Thanks go to Cal Gal for betaing. All remaining silliness is my own.

Teaser

Rain.

Not a drizzle. Not a sprinkle. Not a shower. Not even a downpour really. "How can rain come down like this, Jim? How can gravity pull the water down this hard? You know what this is like? It's like someone is up there loading the water into a Gatling gun and firing it down on us!"

Hats didn't help. Ponchos didn't help. Everything - every single blessed thing - was wet. Not damp. Not moist. Soaked. Drenched. Sopping. Swimming. Hair was wet. Clothes were wet. Socks inside the boots? Oh, sodden!

"Have you ever seen weather like this? You know what I think, Jim? I think it's one of those storms from down in the tropics. One of those hurricanes? I think it's spun ashore here, found us, and decided it would just sit on top of us. Because it likes us, huh?"

On they rode through this world of wet. The rain lashed at the trees, strewing pine needles over and around the men and their horses. The incessant water swirled the red clay into rusty rivulets and thick clinging mud.

Rain! It had still been dry sunny weather at mid-morning when they had arrested Devon Ramsey, turned him over to the sheriff at Tyler, then started out on their horses to return to the train up at Dallas. But no sooner had they gotten out here in the middle of nowhere than this storm had blown up, dogging them, making them miserable. And Artie's misery kept pouring out of his mouth.

"It couldn't possibly be wetter," he declared, "if we were riding at the bottom of the ocean. Slower either."

"Artie."

"Probably about the same amount of visibility, too."

"Artie…"

"And what's up there, anyway - buckets? 'Cause it feels like continually buckets are being poured over our heads!"

"Artie!"

"Hmm?"

Jim aimed a steady look at his old friend. "Could you maybe find something to talk about other than the weather?"

"Well sure, Jim, sure." Artie was silent just long enough to draw a fresh breath, then went off on a new topic. "Funny thing about this part of Texas. The Piney Woods, they call it. Of course you can see why. But the funny thing is, what with all the pines around and the red clay under foot, you'd just about think we were in the state of Georgia instead of in Texas. In fact I understand that one of the towns in this area is named Atlanta." He shivered and added, "It doesn't have to be Atlanta, but I sure hope we come to some town soon. Somewhere we can get under a roof. I don't think we'll make it back to the Wanderer before nightfall, and I really don't relish having to make camp out in the open in this weather."

"Artie."

"Well, I'm sorry, Jim! I tried changing the subject…"

"No, Artie. What's that?"

Jim was reining up, so Artie did as well and looked in the direction Jim indicated. Off to their right was a break in the underbrush along the side of the road. "Looks like an old wagon path." Both men peered along the weed-choked byway, trying to see through the sheets of rain to discern where that old road led.

"There's a gate."

"I think you're right."

As one they turned their horses down the old track, heading for the gate. Where there was a gate, there would likely be buildings beyond. Even if the place turned out to be deserted - and the path itself certainly looked in a poor state of upkeep - surely there would be enough of a roof left to get themselves and their horses in out of the wet, wouldn't there?

They drew up at the gate and Jim dismounted to check for a lock. There was none, only a latch which he easily opened. Meanwhile, Artie was squinting up through the rain at the signboard above the gate. "Las Flores," he read. "No brand symbol, so it probably isn't - or wasn't - a ranch." They passed through the gate, Jim relatched it and mounted up again, and the pair rode on only a short way before the path opened out into a yard.

Directly in front of them was the house, a large Georgian building with a wrap-around porch, the roof of which provided a railed balcony for the second floor. All around the lower two floors at regular intervals stood tall casement windows, the sort that can open fully to let cooling breezes flow through the structure on the endless summer days of Texas, while from the roof a trio of dormer windows poked skyward. Azalea bushes grew thickly round the porch. The paint on the house was a bit patchy in spots, but the place seemed to be in good repair. Off to the right was a large stable and corral, also in fairly good shape. And beyond the yard in every direction, pines and more pines.

