“I’m not,” she said, brushing away her tears. “Though it’s probably not Christian of me to admit, I take great satisfaction in the memory of his death. I sincerely hope Mr. Calverson is, as your namesake implies, ‘smokin’ in hell.’”

“You read about that, too, huh?” Pritchard said, rolling his eyes.

“Of course. ‘Smokin’ Joe,’ they call you. I believe it’s an appropriate title.”

“That nickname wasn’t my choice,” Pritchard grunted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t. I spoke to my father. Once I explained that I’d discovered your identity and whereabouts, he agreed to allow me to take the stagecoach to Fort Worth as long as I was accompanied by Mr. Woodruff. He handles my family’s legal affairs, and had business up here. I hope you’ll forgive me for being so insistent on this meeting, but I simply had to see you in person.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Pritchard said.

Caroline Biggs stood. Pritchard immediately followed suit, as etiquette dictated. Caroline walked over to him, put her hands on his broad chest, and looked up at the tall Missourian.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No thanks are necessary,” Pritchard stuttered, “I was only—”

Pritchard’s words were cut off in midsentence, as Caroline Biggs suddenly threw her arms around his neck, pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Pritchard soon discovered firsthand what the phrase what a difference a day makes truly meant.

The day before meeting Caroline Biggs in the Fort Worth Grand Hotel, he felt like a fish out of water. He disliked being stuck in Fort Worth, corralled by the bustling city and surrounded by so many people. He badgered Captain Franchard on a daily basis, inquiring when their detachment was going to leave the claustrophobic town and get back to ranging the Texas countryside in search of outlaws.

Franchard would placate his youngest and most valued Ranger by reminding him that not every duty assigned to a Texas Ranger was of their choice or liking. He would further explain the need for what their commanding officers called public relations, and finish his lecture by pointing out that his fellow Rangers seemed quite content to remain in Fort Worth, sleeping on feather beds instead of the cold prairie, slugging down free whiskey, and regaling gullible townsfolk with exaggerated tales of their derring-do.

Pritchard would glumly nod, walk away, and then the very next day would again be back at Captain Franchard’s door, first thing in the morning, asking when their detachment was going to move out.

This ritual went on each day. Pritchard’s visit to Franchard had become so regular, the captain was surprised one morning when Ranger Atherton didn’t interrupt his breakfast with his daily entreaty to depart Fort Worth.