High Plains Passion

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  The tepid, grimace-like smile on Lydia's pretty face did nothing to reassure him.

  Chapter 2

  Lydia regarded her teeming restaurant and couldn't help smiling. The five years she'd spent in Garden City – almost six now – had been some of the best in her life. It's an unusual town to let women do as much as we do here. My café. Kristina's church music. Becky's shop. When I got off the train at this stop and there was no lunch, I made a snap decision, and look at me now. Half a decade later, the train passengers who stopped in Garden had the opportunity to join locals for whatever she felt like putting on. Sandwiches, soups, casseroles and stews left locals and passers-through alike full and smiling, which in turn made Lydia feel like she'd made a small but positive contribution to the world. Breakfast had been a more recent but equally popular venture. This morning, farmhands, local business men and women and some overnight guests from the hotel sat slurping coffee and munching toast.

  The door opened with its usual raucous bang. A young couple stepped carefully over the warped threshold and perched in wobbly chairs near the window. The man's golden hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the glass she'd just finished washing. His handsome face had the ruggedness associated with working outdoors, as did his slim, wiry physique revealed by tight denim. He held the hand of a petite redhead with a wild look in her eyes and a suspicious curve in the lower part of her bodice.

  Lydia approached them. Noting the strained, exhausted look on both of their faces, she guessed and brought two cups of coffee with her.

  Setting the mugs down on the wobbly table, she turned to the gentleman.

  “Two of the egg and cinnamon roll plates, please, ma'am,” he said in the flat, broad accent the locals of the town all seemed to have. He's from around here, Lydia deduced.

  “Right away,” she replied. “Are you two just passing through?”

  The blond fellow glanced at his lady, who was sucking down her coffee as fast as she could.

  “Tell ya what, ma'am. My girl is starving. Me too. Bring the food, and I'll tell you the whole story.”

  Lydia raised her eyebrows at his bluntness. This one gets right to the point, doesn't he? She glanced at the girl. She looks hungry enough to eat a whole buffalo.

  Bustling into the kitchen, Lydia wiped her brow against the choking heat of the oven, from which blasts of cinnamon-yeast-brown sugar sweetness crept to wander the street and tease people into the restaurant. Lydia grabbed a towel from the wooden counter beside the oven and dragged out two pans, setting them aside to cool and tossing two more, their contents limp and sickly pale, inside to begin the transformation into something delicious.

  Grabbing a thick white ceramic plate, she wielded a fork to separate out the best rolls –from the center of the pan – placing one for each of her intriguing customers. A quick toss of butter into a hot skillet, she cracked the eggs, salted, added a few drops of water and popped on the lid. Two minutes later the breakfast was ready. She admired the plates for a moment. Though the heat and the excess of food robbed Lydia of her appetite before the morning rush even began, she had to admit the breakfast before her looked appealing. The cinnamon rolls stood tall, fluffy and enticing against the ceramic, and beside them two sunny side up eggs gleamed. With a grin she grabbed her two bribes – information worth talking about was hard to come by in a town this small – and returned to the relative coolness of the dining room.

  The second the plate landed in front of her, the young lady pounced, tearing a generous bite off the roll and popping it in her mouth. The man punctured the yolk of his egg and took a bite. Once he'd swallowed it, he turned the proprietress and said, “We're not passing through, Miss…”

  “Carré. Lydia Carré,” she explained, wondering what he meant.

  The man dipped his chin as he chewed his egg. “Miss Carré. I'm from here. Growing up, I was close friends with Wesley Fulton, Allison Spencer…”

  “And Kristina Williams!” Lydia exclaimed as all the pieces fell into place. “You must be Jesse West. I've heard so much about you!” She beamed. Dylan's going to have a heart attack… in a good way.

  “Williams? I don't know any Kristina Williams,” Jesse replied.

  Right, he's been away a while. “Oh, I mean Kristina Heitschmidt, or she was. She got married back in January.”

  Jesse gaped. “Kristina got married? I'm shocked she didn't tell me!” He looked shocked too, and a bit hurt. Well, they were close friends, or so I've heard.