They rode up to the house, dismounted, wrapped their horses' reins at the hitching rail, then climbed the steps and came to the door. There was no light in evidence at any of the front windows.

"What do you think?" said Artie. "Abandoned?"

With a shrug, Jim said, "We'll find out," and rapped the knocker.

And they waited.

Nothing.

Jim rapped again. Shortly a hint of light glimmered through the windows. Next came the sound of the lock turning over, then the door opened.

And in the doorway, to the men's appreciative surprise, stood a lovely young woman: auburn-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked, dressed in simple style. She held up the lamp in her hand, looked at the two strangers, and said, "May I help you?" A few steps behind her, staring with curiosity, was a stocky teenaged boy, darker-haired than the girl, but with the same eyes and a similarity of features that declared them to be brother and sister.

Both Jim and Artie had doffed their hats as soon as they saw the girl. "Good afternoon, miss," said Jim. "My friend and I were caught in the storm and were hoping for somewhere to get in out of the rain." He smiled at her winningly, as did Artie.

"Just a moment," said the vision of loveliness. Half turning, she called to the boy, "Jamie, go get Ma." The boy nodded and hurried off to a door at the back of the spacious entryway. Light spilled from the doorway in the second it took him to pass through it.

Turning back, the young woman said, "I'm sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting out on the porch, but I mustn't invite strangers in without my mother's permission."

After a brief and awkward silence, the far door opened again, fleetingly silhouetting the three figures who now came through it. First was the boy, and right after him a cheerful-looking little dumpling of an older woman - light-haired she was, but whether the hair was blonde or white was hard to say. Her face was so like the children's as to make it plain this was their mother.

And the third figure was another girl, younger than the boy, her long honey-gold hair loose around her face as if to make a curtain for her to hide under. Her eyes, blue like the rest, were absolutely huge as she peeked out at the strangers from behind her mother's skirts. Artie instantly grinned at the child, waggling his eyebrows and giving her a wink. The huge eyes went even rounder - and then she vanished from sight behind her mother.

Oh well, thought Artie.

"This is my mother," the young woman was saying.

"Welcome to Las Flores, gentlemen," the mother smiled. "I'm Iris Anders. Do come in."

Both thanked her, then paused to strip off their dripping ponchos and leave them out on the porch before entering the house.

"My name is James West, and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon."

"How do you do, Mrs Anders?"

"How nice to meet you," the older woman returned. "And these are my children: Liliana." That was the lovely young woman. "Jamie." The boy, as they already knew. "And Rose…" Mrs Anders looked around. "Why, where is Rose? She was here a moment ago. Wasn't she?"

"Oh Ma," said the boy, "you know how she is."

"I apologize, gentlemen. My youngest doesn't mean to be rude. She's simply extremely shy around strangers."

"And friends," the men heard the boy mutter. "And just about anybody else who's not one of the three of us."

Mrs Anders shot the boy a frown. "Jamie, why don't you take the gentlemen's horses off to the stable and see to them?"

"Oh, I can do that," Artie volunteered. "There's no need for the boy to get wet when I'm already soaked." Pulling his poncho back on, Artie stepped back out into the downpour, tossed the saddlebags up onto the porch for Jim to deal with, then collected his horse and Jim's, and led them off to the stable.

As he reached it, much to his surprise, the door was opened for him by a damp young Jamie. "How'd you get here so fast?" Artie blurted.

"Came out through the kitchen," the boy replied. "What a handsome black Quarter horse!" he exclaimed, admiring Jim's horse.

"Careful! He's mighty spirited. Here, you take Henry and let me handle Blackjack." He passed the reins over, and after shedding his hat and poncho, he followed as the boy led the way past a couple of already occupied stalls and on to some empty ones. Artie set about removing Blackjack's tack, watching unobtrusively as the boy did the same for Henry. Soon satisfied that the kid knew his way around horses, Artie settled into the rhythm of grooming Blackjack, talking to the big fellow quietly and soothingly as he curried the horse's gleaming black coat.

