Birdie's Nest

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Blurb

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Linda LaRoque

  Linda’s Bio

  Birdie’s Nest

  a Novel by

  Linda LaRoque

  Texas Ranger, Birdie Braxton boards the Brazos Belle to attend a costume party, gets tossed into the Brazos and when she's pulled from the river she's told the year is 1890. She can't accept that fact…until she looks across the river to see Birdie’s Nest, her ancestral home, no longer exists.

  Tad Lockhart is a content man—a prosperous rancher with a ladylove in Waco. He's not interested in marriage and family, yet…until he pulls an unconscious woman from the Brazos who insists she's a Texas Ranger from the year 2012.

  As romance blooms between Tad and Birdie, she struggles to earn enough money to build Birdie’s Nest, and Tad strives to mold Birdie into a Victorian lady suitable to be his wife. Can Birdie give up dabbling in police work and other unladylike pursuits yet stay true to herself? When faced with an indiscretion from Tad's past, is Birdie's love strong enough to support her man and be the woman he needs?

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, scanned, distributed, stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form, whether electronic or mechanical, either now known or developed in the future, without the express written permission of the author, except by a reviewer for review purposes.

  Birdie's Nest

  Copyright © 2013 by Linda LaRoque

  ISPN 9780989379205

  Edited By Judy Griffith Gill

  Cover Art Diana Carlile

  First Digital Edition April 2013.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work in whole or in part is illegal. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people unless in a qualified lending program. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the provider and purchase your own copy. Do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Thanks

  A special thank you to my husband Larry, my in-house editor, for reading my manuscripts time and again. And I don't even bake pies and cakes for him, as our waistlines say we don't need them. I'd like to recognize my high school friend, Mary Ellen Matthews, for being my beta reader. You were an immense help Mary Ellen and caught things I kept missing. And last but not least, Susan Owens for her clear-cut critiques.

  Acknowledgements

  I live in Waco, Texas, and had a wealth of information at my fingertips. I'm sure I missed plenty, but this book wasn't intended to be a historical depiction of the 1890s, however, I did want details to be as accurate as possible. And I do love the research aspect of writing and there will be other books.

  I found many places to visit to get a feel for what life was like in the Victorian Era and hope those little touches add flavor to my story. I'd like to list a few. One afternoon I toured "East Terrace," the J. W. Mann house. It was built in the 1870s and added on to at a later date. Surprisingly, the rooms in the house weren't near as large as what I considered a historical home along the Brazos should have. The location of "East Terrace" is very close to where I positioned "Birdie's Nest," though the two houses are not at all similar.

  Since my heroine is a Texas Ranger, I toured the Texas Ranger Museum. If you've read about the organization you know their duties, responsibilities and equipment have changed considerably since 1890. The museum holds artifacts from the early years up until today.

  The Texas Collection at Baylor University is a favorite place for history buffs, as well as serious researchers, to browse. I wanted to study the large maps, the BIRD'S EYE-VIEWS, of Waco during 1873, 1886, and 1892. They're made available online by AMON CARTER MUSEUM and I spent a great deal of time enlarging and studying them. Unfortunately, the man in charge of the maps wasn't available, so I looked through old telephone books from the late 1800s to the early 1900s. They were a goldmine. Earlier I'd found one reference online to a Waco City Hospital, and the hospital was marked on one of the online maps. So, the phone book gave me proof of the hospital's existence and its location.

  Books:

  Conger, Roger, N. A PICTORIAL HISTORY OF WACO, REVISED EDITION, Copyright 1964 by Texian Press, Waco, Texas, second edition 1998.

  Wilkins, Frederick, THE LAW COMES TO TEXAS, THE TEXAS RANGERS *1870-1901, The State House Press, Austin, Texas, Copyright 1999.

  Knight, Sherri and Pylant, James, Copyright 2011,Who's Who Among Early Waco's Pimps, Madams, Prostitutes & Shady Ladies, Jacobus Books, Stephenville, Texas.

  Online Articles:

  The Texas Rangers: From Horses to Helicopters - http://texasalmanac.com/history/texas-rangers-horses-helicopters

  http://wacohistoryproject.org/Moments/geralds.html

  http://en.wikipedia.org./William_Cowper_Brann

  http://www.ehow.com/info_early-crime-scene-investigation-tools.html

  http://www.santoshraut.com/forensichistory.htm

  The books and articles listed are only a few of those used.

