Texas Born & Smokin' Six-Shooter
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Diana Palmer
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Chapter 1
Michelle Godfrey felt the dust of the unpaved road all over her jeans. She couldn’t really see her pants. Her eyes were full of hot tears. It was just one more argument, one more heartache.
Her stepmother, Roberta, was determined to sell off everything her father had owned. He’d only been dead for three weeks. Roberta had wanted to bury him in a plain pine box with no flowers, not even a church service. Michelle had dared her stepmother’s hot temper and appealed to the funeral director.
The kindly man, a friend of her father’s, had pointed out to Roberta that Comanche Wells, Texas, was a very small community. It would not sit well with the locals if Roberta, whom most considered an outsider, was disrespectful of the late Alan Godfrey’s wishes that he be buried in the Methodist church cemetery beside his first wife. The funeral director was soft-spoken but eloquent. He also pointed out that the money Roberta would save with her so-called economy plans, would be a very small amount compared to the outrage she would provoke. If she planned to continue living in Jacobs County, many doors would close to her.
Roberta was irritated at the comment, but she had a shrewd mind. It wouldn’t do to make people mad when she had many things to dispose of on the local market, including some cattle that had belonged to her late husband.
She gave in, with ill grace, and left the arrangements to Michelle. But she got even. After the funeral, she gathered up Alan’s personal items while Michelle was at school and sent them all to the landfill, including his clothes and any jewelry that wasn’t marketable.
Michelle had collapsed in tears. That is, until she saw her stepmother’s wicked smile. At that point, she dried her eyes. It was too late to do anything. But one day, she promised herself, when she was grown and no longer under the woman’s guardianship, there would be a reckoning.
Two weeks after the funeral, Roberta came under fire from Michelle’s soft-spoken minister. He drove up in front of the house in a flashy red older convertible, an odd choice of car for a man of the cloth, Michelle thought. But then, Reverend Blair was a different sort of preacher.
She’d let him in, offered him coffee, which he refused politely. Roberta, curious because they never had visitors, came out of her room and stopped short when she saw Jake Blair.
He greeted her. He even smiled. They’d missed Michelle at services for the past two weeks. He just wanted to make sure everything was all right. Michelle didn’t reply. Roberta looked guilty. There was this strange rumor he’d heard, he continued, that Roberta was preventing her stepdaughter from attending church services. He smiled when he said it, but there was something about him that was strangely chilling for a religious man. His eyes, ice-blue, had a look that Roberta recognized from her own youth, spent following her father around the casinos in Las Vegas, where he made his living. Some of the patrons had that same penetrating gaze. It was dangerous.
“But of course, we didn’t think the rumor was true,” Jake Blair continued with that smile that accompanied the unblinking blue stare. “It isn’t, is it?”
Roberta forced a smile. “Um, of course not.” She faltered, with a nervous little laugh. “She can go whenever she likes.”
“You might consider coming with her,” Jake commented. “We welcome new members in our congregation.”
“Me, in a church?” She burst out laughing, until she saw the two bland faces watching her. She sounded defensive when she added, “I don’t go to church. I don’t believe in all that stuff.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. He smiled to himself, as if at some private joke. “At some point in your life, I assure you, your beliefs may change.”
“Unlikely,” she said stiffly.
He sighed. “As you wish. Then you won’t mind if my daughter, Carlie, comes by to pick Michelle up for services on Sunday, I take it?”
Roberta ground her teeth together. Obviously the minister knew that since Michelle couldn’t drive, Roberta had been refusing to get up and drive her to church. She almost refused. Then she realized that it would mean she could have Bert over without having to watch for her stepdaughter every second. She pursed her lips. “Of course not,” she assured him. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have Carlie fetch you in time for Sunday school each week and bring you home after church, Michelle. Will that work for you?”
Michelle’s sad face lit up. Her gray eyes were large and beautiful. She had pale blond hair and a flawless, lovely complexion. She was as fair as Roberta was dark. Jake got to his feet. He smiled down at Michelle.
“Thanks, Reverend Blair,” she said in her soft, husky voice, and smiled at him with genuine affection.
“You’re quite welcome.”
She walked him out. Roberta didn’t offer.
He turned at the steps and lowered his voice. “If you ever need help, you know where we are,” he said, and he wasn’t smiling.
She sighed. “It’s just until graduation. Only a few more months,” she said quietly. “I’ll work hard to get a scholarship so I can go to college. I have one picked out in San Antonio.”
He cocked his head. “What do you want to do?”
Her face brightened. “I want to write. I want to be a reporter.”
