The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

  Dash gulped. With her hair curled like that, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, smiling, Abby looked seventeen again. Eager to see him. Eager for the life they were going to start.

  Of course, everything had changed since then. He deserved her loathing. She didn’t look like she hated him right now, though, smiling like that. Was there someone behind him she smiled at instead? He turned around. Nope.

  Isaac Flowers stopped square in front of Dash. “Took you long enough to get here.”

  “I had something to do at the inn.” Spy on that guest, Unger. He’d asked for his bed to be moved away from the window, and Dash had been delighted to volunteer. It gave him a chance to peek at anything Unger might have left lying around: correspondence, currency. Alas, the bills had been legitimate and the correspondence had been difficult to read, but he could make out enough words like engine and railroad to know it had nothing to do with counterfeiting. Unless it was an excellent code, of course.

  But it didn’t seem like Unger was Fletcher Pitch.

  Then Dash had stopped for a word with the sheriff, showing him the Secret Service commission book he’d hidden in his coat pocket. It was a matter of professional courtesy. Sheriff Grayson, a compact-built fellow with graying temples, hadn’t seen any counterfeit bills himself, or newcomers who could be Pitch, but he’d inform Dash if he did. And he’d keep Dash’s real job to himself.

  “You aren’t the only latecomer.” Isaac adjusted his tie. “Geraldine Story and her boy recently arrived as well.”

  “Oh?” He wiggled his brows. “Perhaps you can share a dance with Mrs. Story. To discuss postage, of course.”

  “I just might. And you can dance with your schoolmarm and ask her why she danced with a particular fellow.”

  “Sy Miller?” He had to ask.

  Isaac gave him an odd look. “No. Maynard Yates.”

  “She didn’t. Really?”

  “Yes. And she didn’t appear to mind it.”

  Hmm. “Where’s Yates now?”

  “He left. So did a few other folks, like Burt Crabtree. Neither are the most sociable of fellows.”

  “Burt seems nice enough.”

  “I s’pose. Haven’t had many dealings with him. He doesn’t talk much.”

  On the small stage at the front of the room, a lanky fiddler stood and lifted his bow. “Time for the handkerchief dance.”

  Dash hadn’t heard of it. “I sure hope he doesn’t mean used handkerchiefs.”

  “Come on. This’ll be good.” Isaac grabbed his arm.

  Dash hadn’t danced in years, not since a to-do at Abby’s house. He’d felt out of place and miserable. “No thanks.”

  “Trust me.” Isaac led him to a gathering group with two other men he recognized but hadn’t met yet. Inside the men, four women clustered: Mrs. Story, a gal who couldn’t be long out of the schoolroom, another who hadn’t seen the inside of a schoolroom in decades, and Abby.

  “What is this handkerchief dance?” Abby avoided looking at him.

  “Wave your hankie like this.” The gray-haired lady in their midst wiggled hers in the air. “The fellas move around us in a circle. When the shout comes, throw your hankie, and whichever fella catches it is your dance partner.”

  Dash didn’t need much in the way of book smarts to figure Abby would throw her handkerchief at any of the men in the group except for him. He wouldn’t lunge for it. He didn’t feel like riling her up, and besides, he fancied a dance with the grandma here. She was probably a fount of information about folks in town.

  The music started. A girl shrieked. Everyone was smiling with excitement. The grandma nudged Abby. “Get out your hankie!”

  Grudgingly, Abby withdrew a square from her sleeve.

  The women walked in a small clockwise circle while the men moved around them, counterclockwise. The grandma waved her checkered handkerchief with enthusiasm. The youngest lady waggled a plain linen square. Isaac locked his gaze on Mrs. Story, whose hankie had pink ribbony things dangling off the corners. Who could blow their nose in that fancy thing?

  “Now,” the fiddler called.

  Dash was right in front of the young girl, but she tossed her handkerchief behind her, out of his reach. No worries, the grandma’s handkerchief floated over his head.

