Chapter 5
Amanda stomped up the street to Diggs Grocery and Hardware, mindful of the stir her presence in town created. However, judging by the far more than usual whispers and stares, the traveling gazette that carried a whole budget of local gossip from lip to lip must’ve already began circulating the sordid details of what had just taken place at the hotel. Her plan to ruin Payton McCord’s good name appeared to have met with resounding success. It should’ve pleased her.
Darn it, why didn’t it? No one ever claimed war was fair. In fact, it was dirty business. But at what price had winning come? She hadn’t expected this murky gloom. In a way it compared to having someone up and die on you.
Maybe they had. Maybe she had. Maybe a dream had.
Deep in thought, Amanda nearly plowed into Hank Harris, a mountain of a man, who stepped from the barber shop onto the wooden sidewalk. His size intimidated. Not that she was afraid of him. She simply felt like a sapling next to a mature oak.
“Ma’am.” Hank tipped the brim of his hat to her and kept walking before she could utter a word. She’d heard womenfolk made him ill at ease and it certainly appeared the case, which explained why he’d remained a steadfast bachelor so long.
His ranch wasn’t too far from hers, with a huge house as impressive as his height sitting smack in the middle. She guessed he built the enormous structure to keep from knocking himself silly when he stood upright. But, Hank had a good heart and was known for helping people in need. She just tried not to ever need. It was best that way.
Pushing through the mercantile door, she almost collided with Opal Duncan who cradled her newborn son as if he were a fragile egg. It didn’t take much to make someone grasp something with such fierce determination when they’d lost their farm and livelihood. Amanda saw her own weary confusion reflecting in the woman’s gray eyes.
“I’m terribly sorry. Are you all right, Mrs. Duncan?”
“You just startled me. You’re Amanda Lemmons, aren’t you?”
Prickles crawled up her back. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I just want to tell you to hang on to what’s yours. Don’t ever let anyone take it away. Fight.” Then she whispered, “Talk to my husband if you ever want to sell any of your sheep.” Tears swam in Opal’s gaze before the woman hurried out the door.
Amanda watched the proud carriage with sorrow. Offer to buy her mutton came unexpectedly. It took brave souls to cross the Association. And Milford Duncan was as strong as they came.
The clock inside the store chimed, reminding her to hurry. She jerked up a sack of sugar and gallon of vinegar and stacked them on a section of the counter. Payton would be making tracks to buy a new hat and she wished to avoid another run-in with the rugged cowboy. Especially one itching to get even. No doubt thick frost would now coat his deep, pleasing baritone.
But, he’d earned what he got for belittling her. In the end he was like all the others. How could she have thought P.M. would stand up when it came time to be counted? The moment came and went and he sat on his California Levi’s. There had been no defending her. No apology. No shame. He was nothing but a cow-lover who trifled with a lady’s feelings. He scoffed her and her sheep.
Her face burned with remembrance. She fretted in vain over damaging him with her plan. She prayed he never forgot how it felt to be an outcast.
“May I assist you, Miss Lemmons?” Jeb Diggs stood beside his wife, Mary Carol. Both wore shocked expressions that said she was awfully bold to help herself like she owned the store.
The sack of flour Amanda was about to sling onto her pile sank to the floor. She’d just committed another unspeakable sin-that of waiting on herself. Truth was she’d been in such a hurry she forgot the social rules and how they applied to her.
She apologized and told the couple her needs, adding a box of cartridges to her list for good measure. Never could have too many bullets, her father always said. He should know. He’d outlasted blue northerns, encroaching cattle barons, and a sour puss of a second wife who tried her best to kill him before she ran off with a snake charmer from a traveling sideshow.
Amanda blinked back sudden tears at the reminder of what it cost to survive and stared at the small mountain on the counter. She must’ve been out of everything.
Thank goodness she’d thought to leave the wagon in front of the mercantile when she arrived that morning. Wouldn’t have far to carry the supplies. Pray tell that a tad of the mutton smell would rub off or someone would see the Diggs’s aiding the enemy.
A fashionable, very pretty woman approached, clutching a pad and pencil of all things. “Miss Lemmons?”
The large feather protruding from the hat perching on the woman’s head indicated wealth, no sympathy for the naked bird she’d stolen the tail feathers from, or both. No one in the Panhandle wore such trappings so perhaps she came from far away and therefore wasn’t part of the mud-slinging. Still, the question made Amanda bristle.
“Who wants to know?”
“Oh dear, I’ve done it again.” The woman stretched out her gloved hand. “Kaira Renaulde from Boston. Well, actually I’m a new reporter for the
“I’m sorry.” The striking newsmonger could peddle her papers elsewhere. “Maybe another time.”
Payton McCord should be opening the worn, leather bag Amanda deliberately left behind right about now. All hell would break loose when he discovered the contents.
“I promise to be brief. Please allow me to explain. Somehow, I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle and promised my boss, the editor, I’d get an article for the paper.”
“I really can’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Kaira brushed aside Amanda’s brusque dismissal. Her hand poised to write. “Although I’m from back East I hear it’s quite unusual for a born and bred cowboy and a sheepherder to consort. But I must say it’s quite romantic. Is there any truth to the rumor Payton McCord of the Frying Pan Ranch met you this morning at the hotel, and that he’s written you love letters?”
The perfect opportunity to destroy what was left of Payton’s reputable name fell into Amanda’s lap. What better artillery than a newspaper to finish him off good and proper?
Except, she’d seen integrity in his gentle soul.
“I do apologize, Miss Renaulde. It’s a private matter that I have no wish to air either with you or the entire town. Perhaps you’d have better luck asking the gentleman.”
Without a doubt he could fill the woman’s column for her. But would he? The assortment she’d packed into the valise crossed her mind. Amanda swallowed a lump. Oh yes, he’d definitely want revenge.
“I understand.” The brash reporter broke into her train of thought. “But, in case you change your mind…I’ll be very discreet. I promise.”
“Like I said, it’s between me and McCord.”
Jeb Diggs spoke up. “That’ll be $4.75, Miss Lemmons.”
Amanda winced and counted out the change from what remained of last year’s wool profit. Money dwindled fast. She’d have to begin shearing tomorrow. To her amazement, the Diggs’s son toted the purchase to the wagon while she followed.
Kaira Renaulde of the
“Now I know you’re new.” Amanda gave a short laugh. “Evidently you haven’t gotten the latest issue of the Amarillo Scuttlebutt.”
“A cardinal rule in reporting-I don’t listen to gossip. Remember what I said. Everyone needs somebody.”
Indeed they might, but they rarely got what they needed.
Sudden commotion erupted outside the hotel. It appeared some sort of noisy parade. Amanda gulped.
In the center of the maelstrom strode the tall, purposeful figure of Payton McCord. He stalked toward the
