by Cat Cahill
His jaw clenched. Why didn’t she say anything? He’d expected her to brush it off, to laugh at his words, something. But she hadn’t. Did that mean the idea wasn’t so far-fetched? And if it wasn’t, why had she let Eli take her hands and almost kiss her?
Was she toying with him?
The thought stopped him dead in his tracks, and another gentleman nearly collided with him. “Pardon,” Eli said as the man went around him, muttering. He started forward again, slower, as he pondered the thought he’d had.
She couldn’t be. That wouldn’t be like Molly at all. The Molly he knew was kind and honest. She wouldn’t act one way when she felt another. But . . . wasn’t that exactly what they’d decided she would do with her suitors?
Eli clenched his hands as he wound around people making their way into town. He’d set himself up for this. She’d suggested the idea, and he’d agreed. He let her become dishonest. And now he was paying for it.
The thoughts only made him angrier at himself. He’d been struggling so long with the idea that he needed to tell her how he felt, and yet he hadn’t. If he’d been honest with her, maybe he wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe she wouldn’t have needed to find men like Preston to court her.
If she felt the same way about him . . .
His mind spun as he found a seat on the horsecar. The same thoughts played over and over when he debarked and strode past shops and homes far less elegant than the Blanchets’. He was a few houses away from Ma’s when he noticed the carriage. It was another Brougham, black and nondescript and one of what seemed like hundreds in Denver, and it was parked on the street directly in front of Ma’s house. It was late for callers, but perhaps a good friend had come to visit her.
But just as he’d decided that was the case, a man swept out the front door and headed straight for the carriage. A coat flew out behind him as he walked, despite the fact that it was too warm for a coat.
Eli narrowed his eyes. Could this be the man who’d been bothering his mother for repayment? He walked faster, and as the man drew closer to the carriage, Eli broke out into a run.
The driver opened the door and the man entered. The driver returned to his seat as Eli’s feet pounded the wooden planks.
“Hold up!” he shouted. But if the driver heard him, he made no indication. Instead, he took up the lines and nudged the horse into action.
Eli drew up just past Ma’s house as the carriage disappeared around the corner. His breath came quickly as he tried to remember as many details as possible about the man’s conveyance. But there wasn’t much to remember at all. It looked exactly like half the carriages in the city.
Frustrated for the second time that day, he bounded up the steps to Ma’s house. He found her just inside, seated in the parlor, her eyes red and shiny.
“Ma?” Eli tossed his hat aside and went to her immediately. “Was that him? The man who’s been demanding money?”
She nodded and clenched his arms. “He insists I pay him more by the end of the week or he’ll have proceedings begun to take my house.”
A growl sat low in Eli’s throat as he consoled his mother. While he didn’t know who the visitor was, he knew without a doubt the man was a coward, coming here while Eli was gone. And that fact made it even more likely the debt was fabricated. The man knew Eli wouldn’t be as good a target as his widowed mother.
“I’ll fix this,” he said to Ma.
And he would, if it was the last thing he did.
Chapter Seventeen
Molly clapped a hand to the pretty white napkin to keep the breeze from whisking it away, but she was too late. Mr. Emerson caught it easily as it skipped across his lap.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling politely as he handed it back to her.
Since it was such a beautiful day, the church social was being held outdoors in the lot behind the church. It was a busy affair—people still lined up for plates of fried chicken, cold ham, and more side dishes than Molly had ever seen in one place. Even Aunt Ellen, who usually left the cooking to Mrs. Wheatley and her daughter at home, had made a colorful bean salad.
Mr. Emerson had spotted Molly the moment she arrived with her aunt and uncle. She’d hurriedly glanced about the attendees, hoping against hope that Eli had decided to come, but he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, she hadn’t heard a word from him since he called on her several days ago.
Molly had tried not to dwell on how strangely he’d acted then. She ought to be glad Mr. Emerson was here and had sought her out so quickly. After all, if she could gather some more information from him, she could relay it to Eli and—hopefully—assuage the worry he carried that made him act so unlike himself.
“Do you care for more ham?” Mr. Emerson asked now.
“Oh no, I’m quite all right, thank you.” Molly set her plate in her lap. Mr. Emerson hadn’t been shy about filling it. If Molly ate anything more, she’d burst the laces on her corset. She searched her memory for something he’d told her about his family’s hardware business. “Did you receive your shipment from St. Louis?”
His face lit up at her question. He really was a good man—kind and thoughtful, hardworking, and attentive. He just wasn’t the man for Molly. It made a guilt rise inside her. She was using him to find out what she needed to share with Eli. She hadn’t thought too much on it before, back when she barely knew Mr. Emerson or Mr. Preston. But the more time she’d spent with each of them, the worse she felt. She had no feelings of love or attraction for either of them. She wanted so badly to help Eli, but the distaste at how she was helping sat at the back of her throat. She needed to get this over with so she could gently let them both go.
“It arrived yesterday. Just in time, too, considering how many orders we needed to fill. We’ve been very busy lately.” The Emersons had opened a hardware business just at the start of the building boom in Denver, and had profited well from their good timing. And according to Mr. Emerson, his father had invested their earnings wisely.