  One of the other fellows snatched it, glancing at Dash with a grin. Dash ran for the girl’s handkerchief, but oof—Isaac shoved Dash directly beneath Abby’s hankie, a simple thing with a pink A stitched into the corner.

  What could he do, let it fall?

  He caught it an inch from the ground. “Sorry. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  She held up her hand for his, almost as if she didn’t mind. “You didn’t have much of a choice in the matter either.”

  “Well, I am supposed to be your beau, come back to woo you.”

  “Quite right. At least this gives us an opportunity to speak a little. About our friend, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Her hands weren’t as soft as he remembered, but their touch still sent a jolt up his arms. She fit within the hold of his arms too well, and it was impossible not to recollect when there was no hostility between them, only hope and love.

  She wasn’t hostile right now, however. “What have you been doing today? Besides tending horses, I mean.”

  He guided her to the far side of the hall, where the dancing couples were spaced farther apart and no one sat in the chairs against the wall. No one should overhear them here. “Talking to folks, but not learning much. Buying things too, to see if I receive counterfeit change.”

  “Have you?”

  He nodded. “Change for when I paid my rent.”

  Her eyes widened. “From your landlord? Isaac Flowers?”

  “Of the good teeth? Yep.” He glanced around for eavesdroppers. “And the dollar was made by our friend too.”

  Her lips parted. “My stars, that’s—that’s horrible. So he’s here? We missed him come to town?”

  Pitch? “Just because his bills are here doesn’t mean he is, Abby. A large fraction of bills in circulation are counterfeit. It’s not incomprehensible that one of our friend’s bills made it to Nebraska, even if he himself is not here yet. Money travels. Folks spend it at one store, it’s given to another as change, and they take it on a journey and spend it in another state.”

  Her features didn’t relax. “But don’t you think the timing is interesting? He’s coming, and his money appears around the same time? Seems like more than coincidence to me.”

  “Our friend has been making money for a long while, but I see your point.”

  “Good, because Isaac’s suit is pretty expensive. Father wore well-tailored suits like that, and they were dear in price. He has money, and I don’t believe it came from the post office. What if Isaac is working with our friend as—what did you call it? A shoveler?”

  “Shover.” He didn’t like the idea of Isaac earning ill-gotten funds, not a whit. Isaac was becoming a friend. Sure, he kept his door shut all day and night, and as Abby had noted, he had more money than one would expect for a postmaster. But he’d passed one bad bill, to Dash’s knowledge—and a small denomination at that. No, Isaac couldn’t be involved in disseminating counterfeit money for Pitch. He tried to offer Abby a reassuring smile. “One bill does not a crooked man make. Nevertheless, I will keep my eyes open, all right?”

  She gave Isaac a sideways glance. “Just be careful. You live with the man.”

  “I am a paragon of discretion.”

  “Says the fellow who drew a ridiculous amount of attention to himself when he arrived in town. Coming to school like that?”

  “I was in a bit of a hurry that day, you may recall.”

  She bit her lip, a sure sign she had a question but was afraid to ask. He jiggled her arm once. “What?”

  “How can you tell when money is … bad?”

  “Lots of ways.”

  “Don’t you have to, we
ll, read what’s on the dollar bill to judge if it’s phony?”

  He shook his head. “Most of the time it’s easy to tell the difference. The ink isn’t quite the right shade, or something else is off. Our friend’s work is convincing, though. I can only tell by the feel of the paper. I can show you sometime.”

  “It might be helpful. For future reference, of course.”

  “Of course.” The faint scent of lavender swirled around them as he pulled her closer to avoid knocking into another couple. “That Unger fellow who checked into the inn seems to be a railroad man. He hasn’t been to the schoolhouse, has he?”

  “No. No one has visited the school.”

  Good. “So our friend isn’t in town yet, even if his currency is. That gives us more time with your half of the investigation. Any news?”

  “I’m sure Bud Grooms is not the boy we’re seeking. His grandmothers are in town.” She tipped her chin toward a short expectant woman flanked by two elder ladies, one of whom shared the same build.