As the two worked, Artie commented, "Nice stable your family has here. Very roomy. How many horses do you have?"

Jamie shrugged. "Only the two anymore. Moone - that's the pinto - for riding, and Chestnut for the carriage."

Artie gave a soft chuckle. "You named the chestnut Chestnut?"

"Yeah, well, it was my sister's idea." The boy sighed. "You should have seen the place before Pa died. We had Percherons!"

Artie's eyes flicked to the boy's face. How casually he had dropped in such a large fact! "Percherons," he repeated.

"To draw the wagons with, yeah. See," said the boy, waving an expansive arm, "Pa ran Las Flores as a tree farm, and we had these huge wagons to move the logs on. Forty-two acres of pines!" His eyes shone with pride.

"What happened?" Artie asked quietly.

The boy paused in the middle of currying Henry. "Well… Pa went out one afternoon and apparently decided to cut a tree down all by himself. Don't know why, 'cause he'd never done a thing like that before." Concentrating on brushing the horse, Jamie added, "The first we knew of it was when Rosie came running up to the house, crying. We all followed her out into the woods and, and, well… there was the tree, and there was the ax, and there was, uh, Pa. Under the tree."

Silence. The only sound for a while was that of the currycombs as the two continued brushing down the horses.

Finally Artie asked gently. "When did this happen?"

The boy, having regained his composure, answered, "Coming up on four years ago."

Four… Artie recalled the little big-eyed girl he'd tried to befriend in the house. "Rose found her pa dead?"

Jamie nodded.

"Poor kid! How old was she?"

"Six."

Artie winced. No six-year-old child ought to make that kind of discovery!

"She's never been the same since," Jamie went on. "She doesn't talk. Not one word, from that day to this. Doesn't play with me anymore. Doesn't like people - especially men. She spends all her time either clinging to Ma, or else playing with the critters. See, we've got some blue-tick hounds, and the two horses of course, and a little mama cat that lives here in the stable with her new kittens. Rosie likes them." Finishing with Henry, the boy put away the currycomb, stared off at nothing for a bit, then added softly, "You know, the day I lost my Pa, I lost my little sister too."

Artie finished up in silence, then helped the boy as he looked in on his family's horses. Soon satisfied that all four horses were well set for the night, Jamie picked up a lantern and silently gestured for Artie to follow him. Moving quietly, the boy led the way the length of the stable until, coming up on a little nook, they heard high pitched mewing. Jamie raised the lantern so Artie could have a look.

There in a pile of hay was a little moon-faced gray tabby cat with three little tabby kittens - one orange, one gray and black, and the last one gray and brown like its mother. The babies were actively mewing and crawling about on their tiny unsteady legs. Sitting with them, rhythmically stroking the mama cat, with a candle set on a shelf above her head, was Rose.

The girl raised a hand to block the lantern light, frowning at her brother's intrusion.

"Rosie, you know you gotta be careful with that candle out here!" Jamie scolded.

She scowled at him more ferociously. Then she abruptly caught sight of the brown-eyed stranger standing behind her brother and shot Jamie a glare that was nigh on murderous before shrinking back and hiding under her hair.

Artie stepped up beside Jamie and hunkered down in the hay, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his hands hang limp, in very much the sort of stance he would take when trying to make friends with a stray animal. Smiling gently, speaking softly, he said, "Those sure are some pretty kittens. May I hold one?"

The girl only regarded him silently, huge eyes under golden hair. Artie reached out and took up the kitten that was closest to him, the little orange one. Cradling the tiny baby in one hand while stroking its soft round head with a finger, he said, "These are very new kittens, aren't they? Couple of weeks old?"

That caught the girl's attention, and her brother's too. "How do you know that?" Jamie asked, hunkering down as well.

