by Cat Cahill
But every moment she’d spent with Emerson, or Preston, or any of those men had chipped away at the little confidence he had. And then when he saw Emerson’s hands on hers, that confidence had sailed away entirely, an iceberg adrift in freezing waters, leaving only a shattered heart and the desire to lash out.
He wanted so badly to speak with her. To apologize. And—even if it killed him—to finally get the words out so she’d know without a doubt how he felt about her. But how?
Eli pushed away from the building and turned to contemplate it, if only to set aside the confusing thoughts about Molly. Perhaps the answer to who had been harassing his mother was just inside. He eyed the door. It wouldn’t take much to force his way in.
He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. No, he wouldn’t stoop to that. He was a lawman after all, and he had a duty to uphold.
Eli replaced his hat and determined to find Emerson on his own.
IT WAS NEARING TEN o’clock, and Eli had yet to lay eyes on Emerson. Molly had mentioned the man liked a game of cards now and then, and Eli had hoped this was one of those times. As he pushed open the door to the Silver Door Saloon—his third stop of the night—it wasn’t lost on him that at least some of what Molly had collected was useful. He shoved that irritating thought down as he scanned the crowded room for Emerson.
And there he was, sprawled out on a chair at a table with four other men, all with cards in their hands. Eli narrowed his eyes through the haze of smoke that hung over the room. He hadn’t thought through what he’d say if he actually found Emerson, but that didn’t stop his feet from moving forward. He wove through men in various states of inebriation, women of uncertain character, and the chairs and tables that were strewn haphazardly through the saloon. Somewhere off to the left, a piano man banged out a raucous medley as people shouted and talked and laughed over it.
“George Emerson.”
The men at the table all looked up at him. An older fellow laid a card down slowly but didn’t take his eyes from Eli. Emerson took his time turning around in his chair. He looked Eli up and down with a confused smile. “You want in the game?”
“I don’t gamble.”
“All right,” Emerson said as if he’d never heard of such a thing. He turned back to the other men at the table. “Jennings here is a lawman down in . . . Where is it you’re from again? Colorado City?”
“Cañon City.”
Emerson laid his cards facedown on the table as he stood. “Throw in some coins and play a little. These gentlemen won’t take you for too much,” he said with a grin at his friends. When Eli declined a second time, Emerson stood and clapped him on the back. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”
The man’s friendliness almost made Eli second-guess what he was doing here. Until he remembered the note he’d found just this morning among his father’s papers. And, of course, Emerson’s hands on Molly’s and the way he’d looked into her eyes. Eli clenched his fists.
“I need to discuss something with you,” he said.
Emerson raised his eyebrows. “All right. I’ll fold, gentlemen.” He didn’t wait for Eli as he made his way to the scuffed wooden bar at the rear of the room and ordered two whiskeys. Eli stood next to him, not bothering to take a seat. Emerson pushed one glass toward Eli as he lifted the other. He downed the entirety of its contents before leaning against the bar. His dark hair fell into his very blue eyes, and by his easy grin, Eli guessed this wasn’t the man’s first whiskey of the night.
“Your company did business with my father,” Eli said.
Emerson shrugged before signaling to the bartender for another drink. “On a regular basis, yes.”
Eli wrapped a hand around his glass but didn’t raise it. The last thing he needed right now was whiskey clouding his thoughts. They were murky enough as it was. “He purchased a large quantity of tools about a month before his death, on credit.”
“That wasn’t unusual,” Emerson said. He nodded at the bartender who delivered another glass of amber-colored whiskey.
“I’ve found no evidence that he repaid that debt.”
“I imagine it came from the estate after his death.” Emerson finished his drink and set the glass on the bar. “I’m sorry for his passing.”
“Thank you.” Eli watched the man carefully. Was he feigning indifference? Or did he truly not know whether the debt existed? The only way to know was to ask him, but he had to do it carefully. “You see, I’ve been going through my family’s papers—tying up loose ends—and it seems my mother has been paying off some of my pa’s old debts.”
