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apron's torn and you look like a tornado hit you. You need to
look presentable to the customers."
    Twila eased her
apron out from between the horse's teeth, yanked the curtain off its head, and
glanced back at the stranger. She would never forget the look in his eyes. The
merriment was gone. They'd gone a deep slate, a color she could drown in, and
spoke to her. Bits and pieces of things she didn't understand. But she flushed,
because somewhere in the mix was the ugly assurance that he was embarrassed for
her.
    He turned to face
her uncle. "Listen, Bell…" Twila realized something else about the
stranger then. He'd seen the banner before it crashed down. He'd known her
family's name all along. Not because of what Uncle Fletcher just said, which
most would have taken to be the word "belle," as in young woman. No,
he'd known Bell was their surname, and could have been polite, apologetic,
circumspect in addressing her uncle. Considering his horse had done all the
damage, he should have been.
    But he treated
Fletcher Bell with the same disdain Fletcher showed to others. Twila's
estimation of the horseman rose another notch.
    "I got to meet
a man and do some serious horse trading. I take full liability for the damage
to your place. The window, this china, all of it. Figure up a total and let me
know what I owe. I'll be back in a couple days, and settle the tab."
    Fletcher snorted.
"How do I know—"
    "Because I
said so. Name's Del Mitchell. I own a horse ranch just outside of town proper,
along the riverbank. Everybody in this town knows who I am, and every man here
will tell you I'm as good as my word. Might spit into the wind or climb a pine
tree while gargling salt water, but I've never cheated anybody."
    This had the two
women giggling and rolling their eyes.
    "Pine tree…?
Hey, you can't just leave us in a mess like this!" Fletcher stammered.
"At least have your man stay and help us clean up. My son's injured, and
I've got customers."
    "Oh, right.
Betsy, buy something from Mr. Bell here and put it on my tab over at Minerva's.
Sorry, Bell, but your son's going to have to manage. I need my wrangler to help
me deliver some horses."
    Then he pivoted,
glancing back over at her, and Twila's heart thumped again.
    "Miss
Bell," he intoned with that caressing tone of voice again. He touched a
finger to his hat brim, and Twila could almost swear she felt the rough tip of
that finger. She actually shivered inside from the sensation. "It's been a
genuine pleasure."
    Then he walked out.
    The horse meekly
followed, reins trailing in its wake.
    Twila knew just how
the animal felt. Her feet were glued to the floor and she couldn't seem to form
a single word, but without so much as a word, if he'd wanted her to, Twila
sensed she would have followed him just as blandly as the horse had done.
    Then Betsy appeared
in Twila's line of vision and smiled. A feminine, knowing smile. "Careful,
sweetie. Bad enough the horse chewed your apron. You don't want to let Delancy
Mitchell do the same to your skirts."
     
     

CHAPTER 4
     
    "Welcome back,
Mitchell. Do any good with the horse sales this time around?"
    Del ignored the
question. Postmaster Stanislaus was possibly the worst busybody Del had ever
encountered. Everybody held that gossiping was a female's pastime, but anybody
in this small town who still believed that obviously never went by the post
office. Del didn't offer up any information, just pointedly glanced down at the
envelopes in Amos' hand.
    "Those letters
wouldn't happen to be for me or my men, would they?"
    Amos looked down
himself, seeming to realize for the first time that he held a batch of mail in
his fist. "Uh, yessir, right enough." He made a production of
thumbing through the envelopes. "Something for Leon, another two for Henry
Dobbs. None for you this time around. But that Dobbs sure has been getting more
than his share of letters lately. Why, he must have had four letters just this
past month."
    For a split second,
Del