seemed an endless minute. “Damn little that’s for publication.”
“But what are you doing?” she persisted.
Goaded by her tone, Ben answered without thinking. “I’m going to talk to Black Eagle.”
Jessamyn gasped. “About my father?”
“Maybe. Don’t know yet.”
“Where does this Black Eagle live?”
Again Ben studied her. “In the mountains. Two days’ ride.” He stood, upending the cat, and scooped her notebook up from the floor. “Now, why don’t you go on down and talk to Mrs. Frieder—find out when her baby’s coming.” He thrust the paper pad into her hand.
“The Frieder baby’s due in July,” Jessamyn retorted. “I’ll go with you to see Black Eagle.”
“Like hell you will.”
“But you said… How can I keep my eyes and ears open if I’m not there? No good reporter relies on hearsay.”
“Can you ride?” His voice rang with impatience.
“A horse, you mean? N-not really, but I’m sure I could learn.”
Ben chuckled. “Not damn likely. Not by sunup tomorrow.”
Jessamyn straightened to her full height and looked Ben Kearney straight in the eye. “Try me.”
She’d never been on a horse before in her life, but she’d never admit that to Ben. She was a Whittaker. If she had to fly to the moon to get her story, she wouldn’t give up until she felt the green cheese under her feet.
“I challenge you, Sheriff. I challenge you to try me! Today. This very minute.”
Ben resisted the urge to laugh out loud at her naive suggestion. Learn to ride in one afternoon? Impossible. She was so green she didn’t even know it was impossible.
“Mr. Kearney, did you hear me? I said—”
“I heard you,” he said, his voice quiet. On the other hand, he reasoned, maybe it would shut her up for a while. If she tried it, found how difficult it would be for a greenhorn to master a horse, he’d be rid of her. For a few days, anyway.
The idea had definite appeal. The more he considered it, the more sense it made.
“Miss Whittaker, meet me at the livery stable in ten minutes. And better stop by the mercantile on your way. Get yourself a shirt and some denims and a pair of boots. Otherwise, you’re gonna get corral dust all over those fancy starched petticoats of yours.”
Without another word, he grabbed his hat and strolled out the door, leaving it open behind him. When he reached the planked sidewalk he began to whistle.
Bet my money on a bobtail nag…oh, doo dah day.
* * *
“Mr. Freider,” Jessamyn said when she could catch her breath. “I need a shirt—one of those plaid ones on the shelf will do—a pair of denims and some boots. Small ones.”
Otto Frieder’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “For yourself?”
At her nod, the storekeeper’s eyes popped. “Miss Jessamyn, what you going to do?”
Jessamyn took a deep breath and hoped her voice would sound reasonably steady. “Learn to ride a horse.”
Otto stared at her. “Anna-Marie!” he shouted. “Come quick! Miss Jessamyn needs—”
Anna-Marie’s rotund figure appeared beside her husband’s. Obviously she’d been listening from behind the curtained doorway. Jessamyn gave her as much of a smile as she could manage.
“For you, I think maybe small-size shirt, like for older boy. Trousers…” Anna-Marie turned away and pulled a garment off the shelf. “These. And will need a belt. Men are not built so…” With her hands she traced a shape in the air. “So…in and out.”
Jessamyn unfolded the blue denim jeans, fingered the metal buttons that closed the front. They looked complicated. How did men ever…?
Instantly she banished the thought. Heavens, whatever would Miss Bennett say about the direction in which her mind wandered?
“Come.” Anna-Marie beckoned. “You try on. Otto,” she called into the adjoining room, “find some boots for tiny feet. And, please, a belt.”
The shirt—a man’s size, since smaller, boys’ sizes were not in stock—hung off Jessamyn’s shoulders and drooped past
“But what are you doing?” she persisted.
Goaded by her tone, Ben answered without thinking. “I’m going to talk to Black Eagle.”
Jessamyn gasped. “About my father?”
“Maybe. Don’t know yet.”
“Where does this Black Eagle live?”
Again Ben studied her. “In the mountains. Two days’ ride.” He stood, upending the cat, and scooped her notebook up from the floor. “Now, why don’t you go on down and talk to Mrs. Frieder—find out when her baby’s coming.” He thrust the paper pad into her hand.
“The Frieder baby’s due in July,” Jessamyn retorted. “I’ll go with you to see Black Eagle.”
“Like hell you will.”
“But you said… How can I keep my eyes and ears open if I’m not there? No good reporter relies on hearsay.”
“Can you ride?” His voice rang with impatience.
“A horse, you mean? N-not really, but I’m sure I could learn.”
Ben chuckled. “Not damn likely. Not by sunup tomorrow.”
Jessamyn straightened to her full height and looked Ben Kearney straight in the eye. “Try me.”
She’d never been on a horse before in her life, but she’d never admit that to Ben. She was a Whittaker. If she had to fly to the moon to get her story, she wouldn’t give up until she felt the green cheese under her feet.
“I challenge you, Sheriff. I challenge you to try me! Today. This very minute.”
Ben resisted the urge to laugh out loud at her naive suggestion. Learn to ride in one afternoon? Impossible. She was so green she didn’t even know it was impossible.
“Mr. Kearney, did you hear me? I said—”
“I heard you,” he said, his voice quiet. On the other hand, he reasoned, maybe it would shut her up for a while. If she tried it, found how difficult it would be for a greenhorn to master a horse, he’d be rid of her. For a few days, anyway.
The idea had definite appeal. The more he considered it, the more sense it made.
“Miss Whittaker, meet me at the livery stable in ten minutes. And better stop by the mercantile on your way. Get yourself a shirt and some denims and a pair of boots. Otherwise, you’re gonna get corral dust all over those fancy starched petticoats of yours.”
Without another word, he grabbed his hat and strolled out the door, leaving it open behind him. When he reached the planked sidewalk he began to whistle.
Bet my money on a bobtail nag…oh, doo dah day.
* * *
“Mr. Freider,” Jessamyn said when she could catch her breath. “I need a shirt—one of those plaid ones on the shelf will do—a pair of denims and some boots. Small ones.”
Otto Frieder’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “For yourself?”
At her nod, the storekeeper’s eyes popped. “Miss Jessamyn, what you going to do?”
Jessamyn took a deep breath and hoped her voice would sound reasonably steady. “Learn to ride a horse.”
Otto stared at her. “Anna-Marie!” he shouted. “Come quick! Miss Jessamyn needs—”
Anna-Marie’s rotund figure appeared beside her husband’s. Obviously she’d been listening from behind the curtained doorway. Jessamyn gave her as much of a smile as she could manage.
“For you, I think maybe small-size shirt, like for older boy. Trousers…” Anna-Marie turned away and pulled a garment off the shelf. “These. And will need a belt. Men are not built so…” With her hands she traced a shape in the air. “So…in and out.”
Jessamyn unfolded the blue denim jeans, fingered the metal buttons that closed the front. They looked complicated. How did men ever…?
Instantly she banished the thought. Heavens, whatever would Miss Bennett say about the direction in which her mind wandered?
“Come.” Anna-Marie beckoned. “You try on. Otto,” she called into the adjoining room, “find some boots for tiny feet. And, please, a belt.”
The shirt—a man’s size, since smaller, boys’ sizes were not in stock—hung off Jessamyn’s shoulders and drooped past
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