around any of the town’s residences, removed my hat, and tapped on the front door. Barely had time to take note of the carefully tended beds of multicolored wildflowers that encircled the entire home.
Dianna Savage answered my knock immediately. Her appearance gave me the distinct impression that the lady had anticipated the visit and spied my approach through one of her curtained front windows.
My God, but the woman’s beauty was dazzling for a rough-and-tumble lawdog like me. Stood in the splendid lady’s doorway and got right flustered. Stared at my dusty boots and, for several seconds, searched for, but couldn’t find, the proper words.
Looking back on that singular event from the vast reaches of time, I know now Dianna had most likely spent the entire afternoon molding herself into an image designed to specifically bring poor defenseless men, like me, to their physical and emotional knees. Suffice it to say, her efforts had exactly the expected effect on one highly impressed, and grateful, Texas Ranger.
Regal, in a dove-gray high-necked dress that probably cost as much as my saddle and emphasized her tiny waist, the lady’s simple, unvarnished beauty sucked the breath right out of me. Caught myself staring like a loon at her provocative lips, and almost stumbled backward when a passing breeze tickled my nose with a brand of perfume that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
On my third stumbling attempt to speak, she brought a silk kerchief out, dabbed at those inviting lips, then said, “Would you care to come inside, Mr. Dodge?”
Must have looked like a big-eyed colt, and sounded like a half-brained man lookin’ to find a corner in a round room when I managed to blurt out, “Why, yes. Indeed I would, Mrs. Savage.”
She motioned me into a small, wallpapered parlor located to the left of the front entrance. Decorated with expensive store-bought furniture and heavy wine-colored drapes, the comfortable, homey room was dominated by a rustic stone fireplace that almost covered one whole wall.
She motioned me toward a chair and said, “Please take the brocaded one, Mr. Dodge. It is, by far, the most comfortable seat in the house. Prior to his untimely departure, my husband favored that chair. Loved to bounce William on his knee while sitting in it.”
Astonishing woman gracefully slid onto a settee near a delicate-legged end table loaded down with coffee, cups, and cakes. In pretty short order I sported an uncomfortable lap covered by an embroidered cloth napkin, a china cup smaller than a thimble, and at least one of everything she had to offer. Spent the rest of my time in that parlor deathly afraid I’d break something before I could make my escape.
For some minutes we exchanged meaningless pleasantries; then, I noticed that her son was not in evidence. Indirectly approached the subject and said, “And how is young William, Mrs. Savage?”
She shook her head and dabbed at the corner of one eye with her lace hankie. “Well, Mr. Dodge, as well as can be expected, I suppose. William sleeps inordinately of late and is napping at this very moment. I fear the child still evidences a degree of lingering nervousness and apprehension as a result of our recently shared experience.”
“My memory of him is of a handsome, bright, and bold youngster. Is there anything I might do to help, Mrs. Savage?”
“Most five-year-old boys eventually recover from just about any trauma, sir. I feel certain my son is no exception.” She paused and dropped her gaze, for a second, before continuing. “You know, I thought I had chosen a town so far removed from the vagaries of Texas lawlessness and violence that my son would be completely safe. I fear my judgment may well have failed me in this instance.”
She had subtly offered me an entrance into a more personal area of her life with such comments, so I opened the door a bit wider. “Marshal Oakley tells me you came to Salt Valley after your husband died in
Dianna Savage answered my knock immediately. Her appearance gave me the distinct impression that the lady had anticipated the visit and spied my approach through one of her curtained front windows.
My God, but the woman’s beauty was dazzling for a rough-and-tumble lawdog like me. Stood in the splendid lady’s doorway and got right flustered. Stared at my dusty boots and, for several seconds, searched for, but couldn’t find, the proper words.
Looking back on that singular event from the vast reaches of time, I know now Dianna had most likely spent the entire afternoon molding herself into an image designed to specifically bring poor defenseless men, like me, to their physical and emotional knees. Suffice it to say, her efforts had exactly the expected effect on one highly impressed, and grateful, Texas Ranger.
Regal, in a dove-gray high-necked dress that probably cost as much as my saddle and emphasized her tiny waist, the lady’s simple, unvarnished beauty sucked the breath right out of me. Caught myself staring like a loon at her provocative lips, and almost stumbled backward when a passing breeze tickled my nose with a brand of perfume that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
On my third stumbling attempt to speak, she brought a silk kerchief out, dabbed at those inviting lips, then said, “Would you care to come inside, Mr. Dodge?”
Must have looked like a big-eyed colt, and sounded like a half-brained man lookin’ to find a corner in a round room when I managed to blurt out, “Why, yes. Indeed I would, Mrs. Savage.”
She motioned me into a small, wallpapered parlor located to the left of the front entrance. Decorated with expensive store-bought furniture and heavy wine-colored drapes, the comfortable, homey room was dominated by a rustic stone fireplace that almost covered one whole wall.
She motioned me toward a chair and said, “Please take the brocaded one, Mr. Dodge. It is, by far, the most comfortable seat in the house. Prior to his untimely departure, my husband favored that chair. Loved to bounce William on his knee while sitting in it.”
Astonishing woman gracefully slid onto a settee near a delicate-legged end table loaded down with coffee, cups, and cakes. In pretty short order I sported an uncomfortable lap covered by an embroidered cloth napkin, a china cup smaller than a thimble, and at least one of everything she had to offer. Spent the rest of my time in that parlor deathly afraid I’d break something before I could make my escape.
For some minutes we exchanged meaningless pleasantries; then, I noticed that her son was not in evidence. Indirectly approached the subject and said, “And how is young William, Mrs. Savage?”
She shook her head and dabbed at the corner of one eye with her lace hankie. “Well, Mr. Dodge, as well as can be expected, I suppose. William sleeps inordinately of late and is napping at this very moment. I fear the child still evidences a degree of lingering nervousness and apprehension as a result of our recently shared experience.”
“My memory of him is of a handsome, bright, and bold youngster. Is there anything I might do to help, Mrs. Savage?”
“Most five-year-old boys eventually recover from just about any trauma, sir. I feel certain my son is no exception.” She paused and dropped her gaze, for a second, before continuing. “You know, I thought I had chosen a town so far removed from the vagaries of Texas lawlessness and violence that my son would be completely safe. I fear my judgment may well have failed me in this instance.”
She had subtly offered me an entrance into a more personal area of her life with such comments, so I opened the door a bit wider. “Marshal Oakley tells me you came to Salt Valley after your husband died in
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