He laughed. “Not much money in that, you know. Of course, you could go and talk to Minette Carson. She runs the local newspaper.”
She flushed. “Yes, sir,” she said politely, “I already did. She was the one who recommended that I go to college and major in journalism. She said working for a magazine, even a digital one, was the way to go. She’s very kind.”
“She is. And so is her husband,” he added, referring to Jacobs County sheriff Hayes Carson.
“I don’t really know him. Except he brought his iguana to school a few years ago. That was really fascinating.” She laughed.
Jake just nodded. “Well, I’ll get back. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Your father was a good man,” he added. “It hurt all of us to lose him. He was one of the best emergency-room doctors we ever had in Jacobs County, even though he was only able to work for a few months before his illness forced him to quit.”
She smiled sadly. “It was a hard way to go, for a doctor,” she replied. “He knew all about his prognosis and he explained to me how things would be. He said if he hadn’t been so stubborn, if he’d had the tests sooner, they might have caught the cancer in time.”
“Young lady,” Jake said softly, “things happen the way they’re meant to. There’s a plan to everything that happens in life, even if we don’t see it.”
“That’s what I think, too. Thank you for talking to her,” she added hesitantly. “She wouldn’t let me learn how to drive, and Dad was too sick to teach me. I don’t really think she’d let me borrow the car, even if I could drive. She wouldn’t get up early for anything, especially on a Sunday. So I had no way to get to church. I’ve missed it.”
“I wish you’d talked to me sooner,” he said, and smiled. “Never mind. Things happen in their own time.”
She looked up into his blue eyes. “Does it...get better? Life, I mean?” she asked with the misery of someone who’d landed in a hard place and saw no way out.
He drew in a long breath. “You’ll soon have more control over the things that happen to you,” he replied. “Life is a test, Michelle. We walk through fire. But there are rewards. Every pain brings a pleasure.”
“Thanks.”
He chuckled. “Don’t let her get you down.”
“I’m trying.”
“And if you need help, don’t hold back.” His eyes narrowed and there was something a little chilling in them. “I have yet to meet a person who frightens me.”
She burst out laughing. “I noticed. She’s a horror, but she was really nice to you!”
“Sensible people are.” He smiled like an angel. “See you.”
He went down the steps two at a time. He was a tall man, very fit, and he walked with a very odd gait, light and almost soundless, as he went to his car. The vehicle wasn’t new, but it had some kind of big engine in it. He started it and wheeled out into the road with a skill and smoothness that she envied. She wondered if she’d ever learn to drive.
She went back into the house, resigned to several minutes of absolute misery.
“You set that man on me!” Roberta raged. “You went over my head when I told you I didn’t want you to bother with that stupid church stuff!”
“I like going to church. Why should you mind? It isn’t hurting you...”
“Dinner was always late when you went, when your father was alive,” the brunette said angrily. “I had to take care of him. So messy.” She made a face. In fact, Roberta had never done a thing for her husband. She left it all to Michelle. “And I had to try to cook. I hate cooking. I’m not doing it. That’s your job. So you’ll make dinner before you go to church and you can eat when you get home, but I’m not waiting an extra hour to sit down to a meal!”
“I’ll do it,” Michelle said, averting her eyes.
“See that you do! And the house had better be spotless, or I won’t let you go!”
She was bluffing. Michelle knew it. She was unsettled by the Reverend Blair. That amused Michelle, but she didn’t dare let it show.
“Can I go to my room now?” she asked quietly.
Roberta made a face. “Do what you please.” She primped at the hall mirror. “I’m going out. Bert’s taking me to dinner up in San Antonio. I’ll be very late,” she added. She gave Michelle a worldly, patronizing laugh. “You wouldn’t know what to do with a man, you little prude.”
Michelle stiffened. It was the same old song and dance. Roberta thought Michelle was backward and stupid.
“Oh, go on to your room,” she muttered. That wide-eyed, resigned look was irritating.
Michelle went without another word.
She sat up late, studying. She had to make the best grades she could, so that she could get a scholarship. Her father had left her a little money, but her stepmother had control of it until she was of legal age. Probably by then there wouldn’t be a penny left.
Her father hadn’t been lucid at the end because of the massive doses of painkillers he had to take for his condition. Roberta had influenced the way he set up his will, and it had been her own personal attorney who’d drawn it up for her father’s signature. Michelle was certain that he hadn’t meant to leave her so little. But she couldn’t contest it. She wasn’t even out of high school.