  Birdie's Nest

  Chapter One

  June 1, 2012, Waco, Texas

  “Why Birdie, where’ve you been hiding all that… bounty?” Sergeant Ted Weaver, Birdie’s co-worker, whipped off his Stetson and laid the hat over his heart. His gaze raked her from head to toe, finally settling on her breasts. Birdie wanted to smack his grinning face. She snorted and covered the bare skin above the red strapless dress with her oversized handbag. It’d taken all the nerve she could garner to exit the ladies restroom in the sleazy garb. Tonight’s Victorian costume party dress paled in comparison to her current get-up. Everyone in the unit was counting on her to succeed this afternoon. But tonight her family home was at stake. She couldn’t afford to fail at either assignment.

  “Watch yourself, Weaver.” She slapped her thigh, where her thigh holster held her Ruger, with her free hand. “I can still pierce your ear for you.”

  His howls of laughter bounced off the walls. At least the other me
n in the office were courteous enough to bend their heads and try to hide their snickers.

  Being a woman in the Texas Rangers wasn’t easy. While some tolerated her, others ignored her. If she pulled off this afternoon’s assignment, where several male rangers had failed, maybe the stigma of being a woman in their ranks would lose some of its stink.

  Captain Smith barreled out of his office, face reddening. “Watch your step, Weaver. I’d be happy to write you up for sexual harassment of a fellow officer.”

  Ted sobered. “Sorry, Birdie. It’s just you so look the part.”

  “That’s the idea,” said the captain. He walked around Birdie taking in her teased hairdo with numerous colorful feathers woven into little braids. Red and gold rhinestone earrings bounced off her shoulders with each sigh and huff of indignation. The form-fitting scarlet dress barely covered her butt, and her breasts threatened to flop out of the neckline. She’d been so worried, she’d used spray-on body glue to insure what little dignity she had remained unexposed.

  “Great job, Sergeant.” He glanced down at her red rhinestone stiletto heels. “Can you walk in those things?”

  “Yes, though it won’t be pretty.”

  “And you’re wearing your Ruger and your Texas Ranger badge?”

  She nodded.

  His dark gaze pierced hers. “You be careful. Don’t take any chances. If the situation turns ugly, get your ass out of there.” He handed her the subpoena. She rolled up the paper and slid the document down between her breasts, her eyes daring Ted to comment. He grinned, but kept his mouth shut.

  “Don’t fret, sir. I don’t intend to get shot, or worse.”

  The captain turned to Ted. “Take Weaver with you for the recovery.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re on it.” And Birdie didn’t doubt he would be. Ted might be a clown on occasion, but when on the job, she trusted him explicitly.

  Forty-five minutes later, Birdie parked the vintage pink Volkswagen bug in the parking lot of Shady Brady’s Tavern on the outskirts of Robinson, a suburb of Waco. The establishment sat alone on a farm–to-market road amid tall oak trees. A fork of the Brazos ran behind the ramshackle beer joint, which still sported green asbestos siding and a rusted tin roof. Why Tony Trujillo, one of the most wanted drug kingpins in Texas, liked to hang out in a place like this, she didn’t have a clue. Hopefully their sources were right and he’d be here.

  She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. The false eyelashes were still intact and the red lipstick heavy enough to paint ten mouths. She fluffed her hair, filled her mouth with two pieces of bubble gum, and worked the wad into a manageable gob. Grabbing her handbag, she exited the car into the scorching June heat. Acting as if she did so every day, she tripped across the parking lot in her high heels and stepped into the cool interior.

  Darkness hampered her vision, and cigarette smoke and stale beer stole her breath. How did people breathe in this foul air? Conversation stopped and chairs scraped as the occupants turned. With all eyes following her progress, she lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and blew a big bubble. It popped, and she sucked the gum back into her mouth as she twitched her butt up to the bar. The bartender, brawny enough to serve as bouncer, regarded her approach with interest. She slid onto a barstool, put both elbows on the bar and leaned forward. His gaze dropped to her cleavage.

  “Hey, sugar, I’m a gift for Tony.” She winked. “He here?”

  Grinning, he nodded toward the back table.

  She blew him a kiss. “Thank ya’, darlin’.”

  With a sexy grin pasted on her face and as much swagger as she could muster in her walk, she sashayed toward Tony’s table, her gaze glued to the handsome, well-built man. A cigar hung from the side of his mouth. His blue eyes lit with interest as she approached. Eyes wary, he tilted his lips at the corners.

  She stopped beside his chair and let her fingers tiptoe over his shoulders. “Hi, sugar. I’m here to entertain you this evening.”

  He placed the stogie in the ashtray and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Is that right?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She turned her body outward, eased down, and sat on one of his legs, her breasts almost in his face. He reached up to fondle a breast, but she laced her fingers through his. “First, let me give you this.” She drew out the subpoena and slapped the document in his hand. “You’ve been served.”