  Lydia hastened to explain with a grin. I love this story. It's the perfect kind of gossip – the kind that makes everyone happy and you can spread with impunity. “Yeah, the new pastor just sort of swept her off her feet. He came in November and they were married before Christmas. Soooo romantic.” The tender story of Kristina's unexpected suitor caused a pang in Lydia's own heart. Wonder if my turn will ever come. She sighed.

  “Amazing,” Jesse mumbled. “I almost can't believe it.”

  “Why?” the young lady asked. The cinnamon roll had disappeared from her plate and her eyes no longer looked quite so wild.

  “She's… listen, Addie, don't get me wrong. Kristina is a wonderful person. Kind and talented and strong. But she's… well she's not exactly pretty.”

  Addie made a face that mirrored Lydia's sour feeling. “So what? I think, if anyone, a pastor would be able to see beyond such shallow concerns.”

  I like this girl. She's open-hearted. Goodness knows there are too few of them in the world. If the couple stays, I'll be sure to be a friend to her. Ilse isn't likely to be any too kind and she'll need the support. “That's exactly what happened, too,” Lydia confided. Feeling awkward for standing there hovering over the diners, she added, “Just a minute.” She hustled into the kitchen and returned with a mug of hot coffee. Without a moment's hesitation, she pulled a chair up to their table and plunked down. “I think it was love at first sight, for Pastor Cody, at least. He took one look at Kristina, and I swear his tongue was hanging out. She took a little longer to warm up to him, but before long, they were cooing like doves and getting caught sparking in the choir loft.” She grinned. They're so cute together. “Everyone's laying bets on when the first baby will arrive, but so far, nothing.”

  They both smiled, Jesse with the look of someone who was happy to hear his friend was happy. His lady – Addie, was it – looked relieved. The young man asked, “What put that happy look on your face, darlin'?”

  “The town accepted him, even though he's new. They accepted him marrying one of the local ladies, and it sounds like, if she's the church organist, she must be pretty well-respected.”

  “Oh, very much so,” Lydia agreed. “Everyone likes Kristina. Well, everyone except Ilse Jackson and her family.”

  “Ilse? Is that little cat still around?” Jesse exclaimed. “I would have thought she'd be married to a crown prince and living in Europe by now.”

  Lydia shook her head. “No such luck. She still here and stirring up gossip as bad as ever. Her sweetheart finally broke things off with her. He'd had enough of her ugly ways.”

  “So, then, gossips are not popular here?” Addie's face had taken on a hopeful expression.

  “Yes and no,” Lydia replied thoughtfully. “There are some, of course, and they do spread rumors, but a lot of people just don't pay it any mind. I don't. I know the Williamses and the Fultons don't, and if they're Mr. West's closest friends, you should have no trouble.”

  Addie nodded.

  Jesse seized on another topic. “What about the Fultons? I assume you mean Wes Fulton. Did he marry Allison Spencer? For some reason, Kristina never wrote to me about them.”

  And there's that hurt look again. But, son, if you want to keep up with your friends, you need to make the effort, not just wait for them to reach out to you. Lydia considered how best to fill Jesse in without revealing hurtful rumors. If they're really close friends, Wes and Allie can tell him in their own time. “Yeah, it's kind of a sad story,” she explained at last. “I'm
not surprised Kristina kept mum about it. Wesley did marry Allison, but only a couple of days after the pastor and Kristina. He needed Allie's help after his first wife died. He couldn't care for their daughter alone.”

  “First wife?” Jesse looked stunned, like a load of bricks had been dropped on his head.

  “Yeah, her name was Samantha. She was…”

  “Crazy!” Jesse shouted. The other few patrons lingering over their coffee turned to stare. “Oh dear Lord, why on earth did Wesley marry Samantha Davis?” he continued, though at a more subdued volume.

  Lydia regarded the drops of coffee clinging to the bottom of her cup. Nope, I won't get into that. “There was a lot of gossip, but I don't know the truth, so I won't say. I guess you'll have to ask him yourself.”

  “All this talk of weddings,” Addie interjected, “brings us to the other reason we came to see you today, Miss Carré. Jesse and I are here to get married, along with him maybe joining the sheriff as deputy. I've heard you might be able to make a cake?”