Emerson’s attention had wandered off somewhere across the saloon. Eli drew in a breath. He was being too careful, too vague. Time for something more direct. “A man calling himself Smith has been paying visits to my mother, for purposes of collecting debts. My mother has paid in full, and yet the man has increased the amount owed. He claims to be acting on your company’s behalf.”
That got Emerson’s attention. His eyes—slightly bloodshot from the whiskey—snapped back to Eli. “What are you implying?”
Eli stood straighter, one hand resting on his gun belt. “Is your company extorting money from my mother?”
Emerson laughed. When Eli didn’t join him, his laughter died into a frown. “I won’t deign to answer that question. But I don’t take kindly to smears on my reputation.”
“Then why won’t you answer the question?”
Emerson stiffened. Eli held his ground, waiting for the man’s response. His fingers twitched and he curled them into fists.
Emerson glanced down and then drew his gaze back up to Eli’s face. “Are you going to hit me like you did Browning?” When Eli didn’t reply, he added, “Do it and you’ll turn every man in this place against you. They all know me. They know my family. You’ll find yourself sitting in jail if they don’t teach you a lesson first.”
Fire roared up Eli’s insides. All he could think of was this dog touching Molly, smiling at her, charming her. His jaw worked as he fought to keep himself in check. Emerson wasn’t worth it. “If it is you, I’ll find out.” And with that, he strode through the saloon and out the doors.
Outside, he sucked in great breaths of air as men went in and out of the saloon beside him. Emerson was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. That friendly persona he wore in daylight was a mask. Eli wanted to lay the man out right there in the middle of the saloon, not only for what he’d done to Ma but also for the way he’d charmed Molly.
Molly . . . A manic laugh rose in the back of Eli’s throat, but he stuffed it down and headed for home. Here he was, ready to start a fight he couldn’t win, despite the fact that he’d just as much as accused her of allowing Emerson to take far too many liberties. But Emerson had deceived her, convincing her that he was a good man—and that infuriated Eli. What was it she’d said? “At least I know where Mr. Emerson stands.” But she didn’t . . . did she?
Eli stopped in the middle of the wooden walkway, the moon shining above. What she’d said had nothing to do with Emerson’s character. He knew that the moment she’d said it, and he’d buried those words under layers of hurt and jealousy. Emerson had told her how he felt about her. And Eli hadn’t.
Eli closed his eyes. He’d failed. After everything—after those moments they’d shared, the way he’d held her hand, how she would have let him kiss her if they hadn’t been interrupted—he’d thrown it all away because he couldn’t summon the courage to put his feelings into words.
She thought he didn’t care.
But he did. So much that he couldn’t imagine returning to Cañon City without her. He couldn’t fathom not seeing her each day at the general store. He couldn’t comprehend that she’d marry someone else, here in Denver.
Eli’s eyes flew open.
He wouldn’t let it happen. If he could confront Emerson with no qualms at all, he could speak plainly to Molly. He’d apologize for the jealousy he’d let get the best of him. And if she turned him down, so be it. At least
he could return home with the knowledge that he’d done his best.
Eli walked toward Ma’s house with new purpose. First thing tomorrow morning, he’d be at the Blanchets’ door.
And he’d tell Molly the truth.
Chapter Twenty-one
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Molly awoke. She sat straight up in bed, the dream she’d had still vivid in her mind. She’d been at home in Cañon City. No, not the home she’d shared with her mother. Molly squeezed her eyes shut as her heart pounded. It was a different house, smaller and brand new, on the edge of town. She was holding a baby and waiting on the front steps for . . .
Eli.
Molly fell back into bed and drew the quilt over her eyes. She’d dreamed she was married to Eli. The cruel, false memories of the dream pricked at her heart. Molly pressed the quilt into her eyes to push away the tears that threatened. The resolution she’d made to herself just a few days earlier rang hollow. The truth was, she had no interest in the men of Denver.