"Well see," said Artie, "their eyes are open, so they're more than one week old. But their heads are still round and their ears very tiny still, so they can't be much older than a couple of weeks." Continuing to smile winsomely and to keep his voice gentle, Artie added, "Have you ever noticed how fast a kitten's ears grow? First the ears are tiny little nubbins like these, and next thing you know, the ears are huge triangles that the rest of the kitten has to do a lot of growing to catch up with!" He shot a twinkly-eyed glance at Rose; she was watching and listening warily, but with obvious interest.

"I bet this kitten's a tom, huh?" said Artie.

"Aw, we can never tell," said Jamie. "They hafta get a lot older 'fore we can ever figure out which are girls and which are boys."

"True," said Artie agreeably, "but orange kitties are toms some three-quarters of the time." Holding the kitten up to look it in the eye, he said to it, "Of course, it's not impossible that you could be an orange queen."

"Queen?" said Jamie.

"Well sure. Girl cats are called queens." Giving the little girl another twinkly-eyed smile, Artie quipped, "You're petting royalty there, Rose Petal."

The girl started and stared at him, and Jamie gave a gasp. "How'd you know that?" he exclaimed.

Amazed by the children's strong reactions, Artie whispered to the boy, "Um… what did I do?"

"You called her Rose Petal!"

"So?"

"So that was Pa's special nickname for her. No one else ever called her that, just Pa." The boy took a moment to compose himself again, then said, "Rosie was Pa's little girl. Always following him around everywhere. Always."

It took Artie a second to catch what Jamie was getting at. Leaning close to the boy so the girl wouldn't overhear him, he whispered, "So you think she didn't just find him that day?"

Jamie nodded unhappily and whispered back, "Yeah. I think she was with him when it happened."

Artie regarded the silent little girl, thinking once again, poor kid! He stretched a hand out toward her automatically, but she shrank back from it. Switching hands, he then held the orange baby out to her. "Here's your kitten, Rose Petal," he said.

She eyed him for a bit, then reached out and allowed him to pass the tiny baby into her hand, being careful, Artie noted, that their hands never touched. Swiftly Rose pulled the kitten back, bringing it up to her face for a quick kiss before setting it down tenderly next to the mama cat, who immediately started washing the little one.

They all watched the queen tend to her babies for a while. Then Artie said, "I like cats. Every so often we've had a cat on the train."

"Train?" said Jamie, his eyes lighting up.

"Oh yes. My friend Mr West and I live on a train. We're lawmen and have to travel around a lot. But there was this one cat in particular I was thinking of. Big fluffy orange tabby. In fact, I called him Tabby. He stowed away on our train when we were in Denver and he traveled with us for a long time. He went all the way east with us to Washington, DC, and then back out west again - until finally we got back to Denver once more."

He had been about to tell the children how he had carried the cat off the train and set it on the ground with one last pat and a cheerful, "There you go, Tabby!" and of his last sight of the cat strolling away, tail held high. But then he changed his mind and let his ever-fertile imagination improve on the truth.

"Once we were back in the cat's home city, I took out an ad in the newspaper describing the tom and inviting his owner to come claim him. And who should show up but a very sweet little lady about your age, Rose Petal. Her name was, ah, Sylvia. She scooped Tabby up and hugged him and kissed him." His eyes twinkled. "And called him George."

"Bet she was real glad to have her cat back," said Jamie, caught up in the story.

"Oh she was!" Artie replied. Looking at Rose, he said, "Little girls just love their kitties, don't they?" And he smiled, his eyes inviting her to smile back.

There was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that might have been the beginning of a smile. But then she dodged back to hide under her hair again, stroking the little kitten that looked like the mama cat.

Somewhere a dinner bell rang.

"C'mon, Rosie," the boy said, hopping to his feet, "it's time to eat."