  Lydia smiled, but her heart wanted to weep. These young kids are about to tie the knot, and with a baby already on the way no less. He looks at her like she's the sunshine in his sky. Dylan looks at me like that, but will he ever ask? Should I take Esther's advice and ask him? I shouldn't have to. If he loves me, he needs to be a man and ask me to be his. He knows I'll say yes, so why does he wait as year after year passes? Two sets of eyes stared, breaking into her private hell of disappointment. Cake, Lydia. Concentrate on business. Keep your mind busy so it doesn't fixate. She swallowed and replied, “Of course I can. When do you need it by?”

  “We don't have anything worked out yet,” Addie replied. “How soon can you make it?”

  “How much cake do you need?” Lydia pressed. “I can't really answer the question until I know that at least.”

  “Well, I think it's a small group,” Jesse said. “The Fultons. Kristina and her husband. The Spencers and Rebecca. James Heitschmidt.”

  “I'd like you to come too, Miss Carré,” Addie said. “You've given me a wonderful introduction to the town, and made me feel welcome. I appreciate that.”

  “So that makes eleven,” Lydia said, the girl's artless kindness warming her heart and curving her lips upward. “I can make a cake that small easily any time. It would only take me one afternoon. I can even make it pretty with two layers and some candied flowers. I can probably have one as early as tomorrow, if you let me know before noon.”

  “I think tomorrow might well be perfect,” Addie said. “Think we can arrange it, Jesse?”

  “Let's find out,” he replied. “We need to talk to the pastor. Do you think you'll need something special to wear?”

  “It would be nice,” Addie said. “My clothes are a bit worn out. Not to mention, they're practical, not festive. But if the expense is too great, that's okay.”

  “Well, I'll need to talk to the sheriff, too,” Jesse said. “I don't mind spending some money on our wedding if I know I have more coming in.”

  “We'd better get started,” Addie said. “We have a lot to get done before noon.”

  “We sure do,” he agreed. “Thank you, Miss Carré.” He dropped a couple of coins on the table and led Addie back out into the street.

  Lydia turned to regard her café as excitement over the challenge of creating a wedding cake on no notice warred with happiness for this young couple and a pang for her own disappointed opportunities.

  “What a cute young couple,” a masculine voice said from the door in a well-modulated tone and an Eastern accent.

  “They are,” Lydia agreed. “You were here yesterday, weren't you, sir? I thought you were just passing through.”

  “Oh, no,” he replied, twining a thin, waxed strand of a mustache between his fingertips and shaping it into a perfect, dandyish curl. A flawless triangle of a black beard completed the goatee. His hair, steel gray and slicked with pomade, contrasted with a pale face that seemed to be lined from pain rather than sun. “I'm relocating to this town. It seems like a nice place.”

  “It is,” Lydia agreed, “and pretty friendly to outsiders, though it's still a small town. I'm sure you understand what that means.”

  He nodded.

  “So what will you be doing here? Garden isn't so big on industry right now.”

  He shrugged. “I have many years' experience organizing and running things, and I'm blessed to have plenty of savings while I figure something out.”

  “That is a blessing,” she agreed. “When I came to town I had a small nest egg, which I invested into turning this place into a café. Would you believe it was once a stable? So now everything is just as it should be.” Well almost everything, she amended silently.

  The gentleman stretched his mouth into a considering frown, his mustache undulating on his lips like a canoe in the ocean. “Good to know that if a tenacious person puts in the effort, the town rewards them.”

  “Oh yes,” she agreed. “At least that's how it works for me. Good luck to you, Mr.…”

  “Mr. Blaylock,” he replied. “Samuel Blaylock. And you're Miss Lydia Carré, isn't that right?” He grinned, showing white straight teeth.

  “Yes, you have that right,” she replied.

  “Thank you for the good wishes… and the delicious breakfast, Miss Carré. I'm sure I'll be back soon for more of the same.” His eyes lingered on her figure before returning to her eyes, a wordless expression of interest.

