Oklahoma kiss Read online

  Tillie placed a restraining hand on the girl's arm. "Missy, could Ah ask a great big favor of you?"

  "Of course you may."

  "Yesterday, I know you were powerfully angry at Warren, and the only reason you dressed in Coy's clothes and went riding off was to spite him. But today is a different matter. Warren be home most anytime. He's going to be powerful upset 'cause you came home from that school 'fore you were supposed to. He’s not going to take it too kindly that you have a bad man locked in the cellar. Why don't you put on one of those pretty little dresses Ah took out of your trunks and tie your hair back with a ribbon? You know what folks always saying 'bout catching more flies with honey than with vinegar. If’n Warren sees you all dressed up like a lady, he might not get so mad at you. And you know him, once his hackles are raised, why he might take a notion to send you back to school. Ah'll declare, don't know who is more stubborn, you or him . . . that's why the two of you were always arguing."

  Blair opened her mouth to protest, then she clamped it shut. She could not disagree with Tillie; everything the woman said had been the truth. Perhaps wearing a dress and hair ribbons was a small price to pay if it would help keep peace in the family. At least until Warren had a chance to get used to the idea that she was home to stay. Besides, dresses and hair ribbons were really not that bad.

  Making her way through a flock of cackling chickens, Blair was careful not to spill any milk from the huge wooden pail as she hurried toward the house.

  Judging from the sun's position, the chores had taken a bit longer than she had anticipated, but then, taking into consideration it had been four years since she had performed such tasks, perhaps she hadn't done too badly.

  Blair turned the corner of the last shed before the house and stopped abruptly. Standing in front of her was an enormous dog; his hackles were raised, his ears were laid back, and his snarling mouth was open, revealing teeth that could have easily torn her apart.

  "Take it easy, boy, nice dog, nice dog." Although she spoke in a soft voice, it was tightly controlled. If the animal sensed her fear, she knew he might attack. "Are you hungry? Do you want some milk?" She started to set the bucket down but quickly decided against it. If he did attack her, the bucket was the only weapon she had.

  Tillie's trembling voice came from the back door. "Missy, you be careful, child, you hear? One wrong move and that old dog will be all over you."

  Forcing a casual tone to her voice, Blair asked, "Have you seen him before?" She did not take her eyes off the still-snarling mongrel.

  "No, ma'am. Ah shore haven't. Ah was a-laying down and Ah heard a powerful loud growling so I came here to the back door and that mangy o’l cur wouldn't even let me outside. Each time Ah tried to open the door, he'd pounce against it like he wanted to eat me for breakfast, then he'd run over to the cellar. Lands o'sake. Ah ain't never seen the like! Do you think he's got that . . . that . . . hydrophobia? Don't see him foaming at the mouth though."

  Blair raised her chin with a cool stare in the direction of the cellar. "I wonder, she murmured. Raising her voice, yet not in a threatening tone, she called, "Mr. Cahill, is this your dog out here? If it is, will you please call him off?"

  Unbeknownst to Blair and Tillie, Adam sat on the cellar steps silently chuckling to himself. He knew from past experiences the dog would not hurt anyone unless it or he was physically threatened, but that didn't stop Red from scaring the hell out of people. Even Adam had to admit that Red looked ferocious. However, the way he saw it, if the little heathen and the old woman were frightened, it served them right for keeping him locked up in a musty, damp cellar overnight.

  Blair called again in a singsong voice, "Oh, Mr. Cahill, I know you can hear me. Is this your dog?"

  Adam purposely kept quiet.

  Blair knew he could hear her and it was infuriating for him to deliberately remain silent. If the dog wasn't his, why didn't he just say so. But if the dog was . . . Her mouth curved into a malicious smile. Two could play his game.

  Making sure she spoke loud enough for Adam to hear her, Blair said, "Tillie, we can't stay like this all day. You are penned in the house and he refuses to let me inside. I want you to go into Warren's office and get the Sharps .50 caliber ..."

  "The what kind?"

  "The big buffalo gun, Tillie. You will have to shoot the dog."