  Before he could react, she was up and beating it out of the bar. When she arrived at the bug, she heard his bellow from the tavern door. “I’ll get you, bitch!”

  The Beetle threw gravel as she sped from the parking lot.

  * * *

  “Ouch, Aunt Patty! That’s tight enough.”

  “Now dear, we want you to be in authentic dress. No self-respecting young lady in the nineteenth century stepped out without wearing her corset.” Aunt Patty yanked again, and Birdie grabbed the bedpost to keep from falling back against the petite elderly woman. “There we go. That should do it.”

  Birdie hoped so. She could hardly breathe.

  Aunt Patty raised the mauve satin dress over Birdie’s head. She ducked to let the garment slide over, slipping her arms inside the leg-o-mutton sleeves as she did so; the only way she knew they were leg-o-mutton sleeves is her aunt told her so. Aunt Patty had given her a detailed description of the styles in the eighteen nineties. What a shame the older woman couldn’t take this journey down the Brazos today. She’d appreciate the ambience a heck of a lot more than Birdie.

  While her aunt did up the buttons in the back, Birdie studied her reflection in the mirror. No doubt the dress was a knockout, but she’d rather conduct business in a pants suit, better yet jeans and a T-shirt. The bodice was tight, hugging her breasts, and the neckline dipped to a V revealing a good amount of cleavage. She tugged, trying to pull it higher.

  “Leave the bodice alone. You look lovely.”

  “Isn’t it rather scanty to wear during the day?”

  “The neckline may be a little low, but not vulgar, and the color is perfect for day wear.”

  “I thought Victorians were conservative in their dress.”

  “Though their behavior was conventional, their clothing was quite extravagant.”

  “Where’d you find this dress, anyway?” No way had it come from Goodwill or a second hand shop.

  “One of my Daughters of the American Revolution friends told me about a vintage clothing store downtown. The dress just jumped out at me from the rack. It’s perfect. I didn’t look at another thing, except for the shoes.” She pulled a pair of low-heeled kid leather shoes in the same shade as the dress from a box. “The dress and shoes must have come in together as they’re an exact match.”

  Birdie shivered. This was just all a little too perfect to be coincidence—Victorian party, the perfect dress and shoes. Staring at her reflection, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. Creepy.

  “Aunt, what if I ruin the costume? It needs to be saved, maybe even be in a museum.”

  She huffed. “Sugar, I know you’re a tomboy at heart, but you’ve always been careful with clothes. I’m not worried.”

  “Well, I am,” Birdie muttered.

  “What’d you say, dear?”

  “Nothing, just mumbling.”

  “Well, stop. We don’t want folks to think you’re talking to yourself. You’ll never impress Mr. Samuelson that way. If you can’t convince him to build his hotel elsewhere, our home will be sitting in the middle of a resort complex.”

  If they didn’t find the money to pay this year’s taxes, the city of Waco might auction her home off on the courthouse steps. Sometimes Birdie wondered if trying to save the old plantation home was worth all the hassle. Every year or so they went through the same upheaval, but when she thought of all the history within her home’s walls, she couldn’t back down. She’d fight urban sprawl until her dying day.

  Losing their home would kill Aunt Patty. Birdie’s Nest was the only home she’d ever known. She’d been born here and would di
e here. The only surviving sibling of James Monroe Braxton, the maiden lady had raised Birdie after Birdie’s mother passed away when Birdie was ten years old. The home place had to be saved at all costs, and doing so was up to her.

  “Sit down, Birdie, and let me put up your hair.”

  Birdie angled her butt to perch on the vanity stool in spite of the bustle on the dress. She didn’t have a clue why the contraption had been popular. The style certainly didn’t make a woman’s silhouette more attractive.

  She closed her eyes and relaxed as Aunt Patty pulled the brush through the long strands of her hair. She’d had highlights and lowlights added to her dark blonde tresses last week, and it crackled and shone with health at each stroke of the brush. She’d always loved to have her hair brushed. They’d spent hours in front of the antique Birdseye maple vanity over the years.

  Her hair was pulled up in the back and formed curls on the top of her head, all held in place with hairpins. Then Aunt Patty placed a large hat, decorated with ribbons and feathers, tilted forward on her head and held in place with three hatpins, each at least twelve inches in length.

  Birdie frowned. “Isn’t three a little overkill?”

  “No dear. We want to make sure it stays in place.”

  “Or, if Samuelson won’t back off, they’ll make perfect murder weapons.”

  Patty giggled, reminding Birdie of a young girl. “Shame on you, young woman.” She lifted a brooch from her pocket. “Now, this pin has been passed down from your great-great-great grandmother and will be lovely on this dress.”