Chapter eighteen

Yesterday, they had cut the garden in, and Caroline had promised Frisco that the lavender she’d planted would bring a good return, in addition to the aesthetics. She’d also promised that he didn’t need to worry about losing people. That good relationships were possible, and that many people would think he was a man worthy of friendship and trust. He’d just kept digging, afraid to believe the words she was saying. Afraid to question whether her affirmation was crafted to dissuade him from his purpose.

He’d attempted his own mode of persuasion—or at least that was what he’d claim, because it was too embarrassing to admit he’d told Caroline his story without an ulterior motive. But in the end, nothing he’d said had made a difference, while her words had struck him through the core.

Patrick’s short shout signaled Frisco to pull on the rope and haul up another barrel of dirt. A woman like Caroline didn’t understand the world. True, she’d faced Indian uprisings and killer outlaws on the plains, but it was always with her father’s protection. She didn’t know what it was to be alone. She’d never had to fear that someone would take offense at her and ruin her life. No one had that power over her. She couldn’t know what it was to be him.

Frisco dumped the dirt off to the side, then lowered the barrel back down to Patrick. He should be hitting water soon. Millie would appreciate not having to haul water from the river for her laundry business, and Frisco would enjoy not having to pay for every drink he took.

Paying for water. Who ever heard of such nonsense?

He had to admit, Caroline had lasted longer than he’d expected. Definitely longer than he’d hoped. And the more time he spent in town, the more he could see himself staying there. But where did that leave Patrick and Millie? They knew his plans, and while they were putting some money away with their industry, there wouldn’t be enough for them to buy land if he failed to get his homestead back.

But how fun would it be to tell Caroline that she could have the land? That he would no longer oppose her? Would she be relieved? Would she be grateful? Would she tell him again how he was a man that she was proud to know? If it weren’t for the investors counting on him . . .

“Frisco, do you have a minute?” Deputy McFarland strode up to him with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He looked down the hole at the top of Patrick’s head as he passed. “Is this the place for a private conversation?”

“It’s as good as anywhere,” Frisco answered. Patrick wasn’t one to eavesdrop or to care if he heard something eavesdrop-worthy.

“It has come to my attention that a man is stirring up trouble for the city. Do you know anything about this?”

“Do you mean the man calling himself a deputy and trying to collect fees from people when there are no such laws?”

McFarland scrunched his face as if hit by an unpleasant odor. “Ah, yes. The peddler told me they knew you. Well, the city council has proposed new fees, but they haven’t been approved. The deputy was an overzealous greenhorn. I’ll delay him until the paperwork is official, but that’s not the issue I’m referencing. I’m asking about a man by the name of Lacroix.”

Frisco’s stomach did a little flop. “Do you have a more specific question?”

McFarland’s jaw twitched, and he shot another glance at the hole in the ground. “Have you helped him put together a case against me?”

“No, not at all.” That question, at least, was easy to answer. “No, he’s interested in weeding out the sooners who were here early. That doesn’t include you, does it?”

“You don’t know exactly who he’s complaining about, do you?” McFarland shifted so that his back was to the hole. “Does he have any concrete evidence?”

“I know you want to help,” Frisco said, “but it’d be for the land office board to decide. When there’s a hearing, you could certainly share testimony as a deputy.”

McFarland brushed a gnat away from his eyes. “I’m no longer a deputy. I resigned and have gone back to my true calling, which is property and real estate. For a man who likes to see construction and development, this is a dream.”

“We’ve got a lot in common, then,” Frisco said. “It’ll be something to walk the streets and be able to recall when each building went up.”

“Frisco Smith? Is that you?” A solemn-looking man approached in thin linen britches and a striped coat. Where had Frisco met him? Oh yeah, at Purcell before the race. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Uh-oh. Frisco could guess what this was about.

He turned to McFarland. “Don’t concern yourself about the claim dispute, friend. The town will be better when the lawbreakers have been removed and the citizens who ran the race fairly get a shot. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, though.” He turned away, hoping that McFarland would take the hint, but the former deputy remained, even as the newcomer approached.

“You may not remember me,” he said.

“Yes, you’re the schoolteacher from . . . Amarillo?”

“Austin. Mr. Deavers.”

Frisco offered his hand and relaxed a smidgen when Mr. Deavers decided to shake it.

“The reason I’m here—”

“Is that I owe you two dollars, or was it three?” Frisco was interrupting as much as Sophie Smith did, but he’d rather make this easy on the schoolteacher. It wasn’t Mr. Deavers’s fault that Frisco had no property for him. And he wanted this settled as quickly as possible, especially seeing how McFarland hadn’t left. Frisco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather sack. “There you go,” he said as he counted out the coins. “I do apologize. Things didn’t work out exactly as I planned. I haven’t given up, but I don’t expect you to wait any longer.”

With his hand still outstretched and the money glinting in the sun, Mr. Deavers flipped a coin over with his thumb. “That’s it, then? No more explanation? No remorse for failing to get us land?” He pointed at the framework behind Frisco. “Looks like you did well for yourself.”

“What’s he talking about?” McFarland asked. “Have you defrauded someone?”

The accusation cut to his bone marrow. Frisco felt himself leaning away from McFarland. “No. I just gave him his money back.”

“But what about the rest of them?” Mr. Deavers asked. “There’s a group gathered at Purcell Station. They’re losing heart that they haven’t heard from you. What do you want me to tell them? At the very least, let me take their money back to them.”

McFarland crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you have their money, Smith? What’s this about?”

Frisco looked from one man to the other. “For that city I was going to build, I took payments for the lots. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a homestead claim. I don’t have any land to divide up with them. Not yet.”

“Can you give them their money back?” McFarland asked.

“Yes, I have it. It’s in the bank, right here in town.” Then to Deavers, Frisco said, “The deal was that I had until the twenty-second of May. If some don’t want to wait that long, they can come find me. Otherwise, tell them not to lose heart.”

“There’s fourteen squatting there, waiting to hear from you. Why don’t you send the money with me?”

Fourteen men. Thirty dollars, perhaps, but probably more if they’d reserved better lots. It had been two weeks, and Frisco still didn’t have his land. Two more weeks before his failure was irreversible.

For once his jaunty attitude was failing him. “I’m not going to give out money like that,” he said. “I need to know who is getting theirs and see them get it with my own eyes. You’ve got your two dollars. Send the rest of them my way.”

The hard glint to McFarland’s eyes hadn’t disappeared yet, but he nodded. “That’s reasonable, Mr. Deavers. You can’t ask him for more than is owed you.”

Deavers took another look around. “Do you need a schoolteacher here? I’d hoped to be able to own property of my own instead of living with the families in the district, but since I left Austin, I’m still searching for a job.”

“Afraid not,” McFarland said. “We haven’t organized a school yet, and I don’t know where you’d stay if we did. Best if you kept on moving.”

With a drop of his shoulders, Deavers walked away.

“I’m sorry,” Frisco called after him. “I’m as disappointed as anyone.” But his words surely were no comfort to a man who’d gambled and lost. He should know.

Frisco had almost forgotten McFarland waiting at his side.

“You never know when your fortunes are going to change,” McFarland said. “Given a chance, I think that man would’ve tried to ruin your reputation over a stroke of bad luck.”

“He’s disappointed, and rightly so, but I don’t think he aimed to ruin me.” Frisco twisted his head around to release the tension in his neck. “I made it right with him. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“But can you do that for everyone you wronged?” McFarland asked. “Just remember, if you find yourself in a quandary, it’s good to have friends who’ll stick by you.”

But the effect of his words was anything but friendly.