Page 17 of Fairest of Heart

She lifted her chin. “Where’s your badge?”

He wore a blue shirt and suspenders with brown trousers, but no star, tin or otherwise, glistened in the early morning light.

Mr. Kingsley’s eyes lit with respect, as if he viewed her suspicions as a sign of intelligence, not paranoia. A nice change. Most men of her acquaintance grew testy when a woman didn’t automatically accept their word as law.

“The state doesn’t give us badges.” He straightened his posture and slowly lowered his hands. “Some Rangers opt to make their own, but I haven’t seen the need.”

“How am I to know you’re telling me the truth, then?”

He might have a handsome visage and a friendly air about him, but a woman surrounded by seven men had few advantages, and she intended to hold on to the one she had for as long as possible.

“I carry papers.” His right hand moved toward his waist. “A Warrant of Authority and Descriptive List. I’ll show you, if you want.” His hand hovered above his trouser pocket as his eyes asked for permission.

Penelope nodded.

He extracted a sheet of paper folded into a square and held it out to her. Keeping the knife secured in her right hand, she reached out with her left. The moment her fingers closed on the edge of the paper, she realized exactly how little control she actually wielded. Mr. Kingsley stood at least half a foot taller than her medium height. His shoulders were broad, his chest and arms well-muscled. And his movements were so smooth and self-assured that she had no doubt he could disarm her in a heartbeat should he make the attempt. But he didn’t. He handed over his credentials and stepped back, giving her space to examine them without feeling trapped.

It took some finagling to unfold the paper while keeping half an eye on the scraggly bunch who watched her with rapt fascination. Thankfully, there was no leering among the group, despite her lack of proper attire. Just heavy curiosity with a bit of pity thrown in. She still didn’t enjoy being the focal point of so much scrutiny, though. Even if the fear she felt for her safety was beginning to subside.

Once she managed to get the paper open, she scanned the contents to verify the Ranger’s story. The preprinted form contained pertinent information scribed by hand into lined blanks.

WARRANT OF AUTHORITY AND DESCRIPTIVE LIST

The bearer is a member of Company B Frontier Battalion.

Name: Titus Kingsley

Rank: Private

Age: 23 years Height: 5 ft 11 ½ inches

Color of hair: Brown Color of Complexion: Light

Where born Fairfield, Texas Occupation: Rancher

Enlisted when October 15, 1888 Enlisted where Austin, TX

Enlisted by Sam McMurray

This Descriptive List, for identification, will be kept in possession of the Ranger to whom it refers and will be exhibited as a warrant of his authority as such, when called upon, and must be surrendered to his company commander when discharged.

The description certainly fit the man before her, but it hardly did him justice. Nowhere on the paper did it mention his competent demeanor, his kind eyes, or his soothing voice. It didn’t even mention his thick mustache or the small cleft in his chin. It did grant him a Ranger’s authority, however. An authority she no longer had reason to doubt.

Penelope refolded the paper and held it out to him. Only twenty-three when he’d enlisted four years ago. What would compel such a young man to enlist in the Frontier Battalion? Most men of that age were busy working the family farm, settling down with a young wife, or sowing wild oats. And wouldn’t an elite peacekeeping force like the Rangers be difficult to join? They must’ve sensed a powerful potential in Mr. Kingsley to award him a place in their ranks.

As he reclaimed the credentials, his gaze met hers. Her breath caught. Powerful potential, indeed. One that caused her pulse to flutter.

For heaven’s sake, Pen. Just because he’s protective and in possession of enough honor not to take advantage of a woman in less than favorable circumstances doesn’t mean there’s potential in the air. Certainly not of the romantic variety.

Nevertheless, she lowered her knife and slipped it inside the blanket and into the petticoat strap where she’d secured it before. If Mr. Kingsley and his merry band of elderly cowboys intended her harm, it would have befallen her by now.

“Are you injured?” The Ranger’s gaze traveled over her form as if searching for the answer himself.

All at once, she was hit by the realization of what she must look like to him. Completely unkempt. Covered in dirt and leaves. A rat’s nest for hair. Wrapped in a mud-brown blanket that undoubtedly carried streaks of actual mud. Had she truly considered potential for a romantic connection blooming between them? Potential for her delivery to the closest asylum was more likely.

Swallowing a sigh, she shook her head. “Just some scrapes and bruises. Nothing that won’t heal.”

His jaw tightened. “Who did this to you?”