  Not to mention, Katherine Hoover had no family. “Very well, Bud is not our lad.”

  A shriek drew their attention. Geraldine Story giggled on Isaac’s extended arm, her skirts swirling around her ankles.

  Abby chuckled. “He didn’t twirl me once.”

  “You danced with Isaac?”

  “I danced with a lot of people tonight.”

  “Even Maynard Yates, I hear. He’s a tough one.”

  “He’s … crusty,” she amended.

  “Crusty suggests he’s got a soft interior.” Like a good loaf of bread.

  “I think he does. Soft and sad.”

  That was almost as surprising as Abby’s willingness to dance with Dash, be touched by him, even though he’d been all but forced to catch her handkerchief. “He doesn’t seem sad to me. He seems ornery.”

  “He was ornery when he threw my cookies to the floor.”

  “What cookies?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She managed a light shrug as she danced.

  He tipped his head back, the better to look at her. “Do you have a fever? Touch of the ague?”

  “If I’m hot, it’s because I’ve been dancing.”

  “That’s not it. It’s that you’re rather … relaxed.”

  “I—I’m not angry tonight, Dash.”

  “At me?”

  She sighed. “At the world. But mostly you.”

  “I’ll take it.” He released one of her hands and nudged her into a spin. Her spring-green skirt whooshed around her boots.

  She gasped. Oh no, was she back to being angry with him? He pulled her back, bracing for her wrath.

  She stared at him. “What was that for?”

  “You said Isaac didn’t spin you. Thought you might feel left out.”

  She laughed, and oh, it was glorious. “How thoughtful of you.”

  He did it again, whirling her out and whipping her back into his arms.

  “Dash Lassiter, you’re having too much fun making me light-headed.”

  “I am.” He tugged closer, enough that he could feel the warmth escaping her, breathe in the subtle lavender scent she dabbed behind her ears. “Having fun, that is.”

  She shifted back. “Dash—”

  “I know, I know. We have rules.” Confounded rules, but they were in place for good reason. He’d hurt her in Chicago, and working with him now refreshed all those unhappy memories.

  Despite the music playing, he stopped and let go of her. “Sorry I overstepped.”

  Her features hardened. “What are you doing?”

  “I crossed a boundary you constructed, Abby.”

  “Dancing? We had to dance, and it was a good opportunity for us to talk about the investigation.”

  “And we’ve done that. No need to bother you any further. Enjoy your evening.”

  She glanced around. “But Dash—”

  “I’m afraid you’ve confounded me, Abby.” She always had, hadn’t she?

  “You can’t just quit a dance and leave your partner on the dance floor. For the sake of propriety and … don’t you care how it makes me appear to everyone? Or … or how I might feel about it?”

  What was she talking about? “Do you want to keep dancing?”

  “No, Dash, at this moment, I do not want to dance. What I want is to be the one to leave you this time.”

  And with that, she marched off the dance floor, leaving him standing like a fool in the middle of twirling couples.

  CHAPTER 9

  Abby snaked through the gathered crowd and hurried outside into the cold. Her nose stung and started to run as a precursor to tears, and she would not cry in town hall. If she had her druthers, she wouldn’t cry at all over Dash Lassiter. Never again.

  Breathe. In, out. In, out. The deep drafts of frigid air smarted down her windpipe, but her pulse decelerated and her tears stayed put behind her eyes, so it was worth the pain. At least no one else was on the street to see her pacing under the lampposts. She focused on the sounds around her, the gentle hiss of the lights, music and chatter escaping the hall, a horse’s nicker down the street. Her own footsteps crunching the thin layer of snow on the boardwalk. A few more minutes of quiet, and she could regain her composure.

  The creak and thud of the wooden hall door opening and shutting behind her knotted her stomach. Sure enough, Dash stood outside the hall, looking up and down the street. She slipped farther away from the lamplight.

