Brides of Noelle

by Kit Morgan

  Clint did his best not to stare at her shimmering dark locks under the green hat that matched her day dress and shawl. He did see her shift in her chair and look over her shoulder a few times. Was she trying to see where he was? Good thing he was straight behind her. Thankfully she was seated between Felicity Hammond and Seamus the barkeep, rather than some foul-minded miners. The Irishman was a decent sort and good protection from any lewd comments.

  But the men he’d heard spout such things weren’t in attendance, and the men that were, behaved themselves. They sang hymns, prayed, even made a few announcements about fellow miners they thought could use prayer for various ailments. There were also over a dozen women in attendance, most of them probably the new brides Rev. Hammond told him about. Not all of them, though – one woman there looked to be in her seventies.

  The service ended with a final hymn and prayer and the benediction. As soon as Rev. Hammond headed down the makeshift aisle, Miss Rathbone turned, her eyes locking on his. His heart pounded hard in his chest, and a smile erupted before he could stop it. Eyes bright, she smiled back. He looked away, wiped his hands on his trousers, then slowly made his way toward her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she said when he arrived.

  “Miss Rathbone.” He had a sudden image of bending at the waist, her hand in his, and kissing it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look elsewhere – in this case, at Mrs. Hammond. “Ma’am.”

  “Mr. Jones,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Will you join us for lunch?”

  “Lunch?” he echoed, sounding like a dolt.

  “Of course. You don’t want to walk all over town on an empty stomach, do you?”

  He nodded stiffly. “No, of course not.” For a moment he thought the reverend’s wife would be accompanying them. Not that it was a bad idea, especially after all the assumptions floating around in his head since his arrival. The last thing he wanted to do was damage Ophelia’s reputation. He smiled at her again. “I’m looking forward to you showing me around.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “So am I.”

  Next to her, Seamus snorted, glanced between them, then headed for the bar, shaking his head. Mrs. Hammond still wore a Mona Lisa smile. What was going on – were they hoping he and Miss Rathbone would hit it off? Great Scott, they weren’t playing matchmaker, were they? Was that what this was about? Worse, was that what Miss Rathbone thought it was about?

  He studied her a moment, looked into her eyes – great violet orbs of pure innocence, the same as always. The woman was like a delicate, unique flower in this place, ripe for the picking … he forced his gaze away, looking instead at the miners moving chairs out of the way. But they didn’t return the tables to their places, just cleared a large open space. “What are they doing?”

  By this time Rev. Hammond had rejoined them. “Best we head over to Nacho’s for a bite before the men get to their post-church activities.”

  “What activities?” Clint asked.

  The reverend offered his wife an arm, then nodded at Ophelia Rathbone. “Mr. Jones?”

  Clint sensed urgency in the man – for whatever reason, he was trying to get them out of the Golden Nugget as fast as possible. He offered Ophelia his arm and she took it, smiling shyly. She seemed so fragile – how could she survive in a place like this? And tarnation, he was thinking of her by her Christian name. Oh dear …

  The couples headed for the door just as a miner tossed back a shot of whiskey, turned to the man beside him – and punched him in the face! Several whoops rent the air and other miners repeated his action with whoever was near.

  Clint’s arm was around Ophelia so fast he didn’t think. He carried more than escorted her outside as the ruckus grew. “What was that?” he asked in shock.

  Rev. Hammond sighed. “It’s a Sunday afternoon tradition around here, I’m afraid.” He made a face. “The encroachment of civilization hasn’t cured them of it yet, but I have hopes for the future.”

  Clint exchanged a quick look with Ophelia, who seemed as bewildered as he felt. At least he wasn’t the only one confused. He kept his arm around her as they followed the Hammonds to the restaurant, and wondered if he could get away with not letting go for a while.

  Chapter Eleven

  Clint and Ophelia stared across the table at Chase and Felicity in shock. “You’re joking,” Clint said. “The men brawl after church?”

  “Alas,” Chase replied. “It is a saloon, after all. After the church is built, I can at least stop worrying about them bashing each other over the head with the hymnals.”

  Clint blinked a few times as he tried to grasp the situation. “They brawl. Every Sunday. After church. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Nothing I know of,” Chase sighed. “Mr. Jones, have you ever lived in a frontier mining town?”

  “Admittedly, no.”

  “Respectability takes time, which is why I enlisted the aid of Genevieve Walters – now Genevieve Kinnison – last September. Her contributions have helped a lot … but we still have a way to go.”

  Clint glanced at Ophelia, and sure enough, they both looked astonished.

  “I can see how easily it was for you to have that little misunderstanding we spoke about earlier,” the reverend went on.

  That got Clint’s attention. He straightened in his chair. “Enough said. I assure you, that won’t happen again.”

  “I’m glad we see eye to eye on that,” Chase said. “I’d like you to take a gander at the rest of the town, gather an honest opinion and put that in your report.”

  Clint nodded. “I will.”

  Ophelia looked at him. “What report? And what misunderstanding?”

  “Clint is here to see if Noelle meets the criteria to have a branch of the Wells Fargo bank in town,” Chase explained. “You don’t mind if the ladies know, do you? After all, the whole town will probably know by sunset.”