“That’s wonderful,” Molly replied. “Good fortune allows us to be generous with those who have less.”
Mr. Emerson dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin as he looked thoughtful. “You’re right. I wonder how we might help?”
“Perhaps you could forgive some debts? Or donate to the new orphans’ home,” she added hurriedly.
Although it wasn’t quick enough, because Mr. Emerson set his napkin down on the arm of his chair and tilted his head. “I can’t help but notice your concern for debtors. I don’t believe the Blanchets have purchased on credit, if that’s your concern.”
Molly’s cheeks went pink. She wasn’t as wily as she’d thought with these questions. “Oh, no, it isn’t that. It’s only . . . well, it’s in the Scriptures, isn’t it? ‘Forgive us our debts, as we have forgiven our debtors.’”
“Yes,” Mr. Emerson said, picking up a forkful of Aunt Ellen’s bean salad. “It is, and it’s what Reverend Hutton preached on a couple of weeks ago. It must have made quite the impression on you.”
“It did,” Molly agreed. She glanced about the crowd behind the church again, searching for one familiar face. People sat and stood as they ate, and behind them, the bustle of the town moved along, albeit a bit slower on a Sunday afternoon.
“Well, I’d have to speak with our accountant about that. I don’t know much about who owes what to the company. But perhaps we can make that happen.”
Molly bestowed a smile upon him, even as she felt she were no closer to discovering the truth. Although she highly doubted Mr. Emerson was the man visiting Eli’s mother. But still, that didn’t eliminate anyone else who worked for his business. It could be the accountant, it could be Mr. Emerson’s father or his younger brother. For all Molly knew, it could be the man who cleaned the floors.
Perhaps this entire ruse had been nothing but futile. Neither Mr. Emerson nor Mr. Preston kept the accounts at their respective companies. And if that was true, what was she doing, then?
“Molly—I hope it
’s all right I call you that?” Mr. Emerson had set his empty plate on the ground and was now looking at her intently.
“I . . .” Molly trailed off, completely flustered by the thoughts she’d been having and by his question. She needed to tell Eli this wasn’t working. And then she needed to let Mr. Emerson and Mr. Preston go before she wound up hurting them.
Mr. Emerson must have taken her confusion for something else, because he reached for both of her hands. “Molly, you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, and the smartest too. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to speak with your uncle about courting you. Would you like that?”
Molly blinked at him. Courting? Was that not what he was already doing? Molly wouldn’t know—after all, no man had ever courted her before. It was strange, how badly she’d wanted a handsome, smart, kind man to do just this—and now she didn’t want it at all. At least, not from Mr. Emerson. What should she say? If she told him no, right here in front of the entire church, how would he take it? But she couldn’t say yes, not when her heart was . . .
Not when her heart was with Eli.
“Miss Hill? Might I steal a moment of your time?” a male voice, the edges rough with barely contained emotion, said from just nearby.
Molly jerked her head up as she pulled her hands away from Mr. Emerson.
Eli looked down at her, his face a storm on the horizon.
Chapter Eighteen
“Now see here, we were having a conversation.” Emerson rose from his seat, his hands balled into fists.
Eli tightened his jaw. If the man wanted trouble, he’d give him trouble—even if they were at a church social. “I must speak with Miss Hill immediately.”
“Miss Hill is—”
“Gentlemen, please.” Molly pushed her way between them. “Mr. Emerson, let me speak with Mr. Jennings. It’ll be just a moment.”
The look of surprise Emerson gave Molly quickly disappeared into sheer anger when he turned back to Eli. Eli returned that look with a tight smile before turning and striding away, Molly on his heels.
“What are you doing?” she demanded when he stopped at the edge of the crowd near the street. “Are you trying to start a fight?”
He crossed his arms, hoping that might contain the ugliness rising inside him. The thoughts he’d been having all week that had continued to grow the more they weighed on his mind threatened now to burst out of him like water from a dam. “What were you doing? I thought you were gathering information, but instead you were . . . you were . . .” He gestured with a hand when the words wouldn’t come.
“I was what exactly? Please, Eli, enlighten me.” Molly’s arms were drawn against her sides, and her face was the very image of polite fury. She’d never looked at him like that before. In fact, he’d never seen her look at anyone like that before.
“You looked awfully cozy.” The image of her allowing Emerson to hold her hands—the hands he’d held—ate at his very core.
“What do you expect me to do, push him away? Where would that leave your mother?” Molly took a deep breath as she glared at him. “Before you interrupted like a boor, I was going to tell you that I don’t think this is very useful.”
Eli raised his eyebrows. “And yet you continued with it?”
Molly pressed her lips together before huffing loudly and throwing her hands up. “You are insufferable, Eli Jennings. I don’t know what you want from me.”
I want you. The thought clawed at his insides, begging to be released, but he clamped his mouth shut. He’d not tell her here, where she could reject him in front of what felt like half of Denver.
“At least I know where Mr. Emerson stands,” she said.
Her words hurtled into him, their impact causing him to suck in a breath. “What does that mean?”
She straightened, pushing her shoulders back. “I believe you know exactly what it means. Enjoy the social, Eli.” And with that, she turned and strode back toward where Emerson sat.
