“I have permission to hang these posters. Just ask the fellow who manages the stockyards.” A couple of silver dollars in his outstretched palm hadn’t hurt her case. “He’ll tell you.”
“Daniel Gardner, the owner of these stockyards, might have something different to say than his foreman.” Will flashed her a stern look. “You’ve wasted your time and Texas Tom’s money. He’s not putting on a rodeo show in this town. All they do is incite the cowboys to shoot guns and carouse. Like I said before, I won’t have someone shot by a stray bullet.”
“I don’t know who put a burr under your saddle, Daddy Canfield, but you sure are a cranky fellow. Maybe fatherhood doesn’t suit you.”
“Fatherhood suits me fine.” He shook his head, uttering something that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “I told you, I’m not a father. This isn’t my baby.”
The wind shifted, and she caught his distinct scent—a mixture of starch and bay rum. For once she didn’t find the odor nauseating. The boys sometimes doused themselves with the stuff before going into town, but Will showed more restraint. He actually smelled quite nice.
She’d had the chance to study plenty of men in her life, and they all fell into certain categories. There were the bullies and the heartbreakers, the men who stuck to themselves and the men who always seemed to have a crowd around them. Will was unlike any of them. He kept her off balance, and she wasn’t used to being off balance.
Her pulse fluttered. “Whatever you say, Mr. Canfield. But you sure are getting comfortable with that babe in your arms.”
His caring for the child set him apart, as well. None of the men of her acquaintance would have ever been caught dead holding a baby.
Her father had been a good man, and he’d loved her, but he was a hard man. There’d been no time for coddling in the Stone family. He’d treated her like one of the boys. Come to think of it, everyone treated her like one of the boys. Maybe that’s what was different about Will. Even though he was clearly annoyed with her, he regarded her with a deference she was unaccustomed to receiving.
“I’ll speak with Texas Tom myself.” Will tucked the sleeping infant into the crook of his elbow. “When you see your boss, tell him I’m looking for him.”
Tomasina grinned up at him. If having a baby dropped on his doorstep wasn’t shocking enough, he was about to receive another surprise. “I might be able to save you some time.”
“Do enlighten me.”
He’d fight her tooth and nail on the rodeo, and she was going to enjoy every minute of their sparring. He’d lose eventually. She had the sheriff in her pocket, after all.
Daddy Canfield had finally met his match.
“I’m the one you’re looking for,” Tomasina declared with a wink. “I’m Texas Tom.”
Tomasina marched down the boardwalk, her spurs jingling with each step. Quincy Davis had refused her appeal. The rodeo show was off unless she convinced Will otherwise. Daddy Canfield had obviously gotten to the sheriff first. With no other choice, she was bearding the lion in his den.
Once inside the Cattleman Hotel, she flipped off her hat. The strings caught on her neck and she adjusted the knot. If Will Canfield thought she was canceling her rodeo show on account of a silly town ordinance, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
She paused in front of an enormous oval mirror framed with gold filigree. Turning this way and that, she studied her reflection. She wasn’t a bad-looking woman, but she was definitely rough around the edges. Since she’d never seen Will with a hair out of place or stains on his crisp white shirt, she’d better put her best foot forward.
As she pondered how to improve on her appearance, a porter hustled by holding a tray topped with several glasses and a pitcher of water.
Tomasina snagged the young man’s coat sleeve. “Hold up there a minute.”
She grasped the pitcher, leaving the porter struggling with his unbalanced tray, then poured a measure of water into her palm and replaced the pitcher.
“That’ll be all, fellow.”
Ignoring the porter’s glaring reflection, she rubbed the water between her palms then smoothed her hands over her hair. For one brief, shining moment her curls remained plastered against her head. The next instant they sprang free, leaving her hair damp and more disordered than before.
Tomasina shrugged. Her hair was a lost cause. At least the rest of her looked presentable enough. She’d worn her newest chaps today instead of the pair with half the fringe missing. Her clothing was freshly laundered and her face was clean. Brushing her hands down her best chambray shirt, she searched for any remnants of her breakfast. She wasn’t giving Mr. Canfield any reason to find fault with her.
Feeling almost respectable, she approached the desk.
The young porter scowled. “Can I get you any more water, Miss?”
“Nope. I’m here for Mr. Will Canfield.”
“He’s busy. Everyone’s always busy since that baby arrived.”
The porter was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and handsome in the sort of way that probably sent the young girls swooning. He kept his dark hair slicked back neatly beneath his round cap, and his bottle-green uniform was crisply pressed, his collar starched and white. He had the appearance of someone who liked to keep things orderly. From what Tomasina had heard, newborns had a way of creating all sorts of chaos and disorder.
“You don’t say.” She leaned forward and pitched her voice low. “What if I told you I had information about a certain abandoned baby?”
The young man’s eyes lit up like a kid let loose on penny candy. “Third floor. Room 311. Up the stairs and take a left. The sooner that infant is out of the hotel, the better. That child has thrown the whole place into an uproar. We’ve lost our best housekeeper to babysitting duties, and now the maids are running amok.”
Tomasina grinned. This was even easier than she’d expected. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The porter proudly straightened his cap. “The name is Simon if you need anything else.”
She touched her forehead in thanks and pivoted on her heel. She hadn’t lied. Not exactly. She’d asked the young man a what-if question, and he’d replied. No harm in that.
Her conscious clear, she took the stairs two at a time. Huffing by the third floor, she braced one hand against the wall and pressed the other against the stitch in her side. They must have high ceilings on all the floors, because it sure was a long way up those stairs. As she caught her breath, a distinctive racket filled the corridor.
Even if she hadn’t known the room number, there was no mistaking Will’s suite. She followed the sounds of the squalling baby and rapped on the solid wood panel.
The door swung open, revealing Will with a familiar, red-faced bundle in his arms. “It’s about time.” He caught sight of her, and his hopeful expression fell. “Oh...it’s