It was hard, she thought, to be under someone’s thumb and unable to do anything you wanted to do. Roberta was always after her about something. She made fun of her, ridiculed her conservative clothes, made her life a daily misery. But the reverend was right. One day, she’d be out of this. She’d have her own place, and she wouldn’t have to ask Roberta even for lunch money, which was demeaning enough.
She heard a truck go along the road, and glanced out to see a big black pickup truck pass by. So he was back. Their closest neighbor was Gabriel Brandon. Michelle knew who he was.
She’d seen him for the first time two years ago, the last summer she’d spent with her grandfather and grandmother before their deaths. They’d lived in this very house, the one her father had inherited. She’d gone to town with her grandfather to get medicine for a sick calf. The owner of the store had been talking to a man, a very handsome man who’d just moved down the road from them.
He was very tall, muscular, without it being obvious, and he had the most beautiful liquid black eyes she’d ever seen. He was built like a rodeo cowboy. He had thick, jet-black hair and a face off of a movie poster. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life.
He’d caught her staring at him and he’d laughed. She’d never forgotten how that transformed his hard face. It had melted her. She’d flushed and averted her eyes and almost run out of the store afterward. She’d embarrassed herself by staring. But he was very good-looking, after all—he must be used to women staring at him.
She’d asked her grandfather about him. He hadn’t said much, only that the man was working for Eb Scott, who owned a ranch near Jacobsville. Brandon was rather mysterious, too, her grandfather had mused, and people were curious about him. He wasn’t married. He had a sister who visited him from time to time.
Michelle’s grandfather had chided her for her interest. At fifteen, he’d reminded her, she was much too young to be interested in men. She’d agreed out loud. But privately she thought that Mr. Brandon was absolutely gorgeous, and most girls would have stared at him.
By comparison, Roberta’s friend, Bert, always looked greasy, as if he never washed his hair. Michelle couldn’t stand him. He looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl and he was always trying to touch her. She’d jerked away from him once, when he’d tried to ruffle her hair, and he made a big joke of it. But his eyes weren’t laughing.
He made her uncomfortable, and she tried to stay out of his way. It would have been all right if he and Roberta didn’t flaunt their affair. Michelle came home from school one Monday to find them on the sofa together, half-dressed and sweaty. Roberta had almost doubled up with laughter at the look she got from her stepdaughter as she lay half across Bert, wearing nothing but a lacy black slip.
“And what are you staring at, you little prude?” Roberta had demanded. “Did you think I’d put on black clothes and abandon men for life because your father died?”
“He’s only been dead two weeks,” Michelle had pointed out with choking pride.
“So what? He wasn’t even that good in bed before he got sick,” she scoffed. “We lived in San Antonio and he had a wonderful practice, he was making loads of money as a cardiologist. Then he gets diagnosed with terminal cancer and decides overnight to pull up stakes and move to this flea-bitten wreck of a town where he sets up a free clinic on weekends and lives on his pension and his investments! Which evaporated in less than a year, thanks to his medical bills,” she added haughtily. “I thought he was rich...!”
“Yes, that’s why you married him,” Michelle said under her breath.
“That’s the only reason I did marry him,” she muttered, sitting up to light a cigarette and blow smoke in Michelle’s direction.
She coughed. “Daddy wouldn’t let you smoke in the house,” she said accusingly.
“Well, Daddy’s dead, isn’t he?” Roberta said pointedly, and she smiled.
“We could make it a threesome, if you like,” Bert offered, sitting up with his shirt half-off.
Michelle’s expression was eloquent. “If I speak to my minister...”
“Shut up, Bert!” Roberta said shortly, and her eyes dared him to say another word. She looked back at Michelle with cold eyes and got to her feet. “Come on, Bert, let’s go to your place.” She grabbed him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. Apparently their clothes were in there.
Disgusted beyond measure, Michelle went into her room and locked the door.
She could hear them arguing. A few minutes later they came back out.
“I won’t be here for dinner,” Roberta said.
Michelle didn’t reply.
“Little torment,” Roberta grumbled. “She’s always watching, always so pure and unblemished,” she added harshly.
“I could take care of that,” Bert said.
“Shut up!” Roberta said again. “Come on, Bert!”
Michelle could feel herself flushing with anger as she heard them go out the door. Roberta slammed it behind her.
Michelle had peeked out the curtains and watched them climb into Bert’s low-slung car. He pulled out into the road.
She closed the curtains with a sigh of pure relief. Nobody knew what a hell those two made of her life. She had no peace. Apparently Roberta had been seeing Bert for some time, because they were obviously obsessed with each other. But it had come as a shock to walk in the door and find them kissing the day after Michelle’s father was buried, to say nothing of what she’d just seen.
