by Regina Scott
“Nothing at all,” he agreed, but his tone was turning darker again, and she realized that was exactly what he’d left behind in New York. Shame on Katie O’Doul for crushing his heart, making him think he was less of a man!
Maddie put her hand on his arm. “It’s early days yet, Michael. You’ll find work, and the security and respect that go with it.”
His smile was less sure than hers. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
For some reason, the statement made her look to his lips, so firm above hers. The slightest upturn had a way of making her heart beat faster, her body sway closer.
This time, he pulled back first. “I better check on Ciara and Aiden,” he said before turning to climb the stairs.
She opened her mouth to remind him that that was her responsibility and thought better of it. At the moment, she needed a little distance, even at the expense of letting him take her role again. Baking a pie would keep her mind focused on something other than Michael’s smile.
So she went to the bakery kitchen and took out her pie pan, rolling pin and apron. Wrapping her apron around her gown, she headed for the larder. She’d fold the remaining laundry later, perhaps do one or two more pieces for delivery on Monday. Michael could take them. She smiled, thinking of how her customers would react when they found him at the door of the boardinghouse instead of her.
Well, perhaps she should deliver the laundry.
Opening the larder door, she reached up for the ham.
It wasn’t there.
Neither was her sugar. And there, where her precious bottle of rose extract should be, was nothing but an empty spot.
She blinked, touching the shelf, feeling the rough wood scrape her fingers. That extract had been brought for her from San Francisco. She’d done no more than open the cap and sniff the sweet scent. It was the special ingredient she needed for the wedding cakes. She couldn’t have misplaced it!
She took a step back. It had to be a mistake. Perhaps Michael had wanted to be helpful and moved her ingredients somewhere he thought would be more handy. Yes, that had to be it. She’d find them all piled up in a corner like the laundry. She scurried from the sideboard to the worktable, looked under and over the display counter, panic rising with each step.
“Michael Haggerty!” she shouted at the ceiling. “I need you. Now!”
Feet thundered on the stairs, and he careened into the kitchen, broom handle once more up and at the ready.
“What is it?” he demanded, blue eyes wide. “What’s happened?”
Maddie threw out her arms. “The ham, my sugar and extract, gone.” She took a step closer and laid a hand on his tensed arm. “Please tell me you moved it somewhere for safekeeping, or I think I’ll go mad.”
* * *
Maddie’s fear radiated out of her like heat from her oven, and Michael had to struggle not to take her in his arms. Instead, he leaned the broom against the worktable and shook his head. “I haven’t touched anything but the laundry.”
She sagged against the table, face crumpling. “Oh, but we’re lost, then. Everything gone, and I haven’t the funds or the time to replace it.” She choked and pressed her hands to her mouth as if to hold in her cry.
That did it. Michael wrapped his arms around her, held her close. “It must be a mistake,” he murmured against her hair. “Perhaps Ciara or Aiden moved things. Maybe they thought the chickens needed more exercise.”
She gulped, a sound that was half laugh and half sob. “No, it couldn’t have been them. I would have seen them. I’m always in the kitchen, it seems.”
Except this morning, he realized. He held her back from him. “Show me.”
She pulled away to point to the open door of the larder. Even from here he could see that it was emptier than when he’d last looked in. His heart sank.
“You’ve been robbed,” he told her.
She stiffened. “Robbed?” She spun and crouched beside the worktable, reaching underneath it to draw out her canister. Her hands shook as she twisted off the lid, and he heard the chime of coins before she tilted the tin to peer inside.
She rocked back on her heels, drawing in a breath. “It seems to be all there.”
“At least we can be thankful for that,” Michael said.
She rose, frowning. “But why didn’t the thief take it too? He’d have to search for the larder. The door isn’t obvious. He wouldn’t have had to look very hard for this, and one shake would have told him what was in it.”
“Perhaps our thief preferred food to money,” Michael said, though he agreed it odd to have left the canister behind. Even if the thief had been starving, why not take the money for more food later?
Maddie stiffened. “If he was after food, did he take the chickens?” She ran past him for the door, and Michael followed.
But over her head he immediately spotted her hens wandering about the yard, scratching and pecking. Recovered from the children’s races, they clucked at the sight of Maddie, ruffling their feathers and rushing toward the door in obvious hopes she’d come to feed them. She turned to gaze at Michael, dark eyes troubled. “I don’t understand.”
Neither did he. If the thief could carry off the cones of sugar, why not grab a chicken or two as well? Unless he’d been too burdened.
“Look for Amelia Batterby,” Michael said, stepping into the yard. “He might have let her out.”
She darted back inside, calling for the cat.
Michael checked the latch on the door first. The scrapes and scratches showed where the thief had broken the lock. He crossed next to the gate and peered over. Boot prints were gouged deep in the mud of the alley behind the bakery, but they quickly disappeared on Washington Street. It wouldn’t have been so hard to tuck what was left of the ham and the cones of sugar under a long coat and hurry off. The closest businesses to the bakery were all closed on a Sunday.
He met Maddie in the kitchen.