Her only thoughts lay with the man who’d made it clear he didn’t care enough for her to trust her. Try as she might, Molly couldn’t reconcile that side of Eli with the man she’d known before. She’d fallen in love, that much was clear, but she’d fallen for the kind, thoughtful man who understood she had his best interests at heart. Not the jealous, angry man who came to the church social, or the cold man who’d called on her a few days prior to that.
If he loved her the way she loved him, he would have declared it, especially upon seeing Mr. Emerson do so. But he didn’t. Instead, he’d been so rude she couldn’t piece him together with the man she thought she’d known.
Molly sat up again, a question forming in her mind. What if he couldn’t voice his feelings?
It was hard to believe. After all, the man confronted outlaws and general ne’er-do-wells on a daily basis. How could he be upfront with a man bent on causing trouble, but not with her?
But as strange as it was, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. It certainly explained the change in his actions toward her, although it didn’t excuse them.
What if she gave him another chance?
Molly pushed the quilt back and stood. For the sake of her heart, she needed to know. Did he truly distrust her, or had he spoken out of desperation? Did he understand how much his words and actions had hurt her? And most importantly, did he love her? And was that enough to allow him to trust her if they built a life together?
She would find out whether her dream could become real. Or whether she ought to return to following the advice she’d received from The Lovelorn.
IT WAS BARELY EIGHT thirty when Molly left her aunt and uncle’s house. The ride to Eli’s mother’s house didn’t take too long, but it felt like hours passed as she sat impatiently in the carriage. When she finally reached Mrs. Jennings’s home, a carriage sat out front with a driver waiting, likely to take Mrs. Jennings on some outing.
Molly accepted the driver’s assistance to descend from the carriage. She took a few steps and then paused near the stairs that led to the small front porch. A tiny amount of doubt had crept into her mind, preventing her from placing a foot on the first step. What if Eli refused to see her? Or worse, what if he did, and then informed her she was mistaken—that what they’d had was nothing more than a brief amusement that ended the moment he saw that Mr. Emerson was seriously interested in her?
Molly ran her gloved hands over her dress’s simple lilac overskirt. If he did say such a thing, at least she’d have her answer. She could grieve what she’d thought she had and then move on to find a man who did truly love her. Although, even as she thought the words, she could almost feel her heart break in response.
Well, standing here and pondering the maybes would do her no good at all. She lifted her head and forced her feet up the steps. One by one, until she’d reached the door. She lifted one shaking hand to knock. But before her knuckles could touch the wood, a hand clamped over her arm.
Panic rising in her throat, she jerked around to find a man standing behind her.
Eli.
Chapter Twenty-two
Molly’s eyes widened when she saw him. Eli drew a finger to his lips when she opened her mouth to speak. She clamped her mouth shut, but raised an eyebrow in question. He held up a finger to indicate he’d explain later and pulled gently on her arm to get her to follow him. What she was doing here, he didn’t know. And he didn’t dare hope it was because she was thinking about him as much as he’d been thinking about her.
Eli led the way between his mother’s house and the one next door to arrive in the rear of the home. He stopped near the back garden, where Mrs. Gowan grew various herbs and vegetables. Glancing at the house before he spoke, he determined they were most likely in the parlor with no way to overhear what he might say to Molly. But he spoke in a low tone just in case.
“I believe the carriage waiting out front is the same one that was here the last time Ma’s debt collector paid a visit.” He didn’t know for certain. After all, black Broughams were everywhere in this town. But it was far too early for visitors, and he’d just happened to go out early for a stroll. When he’d returned and saw the carriage, he knew. When Molly’s drew up behind it, he’d picked up speed to reach her before she could interrupt the man’s conversation with his mother.
Molly’s lips formed an “o.” “Who is it? Do you know?”