The days since then had been tense and uncomfortable. The two of them made fun of Michelle, ridiculed the way she dressed, the way she thought. And Roberta was full of petty comments about Michelle’s father and the illness that had killed him. Roberta had never even gone to the hospital. It had been Michelle who’d sat with him until he slipped away, peacefully, in his sleep.
She lay on her back and looked at the ceiling. It was only a few months until graduation. She made very good grades. She hoped Marist College in San Antonio would take her. She’d already applied. She was sweating out the admissions, because she’d have to have a scholarship or she couldn’t afford to go. Not only that, she’d have to have a job.
She’d worked part-time at a mechanic’s shop while her father was alive. He’d drop her off after school and pick her up when she finished work. But his illness had come on quickly and she’d lost the job. Roberta wasn’t about to provide transportation.
She rolled over restlessly. Maybe there would be something she could get in San Antonio, perhaps in a convenience store if all else failed. She didn’t mind hard work. She was used to it. Since her father had married Roberta, Michelle had done all the cooking and cleaning and laundry. She even mowed the lawn.
Her father had seemed to realize his mistake toward the end. He’d apologized for bringing Roberta into their lives. He’d been lonely since her mother died, and Roberta had flattered him and made him feel good. She’d been fun to be around during the courtship—even Michelle had thought so. Roberta went shopping with the girl, praised her cooking, acted like a really nice person. It wasn’t until after the wedding that she’d shown her true colors.
Michelle had always thought it was the alcohol that had made her change so suddenly for the worse. It wasn’t discussed in front of her, but Michelle knew that Roberta had been missing for a few weeks, just before her father was diagnosed with cancer. And there was gossip that the doctor had sent his young wife off to a rehabilitation center because of a drinking problem. Afterward, Roberta hadn’t been quite so hard to live with. Until they’d moved to Comanche Wells, at least.
Dr. Godfrey had patted Michelle on the shoulder only days before the cancer had taken a sudden turn for the worse and he was bedridden. He’d smiled ruefully.
“I’m very sorry, sweetheart,” he’d told her. “If I could go back and change things...”
“I know, Daddy. It’s all right.”
He’d pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “You’re like your mother. She took things to heart, too. You have to learn how to deal with unpleasant people. You have to learn not to take life so seriously...”
“Alan, are you ever coming inside?” Roberta had interrupted petulantly. She hated seeing her husband and her stepdaughter together. She made every effort to keep them apart. “What are you doing, anyway, looking at those stupid smelly cattle?”
“I’ll be there in a moment, Roberta,” he called back.
“The dishes haven’t been washed,” she told Michelle with a cold smile. “Your job, not mine.”
She’d gone back inside and slammed the screen.
Michelle winced.
So did her father. He drew in a deep breath. “Well, we’ll get through this,” he said absently. He’d winced again, holding his stomach.
“You should see Dr. Coltrain,” she remarked. Dr. Copper Coltrain was one of their local physicians. “You keep putting it off. It’s worse, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “I guess it is. Okay. I’ll see him tomorrow, worrywart.”
She grinned. “Okay.”
Tomorrow had ended with a battery of tests and a sad prognosis. They’d sent him back home with more medicine and no hope. He’d lasted a few weeks past the diagnosis.
Michelle’s eyes filled with tears. The loss was still new, raw. She missed her father. She hated being at the mercy of her stepmother, who wanted nothing more than to sell the house and land right out from under Michelle. In fact, she’d already said that as soon as the will went through probate, she was going to do exactly that.
Michelle had protested. She had several months of school to go. Where would she live?
That, Roberta had said icily, was no concern of hers. She didn’t care what happened to her stepdaughter. Roberta was young and had a life of her own, and she wasn’t going to spend it smelling cattle and manure. She was going to move in with Bert. He was in between jobs, but the sale of the house and land would keep them for a while. Then they’d go to Las Vegas where she knew people and could make their fortune in the casino.
Michelle had cocked her head and just stared at her stepmother with a patronizing smile. “Nobody beats the house in Las Vegas,” she said in a soft voice.
“I’ll beat it,” Roberta snapped. “You don’t know anything about gambling.”
“I know that sane people avoid it,” she returned.
Roberta shrugged.
There was only one real-estate agent in Comanche Wells. Michelle called her, nervous and obviously upset.
“Roberta says she’s selling the house,” she began.
“Relax.” Betty Mathers laughed. “She has to get the will through probate, and then she has to list the property. The housing market is in the basement right now, sweetie. She’d have to give it away to sell it.”