  “Abby?” So much for her attempt to hide. He strode straight toward her. “Come back inside and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s cold out here, though. You don’t have a coat.”

  “Neither do you. I’ll come in when I’m ready.”

  He didn’t take the hint, coming to stand before her. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and looked up. “Pretty clear. I see stars. It’ll get colder before dawn.”

  He was talking about weather? Like a normal person did on a normal evening when he hadn’t done anything wrong?

  A frantic force surged within her, begging for release in some unladylike manner. Like kicking something. Wrenching the icicles off the hall porch and throwing them like spears into the street. Being a lady, expected to pretend all was well, was severely frustrating. And she was tired of pretending.

  “You have no idea why I’m upset, do you?”

  “I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have stopped dancing, and you’re worried about what folks thought. But who cares what people think? What if I had a rock in my shoe? Can’t a man stop dancing for that?”

  “You are impossible, Dash.”

  He brightened. “Just blame me, if anyone asks. Since they all think I’m here to woo you, tell them you’re not ready to forgive me.”

  Forgive, forget. Forgive, forget. She shuddered.

  “See, you are cold. Come inside.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “You’re shaking.”

  “From fury, and I am not going back in there yet.”

  His brow furrowed like a plowed field. “Clearly, I don’t understand. I had no idea it was so wrong for me to halt midsong like that, but I’ll never do it to you again.”

  “That’s right, because that’s the last time you’ll dance with me.”

  “I hadn’t planned on dancing with you tonight.” His voice grew more frustrated. “We were shoved into it by that stupid handkerchief, if you recall.”

  “Believe me, I know you’d never choose me as a partner.”

  “I’m trying to respect your rules. I just didn’t know stopping a dance went against them too.”

  “The boundary between us is my rule, yes, but I did not invent etiquette, Dashiell. Halting a dance is not my rule. It’s everyone’s.”

  “I must’ve missed that particular lesson about dancing decorum when I was mucking out your father’s stable.” He was upset now too, his tone chock-full of sarcasm. “Shouldn’t surprise you that I lack manners, though. Folks like me don’t know which
fork goes with the fish.”

  Everything tinged crimson. “Don’t behave as if this is a matter of class distinctions. It’s a matter of common courtesy. You don’t walk away from a dance, because it makes the person you left look like a fool. An utter, rejected, stupid fool.”

  “I didn’t leave. I stopped dancing, but I didn’t leave. You did.”

  “Not just tonight.” The words erupted from her innermost being. “Six years ago. You left.”

  His angry expression fell. “Oh. That.”

  She waited, but he didn’t speak again, just gulped so hard his Adam’s apple jerked against his stark white collar.

  He might not have anything else to say, but six years’ worth of swallowed-down words battled to escape her throat. “You disappeared, abandoning me on a day that caused me the maximum amount of distress and fear and shame.”

  His eyes went soft, damp. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Abby. I’ve wanted to apologize to you since I first saw you again, but you didn’t want to talk about it, remember? We set guidelines in place—boundaries, you just called it.” He glanced around, ensuring they were alone. “Business only, right?”

  True. “I’d like to alter our guidelines. For now.” She braced herself to hear the truth at long last.

  “All right, then.” He scanned their environs and beckoned her to the bench in front of the general store. It was darker here, quieter, but visibility was better. No alleys or anything for anyone to overhear. She adjusted her crinoline and perched on the edge of the bench. Cold seeped through her dress, but she wouldn’t be here long.

  Dash shrugged out of his coat and offered it to her. She lifted a hand to refuse but he shook his head, so she took it and wrapped its warm weight around her shoulders. She breathed in the long-forgotten smell of his clothing as he sat beside her.

  He stared straight ahead. “Leaving like that on the day we planned to tell your parents our intention to become betrothed, well, it must’ve sliced you to the bone. I’m sorry I left like that, without a word.”

  “Thank you. For being sorry.”

  “I am. I was then too, but believe me, it’s better that I went away.”

  She waited ten seconds. “Why?”