  "B-but, Missy, I don't know how to shoot. Ain't never shot a gun in my life." She began to shake as fearful images built in her mind.

  "You'll have to do it, Tillie. There is no other way since he won't let me inside the house. Let me warn you though, when you fire the gun, it will kick badly. However, it's the only one on the place that you can shoot and kill what you're shooting at without worrying if you'll be able to get off a second shot."

  "Hold on just a damn minute!" Adam shouted, banging his fists on the cellar door. "Don't you shoot my dog!"

  "Then call him off," Blair said through tightly clenched teeth, taking satisfaction that her idea had worked without anyone getting hurt—even a poor dumb animal having misguided affections.

  Adam knew she had won again. "Chalk up one more for the little wildcat!" he muttered angrily.

  "Are you going to call him off or do we have to shoot him?"

  ''Red, lie down! Stay!’’ Adam shouted, knowing the dog would obey.

  Angrily, he stalked over toward the bed. But, in his fury, he stubbed his bare toe against the bed frame.

  Hearing the curses emanating from the cellar, Blair smiled, tossed her head triumphantly and started for the house.

  "Uh oh, Missy, look yonder coming —more trouble," Tillie remarked, pointing at a wagon coming down the road. It was Warren's wagon. Turning her eyes toward the heavens, the woman added, "Lord, Ah wouldn't object a bit if’n you decided to strike me deaf for the next hour or so. Mr. Warren is going to be madder than a wet hornet, and Ah knows he's going to cuss a blue streak! I just knows he will!" Her face beaded with perspiration. "Oh, Lordy, Lordy, have mercy. Ah feel a fainting spell coming on most any minute now."

  "Go back into the house, Tillie," Blair said grimly, wishing the sudden swarm of butterflies would quit fluttering in her stomach. "I'd rather talk to Warren alone —at least this initial meeting."

  "Are you sure. Missy?"

  Blair managed an uncertain smile. "No, not really, but maybe it would be better if I did. Now go on into the house. Please, for me." She squared her shoulders, pasted a smile on her face, and turned to greet Warren as the wagon pulled to a stop.

  Warren removed his hat, tossed it on the seat and jumped from the wagon. There was an incredulous expression on his face. "Blair? W-what are you doing here? I never . . . expected to see ..."

  Blair ran and threw her arms around him. Regardless of her fears, and of their past inability to get along together, he was her brother and she had missed him terribly. But it took the moment of their meeting face to face for her to realize that fact.

  Happy tears streamed down her face as she kissed him without restraint. "Oh, Warren ... I have missed you so much. Here, let me get a good look at you." She backed off at arm's length and surveyed him from head to toe. He was not quite six feet tall, a little heavier around the middle than she remembered, his dark brown hair was definitely a little thinner on top, and if her memory served her right, he looked exactly like their father before he died. "I see a little gray hair at your temples," she teased. "But in my opinion, it gives you a mark of distinction. Very distinguished-looking. I’ll wager all of the young women think so."

  "Oh, Blair, there's no young woman," he muttered sheepishly, feeling a bit awkward over her words of praise. Then his voice abruptly deepened, "Let me get a good look at you." Slowly walking around her, he sized her up as though she was a prime piece of livestock. "I’ll have to admit, when I sent you off to school, I had my doubts whether anyone could change that sassy little hellion into a young woman, but apparently old lady Pettibone kne
w what she was doing." Then his eyes darkened. "What in the hell are you doing here? You are supposed to be in school ..." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "Damn it, Blair, I will not tolerate this . . "

  Blair quickly decided to wait until a better time to tell him the entire story involving her return. She placed her hands akimbo."Will you please hush for just a minute? You have no idea how many letters I have written to you, begging you to allow me to return home, but I never mailed one because I inherited our father's stubbornness ~just as you did! I also inherited his love for this land and when I read in the newspapers what the government was about to do—I had to come back. I simply had to! And you just said that I returned a lady. Since that was the purpose for sending me away in the first place, why argue about it now? "

  "Well," he said slowly, "I’m not sure. I have a feeling though, that if I wasn't so happy to see you, I’d be madder than hell!"