“Thanks,” Michelle said huskily. “You don’t know how worried I was...” Her voice broke, and she stopped.
“There’s no reason to worry,” Betty assured her. “Even if she does leave, you have friends here. Somebody will take the property and make sure you have a place to stay. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
Michelle was really crying now. “That’s so kind...!”
“Michelle, you’ve been a fixture around Jacobs County since you were old enough to walk. You spent summers with your grandparents here and you were always doing things to help them, and other people. You spent the night in the hospital with the Harrises’ little boy when he had to have that emergency appendectomy and wouldn’t let them give you a dime. You baked cakes for the sale that helped Rob Meiner when his house burned. You’re always doing for other people. Don’t think it doesn’t get noticed.” Her voice hardened. “And don’t think we aren’t aware of what your stepmother is up to. She has no friends here, I promise you.”
Michelle drew in a breath and wiped her eyes. “She thought Daddy was rich.”
“I see,” came the reply.
“She hated moving down here. I was never so happy,” she added. “I love Comanche Wells.”
Betty laughed. “So do I. I moved here from New York City. I like hearing crickets instead of sirens at night.”
“Me, too.”
“You stop worrying, okay?” she added. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I will. And thanks.”
“No thanks necessary.”
Michelle was to remember that conversation the very next day. She got home from school that afternoon and her father’s prized stamp collection was sitting on the coffee table. A tall, distinguished man was handing Roberta a check.
“It’s a marvelous collection,” the man said.
“What are you doing?” Michelle exclaimed, dropping her books onto the sofa, as she stared at the man with horror. “You can’t sell Daddy’s stamps! You can’t! It’s the only thing of his I have left that we both shared! I helped him put in those stamps, from the time I was in grammar school!”
Roberta looked embarrassed. “Now, Michelle, we’ve already discussed this...”
“We haven’t discussed anything!” she raged, red-faced and weeping. “My father has only been dead three weeks and you’ve already thrown away every single thing he had, even his clothes! You’ve talked about selling the house... I’m still in school—I won’t even have a place to live. And now this! You...you...mercenary gold digger!”
Roberta tried to smile at the shocked man. “I do apologize for my daughter...”
“I’m not her daughter! She married my father two years ago. She’s got a boyfriend. She was with him while my father was dying in the hospital!”
The man stared at Michelle for a long moment, turned to Roberta, snapped the check out of her hands and tore it into shreds.
“But...we had a deal,” Roberta stammered.
The man gave her a look that made her move back a step. “Madam, if you were kin to me, I would disown you,” he said harshly. “I have no wish to purchase a collection stolen from a child.”
“I’ll sue you!” Roberta raged.
“By all means. Attempt it.”
He turned to Michelle. “I am very sorry,” he said gently. “For your loss and for the situation in which you find yourself.” He turned to Roberta. “Good day.”
He walked out.
Roberta gave him just enough time to get to his car. Then she turned to Michelle and slapped her so hard that her teeth felt as if they’d come loose on that side of her face.
“You little brat!” she yelled. “He was going to give me five thousand dollars for that stamp collection! It took me weeks to find a buyer!”
Michelle just stared at her, cold pride crackling around her. She lifted her chin. “Go ahead. Hit me again. And see what happens.”
Roberta drew back her hand. She meant to do it. The child was a horror. She hated her! But she kept remembering the look that minister had given her. She put her hand down and grabbed her purse.
“I’m going to see Bert,” she said icily. “And you’ll get no lunch money from me from now on. You can mop floors for your food, for all I care!”
She stormed out the door, got into her car and roared away.
Michelle picked up the precious stamp collection and took it into her room. She had a hiding place that, hopefully, Roberta wouldn’t be able to find. There was a loose baseboard in her closet. She pulled it out, slid the stamp book inside and pushed it back into the wall.
She went to the mirror. Her face looked almost blistered where Roberta had hit her. She didn’t care. She had the stamp collection. It was a memento of happy times when she’d sat on her father’s lap and carefully tucked stamps into place while he taught her about them. If Roberta killed her, she wasn’t giving the stamps up.
But she was in a hard place, with no real way out. The months until graduation seemed like years. Roberta would make her life a living hell from now on because she’d opposed her. She was so tired of it. Tired of Roberta. Tired of Bert and his innuendoes. Tired of having to be a slave to her stepmother. It seemed so hopeless.
She thought of her father and started bawling. He was gone. He’d never come back. Roberta would torment her to death. There was nothing left.
She walked out the front door like a sleepwalker, out to the dirt road that led past the house. And she sat down in the middle of it—heartbroken and dusty with tears running down her cheeks.