“Amelia Batterby is fine,” she reported. “Ciara found her shut up in my room. I didn’t see her there when we left, but she’s small enough to have hidden under the bed.”
Either that or the thief had shut her in. But that made even less sense. Why would a thief care about a cat?
“Nothing’s missing upstairs,” Maddie continued. “Did you find anything outside?” Her tone begged him for good news.
He wished he had some to give her. “Looks like our thief made off through the alley. Very likely he knew you’d be at church, along with a good number of Seattle’s citizens. He must have thought a bakery would have plenty of bread.”
Maddie started. “He wasn’t after bread. He wasn’t hungry. He wanted to keep me from baking!”
Michael frowned at her logic, but the fire sprang to life in her eyes again, and she stormed about the kitchen as if heat fueled each step.
“Oh, the rat! I don’t care how much the rest of Seattle admires him. ‘Here for more supplies?’ he says.” She stopped to point at Michael. “He knew my supplies were gone before I did.”
“Who?” Michael asked. “Weinclef?”
She waved a hand and resumed pacing. “No, Mr. Terry.”
Michael stared at her. “The man who owns the castle?”
“The man who owns the other bakery,” Maddie corrected him. “He stopped me at Kelloggs’, asked how my supplies were holding out. Why would he do that if he didn’t know they’d gone missing?”
Michael didn’t want to accuse someone without cause. “Perhaps he saw the long line of customers at your door.”
“So he said,” Maddie replied, coming to a stop by the worktable. “But how was he to know? Oh, but I never thought he’d be so devious! Sure-n he built that house of his on lies!”
Michael still wasn’t convinced. “We should call for Deputy McCormick.” Another fellow who was sweet on Maddie, if Michael didn
’t miss his guess. Very likely McCormick would rush to do her a favor. “Tell me where to find him, and I’ll go for him right now.”
“I didn’t see him at services this morning,” Maddie said, “so he may have been called elsewhere in the county. But I’ll tell you how to find the sheriff’s office.”
Michael listened to her instructions, then headed for the door. “Put a washtub to block the back door behind me, and lock the front,” he told her. “I doubt the thief will be back, but I’m not taking any chances.”
“Neither am I,” Maddie said. The look on her face almost made him feel sorry for the thief.
* * *
Deputy McCormick was in his office and on his feet before Michael finished his story. Michael wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or alarmed that he buckled on his gun belt before heading for the door.
The sun had come out from behind the clouds, setting the muddy street to steaming, as Michael and the deputy started for the bakery. In the golden light, Michael could see that the man was only a little younger than Michael’s twenty-eight years. What made him look older was the coolness of his gunmetal-gray eyes.
“And they didn’t take money or valuables outside the food?” he asked as he strode down the boardwalk, gaze constantly roaming ahead as if he was expecting trouble to come pouring out onto the street from the shops they passed.
“Not that we could find,” Michael admitted. “We’re simple people, Deputy. There aren’t a lot of valuables to be had.”
McCormick grunted as if he didn’t like Michael’s answer. Michael wished he had more information to offer. How could he protect Maddie and the children from a nameless threat?
“Seems odd Miss O’Rourke never had any trouble until you arrived,” McCormick said.
Michael pulled up short, forcing the lawman to stop as well. “This was none of my doing. I was in church with Maddie and the children. There will be more than a dozen witnesses who can testify to that.”
McCormick stuck out his lower lip. “Interesting. Why assume you need witnesses for me to believe your word?”
He could give the man a casual answer, laugh off the implied accusation, tell McCormick it was none of his affair. But Michael had come west to escape schemes and intrigue. Why bring them with him?
“Do you know much about New York City, Deputy?” he asked, starting forward once more.
McCormick fell into step beside him. “Never been there. No interest in going. But that’s where you and Miss O’Rourke hail from, isn’t it?”
Michael nodded, shoving his hands down deep in the pockets of his trousers. “I was born and raised there. She and her father eventually made their home there after they came over from Ireland. The Irish tended to congregate in an area called Five Points.”
“I’ve heard of it,” McCormick gritted out, and the scowl on his face said nothing he had heard had been good.
“I’m not surprised,” Michael told him. “There’s been a lot of trouble there over the years, most recently when an Irish gang called the Dead Rabbits decided to take the upper hand. I worked offloading cargo at the docks in Brooklyn. I was told to look the other way while the gang robbed a ship. I refused and warned the ship’s captain. They threatened my life for turning traitor, as they saw it. A lot of ugly words were said to me before I came west. So, you’ll pardon me for expecting to need witnesses to prove myself.”
McCormick nodded. “These Dead Rabbits sound like the type of fellows I like to hunt. Any of them follow you west?”
He sounded almost eager for the confrontation, but all Michael felt was cold. Could it be? Had he brought trouble with Ciara and Aiden to Maddie’s door?
No! Surely he was far too insignificant now that he’d lost his place in New York. What good would it do for the gang to make him a martyr where no one could see?
“Not that I know of,” Michael said. “No offense, but Seattle is a little small for their ambitions.”
McCormick shrugged. “Guess that’s something to be thankful for.”