  Blair grinned, breathing an inward sigh of relief. "Then be mad at me later, but for now, hug me again." Which he gladly obliged.

  With hope shining from her eyes, she finally pulled from his embrace. "Warren, Tillie said you were attending an emergency Tribal Council meeting. Can anything be done to stop the government from opening the land to homesteaders?"

  He slowly shook his head. His tone rang of defeat, something Blair had never heard from him before. "No, nothing. We’ve seen it coming for quite a while now, and even sent men to Washington in hopes there was something we could do. We were told we could not stop progress." He grunted sardonically. "Progress! I wish the men in Washington could have seen this raw, primitive land when Papa and I first came here; they would realize the full meaning of the word." He sighed heavily. "It's a bitter pill to swallow, but there's absolutely nothing we can do to stop them from swarming in and taking what we've spent all of our lives building."

  "The ranch won't be taken . . . will it?" she asked fearfully.

  "No, not the ranch," he hastened to say at the sight of her stricken expression. "It's the land to the north that's being given away. But, it'll never be the same again, Blair. It'll never be the same ..."

  Unaccustomed to Warren sounding so despondent, Blair quickly changed the subject by linking her arm with his and then she guided him toward the wagon to get his valise. "Where are Coy, Samuel, and Collin? I had hoped they would be with you."

  "I dropped Collin off at his house late yesterday afternoon; then when I was taking Samuel home, I broke a wagon wheel. By the time we got it repaired, it was so late, I just spent the night. As for Coy, he should be home any time now. He stayed in town overnight so he could see how many more people have come in, and he wanted to check the mail this morning." Warren smiled. "He's found him a girl up in the Cherokee Nation and I think they are almost supporting the mail service now. He receives two, sometimes three letters a week. Before you ask about Grandfather, the way he would put it, he has gone a-visitating, and we don't expect him back for several more weeks. You know how he is when he gets around his old friends." His expression instantly sombered. "Blair, just a word of warning; Grandfather is getting well into his years. It wouldn't surprise me if we don't have him with us for very much longer."

  Tears misted in her eyes. "I know," she whispered softly. "Tillie has already warned me."

  "Tillie isn't getting any younger herself."

  "I know that, too."

  If Blair had not known better, she could have sworn Tillie had been eavesdropping, for the back door flew open and she stood there, arms folded, an anxious expression on her face. "Howdy, Mr. Warren, glad to see you made it back safely."

  "Thank you, Tillie."

  She smiled and bobbed her head, satisfied that he was not too angry by the tone of his voice. "Just so you two don't go traipsing somewhere, and lose track of time, food will be on the table in just a little while. If’n Ah go to the trouble of cooking it, you can trouble yourselves to be here when its hot. 'Course, makes no difference to me," she grumbled good-naturedly, "Ah reckon if’n it gets cold, that old mad dog will be more than happy to eat it." She waddled back inside the house.

  He looked anxiously at Blair. "Mad dog? What dog is she talking about?"

  He's a stray . . . well, not exactly a stray. And he isn't mad-he doesn't have rabies if that is what you're thinking," Blair injected quickly. She swallowed hard then took a deep breath, knowing she had quite a bit of explaining to do. "Apparently the dog picked up our scent and followed us here."

  Frowning, Warren gestured impatiently with his hands. "Wait just a minute. What did you mean our scent, followed us? Who the hell is us?"

  "I have the dog's owner locked in the cellar," she answered in a small voice.

  "You what?"' he asked incredulously. He started immediately for the cellar, but Blair stopped him.

  "No, wait, Warren. You can't just let him out — not unless you are armed. He —he might be dangerous."

  Warren stopped in mid-stride, turned, and his expression was anything but tolerant. "I think you had better explain, and I'd appreciate it if you started at the beginning."

  "Well . . . yesterday when I returned home, I-I saddled a mare and went for a ride. Now, you know how much I love to ride." She cast him an anxious look.

  He glowered at her. "Yes, I do, but hurry and get to the part about the dangerous man."

  "I was riding over near Grandfather's meadow when I caught the scent of woodsmoke. Naturally I had to investigate ..."

