The Diary of Jerrod Bently, J.W. Osborn [the false prince series TXT] 📗

two freshly baked cherry pies that had cooled nicely and were ready to slice and serve to her customers. Her small bake shop had become a big success in the town and a day did not go by that she didn’t reap in the benefits brought by her talents as a great cook and baker. On Wednesdays people lined up for her pies and to get a cup of her specially blended coffee with it. Of course, the men were respectful of the pretty blonde widow because if they weren’t, they knew they’d get a derringer in the ribs and thrown out into the street and not by any barroom bouncer, but by the lady herself. Victoria’s back room, behind the kitchen had been converted into a saloon and she made not bones about it. Business was business and this lady knew how to handle herself.
Jake Titus looked dusty and disheveled as he slid off the back of his bay mule, Molly. It had been a long dusty ride out to check leads on possible sightings of Sherif Dunham. Nothing, and Titus was getting tired of the endless paper work, locking up drunks and holding the harder cases for the circuit Judge next month. Then it would be a quick clean up at his house, a fast meal and then over to his law office to see his latest clients.
The bell over the door of “Victoria’s Bake Shop” jingled as Titus walked in. “Good morning, Jake,” Victoria said as she finished cutting her pies. “Have you been out long today?”
“I rode out to the mesquite grove near Tyler Springs,” he said “I could use a cup of your coffee, Vick,” he said.
“How about some pie with it, “ she suggested as she poured the cup and placed it in front of him. “Any sign of Dunham?”
“Nothing,” Titus replied “And yes I will take that pie.”
“How’s your wife?”, Victoria asked.
“Still writing those dime novels,” Titus replied “She has been working on one for a while now.”
“Well, I hope she gets it printed soon,” Victoria said as she set a plate with his pie in front of him. “We sure enjoyed the last one.”
“I don’t know where she comes up with this stuff,” Titus said “But I have to admit, it is pretty good.”
“Some folks are born with a talent like that,” Victoria replied as she handed him a fork and a napkin.
“You got anything good in the back room, Vick?” he asked.
“Sure do,” she replied “Got a shipment in just yesterday.
Titus smiled, “Then make this “Irish Coffee” for me.” She smiled as she opened the door of her kitchen. “Be right back, Jake..” she said. When she returned, she had a shot glass full of Irish whisky in her hand, which she added to Jake’s cup and then refilled it with more coffee.
“Thanks,” Jake said as he laid a five dollar gold piece on the counter.
“I’ll get your change.” she replied “And you are welcome.”


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Ranger Nathan Travis stopped at a Way Station to rest his horse for a while and try to find out anything he could about the man he’d been trailing since he left Austin. He had not seen Ned in nearly twenty years, but he had heard of him and seen his wanted poster plastered all over the walls of the many sherif’s and constable’s offices he frequented in his travels. Ned was a bad seed, he had known that since they were children together. He had to admit that when his parents divorced and his father took Ned and he stayed with his mother, he was relieved. Now all these years later, Nathan would have to arrest his twin and ultimately have to see him sent to prison or worse. “He made his choices,” Nathan mumbled to himself as he tied his sorrel’s reins to the hitching post outside the long building. “Can’t change the past.” A stout man with a checkered apron covering his overall and red underwear shirt appeared at the door. “Howdy,” the man said, his brown eyes going straight to the badge on Nathan’s black leather vest. “Say, we don’t get the rangers out here very often,” he added “Come on in. The Missus just took an apple pie out of the oven.”
That was an offer that Nathan could not turn aside. “Thanks, Mister,” he replied as he stepped up onto the planks of the crude front porch. “You looking for somebody?” the man asked as he showed Nathan in and to a table. Nathan removed his hat “ I might be,” he said slyly.
“I’ll get your pie,” the man said as he disappeared into the kitchen. Nathan looked around. The way station was built of logs and had obviously been there for a long time. It was not fancy, but that did not matter to him, he just wanted to rest after too long in the saddle and he had a hunch that maybe his brother had been here. In a few minutes, a middle aged woman with grey hair came out of the kitchen with a coffee pot in her hand. She set out a cup and saucer for Nathan and poured. “Mornin’ to you, ” she said “Your pie will be out in just a second.”
“Thanks,” Nathan replied as he placed the checkered napkin in his lap. As the woman started to walk away, she paused. “Say,” she said thoughtfully “You look like someone.” Nathan looked over the rim of his coffee cup. “Do I?”, he questioned. The woman returned to the edge of his table. “Yes, there was a man in here about a week ago. Why, he looked enough like you to be your brother.” That was the break Nathan had been looking for. “Any idea where this fellow headed?” he asked.
“No,” the woman replied, “But he looked like he had been in some kind of accident. He had burns on his face and hands.” As they spoke, there was a commotion outside in the yard. Nate’s horse side stepped and snorted . The dust rose from everywhere and the stage pulled in. Men set to work unhitching the horses and getting ready to harness fresh ones into the traces. The driver jumped down and opened the door of the coach as a lady dressed in black stepped out, taking his hand. She was a young widow returning to Porterville. “It’s a half hour, ma’am” he advised as he tipped his hat. “Thank you”, she drawled. Her name was Bradford, the widow, Mrs. Frances Bradford. She was not a tall woman, nor could you say she was short. Her hair was a shiny auburn under her black bonnet and she looked elegant in her black dress. She sure caught Nathan Travis’s attention when she walked into the way station. What woman would not be impressed with a Texas Ranger, he thought as he finished his pie. With crumbs on his mustache, he rose to his feet as the woman walked passed toward an empty table.
“Would you care to sit here, Ma’am”, Nate asked as he gestured to the empty chair opposite where he had been sitting. “The coffee is good,” he added. The widow looked up at him, her brown eyes settling on his face instead of his badge. “Handsome,” she thought to herself “and a ranger too.” “Thank you , sir,”she said as he pulled out the chair for her. Frances seated herself across from him and smiled “It’s been a tedious trip,” she said “I am glad for a break in that long and dusty ride.”
“Where you headed?,” Nate asked “If you don’t mind me asking” He was a Texas Ranger, not Jesse James. “Portersville,” she replied as the woman arrived with the coffee pot. “I live there.”

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Nate thought of the widow he had met at the way station as he rode on and hoped he might see her again when he reached Porterville, near the edge of the Oklahoma territory. In the mean time, he had a job to do and a criminal to catch and bring to justice. He was sure that Ned has been at the way station. Time was running out. Nathan had to catch him and stop him from killing Sam Dodge and Scrub Pot, or more likely himself after what the ranger had heard about a man who looked like him but had burns from gun powder on his hands and face. “Fool never got himself a good pistol,” Nathan commented as he urged his horse into a trot. “It’s a wonder he ain’t shot himself.”
Now Ned was feeling a little better after his shooting accident, and he had found himself a decent pistol and stolen a new horse, so he was on his way to accomplish his mission. He thought Indians were stupid and once he caught up with the cattle drive, he would pick off Scrub Pot and that arrogant Sam Dodge one by one and return to Grants Creek to collect the rest of his money. Then he would head for Mexico. He’d always wanted to go there. He’d find himself a senorita, some tequila and then he’d lay low. Besides, who would care about an old Indian anyway or that half breed. Oh, Ned, Ned, you poor misguided and lost soul.. That was the worst mistake a man could make, especially in dealing with one as crafty as Scrub Pot. Ned was not far behind the herd and he’d wait for the right time to make his move. First the old man and then the girl. It was starting to get dark and he was tired so he decided to find a place off the trail to spend the night. He was not crazy about sleeping under the stars, but that was all there was out on the trail and