They reached the bakery, and Maddie opened the door to Michael’s knock. Deputy McCormick tipped his hat to her.
“Miss O’Rourke. I hear you had trouble.”
She showed him to the larder. Michael could see Ciara and Aiden peering through the curtain, a frustrated-looking Amelia Batterby clutched in Ciara’s arms like a rag doll. He waved them out of sight.
“Do you think it could be Mr. Terry?” Maddie was asking the deputy when Michael joined them. “He knows his customers prefer my baking.”
“Your baking wins hands down,” McCormick agreed, turning from the empty shelves. “But I wouldn’t be so quick to assume. Terry is well liked, well respected. He doesn’t strike me as the type to sabotage another business. He has enough money to simply start another of his own.”
Maddie’s lips tightened as if she couldn’t believe him, but McCormick glanced around the kitchen.
“We’ve had complaints the last two days around Seattle,” he told her. “Food disappearing, clothes taken off the line. Sheriff Wyckoff wonders whether we have some down-on-their-luck types trying to raise a stake without paying for it.” He glanced at Michael.
He could look all he liked. Michael was done protesting his innocence. “They probably don’t have friends or family to support them until they can get on their feet,” Michael said with a look to Maddie, who managed a smile.
“Few here do,” McCormick agreed. Michael was glad to see his heavy gaze return to the room at large.
McCormick spent the next little while poking about the kitchen, rear yard and alley. Maddie followed at his heels, interjecting supposition, asking questions. Michael was content to stay in the background and watch, waiting for the deputy to tell them more. He could see that Maddie trusted the fellow by the way she listened, head cocked so that the little velvet hat she’d had no time to remove slid on her hair.
She didn’t deserve this, Lord. She’s worked so hard. Isn’t there something You can do? Isn’t there something I can do?
What he felt in response was the urge to fight. But whom?
As the lawman returned to the building, Michael straightened away from the door and made room for the deputy to join him in the kitchen.
“Nothing conclusive,” he told Michael and Maddie. “But I’ll ask around and send word if I learn anything.”
That was it? Michael wanted him to go riding off after the thief, bring the fellow to justice, recover Maddie’s supplies. For all they knew, the things could be eaten by morning.
His frustrations must have been written on his face, for the deputy’s eyes narrowed.
“A word with you, Haggerty, before I go,” he said as he moved to the front door.
“Is there a problem?” Maddie asked, glancing between the two of them.
McCormick paused to touch the brim of his hat to her. “Nothing that need concern you, ma’am.” He jerked his head toward the door, and Michael followed him out.
“I appreciate you telling me about New York,” he said as they stood on the boardwalk in front of the bakery, the street quiet and nearly deserted on a Sunday afternoon. “Let me return the favor. I was raised in an orphanage in Saint Louis. When I escaped, I ran with a gang for a while. They’re trouble, pure and simple. If there’s one thing I learned during that time it’s that family comes first.”
He poked a finger into Michael’s chest. “We protect our own out here, Haggerty. Miss Maddie O’Rourke is one of us. If trouble’s coming, I aim to stop it.”
Michael met the man’s hard gaze. “Don’t concern yourself, Deputy. Maddie and those children are my family. If trouble’s coming, I’ll be standing between it and them.”
Chapter Eleven
Maddie looked up from counting her coins as Michael returned to the bakery. She wasn’t sure why Deputy
McCormick had wanted to speak to him privately. Very likely it was one of those male whimsies, but she didn’t like being left out, particularly when her livelihood was at stake.
“Everything all right?” she asked as he came to join her at the display counter.
He nodded. “Fine. Deputy McCormick and I are agreed that the bakery is under our protection.”
Maddie nearly laughed at that, but the serious look on his face stopped her. His head was high, his blue eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensed and hands fisted. She might have thought the building held the crown jewels of England instead of breads and cookies for hungry loggers and miners.
“I counted my savings,” she told him instead with a nod to the stacked coins glinting silver in front of her. “At best I can buy a cone of sugar, some food for the children and a few eggs until the hens start laying. That will be enough for a day or two of baking and eating, if I choose my recipes carefully. I’ll still be able to pay Clay Howard what I owe this month, but I won’t have enough for the wedding supplies, especially with the loss of the extract.”
“Extract?” he asked, fingering a silver coin as if he hadn’t touched one in a while.
“Like perfume, only for cakes,” she offered.
He looked as if she’d asked him to drink perfume instead. Maddie couldn’t help a laugh.
“It tastes very nice,” she assured him. “But it’s costly and hard to come by out here. I had a bottle brought up from San Francisco as soon as James asked me to bake for his wedding. I don’t know if there’s another bottle in all of Seattle.”
“What about this James?” he asked. “Can he pay in advance? There must be a fast ship that could bring you a bottle.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll not ask it of him,” Maddie replied. “Sure-n he’s nearly family, he is. No, I’ll have to find another recipe. And I’ll need a way to raise capital quickly. Normally, I wouldn’t deliver laundry on a Sunday, but we could use the payment for services rendered.”
“I’ll finish the rest today and deliver it by evening,” he promised. By the fierce look that remained on his face, she pitied the flannels.