Artie came to his feet as well, from long habit reaching out a polite hand to help the girl up. She shot the big man a glare and stood up under her own power. Jamie grabbed both lantern and candle and led the way back to the stable door.

"Well," said Artie as he picked up his poncho, "from the sound of it, I'd say it's still raining pitchforks and plow handles out there. Miss Rose Petal, would you care to wear my poncho to avoid getting soaked?"

She gave a tight shake of her head. Immediately her brother said, "Hey, if she doesn't want it, I do!"

Artie handed off the poncho, then took up his hat, started to put it on, abruptly changed his mind, and dropped it onto Rose's head instead.

The girl snatched it back off again and glared at him. "Rose," Artie said gently, "I'm just trying to keep you from getting so wet."

She held the glare a few seconds longer before it softened, then dissipated. She turned the hat in her hands, looking at it. Finally she put it back on. It was much too big for her, of course; she could barely see out.

Still, she had accepted it, and that was a first step. Artie flung the door open, waited for Jamie to blow out candle and lantern, then called out, "All right, kids. Let's see if we can run between the raindrops!" And the three of them took off charging for the house.

…

The kitchen was bright and cheery, and even better, dry and warm. The fire blazed merrily; near it, on racks, were the contents of the men's saddlebags, steaming themselves dry.

Mrs Anders gathered the hat and poncho from the children and hung them on the racks as well. "Go on up and change out of those wet things before we eat, children," she said. "And, Jamie, show Mr Gordon to the Green Room. Mr Gordon," she added, "I've laid out a dressing gown for you to use until your own things are dry. Just bring the wet clothes down, and we'll add them to the racks."

Shortly family and guests were gathered in the dining room. Jim, also in a dressing gown, managed to claim the chair next to Liliana, while Artie, deliberately seating himself alongside Rosie, quickly found himself sandwiched between the younger girl and her brother.

The fare was plain but hearty. As for the conversation, even though he was trying not to, Artie soon dominated it. Jamie brought up the train, which led to a few stories about life on the road. And whenever Artie wound up one topic, Jim would prompt him to another, so that the stories went on well into the night. For all that Jim was keeping Artie talking, though, Artie was noticing that Jim's attentions were concentrated on Liliana. And she seemed to be enjoying his interest - though she also seemed to be careful not to encourage him.

At length the clock struck eleven. With a cry of "Mercy! Look at the time!" Mrs Anders rose and began to clear the table, Liliana immediately coming to her aid. "Jamie, you and Rose get on to bed," their mother ordered, adding, "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good night, Mrs Anders," said Artie. And Jim added, "Liliana," in a tone of voice that made the young woman blush - and her mother frown.

"Careful, Jim," Artie murmured once they reached their rooms at the top of the stairs, "or you'll get us thrown back out into the storm."

"Well, if you would flirt with the mother, perhaps she wouldn't notice so much me trying to make time with the daughter," said Jim, a twinkle in his eye.

Artie shot his partner a fishy look. "Yeah right, Jim!"

"Come on, Artie. I've seen you flirt with some of the most monstrous women on the face of the earth. Iris Anders is a picnic compared to them."

"True, true. But that was in the course of duty. It's one thing to pump some woman for information or provide a distraction when we're in the middle of a case. This isn't a case. Besides," he added, "I'm already trying to befriend Rose."

"Rose! Are you serious? I mean, you've dated some really young ladies, Artie, but…"

"Oh, ha ha ha, James. I didn't say 'date.' Now listen." And he filled Jim in on everything Jamie had told him out in the stable.

"So you're trying to bring her out of her shell?"

"Yeah. Pretty much. She's certainly a challenge."

"But, Artie, we'll be moving on as soon as the weather breaks. How much good do you think you can do her in such a short time?"

Artie shrugged. "Who knows? But she's already thawed a little bit." He smiled. "Consider it my good deed for the day." And giving his partner a friendly clout on the shoulder, he said, "Well, good night, James my boy! See you in the morning!"