Eli paused a moment, his gaze flicking back to the house before landing on her again. She was so beautiful, he could hardly breathe. She was the kind of girl artists in Europe painted, all raven-haired and fair-skinned. He wanted so badly to run a finger down her cheek, caress her jaw, and draw her toward him. But instead, he needed to tell her that the man inside was most likely her Mr. Emerson, or someone who worked for him. “There is no easy way to tell you this, but I’m fairly certain George Emerson is behind these visits.”
Her entire countenance fell, as if he’d gravely disappointed her. “Eli, I came here thinking—”
The back door opened just at that moment, drawing their attention away from each other. Mrs. Gowan stood on the back porch, motioning to Eli.
He wasted no time and moved toward her, Molly on his heels.
“I’m glad you’re back so quickly, Mr. Jennings,” Mrs. Gowan said. “That man—the one who comes for the money—he’s in the parlor with your ma. I came back to the kitchen to start breakfast and saw you out the window.”
Eli turned to Molly. “I want you to remain out here with Mrs. Gowan.”
Her face turned pink as she glared at him. “I’ll do no such thing. If it is Mr. Emerson—which I highly doubt—I have every right to see what he’s doing.”
Arguing with Molly would be like arguing with a stone wall. Besides, the man wouldn’t be intending to stay long. He needed to get in there and catch him in the act of defrauding his mother. “Fine. But I don’t want you in the parlor. Keep to the hallway, both of you, and if he gets agitated, I want you out of the house immediately.”
Molly nodded her assent, while Mrs. Gowan stated she’d remain safe in the kitchen instead. Silently, Eli pressed the door open and slipped inside with Molly. As they crept down the hallway, voices carried from the parlor.
“This is all I have,” Ma was saying. The desperation in her tone ate at Eli’s soul. How anyone could torment a widow like this, he didn’t understand. The man, Emerson or not, was utterly despicable.
“You promised fifty a month. Surely you have more stashed away. Something from your late husband’s estate, perhaps?” Eli paused just outside the parlor door. He didn’t recognize the voice, but then he hadn’t heard Emerson speak frequently enough to recognize him sight unseen.
“I don’t, Mr. Smith, I’m sorry.”
Eli peered around the doorframe, his arm holding Molly back. Ma stood facing him, wringing her hands. The man’s back was to him, and all Eli could tell was that he wore a black coat and gray trousers, and that he hadn’t bothered to remove h
is hat.
“Oh, look! My son is home. Perhaps you can speak with him and work this out.” Ma gestured to Eli, relief evident on her face.
The man jerked around. It took only a second for Eli to recognize him. And when he did, he almost couldn’t believe it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Molly clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. Mr. Carter stood there in the parlor, plain as day, looking guiltily at Eli right after demanding his mother pay fifty dollars a month. Molly didn’t think he’d seen her, at least. She’d moved back immediately after he’d turned around.
And now she stood there, glued like paper to the wall in Mrs. Jennings’s hallway, trying to breathe normally through her fingers. Mr. Carter! She couldn’t believe it.
“What is this about?” Eli asked from just around the corner. “I hear my father owed you debts, and you’ve been visiting my mother to collect?”
Molly pressed a hand to the doorframe and peeked around it. She could just barely see Mr. Carter over Eli’s shoulder. His eyes darted between Eli and Mrs. Jennings.
“Yes, sir,” he finally said, taking his hat into his hands. “That’s correct.”
“How much did my father owe?”
“Approximately two thousand dollars.”
Molly’s heart nearly stopped.
“Two thousand?” Eli said in a stunned voice. “Whatever did he purchase from a fruit company that cost so much?”
“I’m sorry to say it wasn’t a purchase.” Mr. Carter’s voice was breathy. He seemed nervous. Molly dug her fingers into the wood. Something was strange about all of this. Perhaps it was just as Eli had suspected—Mr. Jennings had owed nothing, and this was a ruse to get money from poor Mrs. Jennings.