Eli stood in place, anger warring with jealousy as sadness crept in around the edges. What had he done?
No. She understood how he felt, even if he couldn’t put it into words. She’d just as much as said so, and yet she chose Emerson over him.
Eli stalked away, leaving the happy chatter and the scent of fried chicken behind him. He shuttered his heart with every angry thought he could muster.
He’d come to Denver for one reason, and it was high time he put all his attention to that matter. He’d deal with his heart—and his feelings for the woman he’d just left behind—later.
Chapter Nineteen
Two days after the church social, Molly drifted about her room like a ghost. Mr. Preston had come calling earlier, and she’d feigned a headache after ten minutes. Aunt Ellen had sent her to bed, but Molly found it impossible to lie still. Thoughts tumbled through her head, disjointed and useless.
She wandered to the window in her room, which overlooked the street below. One thing was absolutely clear, and that was she could not get Eli out of her thoughts. She’d believed they had something—almost dared to think that she was falling in love with him—but he’d changed.
She’d thought he was worried over his mother’s situation, but it was clear at the social that he was jealous. He didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t abide that. How many times had Mama mentioned that trust was the foundation of a long-lasting marriage? If Eli couldn’t believe she felt nothing for Mr. Emerson or Mr. Preston, how would he believe her if she confessed her feelings to him? After all, he’d agreed to this scheme. He knew she’d have to spend time with these men in order to gather information. If she pushed them away, how could she learn more?
And then, of course, there was the guilt. That had grown steadily since she’d put a name to it at the church social. When Mr. Preston had arrived this morning, his eager smile had made her feel terrible. Both he and Mr. Emerson had feelings for her. That was clear as day.
Molly smiled wryly at the window. She’d thought Eli had feelings for her too. He’d had the opportunity to voice them, but he never did. Instead, he’d become angry and distrustful. Why, upon seeing Mr. Emerson with her, hadn’t he confessed his own feelings instead of acting like a jealous schoolboy? Why hadn’t he asked to court her, as Mr. Emerson had? If he truly loved her, he would have already asked. He would have put a stop to this investigation a long time ago.
No matter what, she was ending this nonsense. She’d uncovered nothing helpful, and all she’d managed to do was put the feelings of two very nice men into jeopardy.
A hansom cab rolled by on the street below, and it seemed to draw the curtain away from Molly’s eyes. She’d come to Denver on the advice of The Lovelorn; she ought to have followed that advice completely. She would let Mr. Preston and Mr. Emerson down as kindly as she could, she’d try to forget Eli, and she’d look again among the men of Denver.
While the resolution cleared her head, it did nothing for the heaviness in her heart. And Molly feared Eli would occupy that part of her forever.
Chapter Twenty
Eli clutched the small ivory sheet of paper in his hand as he made his way toward Emerson’s Hardware Company. He’d found it late last night, when he went through the last of his father’s papers. Sleep was impossible, considering each time he lay down, all he could think of was Molly. So instead, he’d thrown himself into paperwork, and this time, it had paid off.
The little sheet of paper indicated that Pa had purchased a variety of tools from Emerson’s company on credit, just one month before his death. The final amount wasn’t much by any means, but Eli had found nothing that indicated the debt had been paid. Likely, Pa had passed on before it was. The lawyer for Pa’s estate ought to have settled it through the sale of the business, and yet Eli had found nothing in the estate documents that showed payment.
He was almost certain Emerson—or someone working for him—was the man paying visits to Eli’s mother. And yet the amount owed was far less than what she’d paid the man w
ho called himself Smith so far. That was what made no sense. Either Eli was wrong, or Emerson was using this debt as an excuse to extract more money from Ma.
That thought drove him forward, until he stood in front of the hardware store, which spanned nearly half a block with its shop and offices. The Emersons had done very well with this business. And yet if they had, why was George Emerson extorting money from Eli’s mother?
Eli shook his head and moved toward the door, when he realized the place was closed for the evening. He should have come earlier, instead of spending so much time debating the best way forward and then wasting time with the police, who’d told him he didn’t have enough proof to pursue the matter. He sighed and turned toward the street.
A carriage rattled by—a very familiar carriage. Eli drew in a breath. Just inside, he could make out Molly. She didn’t see him. She was focused instead on talking with her aunt who sat across from her. The carriage quickly passed him, leaving him with only the briefest memory of her beautiful hair, her smile, and eyes that seemed to speak her feelings.
Eli leaned against the building as regret inched its way into his consciousness. He’d had so much just a few days ago, and now it was gone. But did you, though? That tired jealousy still sat in the corners of his mind, yet it had lessened as the days had passed since the church social. And he feared Molly was absolutely right.
He had agreed she would try to get information from her suitors. He knew what that would cost him in his own feelings toward her. And yet, even as she spent more time with them, she also spent more time with him. Had he imagined the way she’d regarded him as if he were the only man alive? Had he made up the easy way she’d laughed at his jokes and listened so attentively when he spoke of his father? And perhaps he’d conjured up the way she seemed to want him to kiss her that day in his mother’s parlor.