  Clint shook his head and smiled. “No, I don’t mind. Not anymore.”

  Ophelia studied him a moment. “You’re an agent for Wells Fargo?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “How do you know about agents?”

  “My father’s J.T. Rathbone.”

  Clint’s gut went cold. Ophelia was the daughter of J.T. Rathbone, one of the biggest big wheels at Wells Fargo & Co.?! Her father was his boss’ boss’ boss! And to think he’d thought she was a whore. For a moment, he wanted to hide under the table. But wait a minute – what in tarnation was she doing here in Noelle instead of in Denver with her family? Would they let her move to a frontier town just to help her friend Felicity?

  “Mr. Jones?” she prompted.

  Clint smiled while watching Chase Hammond, whose eyes darted between him and Ophelia as his eyebrows slowly rose. “Ophelia shares a lot of the same interests as my wife,” the reverend finally said. “The same passion for helping women who are less fortunate. I believe I mentioned earlier about Mrs. Kinnison’s mission work?”

  “Yes, you did,” Clint looked at Ophelia again. “You’re helping this Mrs. Kinnison? A noble cause.”

  “Oh yes, it is.” Her face brightened, but then the light in her eyes faded. Clint wondered what could be wrong. Perhaps he’d find out later when she showed him around town. He was more curious than ever, now that he knew who her father was. But mission work or no, J.T. Rathbone didn’t seem the type to let his precious daughter run off to a frontier town. Did he know where she was? Had she run away? He took a breath, willing himself to stay calm. What if Rathbone had no idea where she was? Was he looking for her?

  As Nacho brought their orders, Clint realized he’d have to find out quickly what her story was. He was due to send his report soon, and he couldn’t recall seeing a telegraph office in town. Therefore, he’d have to question her, find out why she left Denver, and see if he needed to bring her back there along with his hand-delivered report. However, if she was of age and here of her own free will, there was nothing he could do unless Mr. Rathbone hired him in an official capac
ity – or it had some connection to bank business.

  Clint ate in silence as Chase and his wife chatted about this and that. Ophelia too was quiet, and he caught her stealing glances at him between bites. She liked him, he was sure of it, and the feeling was mutual. But with this new development, he didn’t dare let himself get too close.

  * * *

  Ophelia tried not to look at Clint Jones sitting beside her, but it was hard not to. Thankfully, his mind was on his food and he took little notice of her. The poor man must be starved. But soon the meal was finished and it was time to stroll around and show him the town.

  The thought made her nervous – she hadn’t been in town much longer than he had. What could she say about it? Why did Chase and Felicity ask her to act as tour guide? And hadn’t the man already seen all there was to see in Noelle? Then again, she shouldn’t question her friend. She did ask Felicity the night before to help her present herself in the best possible light, to teach her how to be attractive to a man.

  Though freezing while traipsing around the tiny burg wasn’t Ophelia’s idea of how to do that. For heaven’s sake, her nose might turn red and start to run, her teeth would be chattering, and she didn’t know much of interest about the town. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Couldn’t she and Mr. Jones just go somewhere warm for a cup of tea? Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers …

  “Are you ready?” Mr. Jones asked, startling her out of her lament.

  “Yes,” she said brightly, then noticed the bemused smiles on Chase and Felicity’s faces. Sure, they could afford to smile – they weren’t about to spend who knew how long out in the cold. Mr. Jones went to the coat rack by the door, removed hers and brought it over. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He helped her into it. “I see it fits you well now.”

  “What? Oh yes – Mrs. Peregrine took it in the other day. You remember I mentioned I was taking it to her.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I do.” He put on his own coat and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Ophelia cast a last glance at Chase and Felicity, who were grinning like the Cheshire Cat. But she’d asked for help, and they were nice enough to accommodate. If she wanted to get to know Clint Jones better, she’d have to spend time with him. Maybe doing so would also change his mind about leaving town. And though she was attracted to him, she wanted to make sure he was worth being attracted to. That would take time.

  She braced herself against the cold February wind as they left Nacho’s restaurant. “Which way should we go?”

  “This way.” He pointed up the street.

  “But there’s nothing that way except the barber and the road out of town.”

  “And the proposed church site Rev. Hammond talked about during lunch. That’s what I’d like to see first.”

  She’d been so busy peeking at him between bites, she hadn’t listened to what Chase had been talking about. “All right. I could also show you the abandoned building we hope to use for the women’s mission. We’re still waiting on Mrs. Kinnison’s approval, once she gets back.”

  “Fine, let’s go.” She wrapped her arm around his and he pulled tight against him. Considering the wind and cold, she didn’t mind a bit, even if it was improper. Besides, she could let herself imagine what it would be like to have him do this every day. They set off, lowering their heads against the wind. Several times Ophelia had to hold her hat in place. What she really needed was a good woolen scarf to wrap around her head and neck, but she had no clue how to knit, so she’d have to buy one instead.

  She pushed the thought from her mind as they came to the fork in the road. “There,” she said above the wind, pointing to an empty piece of land ahead. “That’s where Rev. Hammond wants to put the church. The parsonage would be next to it.”