  "Naturally," he muttered tersely.

  "And you can imagine my surprise when I found a half-butchered steer hanging from a tree. The man was cooking and he did not hear me slip up behind him."

  "I suppose you were armed?" The muscles in his cheeks worked at a furious pace.

  "Of course," Blair replied, her tone implying that had been her only alternative. "Tillie would not allow me to leave the house without some form of protection. But to continue," she added hurriedly, not wanting him to dwell on the idea of her carrying a rifle. "The man almost had me convinced that he'd had nothing to do with killing the steer, and that he had scared the cattle thieves off. But when he claimed to be a deputy marshal and produced a badge, I knew he was lying through his teeth! The badge was in a case just like the one Pete Ramsey always carried. So, what else was I to think other than he had taken the badge and case from Pete? And you know as well as I, Pete would have never allowed him to take it without a struggle . . . and since the man said something about a deputy being killed ..."

  "I get the point, Blair." There had been so much trouble in the area recently, Warren was not about to take a foolish chance. He stalked to the wagon and grabbed his rifle. I’ll speak to you later about your foolhardiness. For now, get inside the house. I’ll attend to the man in the cellar." He stopped abruptly and turned to Blair. "Knowing how impetuous you used to be, did you remember to remove that pistol that's kept in the cellar?"

  Blair paled. "Oh, my lord, Warren. I forgot all about it." A huge lump crawled into her throat and tears filled her eyes at the thought of what might happen when Warren opened the door.

  Warren said nothing, he merely pivoted on his heel and marched toward the cellar door. The moment he approached, the dog raised his head and growled.

  "Hey, you down there," Warren called. "Does this dog obey your commands?"

  "Yes," came the muffled reply.

  "Then I’ll say this once and only once. Call him off. If he makes one move for me, I’ll put a bullet in his head."

  "Back off. Red. Get out of here!" Adam shouted.

  The dog looked at Warren, bared his teeth, then sprinted to a grove of trees standing two hundred yards from the house. There, he sat and waited.

  "Is he gone?" Adam asked anxiously. The dog usually obeyed him but if he sensed too much danger, he wasn't sure what Red would do.

  "Yes, and for his sake he had better stay gone too," Warren replied curtly. "Now, I’m going to give you an order. When
I open this door, stand clear until I tell you to come out. A fair warning: if I see or hear you make a wrong move, I’ll put a bullet in your head. Did I make myself clear?"

  "Very clear!" he shouted through the door, then added softly, a touch of humor in his voice, "Making themselves clear must be an inherited family trait." Adam realized he could have put an end to this farce simply by shouting his identity to Warren, but that would have denied him the pleasure of seeing the expression on that little heathen's face when she learned he had been telling the truth.

  A few moments later, he heard the bar being lifted from across the door, then there was a sudden burst of light when the door was opened.

  Warren, standing out of harm's way, spoke harshly, "Now I want you to walk very slowly up those steps with your hands clasped firmly around the back of your head."

  "All right, Warren, but stand easy. I'm coming out. I also know how good you are with that rifle, so I'm not about to do anything foolish."

  A puzzled expression spread slowly across Warren's face. Now that he'd heard the man speak m a normal tone of voice and not just a muffled shout through a heavy door, it sounded familiar—extremely familiar.

  Adam started walking up the steps. Although slightly blinded by the bright sunlight after being accustomed to the muted light in the cellar, he could distinguish a shadowy figure standing behind the screen door. An idea began forming in his mind. In the meantime, Warren's eyes had widened with astonishment.

  When Adam reached the top step, he winked, then twisted his mouth into a sneer and taunted Warren, "You talk mighty brave when you have the upper hand."

  Although Warren recognized Adam instantly, he was confused. Some sort of terrible mistake had been made. Adam was no cattle thief, nor was he a murderer. Where had Blair gotten those crazy ideas? He started to ask her, but Adam stopped him with a challenge that meant something only to them.

  "Remember when we first met in Fort Smith about two years ago? I still think you are a dirty, low-down polecat, and I still can beat you to the draw."