  No answering surge of attraction welled up in her, flattering though his regard had been. For years Dylan had been giving her the same look, and it no longer spoke to her. Or at least, not from this fellow.

  He rose, dug some coins out of his pocket and left his meal payment on the table. Clapping a smooth black bowler hat on his head, he nodded to Lydia and exited the restaurant, his gait noticeably unsteady.

  Lydia gathered up the dishes absently, tucking the coins into the pocket of her apron. Instead of thinking about lunch, though, her mind turned to men. Dylan isn't the only man in town. I could find someone else if I wanted to. Her heart fluttered at the thought, and she knew it for the lie it was. I could find a man who wanted to bed me, no doubt, with this harlot figure. He might even care for me. But my heart is taken. As long as I hold onto hope Dylan might come around, it would be unfair to pursue anyone else.

  “You know,” Esther commented as Lydia set the dirty plates on the counter and retrieved the coins from her apron for her assistant to tuck into the cash register. The black beast opened with a noisy clang. “That's one suave number, that newcomer.”

  Lydia shrugged. “Looks fussy to me. His mustache wax is going to melt, and then won't he look silly? I can do better.”

  “Yes you can,” Esther replied. “I'm not suggesting you invite that undersized gimp upstairs.”

  Lydia choked.

  Esther continued as though nothing had happened. “If you're seen around town talking to the fellow once or twice, it might convince your reluctant sheriff to speak up.”

  Lydia considered the prospect. “It's not nice to call him a gimp,” she pointed out, “and it's really not nice to play with his heart. I don't care how big a dandy he is. People have feelings. I can see he's interested. I'm not, so it would be unfair to encourage him.”

  “Lord have mercy, Miss Lydia, you'll be old and gray at this rate. Do something before you end up as shriveled as I am and still alone.”

  Lydia smiled indulgently at her friend. “Your fate doesn't seem so bad to me. Anyway, I have enough on my mind. I wonder what kind of cake those two young folks would like for their wedding. Fruit cake takes too long, but some nice white cake would work, or a spice cake…”

  “I'd say white,” Esther commented. “You can decorate it with fruit or sugared flowers. It's too hot for spice cake. What would you have for your own wedding?”

  In her faraway place, where she lived to create new recipes and improve old ones, she spoke without reflection. “Crystalized flowers on white cake with white icing
. And the peaches are delicious this year. Peach filling would be wonderful.” She could visualize the two-layer white beauty, teasing the eye with flashes of sparkling, sugar-coated color. “For myself I'd love to marry in the fall, with spice cake.” Then she realized what she'd said and sucked in a gasp. Don't start down that path, Lydia. Be thankful for what you have. “I have to go get these dishes washed and get ready for lunch. Any idea when Billy's coming back?”

  Esther nodded. “He's mighty sick, his mama said, but she thinks he's on the mend. Maybe a couple of days.”

  “Thank goodness,” Lydia replied. “I don't know how long we'd get on without that boy.”

  Esther regarded her with a considering expression as she began counting the coins in the till. “You're a good woman, Miss Lydia. I'm thankful for you every day.”

  Blushing, Lydia carried the egg-stained plates into the kitchen.

  Dylan had his feet up on his desk. He knew it was a bad habit, but he had no intention of changing it. Besides, he had a drunk Angus Fulton in the cell again, and antagonizing Wesley's most obnoxious cousin gave him a thrill.

  “Can't you sit up properly?” Angus slurred, managing to sound hoity-toity and stewed at the same time. Dylan turned the page on his newspaper and ignored the whining voice, grinning to himself despite the news in front of him – or rather the lack thereof. Train robbers aren't going to go to ground altogether. I don't know how many there were, but I suspect it was several. They wouldn't have been able to pull off so many heists with only the handful of men we caught up to last December. I wonder what happened to the rest of the gang. And in spite of what Cody and Kristina said, the man Kris's brother killed was surely the boss of that operation, not of the whole shebang.

  The door of the jail swung open and a stranger walked in. Young and blond, with a firm jaw and shrewd blue eyes, he scrutinized the jail. Then his lips pursed. “I'm Jesse West,” the man stated. “I heard you might have a deputy position?”