  “Looks like a good spot,” he replied. He turned toward the other street, which led to Mayor Hardt’s empty building across the street from La Maison. Ophelia wondered if he’d been to this part of town since he arrived, and her heart sunk at the thought. Was he the kind of man to seek comfort in the arms of a soiled dove?

  “Is that the place you had in mind for the mission?” he asked as they reached the abandoned rough wooden structure.

  “Yes,” she said. She steered him toward it – and away from La Maison – seeking the shelter of the building’s front porch to get out of the wind.

  Once they were there, he looked it over, went to a window and peeked through. “I can’t see a thing.” He tried the door.

  “I’m afraid it’s … oh,” She cut herself off as he opened the door she thought was locked. “Oh dear. Felicity must have forgotten to lock it after our last visit.”

  “We’ll have to remind her. But it’s a vacant building, so I doubt anyone will disturb it.” He poked his head inside. “Can you show me around?”

  “Oh, but isn’t that … I mean …?”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry, Ophelia, I’m harmless. I just want to see what you’ve planned.” He stepped inside, pulled her in out of the wind, closed the door and shivered. “Brrr!” He rubbed his hand over her arm and pulled her closer. “At least it’s better in here than out there.”

  “Yes,” she replied through chattering teeth. “Well, this is the downstairs. It, um … used to be a saloon. But it’s a nice big room.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s good, right? You ladies can do a lot with this.”

  “That’s our hope,” she said with a smile. She enjoyed talking about plans for the mission. “But Mrs. Kinnison has the final say – she’s the expert.”

  “It would be easier to use this than to have to build new. Certainly cheaper. Are there rooms upstairs like at the Golden Nugget?”

  “Not as many.” She noticed he still had his arm around her. “This building isn’t as big as … that one.” She swallowed as she began to get warmer.

  “No, doesn’t look like it.” He turned and looked at her, one arm still around her shoulders. “Is this what you’re passionate about, Ophelia?”

  She stared up at him, enjoying the sound of her name in his voice. “You said Ophelia.”

  He smiled. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

  She blushed. “Yes, it’s just …”

  “Please, call me Clint.”

  Ophelia smiled again. “All right, I suppose there’s no harm in it. Noelle isn’t Denver.”

  Clint glanced around. “No, it’s not. But now I think with a little time and effort, this town can make something of itself.”

  “Now? What did you think of it before?”

  He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, his breaths visible in the frigid air.

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” She might as well get it over with. Besides, she did need to practice being bolder, and that was a bold question.

  He licked his lips and looked around again. “You know what agents do, don’t you?”

  “It depends on the bank – how big they are, how many branches, that sort of thing. What kind of agent are you? Who do you work for?”

  If it wasn’t so dark, she’d swear he’d just gone pale. He took a deep breath. “Ophelia, why are you here?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you leave Denver? Your father’s an important man – why did he let you come all the way out here?”

  “Oh, that,” she said flatly. “I … well, we had a falling out.”

  He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “Bad?”

  She nodded. She wasn’t going to lie – what would be the sense in it? “I can’t go back to Denver. When Felicity invited me to come for a visit, I had nowhere else to go.”

  He put his free hand on her shoulder. “She didn’t know about this?”

  “Not until I arrived and told her – it was all very sudden. But I’m getting to like the town, I have a chance to further the cause, and she and Chase are …” She snapped her mouth shut.

  “They’re what?”

  She pressed her lips together as if to keep the words from s
pilling out, but caught herself. Be bold, Ophelia, bold! “… are trying to find me a husband.”

  He didn’t move, which she found reassuring. If he thought that Chase and Felicity considered him a good match but he didn’t like the idea, one would think he’d back away. But Mr. Jo … Clint stayed as close as before. She liked having him near, and smelling the wool of his coat, the snow in his hair, his earthy masculine scent. It made her feel safe.

  “Have they succeeded?” he asked.

  She jumped. “Oh!”

  Clint laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pulled her into his arms, looking her in the eye for a moment. She looked back, trying to guess what he was thinking, but the dim light from the windows wasn’t enough to see well. Though it didn’t seem to bother him.

  “Have they?” he asked softly. “Found you a husband?”

  “No – they seem to be in short supply here, unless I’m willing to marry a miner. Which I’d rather not.” She put a hand on his chest, but that felt too bold and she quickly lowered it. “There was a man the mayor invited to dinner the night we were also dining with him, but he couldn’t come.”

  “What man was that?”

  Ophelia stared up at him. “I don’t know. Not a miner, though.”

  Clint stared at the wall behind her for a moment. “Hmm, I think I know who. But never mind about him.” He looked at her again. “Do you want to stay here in Noelle, Ophelia?”

  “As I said, I have nowhere else to go. And I want to help Felicity finish what she and I have started. There’s so little opportunity here for women, but so much potential.”

  He still held her shoulders as he stepped closer. “And you’ll marry here? Start a family, go to church on Sundays, belong to whatever sort of clubs and committees the women start here? Never to return to Denver again?”

  She stared at him. “Well, I suppose, though if my father and I … wait, why are you asking?” She straightened, her hands going to her hips. “Clint Jones, what are you up to?”