfect place to put your money.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s got the one thing growing businesses, cattle, and oil fields all have to have.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “Land. Or the rights to what lies beneath it.”

  “That’s long term,” Juno argued. “It might take years to pay off.”

  “I’ve got years. I’m only eighteen. What I’m missing is money. The kind needed to buy enough land to make it worthwhile.”

  “Don’t look at me.” Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his hands in a slow-down gesture. “I don’t have that kind of money, either.”

  “I know. I do your books, remember?”

  “And aren’t eighteen-year-olds supposed to be thinking about new dresses instead of buying land?”

  She began pacing again. “But if we joined together and formed our own investment group . . . you, me, the Bracketts, maybe even Lady Jane . . . we might be able to pull it off.”

  “And you know all about forming an investment group, do you?”

  “They’re called consortiums. Mr. Griffin told me about them last week. He even has the papers to set one up. I bet I could get him to invest, too.” She stopped in front of the desk, hands on hips. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re scary.”

  Despite his sour expression, she heard surrender in his voice. “It’s settled then. I’ll go see Griffin tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Christmas.”

  “The day after then.” Picking up the box of receipts, Lottie headed out the door. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Don’t tell him you’re only eighteen,” he called after her.

  She was so excited about her idea she laughed out loud. Her plan could work. It could actually work and make them all rich! She could hardly wait to talk to Griffin and the others.

  When she walked into the market a few minutes later, the Bracketts were standing at the front counter. When Mrs. B. saw Lottie, she elbowed her husband and shoved an envelope across the counter. “This came for you today.” She sounded excited . . . but not especially happy.

  “From Austin,” Mr. B. added, his blue eyes dancing.

  Lottie almost dropped the box of receipts. Ty?

  Mr. B. winked at her.

  Mrs. B. sniffed. “Man has no business writing to an unmarried woman.”

  Lottie snatched up the missive and raced to the storeroom. Setting the whiskey box on the floor, she sank onto the foot of her cot and stared at the bold writing across the front of the envelope. “Miss Lottie Wayland, Brackett’s Market, Greenbroke, TX.” Who else could it be, but Ty?

  With shaking fingers, she carefully pulled out the note, unfolded it, and checked the signature. Ty! Heart pounding, she began to read.

  Dear Miss Lottie,

  I hope I spelled your last name right.

  (He hadn’t, but she didn’t care.)

  And I hope you remember me, Ranger Tyree Benton.

  (As if she could forget!)

  I sure remember you and how pretty you looked in that fancy gold dress. The green one, too.

  (He thought she was pretty? Suddenly she felt so giddy she had to stop and take a deep breath before she could continue reading.)

  I’ve been promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to escort duty. With the 1880 Presidential Election coming up, politicians will be swarming the state like biting flies, trying to drum up support. The Rangers are charged with their protection, so I might be coming through Greenbroke before long. If I do, will you go to dinner with me again? I promise I’ll behave.

  (Yes! She felt like laughing, crying, dancing around the room. Of course I’ll go with you!)

  You can probably tell I’ve been thinking of you a lot. I hope you’ve been thinking of me, too. Well, that’s all for now. Merry Christmas, Miss Lottie.

  Until we meet again,

  Lt. Tyree Benton,

  Texas Rangers

  Eyes burning, Lottie pressed the letter to her chest. Her first kiss, and now her first letter from a boy—a man—and a Texas Ranger, to boot.

  This just might be the best Christmas yet.

  Chapter 7

  1879 brought with it a week of warmer temperatures and bright sunshine that promised an early spring. It fit perfectly with Lottie’s optimistic mood.

  Everything was going according to plan. Mr. Griffin helped her set up a consortium that included himself, the Bracketts, Juno, Fanny Seaforth, Ralph Krebs of the dry goods store—who seemed to do everything Fanny did—and Becky, although she didn’t have much to contribute yet. And now, proposal in hand, Lottie was on her way to Lady Jane’s Social Club to see if she could interest the Englishwoman in joining the group or, failing that, perhaps hiring Lottie as the club bookkeeper. Or both.

  After talking it over with Mr. Griffin and Juno, Lottie realized that land speculation would be less risky if they bought in areas of rapid growth. A solid investment. But like Juno said, one that was expensive and might take years to pay off. But if they went in a new direction—like oil speculation—and only bought the rights to what lay beneath the land—it would be cheap enough that they could afford to sit on it until oil production became more feasible. The key would be to find the right place to invest, and Mr. Griffin was already working on that.

  It probably would have been better if Lottie had asked Mr. Griffin to present the proposal to Lady Jane. After all, he was the owner of the bank and had helped finance the Social Club. But the consortium was Lottie’s idea, and she feared if she gave up the reins at the onset, she would never be able to regain control. It wasn’t that she distrusted Griffin. She just trusted herself more.

  The doors leading into the restaurant and gaming rooms of the Social Club didn’t open until mid-afternoon, but the hotel portion of the establishment had its own entrance, manned by a blue-and-gold-uniformed doorman—Fred Kearsey, a dignified middle-aged man who had arrived with Lady Jane. Rumor had it he had been in service on an English estate but thought his prospects would be better if he emigrated. Now he served as doorman and hotel concierge. Lottie wasn’t sure he’d improved his status much, but he took his duties very seriously and executed them with great style.

  “Good morning, Miss Weyland.” Sweeping off his top hat, Kearsey swung open the door with a flourish that would have made a carnival barker proud.

  “Same to you, Mr. Kearsey. Is Lady Jane available?”

  The doorman motioned toward the burgundy couch flanked by two leather wingback chairs near the crackling fireplace. “If you would care to wait, Miss Weyland, I’ll info
rm Mr. Briggs that you’re here.”

  “I came to see Lady Jane, not Mr. Briggs.”

  He gave a polite smile. “And he will be happy to escort you to her.”

  The message was clear: to see Lady Jane, you go through her watchdog, Anson Briggs. “Fine.”

  With a nod, Kearsey left.

  As Lottie settled into one of the wingback chairs, she looked around. This was the first time she’d been in the Social Club, and she had never seen such a grand place. The hotel lobby was an oasis of green and gold and burgundy in the drab, winter-withered landscape of Greenbroke. She wondered if this was where Ty and his politician would stay if they came through town. It was certainly impressive enough.

  “Miss Weyland.”

  Startled, Lottie looked up to find Anson Briggs looming at her elbow. How did a man his size move so soundlessly? She rose, a smile plastered on her face.

  She didn’t exactly dislike the Englishman. She knew too little about him to form an opinion one way or the other. They had never spoken directly, although he was always present whenever she saw Miss Knightly. He was simply there, like a bear in the shadows, silent and watchful and unpredictable. A person never knew what he might do if crossed, or if Lady Jane was threatened. Plus, he had scary eyes—pale gray with a black ring on the outside of the iris and very dark lashes.

  “If you’ll follow me, Miss Weyland, I will take you to Miss Knightly.”

  Lottie followed.

  His accent was different from Lady Jane’s. Not as refined. A few consonants dropped, a few vowels broadened. Lottie knew little about English society, but she guessed Anson Briggs and Lady Jane Knightly were of different classes. Perhaps he was a loyal servant who had come to America with his employer and, when the time was right, planned to strike out on his own. Or maybe he was a distant cousin charged by the family to keep an eye on her. Lottie doubted they were a couple. Nothing they said or did indicated anything of a romantic nature. Nonetheless, there was still something odd about them.

  Miss Knightly’s office was a reflection of the woman herself. Elegant, richly appointed without being showy, feminine without being frilly. It was a room that clearly stated a person of refinement and consequence resided within.